Weddings Can Be Murder

by Christie Craig

  Carl snapped open the sports section and ducked behind it. “Don’t make something out of this. I’m just being courteous.”

  “Right,” his dad mumbled and then, “Women like flowers.”

  Carl ignored his dad. Besides, he already had a gift for Red.

  The tap of claws echoed around the table. Precious came to greet Carl’s dad, gave Carl’s feet a bump with his nose, then went back to Baby. So, his poodle preferred chasing tail to his feet? Carl couldn’t say he blamed the dog, but being second fiddle didn’t feel good. Second fiddle. He remembered seeing Red with her fiancé.

  His dad eyed the dogs. “Where’s those doggy panties I got?”

  “Precious ripped them off of her. I tried keeping them in separate rooms. They both howled nonstop for hours.”

  “Love is the air. Can’t fight it.”

  “And I’m going to let you tell that to Ms. Jones’s next of kin when they come to pick her up.” Carl raised the paper, then lowered it. “Which reminds me. Do you know when that will be? Has someone been contacted?”

  His dad pulled the paper up, shielding himself from Carl’s view.

  Carl pushed the paper down. “What gives, Dad?”

  “Detective James told Tabitha’s cousin about the dog and she said she couldn’t take her.”

  Carl shot the white puffball of a dog a look. “She has to take her.”

  “She said to give it to a shelter.”

  Carl gritted his teeth. “Fine. You take her to a shelter.”

  “Me?” Buck asked.

  “You brought her here. You handle it.”

  Baby let out a pathetic bark as if she understood. “I can’t keep you,” Carl muttered, but refused to look at her.

  “She’s not big,” his dad said. “And Precious likes her.”

  Carl cut his dad a cold stare. “You are taking her to the shelter. I mean it, when I get back, this dog will not be here.” He eyed his watch. His appointment with Mel Grimes, the photographer, was at ten.

  “Shouldn’t one of us be following around Mr. Johnson?”

  Shit. He’d forgotten all about the Johnson case. And Mondays were when Johnson’s wife suspected him of meeting with some other woman. “Yeah. Follow Mr. Johnson.” Carl knew he’d be sorry for bringing his father into another case, but he didn’t see what choice he had. “Take my cameras. But be careful.”

  “I’m always careful.” His dad reached down to pet Baby.

  “And you still have to handle the dog situation,” Carl said.

  “Okay, but you know they’ll put her down, don’t you?”

  “She’s a pedigree,” Carl snapped. “Someone will want her.”

  “Just like you do, huh?”

  “Don’t put this on me. I told you I didn’t want that dog.”

  “Yeah, yeah!” His old man brought the newspaper back up. “What time should I start trailing Mr. Johnson?”

  “The wife said he doesn’t leave the house until noon.”

  For the next ten minutes they drank coffee and read the morning news in silence. “Son?” His dad set the paper down.

  “Yeah?” Carl thumbed through the other sections, looking for the comics.

  “I…I, uh, needed to talk to you about something.”

  “I’m not keeping the dog, Dad.”

  “It’s not that.” His tone sent up warning flags. Carl recalled his dad had gone in for a physical last week and was supposed to be getting his results back. Carl’s gut tightened.

  “Test results?”

  “Test results?” his father repeated. “Oh, you mean from the doctor. Hell, no. I got those back Friday. I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  Relief came instantly. As much as his old man drove Carl crazy, he knew losing him would cost him more than he wanted to admit. “Good.” He grinned. “So, what’s up?”

  His dad palmed his coffee cup—a sure sign of nervousness. “I asked Jessie to marry me last weekend.”

  Carl leaned back in his chair. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I’m tired of being run out of her bed every night. She doesn’t believe in living with a man, and I respect that.”

  “You’re sixty-six. You shouldn’t be in her bed every night.”

  “You think my wingwanger don’t work?”

  “Dad, I don’t give a rat’s ass if your pecker works or not. I’m talking about…” Hell, what was he talking about? “I just think it’s late in the game to be…to get yourself hitched to some woman.”

  “It’s not some woman. It’s Jessie. I love her.”

