Weddings Can Be Murder

by Christie Craig

  Talking about money was something she could control. Unlike the bizarre got-you-by-the-throat sexual attraction she’d felt earlier with Carl. That was not controllable. Besides, staying busy kept her from cratering.

  She could do it on the phone, but face-to-face contact upped her chances of getting her money back. Not that she would be in financial woes if she didn’t, but Rays were money wise and this was the wise thing to do. Especially after deciding to pay Joe back for the engagement ring she’d flushed down the john.

  So she pulled out her wedding book where she kept everyone’s info and headed first to see Todd Sweet, the cake baker.

  Carl stood on the porch. Mel Grimes, the photographer, opened the door on the third knock. He looked half-asleep. Carl recalled the information about the man having had a prescription drug problem. His green eyes were bloodshot. He wore navy Dockers and a white shirt, but the clothes looked crumpled, as if he’d slept in them.

  “Can I help you?” Good ol’ Mel didn’t look happy.

  But neither was Carl. “I’m Carl Hades. We had an appointment at ten and you weren’t here.”

  Grimes frowned. “I thought that appointment was tomorrow.”

  “Not according to my notes.” Carl pulled out his pad.

  Grimes stepped back. “Come in. I’ll give you one of my portfolios.” He motioned Carl into the office right off the entryway. Hanging on the walls were all sorts of photography—family portraits, some wildlife shots, a couple of artsy shots of trees, even a couple of nudes. None were of brides.

  “Looks as if you’ll shoot anything.” Pun intended.

  Grimes settled behind a desk and pulled open a file cabinet. “I photograph what catches my eye.”

  “And brides catch your eye?” Carl studied his reaction.

  “Not really, but I have to make a living.” Grimes grinned. “Not that I’m not good at shooting weddings.” He pulled out a folder and pushed it over toward Carl. “Here are some samples of my wedding shots. My prices are listed in the back. Take it with you. Show it to your fiancée.”

  Carl listened to the man speak and tried to remember the man’s voice at Ms. Jones’s house. No bells were ringing, but who could tell.

  “I will.” His fiancée. Why did a vision of Red fill his head? He gazed at the nude of a brunette. Peggy, the single mom who liked sex, was a brunette. He could call her when he left. Set up a date, get Red out of his system.

  “I sell prints, if you’re interested,” Grimes said, as if noting Carl’s lingering gaze. “I had a show last year.” Grimes went on for about five minutes talking about his photography. In spite of Carl’s initial reaction, Grimes was coming off normal enough.

  Flipping open the folder, Carl studied the images. Normal wedding shots. “Can we come back and talk to you later?”

  “Sure.” Grimes stood up as if eager to get rid of him.

  Carl stood. Grimes followed him to the door.

  “Aren’t you the one who left a card? You’re a PI, right?”

  “That’s me.” Carl cut him another look, trying to read him.

  “If you ever need to hire a photographer to get images of people doing what people shouldn’t be doing, I’d be interested.” Grimes grinned.

  “I generally do my own. But I’ll remember you,” Carl said.

  “Do that, and call me if your girl likes my work.”

  Carl got in his car. Resting his folder on the steering wheel, he jotted down some notes. First impression, not so good. Second impression…normal guy.

  Carl always trusted his first impression.

  Les sat at the doctor’s office between her mom and Mimi. Her mom flipped through a magazine. Mimi pulled at the loose strings on her sweater. Les clutched her hands.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom,” Les blurted.

  Mom put down the magazine. “I’ve already told you, it’s not your fault. And I’m sure she’s fine. Look at her, we’re only here to be on the safe side.”

  “I know, but I can’t believe I let it happen.”

  Her mom reached over Les and stopped Mimi from pulling a hole in her sweater. Then she looked to Les. “Sweetie, she got away from me about three weeks ago. Luckily, she’d only gotten as far as Mr. Gomez’s house. But”—she smiled—“he had a rude awakening walking into his kitchen and finding your grandma sitting naked at his table.”

  Les grinned, then sighed. “How do you do this everyday?”

