He was too stunned to follow her, couldn’t even get his breath until the elevator doors had closed. He ran after her, but was stopped by one beefy arm across his chest.
“I don’t think so,” the dorm monitor said, pointing to a sign that read ‘No male visitors past lobby.’ “Why don’t you just go?”
He nodded and left, still reeling from Meg’s response and how it only made him love her more.
And it made him more determined to do the right thing—the hard thing. Now it was clear what he had to do: Ask Liz to marry him.
But if he was going to propose to the mother of his child, he needed a ring, and for that he needed money.
He pulled out his phone and connected a number. “Chance, man, it’s Wes. I need a poker game.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
JACK SURVEYED THE bedazzled runway and snorted. “Whose idea was it to set up another fashion show after last week’s disaster?”
Carlotta gave a little laugh. “It was already on the schedule. But lucky for us it’s set up like last week’s show so we can recreate the scene of the crime.”
“Yes, lucky for us.”
“Are you still mad that I was right about someone killing grooms?”
“You seem to have overlooked one very real possibility.”
“And that is?”
“The men might have done themselves in rather than walk down the aisle.”
“Very funny, Jack. Just because you’re allergic to commitment, doesn’t mean every man is.”
“Says the girl playing Spin the Bottle with three boys in her sandbox.”
Her mouth tightened with annoyance, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a comeback.
“Speaking of your sandbox,” he said with a sardonic grin, “what’s going on with the photographer next door?”
“I haven’t seen him around, but I had a real estate friend look into who owns the house.”
“And?”
“And the information was a little vague, but she seemed to think it’s owned by the government.”
He shrugged. “That’s pretty common, with all the foreclosures through federal financing programs and grants for affordable housing.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Leave it to Jack to squash anything remotely intriguing about the situation.
He glanced at his watch. “How was your interview with Lucas Monday?”
“About what I expected. He’s irritated because he hasn’t gotten to talk to Randolph yet.”
Jack pursed his mouth. “Interesting.”
“And Liz was…surprisingly helpful.”
“See? Liz has some good qualities.”
Carlotta burned to tell him that managing birth control wasn’t one of them, but bit her tongue. Liz had asked her to keep quiet about the baby and she would, for Wes’s sake. Besides, if word got out and Randolph got wind of the situation, it could complicate Liz’s ability to represent him.
At least Wesley had seemed to be in a better frame of mind when he’d come home last night. He still didn’t want to talk, but he’d given her an unsolicited hug, and that was like gold.
“Wonder what’s keeping Salyers?” Jack said, checking the time again.
“I’m here,” the woman called from the curtained rear entrance. She walked up and nodded a greeting to Carlotta. “Sorry I’m late. It took me a while to wade through that crowd. Has it been like this all week?”
“Mostly,” Carlotta said. “But today is the last day of the show, so it’s a little crazy.”
“Do you still work at Neiman’s, Ms. Wren?”
So Salyers had reviewed her notes from the old case…which did not paint Carlotta in the most favorable light. Her cheeks warmed. “Yes. The Expo is a temporary assignment.”
“So trouble follows you around?”
Jack guffawed. “You have no idea.”
Carlotta shot him an exasperated look—he was more cranky than usual today.
Salyers glanced at Jack. “I thought you were baby-sitting some hotshot celebrity.”
“Jarold Jett. He’s lying low for the time being.”
“He’s a possible target of the Groom Slayer,” Carlotta supplied.
Salyers frowned. “Is that what we’re calling the UNSUB?”
“No, we are not,” Jack said, frowning at Carlotta. “Jarold Jett had a near-miss yesterday, which might not even be related, but we’re taking extra precaution.”
“The near-miss—that was the chandelier incident?”
Jack nodded. “Jett will be here for the runway show—he’s going to emcee. That’s why you’re here, on the remote chance that something would happen.”
“Where is he now?”
“At his hotel. Apparently, something called Twister blew up?”
“He means Twitter,” Carlotta said. “The footage of the chandelier falling went viral.”
“Yeah, that,” Jack said to Salyers, clearly uncaring that he was out of the social media loop.
“His fiancée Sabrina Bauers flew in this morning,” Carlotta said, then added, “According to Twitter.”
Jack gave a curt nod of confirmation. “She’s with him at the hotel. Salyers, I’ll show you the scene of the accident later. For now, this is the basic setup of the show where the first victim collapsed.”
“Second victim,” Carlotta reminded him. “Simon Markhall was probably the first victim.”
He scowled. “Coop talks too much.”
This probably wasn’t the time to mention Coop had confirmed in a text that Jeffrey Oxblood and Greg Pena had both been poisoned. “Coop communicates.”
Salyers glanced back and forth between them. “Is it going to be like this all day?”
“No,” they said in unison.
Salyers raised an eyebrow. “Okay. We have at least six victims, five of whom were poisoned. Since Jeremy Atwater is the only victim who died with an audience, let’s start at the top. Where do you think he was most likely poisoned?”
Carlotta opened her mouth, but Jack gave her a warning look. She dipped her chin to defer to him.
“In the tents behind the stage,” he said and led the way to the row of temporary structures.
