MURDER at the ALTAR (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 3) (5 page)

              If Kitty wanted to stick to her plan then she’d have to swing by every family member’s home to see whether or not her magnets picked up a strong charge. It would be a tedious, time consuming, and also a risky endeavor that wasn’t entirely sound. Just because someone didn’t have a magnet in his or her purse or satchel, didn’t mean they weren’t hiding it under their bed, and so forth. She still felt her strategy was smart, but it wasn’t fool proof.

              She decided to couch the strategy at least for the next few hours so that she could get in touch with Christopher Marlowe to see if he would be available to officiate the Downey - Cartwright wedding.

              As she drove from Gretchen’s back to Happily Ever After she grabbed her cell then scrolled through the contacts until the Cartwright’s home number came up, figuring she could get the ball rolling, while on the road.

              No one was picking up at the house so she left a brief message then tried Kip on his cell. It was ringing.

              Kip Cartwright owned a casino two hours east of Greenwich near New London. Given that it was a weekday, that was probably where he was, so if she suggested he meet her at the store with his acquaintance, the backup non-denominational minister, in two and half hours that should work provided he didn’t have any pressing business to attend to at the Cartwright Casino.

              But again, he didn’t pick up her call.

              “Kip, hi, it’s Kitty Sinclair,” she said, speaking after the beep. “I’d like to meet with Christopher Marlowe, so if you could give me a call back with his number, I’d really appreciate it. I’m heading to my store now, so you’re also welcome to stop by whenever it’s convenient for you, Christopher as well. Hope to hear from you.”

              She pressed
end
and set her cell on the passenger’s seat and squeezed the brakes for a red light. As she waited for it to turn green, she wondered if David had Christopher’s contact information, so she grabbed her cell and scrolled through to find his number.

              Someone behind her honked, so she gassed it with her gaze locked on the street ahead. Her cell vibrated in her right hand so she swiped the LCD screen, assuming it was Kip returning her call.

              “Kip?”

              “Who’s Kip?”

              “Sterling?” Kitty quickly glanced at her phone to confirm it was him.

              “Yeah, where are you?”

              “Driving to my store, why?”

              Sterling sighed.

              “Sterling, I’m driving so I can’t be on my cell. What do you want?”

              “Come to the precinct.” He sounded drained.

              “What? Why? I have an appointment,” she lied.

              “Cancel it,” he ordered. “I need you to come straight here.”

              Kitty groaned as a means to agree then hung up and pulled into a gas station where she turned around and headed south toward downtown.

              The precinct was buzzing. Police officers and detectives swarmed the ground floor, juggling cases and hustling to catch bad guys, Kitty imagined, as she rested her hand on the front counter where the police receptionist was typing away.

              “Sterling Slaughter called me in,” said Kitty, who was holding her purse tightly against her chest as a means to prevent the magnet from clinging to the counter top as well as conceal her racy dress. It was one thing to fantasize about Sterling eating his heart out, but it was quite another to look like a high-class call girl when visiting the homicide department of a police station.

              “I’ll let him know,” the woman said, lifting a chunky phone to her ear.

              Kitty stepped back and eyed the room until she saw Sterling.

              He was talking with a portly man in a cheap suit, who was probably the Lieutenant or Sergeant or some other superior. His back was to her. His hands were on his hips and he was standing in a stance that enhanced the muscular lines of his shoulders and arms, the strength of his legs, gray tee shirt and rugged jeans fitting him tightly.

              In response, she loosened her death grip on her purse and experimented with letting it hang casually from her shoulder like Louis Vuitton intended.

              Shoulders back, head high, chest broad, sink into one hip, she reminded herself, straightening into a confident pose that best flattered her curves.

              He turned her way and their eyes met, and then Sterling said something to his boss to conclude the exchange, giving him a pat on the arm.

              As Sterling wove through the hustle and bustle all around him, Kitty tried to steady her breath. She wasn’t sure if it was Sterling who was making her nervous or the fact that she was here at all, but seeming agitated would only be misconstrued as guilt and she couldn’t allow that.

              “What’s today?” he asked, glancing down at her slinky, red dress.

              “What do you mean?”

              “Wedding rehearsal? Rehearsal dinner and all that?”

              “That’s three days from now,” she stated. “The wedding is the day after.”

              “Then why are you all dolled up?”

              Sterling stepped in and immediately her purse whipped down to the badge on his hip, but she caught the bulk of it and pulled it up over her shoulder. Sterling eyed her with suspicion, but she smirked innocently.

              “Let’s have a talk,” he said when it was clear she wouldn’t answer his question.

              Sterling took hold of her arm and led her around the perimeter of the station until they came to an interview room.

              “This is an interrogation room,” Kitty pointed out. “Am I being interrogated?”

              “It’s an interview room,” he said, correcting her, but didn’t address her greater concern. “Have a seat.”

              They both hovered in the doorway. Kitty stared at the dismal table, the drab walls, and the dingy folding chairs. She’s much rather turn to Sterling, wrap her arms around his waist and be held.

              “Come on, Kitty. Have a seat. I could have another detective talk to you. I’m doing you a favor this time.”