  Mom frowned. “It’s not easy, but sometimes life doesn’t offer us choices.” Her smile returned. “Let’s forget worrying about that and tell me about this friend of Katie’s who helped you with Mimi. Is he in Katie’s wedding? Is he…cute?”

  Les hesitated, trying to think how to explain it to her mom.

  “Oh, I forgot,” Mom said. “You got a call from someone who needed to talk to Katie about the wedding. He said he got your number from Katie’s file. He tried to reach her at her house. I told him you two girls were staying at the hotel for a mental vacation.” She picked up a new magazine.

  Les remembered the cop’s warning. “Who was it?”

  “I’m not sure, but it was someone about the wedding.”

  “Did you tell him what hotel?”

  “No, but I gave him the hotel’s number. Why?”

  “Nothing.” Les looked at her watch and decided to call Katie and tell her about the call before she got off work.

  Ten minutes later, and with a half hour to kill before his appointment with the DJ, Carl drove back to try the florist again. He spotted a man loading flowers in his car. Hoping it was Edwards, Carl walked over.

  “Mr. Edwards?”

  The man didn’t turn around, but he answered, “Yeah?”

  Pay dirt. “I’m Carl Hades. I’ve been calling you.”

  He still didn’t turn around. “And I think my assistant offered to help you, too.”

  “I like to talk to the person I’m hiring.”

  “Sarah does the weddings.” The man, early forties, wearing a shirt advertising his florist shop, finally turned around.

  “But you’re the…owner.” Carl noticed the scratches down his neck, not quite as obvious as his own, but they appeared to have come from the same animal: a woman. An angry or scared woman. Maybe one about to be shot?

  “Something wrong?” Mr. Edwards asked.

  “Just that we both seem to have gotten into a little catfight, if you know what I mean.” Carl touched his own scratches.

  “Yeah.” Edwards swung back around and put another vase of flowers in a box in the backseat of his SUV.

  Carl made a mental note to ask Ben if CSI had recovered any skin from under Tabitha’s fingernails. “Can you give me a few minutes to discuss prices for a wedding?”

  “Sarah will be happy to help you with that. I’ve turned all my weddings over to her. I’ve dealt with my last bride.”

  Carl decided to go one more step. “But Tabitha Jones recommended you, not Sarah.”

  Edwards turned around. “Was Tabitha Jones your planner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you’d better go looking for someone else.”

  Carl played it dumb. “Why?”

  “She was murdered. It was on the news last night.”

  “Really? Do they know who did it?”

  “The news didn’t say.” He showed no sign of remorse for Tabitha’s demise. “Consider yourself lucky,” he said.

  “You didn’t think she was good at what she did?”

  The man picked up another vase of flowers and turned away. “Sometimes people get what they deserve.”

  “She deserved to be murdered?” Carl’s tone became more official, coplike.

  Edwards cut him a quick glance as if recognizing the change. “Look, talk to Sarah. Or don’t. It’s up to you. But I don’t have time to chitchat.” He got in his SUV and drove off.

  “I think I will talk to her,” Carl muttered, mentally putting Mr. Edwards on the top of the suspect list.

  Glancing at his watch,
Carl decided he’d have to come back and visit Sarah later. He got in his own car to head to the DJ, but before he drove off, his phone rang. He checked to see the incoming number.

  “Hey, Dad. Mr. Johnson being a bad boy again?”

  “Not yet. I took the dog in. Sad story. They said she had three weeks to get a home. Then she’s history.”

  Carl frowned. “She’ll find a home. She’s a purebred.”

  “Nope. They said purebreds were harder to place because people assume there’s something wrong with them. Especially with her pregnant.”

  “Pregnant? How the hell can she be pregnant so damn fast?”

  “Didn’t we have that talk when you were thirteen?”

  “Funny. I meant, how could they know she was pregnant?”

  “She probably has that glow about her. Anyway, there’s no need to worry about her being pregnant. They’re going to abort the babies. Can’t have no mix breeds.”