Carlotta held back, sensing Jack was near some sort of breaking point with her. And now that he was on the scent, she knew he wouldn’t let up until the case was solved. Plus she had no interest in undermining him in front of his colleague.
“This is where they were getting dressed, the brides in here, the grooms over there. Carlotta was in the tent with the grooms.”
“Did you talk to Atwater?” Salyers asked her.
“Yes.” She repeated as much of the conversation as she could remember while Salyers scribbled in a notebook. “He was slurring his words, seemed agitated. He also mentioned he was getting married next month.”
“Did you see him eat or drink anything?”
“Bottled water. And there was a food cart of donuts and things. Edward had it removed so the guys wouldn’t spill something on the suits, but some of them had already eaten from it.”
“But no one else got sick.”
“Right,” Jack said. “That’s why we think the poison might have originated in the gum.”
Salyers referenced her notes. “Who’s Edward?”
“Edward King,” Carlotta said. “He’s a coworker at Neiman’s.”
“How many people were back here?”
“A dozen male models, a dozen female models, a few helpers. Edward can get you those names. Plus Jarold Jett was back here, and his assistant.”
“No,” Jack corrected. “His assistant didn’t arrive until the next day.”
Carlotta smiled. “Oh, that’s right—you had to carry the giant buzzer the first day.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Salyers studied the distance to the stage. “Did the men go straight from the tent to the runway?”
“Yes,” Carlotta said. “Around the back. And Jeremy was the first groom in the group to walk out
onto the stage.”
“Alone?”
“No, he was escorting a female model.”
“Did you interview her?” she asked Jack.
He shifted from foot to foot. “No. But Carlotta talked to her.”
Salyers looked back to her. “Did she say he’d taken any drugs or mentioned he was feeling ill?”
“No. She said he was flirting before they walked out, then he just fell to the ground.”
“Is that when the gum fell out of his mouth?”
“Either then or when the paramedics arrived,” Jack said.
Salyers swung her head back to him. “But that’s when you collected it?”
He pursed his mouth. “Actually, Carlotta collected the gum.”
Salyers looked back to her with a frown. “When?”
“The next morning. I came back in to look around.”
“To snoop,” Jack corrected.
“It’s a good thing for us she did,” Salyers said lightly.
Carlotta wanted to enjoy the moment, but a memory chord stirred, trying to push something to the forefront of her mind. Then it clicked. “I just remembered something else I found that morning—a red wig. I didn’t think much of it because the models all wore red wigs. But maybe someone wore it to blend in…or as a disguise.”
“I don’t suppose you kept it, too?” Jack asked dryly.
She shook her head. “But I remember there were a couple of dark hairs mixed in that looked real.”
“Anything else, Hart to Hart?” Salyers asked.
They both frowned and chorused, “Who?”
Salyers waved her hand. “Never mind. Jack, you said you wanted to show me the scene of the other incident?”
“Right. Carlotta probably needs to get back to work.” He gave her a pointed look.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Good to see you again, Detective Salyers.”
“You, too. Will I see you at the runway show?”
“I’m afraid not. My coworker’s boyfriend is one of the celebrities in the show, and I promised her I’d cover the booth so she could attend.”
“I understand it’s going to be quite the lineup.”
Carlotta nodded. “The mayor, some local TV anchors, a couple of radio personalities, some reality show stars—I’m sure it’ll be packed. Enjoy.”
She gave Jack a little wave and grudgingly left the runway area to return to the main exhibition hall. The decibel level was terrific. As she made her way to the Your Perfect Man booth, she tried to catch hold of the happy enthusiasm in the air, but her mind was still cranking the details of the disconnected cases, including the chandelier incident.
“Oh, good, you’re back,” Patricia said when she stepped into the booth. “I was getting worried. I know there’s plenty of time before the runway show starts, but I wanted to freshen up, and help Leo with his tux.”
“Of course,” Carlotta said. “Leave whenever you need to. Listen, Patricia…if I said something the other day that offended you, I’m sorry. I’m sure you and Leo will be very happy together.”
Patricia inclined her head. “That’s very nice of you, Carlotta. I’m sure you’ll find someone, too. Someday.”
“Er, thanks.”
With that cheery thought to keep her company, she worked the Your Perfect Man booth like the veteran sales associate she was, giving the warrior, king, lover, and magician spiel over and over, and moving a lot of merchandise. When the crowd ebbed and she realized people were heading to the runway show early to get a good seat, she felt a twinge of envy—she hated not to be there in case something interesting happened. Although she was sure Jack and Detective Salyers could handle it.
“Hello.”
She looked up and exclaimed in surprise to see Coop and Rainie…until the implication of the two of them attending a wedding show hit her. “Interesting destination for a date,” she teased.
They both laughed. “Rainie is in the fashion show,” Coop said.
“And Coop decided to tag along,” she finished. “In fact, I’m running a little late, so I’m going to head over there.”
“Look for me in the audience,” Coop said. “See you afterward.”
The look of fondness they exchanged made Carlotta’s chest tighten. Coop watched Rainie until she disappeared into the crowd.
Was she jealous of the sentiments? Or jealous of Coop?