              She wasn’t sure what to make of that, or what she’d done, but took a step forward anyway.

              Then in a soft, trembling tone she asked, “Are we still on a break?”

              Somehow she felt that being questioned by him wouldn’t be so bad if they were still actively dating.

              Sterling rounded the table and pulled out a chair. It scraped noisily across the stained floor. He didn’t sit in it. He wanted her to.

              Though she was hesitant, she also wanted to get this over with so she set her heavy purse on the table, which was metal, evidently. Her purse struck it with a
ching
, which made her terribly self-conscious. Finally she sat and scooted her chair close to the table.

              Sterling sat as well.

              “Is the break such a bad thing?” he asked.

              “Am I being recorded right now?” She felt paranoid, on edge.

              “No.”

              “Oh.” Kitty took a deep breath and attempted to find an attractive posture, but she felt stiff with nerves. “You wanted a break...so... I knew you wouldn’t let me talk you out of it.”

              Sterling seemed to be studying her. His dark eyes scanned her expression, but Kitty had no way of knowing if it was for personal or professional reasons.

              “Why
are
you talking to me instead of another detective if we’re on a break?” She challenged, hoping to rouse his deeper feelings.

              “Because I care about you.”

              It was a sweet thing to say, but implied she was in serious trouble.

              “I got an interesting call from Gretchen Downey not long ago.”

              Kitty’s breath hitched in her throat, as she said, “Gretchen?”

              “Yeah, you know Gretchen, right? She’s the bride who hired you—”

              “Yes, I know Gretchen,” she snapped. She didn’t appreciate his sarcasm.

              “Gretchen said you’d just left her condo and that you’d acted suspiciously.”

              “Oh?”

              “And I have to say, Kitty,” he went on, glancing at her purse then returning his gaze. “I happen to agree.”

              Kitty straightened her back and pinched her mouth into a displeased pucker.

              “What’s in your purse?”

              “I thought you said you didn’t want my help.”

              “I don’t. I should add that I said I don’t
need
your help and then I ordered you to stay out of my investigation, but that’s splitting hairs at this point. Are you telling me that there’s something in your purse you think would actually help me?”

              “I don’t have to tell you anything,” she said, crossing her arms indignantly.

              “You do, Doll face. You definitely do.” Sterling was leaning across the table, green eyes turning dark as he shifted out of the light overhead.

              “So I am in trouble.”

              “Just talk.”

              “Well, if you need a favor, I suppose I could help you out,” she said, pulling her purse in her lap though it clung hard to the tabletop.

              Sterling snorted, leaned back and folded his arms, as Kitty lifted the conjoined magnets out of her purse and let them magnetize to the table with a resonating
ching
!

              “What in God’s name are you cooking up?” he asked, eyeing the dark metal slabs.

              “You told me Marcus had a pacemaker, which I might add, I took as an invitation to look into.”

              “Of course you did.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

              “After consulting with a cardiologist, which I’m sure you didn’t think to do,” she went on, rubbing a little insult into her explanation. “I learned that a powerful magnet could be capable of breaking his pacemaker and result in killing him.”

              “Doll,” he barked, interrupting her. “Look at yourself.”

              “What?”

              “You’re carrying around the murder weapon!”

              “Huh?”

              “Do you have any idea how bad this looks?”

              “Oh!” Kitty tried not to get alarmed, as she fished her Home Depot receipt out of her pocket. “Here.”

              “What’s this?”

              “The receipt. It has the date and time I bought the magnets, which shows I bought them
after
Marcus was killed.”

              “Okay,” he said, sarcastically. “Now show me the policy that says a person can only buy magnets on one day—never before and never after.”

              Kitty fell silent.

              “See where this is going?”

              “Oh, please, I’d never kill Marcus. I didn’t even know the guy! In fact,” she went on, falling into a hush-hush tone as if she were about to divulge a very juicy detail. “Gretchen told me Marcus owed money to some very bad men.”

              Sterling cocked his head at that, but not in a good way. “And you’re offended when I call you a gossip?”

              “Just admit you hadn’t gotten this far on your own.”

              He said nothing, only glared at her.

              “You didn’t. Did you? You had no clue about the magnet.”

              “My Lieutenant knows about you,” he said, which seemed random until he elaborated. “He knows about Duke von Winkle’s murder as well as Johnny Gibbons’, and he’s starting to make connections you don’t want him to make.”

              She furrowed her brow, not quite following.

              “You’re now associated with three murders, Kitty. It doesn’t look good—”

              “I didn’t kill any of those people—”

              “But you’re drawing attention to yourself by meddling in the investigations and people here are starting to wonder.”

              “That’s crazy. Did you tell them I’m helping?”

              He moaned, exasperated. “You aren’t helping!”

              “You seem stressed.”

              “I am stressed! You’re stressing me out!”

              “Because I’m helping—”

              “You aren’t helping, Christ!”

              “Or because you’ve cut me off and the tension is building inside you?”

              It was a forward question and his brain shot right to the insinuation, causing his eyes to soften and lip to curl with sudden longing for her.