  “You had to find the worst shelter to leave her at.” Carl rubbed his shoulder, and he knew he was going to regret this. “Fuck it. Go back and get her.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way.’ Cause when she tried to follow me out, I took her back to your place.” Buck cleared his throat. “Here comes Mr. Johnson, I gotta go.” Then he hung up.

  Carl slung his phone down. He’d bet a hundred bucks his dad never took Baby anywhere. Then, remembering his conversation with Mr. Edwards, he dialed his brother’s cell.

  Todd Sweet wasn’t in. So Katie drove to the home office of Will Reed, the DJ. She knocked. Before anyone answered, Katie heard the music playing inside. The music reminded her of…what? Oh yeah, the strange phone calls she’d gotten.

  The door opened and a thirtyish, dark-haired man stood in front of her. Katie extended her hand. “Mr. Reed? I’m Katie Ray. We’ve spoken on the phone and I e-mailed you. It’s about—”

  He took her hand in his. “Your wedding?” He smiled. “Why is it the most beautiful ones are always getting married?”

  She released his hand and noticed his gaze shifted to her scoop-necked blouse. Fidgeting with her purse, she fought the urge to adjust her neckline. While the look Carl had given her earlier had been ten times more suggestive, this man’s attention struck a nerve. Carl—well, he struck different nerves. Good nerves. The music changed tunes.

  “I tried to call you today,” he said. “Left a message.”

  “You did?” Katie asked.

  “Yes. Tabitha e-mailed that you’d decided to go with someone else. I wanted to check, since I’d already gotten a deposit.”

  “Actually, that’s what I’ve come to discuss,” Katie said, trying not to react to the mention of Tabitha’s name.

  “Come on in.” Mr. Reed stepped back. “I’m just cutting another music video for one of my brides.”

  “He has scratches,” Carl told Ben. “I got a sense of bad blood between them.” Carl frowned when his brother’s laugh came through the line. “What?”

  “It’s just funny that you’d point out his scratches, considering your own face.” He sighed. “But if it makes you feel better, I had Mr. Edwards in this morning. We’re looking at him. However, he came in voluntarily.”

  Carl turned onto Mr. Reed’s street. “Look hard at him.”

  “Where are you at now?” Ben asked.

  “On my way to see the DJ.”

  “Then I must be right behind you.”

  “I don’t need big brother taking care of me, you know?”

  “I never said you did. My schedule cleared up and I decided to check a few of these people out today.”

  “Right.” Carl didn’t buy it. He almost got pissed, then realized that if he knew Ben was out interviewing a suspected serial killer, he’d want to watch his back, too. “Let me visit him first, you show up later.”

  “I’ll park up the street, but don’t take too long, I need to see if CSI has anything back on Tabitha’s body. Plus, some patrols just brought in Sweet, our cake maker, for questioning.”

  “He came in willingly, too?” Carl asked.

  “Not really. But his license sticker was expired.”

  “Convenient,” Carl said.

  “Not for him. Anyway, I’d like to get back there before they let him go.” Ben paused. “Didn’t you say you visited the photographer? What was your take on him?”

  Carl parked in front of Reed’s house. “At first he…” His gaze slammed into the car in the driveway. “Fuck.” His gut clutched. “What is Red’s license plate number?”

  “I have it in my files, but not on me. Why?”

  “There’s a car here like hers. I gotta go!”

  “Wait on me!” Ben said. “I’m two minutes behind you.”

  “Can’t.” Carl traded his phone for his gun.

  He darted to the Honda, hoping to see something that would tell him he was wrong—a pack of Pampers, a messy interior—anything that told him that this wasn’t Katie’s car. Instead, his gaze lit on the passenger seat. Or rather what was sitting on it. The elephant painting.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Images of Red flashed in Carl’s mind. Her smile. The way that strand of red hair kept falling against her cheek during lunch. Then his mind flipped to the images Ben had described of the mutilated corpses they’d pulled out of the woods.

  “Damn!” Adrenaline shot through him and he bolted to the porch. His mind searched for the right approach. He reached to knock. Images of a knife being held at Red’s throat rained down on him. His hand went to the knob, twisted. The door was unlocked. An invitation.