  “Then love her. But why screw it up by getting married?”

  “Because when people love each other, they get married.”

  “What about Mom?” The moment the words stepped off his lips, Carl regretted them.

  “She’s been dead sixteen years,” his dad said.

  Carl inhaled. “Oh, screw it. I don’t know why we’re talking about this. You’re not going to listen to me.” But the idea felt wrong. “Marry Jessie. Adopt a kid with her. It’s not up to me.” He shot up from his chair.

  “I’d really like your blessing.”

  Carl stopped. “Blessing? Have you told Ben about this?”

  “Yes.”

  “And didn’t he tell you that you were an idiot?”

  Buck folded his hands together on top of the paper. “Actually, Ben and Tami are thrilled for me.”

  “Well, that’s great,” Carl said. “Do what you want. You don’t need my damn blessing.” He grabbed his coat and the package for Red and left.

  Joe had taken the day off from work, something he hadn’t done in ages. But since he wasn’t going on a honeymoon, he could afford some downtime. Not that telling his mom about the wedding cancellation fell into the category of downtime.

  Much as Joe hated admitting it, last week’s visit to his mom’s cardiologist confirmed his worst fears. She was a conniving manipulator who didn’t have anything that closely resembled a heart condition. All her medical woes were crap, a ploy to pull at his sympathy strings—to encourage him to rush the wedding. She’d been pushing for him to marry for years.

  Not that he blamed her for the wedding fiasco. He’d proposed to Katie before his mom had even known about it. But the fact that she’d lied to him about her health ticked him off.

  Of course, not enough for him to confront her about it. Face it, he was thirty-four years old and afraid of his mommy. But hey, Mildred Lyon was no ordinary woman. With one cut from her eyes, she made him feel thirteen and guilty of something.

  Katie had assured him that his mom was just lonely. Katie also insisted his devotion to her was a sign of a caring son. But letting his mother get away with lying was too much. Yes. So what was he going to do about it?

  Courage wavering, he walked into her apartment. “Mom?”

  She didn’t answer. Was probably next door. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a soda. While debating if he wanted a sandwich, he heard a noise from the bedroom.

  “Mom?” Imagining her fallen out on the floor, he went running into the bedroom. And…Well, fuck! He swung around. But, too late. The image was tattooed onto his memory. Not those temporary tattoos, either. Permanent.

  “Joe!” his mom screamed.

  He heard a loud thump against the wall and prayed it had been her bedmate and not her. And it would have been a hell of a lot better if the bedmate had been a real person. But to see his mom, naked, enjoying a battery-operated boyfriend—well, that basically was just too damn much.

  He stood in the hall, trying to decide what to do. His mom scrambling around behind him told him that she hadn’t fallen to her death. He raked ten fingers through his hair. “Shit.”

  “Joey. I…I…You should have never seen that.”

  “For once, we’re in total agreement on something.” Right then, Joe called the games over. No more placating his mom.

  He swung around, relieved to find her in a robe. “I came by to tell you that the wedding has been called off.”
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  His mom pressed a hand to her heart. “But—”

  “Don’t say anything.” He pointed at the bed. “Any woman who can do what I saw isn’t suffering from a weak heart.”

  She blushed, but still had the audacity to send him her don’t-talk-to-me-that-way look. But her look held zero power, not after seeing…Oh, damn, he wished he could forget.

  “I love you, Mom. I do. And I’ll be here for you, but what I saw proves that you need to get your own life. Maybe even a real boyfriend. And you need to stop interfering with, meddling in, and trying to run my life.”

  Joe stepped out, but not before snatching the phone book from under the coffee table. Something about standing up to his mom empowered him, and while he might be an idiot, there was one other woman he wanted to see.

  In his car, he looked under G to see how many Graysons were listed in North Piper. Les wouldn’t want to see him, but damn it, there were some things that just needed to be said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Katie had worked four hours and gotten one hour of work done. Her mind kept juggling problems.

  Ball one: Tabitha’s demise and those reoccurring images. Katie worried about what had happened to the woman’s dog.

  Ball two: Carl Hades. She wondered why she missed him.