“Interesting booth theme,” Coop offered, surveying the display. “I’m not sure I want to know which archetype I am.”
Which was silly—it wasn’t as if he was cheating on her.
“Rainie and I decided you’re a lover,” Carlotta offered.
“That’s a conversation I’m sorry I missed,” he said with a wink.
Cheating on her… Bells rang in Carlotta’s head as unrelated bits of info fell into place. Jeremy Atwood was a player…Greg Pena had been having an affair…so had Jeffrey Oxblood…and two of the victims were outside a strip club.
“Coop, do you know if the first victim had a girlfriend on the side?”
He frowned. “Strange that you would ask…the M.E. who was at the scene said it was awkward because two women showed up at the guy’s house—his fiancée, and his girlfriend.”
“Maybe that’s it,” she said excitedly. “The victims weren’t just getting married—they were cheating on their fiancées.”
“Are you saying it was a pact of some kind to off their grooms?”
“Could be. Maybe they met somehow through planning their weddings, maybe even at a show like this.”
“Or online?”
“Or through their gift registries?”
“And bonded over their cheating boyfriends?”
Carlotta put a finger to her mouth. “Although if I decided to murder my cheating fiancé, why wouldn’t I wait a few more weeks until we’re married to make sure I get the life insurance?”
Coop shrugged. “To save on the wedding expenses?”
“That’s the way a man thinks. A woman would simply take the expenses out of her insurance proceeds.”
“I’m not sure I wanted to know that.”
“But you met Iris Kline, Greg Pena’s fiancée. She had an alibi. And she did seem devastated about Greg’s death.”
“So…no pact among the brides?”
“Wait a minute…where do women go to complain about a cheating fiancé?”
He lifted his hands. “I don’t know. To their mother, their girlfriends…”
“Their gynecologist…”
Coop winced, but nodded.
She snapped her fingers. “Their therapist. Maybe he or she is the culprit.”
“But what are the chances the fiancées of all the victims see the same therapist? Plus we’re talking about a professional who would have some serious mental problems of his or her own.” He pushed up his glasses. “It might take some time to find and interview all the fiancées.”
“Iris Kline and I have a mutual, um, friend. I can contact her, although I’m not sure how well I’ll be received.”
“I remember the confrontation at Pena’s apartment,” Coop said. “But it’s worth a try. We’re grasping at straws here.”
Carlotta retrieved her phone. Luckily, the booth was almost empty of customers. From the applause sounding in the direction of the runway, the celebrity fashion show had started.
She texted Peter. Important…do you have Tracey Lowenstein’s mobile #?
After what seemed like an interminable pause, he texted back the number, along with I miss you.
Carlotta tamped down a ping of guilt and dialed the number, willing Tracey to answer. She did.
“This is Mrs. Frederick Lowenstein.”
From the public announcement noises in the background, it occurred to Carlotta that Tracey was probably at the hospital, keeping vigil at her father’s bedside. “Tracey, this is Carlotta.”
“How dare you call me? My father is still lying in a coma because of your father.”
Carlotta closed her eyes. “Tra
cey, not now. Do you know if Iris was seeing a psychiatrist…or maybe a marriage counselor? I know she and Greg were having problems.”
“How do you know that? And even if it were true, it’s Iris’s business.”
“Please, Tracey, it’s very important. I’ll explain later.”
Tracey sighed. “Yes, she was seeing someone, alone. Greg had been known to stray, and she was trying to work through it. But she doesn’t want anyone to know.”
“Do you know the name of her doctor?”
Another exasperated sigh sounded. “I can’t remember.”
“Try, Tracey, please. This could help a lot of people.”
“Jenson, maybe? Or Denison?”
Carlotta froze. “Could it be Tennyson?”
“That’s it. Dr. Tennyson. It’s a woman.”
Patricia’s statements about Leo’s ex came back to her. Kaitlin thinks it would be best if Casey meets me in a neutral environment…Leo says she has obsessive-compulsive issues, but I kind of admire the way she tries to do everything just right.
Like purge the world of lying, cheating husbands? Rat poison for ratty men.
“Thanks, Tracey. I’ll explain everything later.” She ended the call, her mind racing.
“What?” Coop asked.
“I think the person behind all of this is Leo Tennyson’s ex-wife, Dr. Kaitlin Tennyson.”
His head jutted forward. “Leo Tennyson the baseball player? Are you sure?”
“It all adds up…Leo recently proposed to my friend Patricia. Wait—when was the first victim killed?”
“Last week—”
“The night of the full moon,” Carlotta finished.
He squinted. “How did you know?”
“That’s the night Leo proposed to Patricia…that must be what set off Kaitlin. She’s killing grooms who cheat before they’re even married.”
Coop grimaced. “Sounds personal.”
Applause roared from the direction of the runway show. Then Carlotta remembered. “Leo’s in the show!”
Chapter Twenty-nine
ON A FULL RUN to the runway area, Carlotta dialed Jack’s number, but he didn’t answer.
“Either his phone is turned off, or he doesn’t hear it,” she told Coop. “I’ll try Patricia.”
She pulled up the woman’s number and connected the call.
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