  He stood on the porch for a second, listening. Music. Churchy music. But no voices.

  With his foot, he inched open the door. Listened harder. Nothing but music. He slipped inside, his gaze moving left. Right. Why was Red here? She wasn’t using this DJ service.

  The entryway dumped him into a living room. Voices mingled with the music. He followed the voices.

  He heard sirens outside, growing nearer. His brother.

  Gun held out, Carl moved down the hall. A man stepped out of a door. “Freeze!” Carl growled.

  The man bounced back against the wall. “What the fuck?”

  “Red?” Carl called.

  A squeak, as if someone rose from a chair that needed a good oiling, sounded from the other room. Katie Ray appeared at the door—alive, unharmed, perfect. Her blue eyes rounded when she saw the gun pointing at Mr. Reed.

  “Police!” Ben’s voice rang out. “Drop your weapons!”

  “In here,” Carl yelled.

  Ben turned the corner, his gaze zipping from one person to the other. “What happened?”

  “I’d like to know that myself,” Reed stated.

  Carl’s attention zipped back to Red. “Are you okay?”

  His brother spoke up. “Did Mr. Reed threaten you in any way, Miss Ray?”

  “No,” she managed to say.

  Carl left Ben to talk to Mr. Reed, and he motioned for Red to follow him. He got her outside before he let go of the burning question. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She stiffened. “I…What are you doing here?”

  “Answer me.” He rolled his shoulder; the tension had his muscles in knots.

  She blinked those blue eyes at him. “I came to see if I could get my deposit back.”

  “Deposit? Tabitha’s files showed you used a different DJ.”

  “Not originally,” Red said. “I’d hired Will Reed. Tabitha went crazy and changed everything that last day.”

  “Everything?” He gave his left shoulder another squeeze. “Who else were you working with?” When she didn’t answer, he started ticking off names. “Jack Edwards with The Red Rose?”

  She nodded.

  Damn. “Todd Sweet?”

  She nodded.

  Double damn. “Grimes Photography?”

  She nodded again. “Why is that important?”

  “Fuck!” he said.

  “Is this really f-word worthy?” she snapped.
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  “Yeah. It really is.”

  Ben walked up, a frown so deeply grooved in his face it looked permanent. “He’s agreed to forget this whole thing happened. But you’d better God damn pray that this guy isn’t our man, because I can guarantee you that if he is, this will come back and bite us in the ass.”

  “Oh, God!” Red said. “Do you think he killed Tabitha?”

  Ben looked at Carl. “I thought you said she wasn’t working with any of our names?”

  “Ms. Jones changed things, but she was originally with them all.”

  “What’s going on?” Red insisted.

  Ben frowned and looked at Red, then back to Carl. “You’d better tell her.”

  “Somebody tell me,” Red insisted.

  Carl held up his hand. “Follow me to the Starbucks on the corner, and we’ll talk.”

  She didn’t look happy about the temporary delay, but she finally took off to the car.

  “You screwed up!” Ben snapped as soon as Red was out of hearing.

  Yeah, he had. He shouldn’t have kissed her. Touched her. Carl’s gaze stayed focused on Red’s hips swaying toward her silver Honda. The memory of slipping his fingers inside the back of her panties, touching the softest skin known to mankind, had a stiffy coming on again.

  “Get your eyes off her ass,” Ben snapped. “I’m talking to you. Did you have to go in like Rambo?”

  “I thought he had Red, doing God only knew what. I didn’t—”

  “Do you realize the trouble I’m going to be in if I have to arrest him later on? Illegal entry…” Ben ticked off all the rules he’d broken.

  “If he’s our man, we’ll find a way around it,” Carl said.

  “Isn’t that why you quit the Force, because trying to get around the rules got you and others shot?”

  Carl took a step closer to his brother. Ben might be older, but Carl had never backed down from a fight. “I made this situation hard for you. For that, I’m sorry. But don’t throw that other shit in my face. Because I can fucking guarantee you, if you’d been in my shoes, you’d have done the same thing I did.”

  “There are rules,” Ben ranted. “Rules exist for a reason.”