  Ball three: Joe and his confrontation with his mom. She worried about Joe and his mom’s relationship.

  Ball four…Katie grabbed her cell phone and replayed Les’s message from the night Tabitha was murdered. I’ll tell you about this really hot guy I met at the restaurant. Katie had a sneaking suspicion she now knew why Les hadn’t mentioned the shower scene: Joe Lyon hadn’t been the only one lusting in Katie’s shower.

  Ball four was the one giving her the most problems at the moment. If confronted, Les would deny everything and probably run back to Boston. Yup. Les, who excelled at telling everyone else how they felt, sucked at admitting her own feelings.

  Or was Katie making more out of this than she should? Did it mean anything that Les was physically attracted to Joe? Part of Katie wanted to say no, but then Katie knew that Les hadn’t been attracted to anyone since Mike’s death.

  Katie tried envisioning the results of such attraction. What if Joe and Les actually got together as a couple? How would that make her feel? Sitting back in her chair, she dug deep in her mental junk drawer seeking answers, thinking she’d find some sort of resentment. But, nope. It wasn’t there. And wasn’t that a confirmation that she and Joe were totally, completely, wrong for each other?

  “Katie?” Lola said.

  “Yes?” Katie looked up at the office door and to Lola, the gallery owner and one of the main exhibiting artists. Instead of seeing Lola, the image of Tabitha with blood pouring over her white suit played across Katie’s mind. Her stomach clenched.

  “Katie?” Lola said again.

  Katie shook off the sudden queasiness. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

  “There’s a guy here to see you.” Lola glanced down the hall, then back to her. “Bien bonito.” She kissed her fingers.

  “Ben Hades?” Katie refused to hope otherwise. Ben had probably gotten her message. And honestly, that’s the only reason she’d called him earlier: about Tabitha’s dog. Not to ask about Carl.

  Lola grinned. “I was so enamored, I didn’t catch his name.”

  Katie stood. “He’s married, Lola.”

  “Should have known. He’s marked by his woman already.” Lola ran her nails down her cheek.

  Katie flopped back down in her chair. “Oh, fudge.”

  “Chica, after the week you’ve had, you deserve to say ‘fuck.’”

  “True,” Katie agreed. Planting her hands firmly on her desk, she squared her shoulders. She could do this. But whether she could do this without making a fool of herself was anyone’s guess.

  Giving her ponytail a tug, she moistened her lips, then stood. Now, if she could just get her feet to move.

  Looking at Lola, who swore she was part witch, Katie reached out and gripped her hand. “Give me some of your mojo, Lola.”

  “What kind of magic you need?”

  “The willpower kind. Lots of willpower.” She would not throw herself at Carl Hades—even newly single, she would not end up on his Poked List.

  Carl walked around the room studying the art hanging on the walls. Seriously, the elephant in Mexico had more talent. And after looking at these, why didn’t Red think she could paint? He rolled his shoulders and tried to release his tension.

  It had been a hell of a morning. First his dad’s announcement. Marriage? What had gotten into the old man? Then Ben hadn’t gotten the background info, and to top it off the photographer, Mel Grimes, in spite of their appointment, hadn’t been home. That got Mr. Grimes on Carl’s look-at-closer list. Grimes didn’t know it, but it wasn’t a good list to be on.

  Hoping the morning wouldn’t be a total waste, he’d driven by the florist’s shop, only to find that the owner, Mr. Jack Edwards, hadn’t been in, either. Today at three, Carl had the appointment with the DJ, and had managed to make a five o’clock with the cake maker, Todd Sweet. He hoped Ben got the info back before then. Going in with some knowledge under his belt was always best.

  Carl heard footsteps and swung around. The moment he saw her, the ground shifted beneath his feet. He’d experienced one earthquake in his life while visiting California, and he hadn’t felt as unbalanced then as he did right now.

  Katie stopped about four feet in front of him. She’s an engaged woman. The four words swam around his head. His gaze shot to her left hand, to see if she’d gotten a new ring yet. When it wasn’t there, he let his gaze move over her. Her hair was up—a shame, he loved it down. But the pale green business suit traced her body with precision. The scooped top, a lighter green, gave a hint of cleavage, and the skirt, just snug enough to make a man drool, came midthigh. And it was just high enough to make it difficult to decide on where to focus: cleavage or legs.

  Carl knew right then that any man shopping here hadn’t come for the paintings but the sculptured art of Red’s body.

  “You clean up nice,” he said.

  She’s an engaged woman, he reminded himself again.

  Yeah, but it didn’t mean a damn thing if she didn’t wear a ring.

  “So do you.” She grinned.

  That soft, sexy smile of hers hit him right between his legs, and his loose-fitting khakis suddenly weren’t so loose anymore.

  Her smile widened. “I like you in pink. It matches your scarf from the other night.”

  “It’s light red. And besides, I heard metro men aren’t afraid to get in touch with their feminine side.”

  “So you’re going metro, huh?” she asked.

  Holy hell, she was gorgeous. “I’m trying it on for size.” Their gazes met and held. “You know,” he went on, “I’m a little disappointed.”

  “About what?” She twisted her high heels into the carpet.

  “My brother bragged about the greeting you gave him, and I don’t even get a handshake.” He wasn’t sure why he said that, maybe because he liked teasing her, or maybe because he’d been disappointed when she hadn’t touched him. His body ached to feel her, to get close enough to see if she wore the same perfume, to get close enough to see the spray of freckles across her nose.

  “He told you about that, did he?” Color rose in her face.

  Damn, she was pretty when she blushed. “Just in passing.” She’s an engaged woman. “So, this is where you work?”

  “This is it.” She waved her arms around, which made her blouse pull tighter across her breasts.

  His gaze caught the clock on the wall. He’d told himself he wouldn’t do this, but…“Want to grab some lunch with me?” Her expression prepared him for disappointment. He hated disappointment. “Don’t break my heart, Red.”

  She blinked. “I seriously doubt I could break your heart.”

  And yet the idea didn’t seem so far-fetched to him.

  She fidge
ted. “I planned to run some errands—”

  “I saw the diner right next door. A quick lunch. Say yes.”

  She hesitated. “Lunch,” she said.

  “Just lunch,” he said, because that’s how she’d seemed to mean it. While that’s exactly what he’d told himself this was, just lunch, he suddenly found the idea depressing as hell.

  Les turned the page of the photo album, feeling the nostalgia curl up inside her chest. Mike’s handsome face smiled up at her. Amazingly, the pain was almost bearable now. Realizing it seemed too quiet in the living room, Les went to check.

  Good thing, too.

  “No, Mimi.” Les took the lipstick from her grandma’s hand.

  Her mother had asked Les to Mimi-sit today. It had seemed like a small thing, but Les had learned that Mimi’s condition had worsened since she’d left for Boston. Before, Mimi would sit in front of the TV for hours and be content. Now she was all hands, either pulling her clothes off or finding something to get into.

  Les wondered how her mom did it. A tickle of uncertainty wiggled in her chest. Another incentive to move back home. This morning, Les had actually called her old boss at the paper. He’d been excited to hear from her, and the first thing out of his mouth was, “If you’re calling for a job, it’s yours.”

  She hadn’t been calling for a job, but his offer had her thinking. Was it time? Time to move back and stop running away?

  Les grinned at the painted clown smile on her grandma’s lips. Down deep, it hurt to see her grandmother like this, but on another level, Les was glad that Mimi, unlike so many other stroke victims, was a happy victim. Mimi smiled constantly and seemed pleased to be alive. Not bad for her age.

  “Let’s go to the bathroom, and I’ll wash your face.”

  “Love my shoes,” Mimi said, and held up one foot.

  Les smiled, recalling her mom saying Mimi had refused to take the shoes off last night. “I’m glad you like them.”

  Mimi started unbuttoning her blouse.

  “It’s not bedtime,” Les said.

  The doorbell chimed and Les went to get it, picking up the bag of oranges her mom said to give to the neighbor who would be by around lunch. Les picked up the bag with a note taped to the top and opened the door. “Big, and good enough to squeeze,” Les read the note before looking up. Her heart stuttered.