Who's Kitten Who? (33 page)

“Stop fidgeting!” Kyle insisted.

“I have a cramp in my leg,” I whispered back.

Hoping he’d buy my excuse, I made a few more attempts at flicking on the switch. I finally felt something move, but I still couldn’t be sure I’d succeeded. Not without turning on the light and crouching down to get a better look.

And even if I could, that would completely ruin my plan.

Please work, I thought, clamping my eyes shut. Outside, I could hear footsteps moving away from the props closet. Sunny was still in the backstage area, wandering around. If only she would stay nearby…

It seemed as if Kyle and I stood in that closet forever. I could hear his rasping breaths in my ear and could smell his sweat. He must have been getting tired of holding the knife at my throat, because he rested his arm on my shoulder.

While I’d pretty much lost my sense of time, I figured at least five minutes must have passed since the time I fiddled with the fog machine. Suddenly, even in the dim light, I could make out wisps of white smoke wafting along the bottom of the closet. I held my breath, hoping for it to thicken, hoping for the billows of fog to start drifting underneath the door.

“Oh, my God!” Sunny cried. “Fire!”

“Fire!” I repeated in a breathy voice. “Look, the closet’s on fire! Kyle, we have to get out of here!”

As I’d hoped, the word
fire
worked like magic. My captor reacted automatically, flinging open the closet door.

In fact, his instinct for survival seemed to make him forget all about me. He pushed me aside and dashed out of the closet. As I followed right behind him, I suddenly heard an earsplitting clanging that reverberated through the entire building.

I spotted Sunny standing at the end of the hall, her hand still poised above the fire alarm.

“Grab him!” I cried, yelling over the loud noise. “He killed Simon!”

Sunny didn’t stop to ask questions. Instead, she sprinted after him. As I ran into the wings, I saw that she’d almost caught up with him as they neared the edge of the stage. When he jumped off, my heart sank.

She lost him! I thought miserably.

Instead, she leaped on him from above, falling onto his back and grabbing him around the neck.

“What the—!” he cried, nearly toppling over.

I took advantage of his surprise by following suit. I jumped off the stage, then swooped down and wrapped my arms around his knees. The two of us were too much for him, and he crumpled to the floor.

Sunny couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds, but between her weight and mine, we managed to hold him down. As she straddled him, she pulled off the leather belt she wore with her black jeans and did an impressive job of tying his hands behind his back. Then, using my belt, we tied his feet, looping the leather around one of the seats to limit his mobility.

“See, Jessie?” she said proudly as the two of us sat side by side, me on his back and her on his butt. “I really am good at helping out.”

“You can certainly think on your feet,” I agreed, still trying to catch my breath. “I guess you and I make a pretty good team.”

“So what about my idea?” she asked. “You know, about me working for you? Or at least giving it a try?”

I had to smile. “Now that I’ve seen how good you are in a crisis,” I replied, “maybe it’s not such a bad idea.”

It took under eight minutes for the fire department to arrive. Still sitting side by side on Kyle to hold him down, Sunny and I exchanged relieved glances as we heard the sound of sirens right outside the building. Seconds later, we heard yelling and the stomping of feet.

“Back here!” I yelled to the firefighters who had tromped into the lobby. “There’s no fire, but we need your help!”

The two firefighters in black raincoats and boots who found us looked both relieved and surprised at the same time.

“What’s going on here?” one of them demanded. “There’s no fire?”

“It’s a long story,” I told him. “But right now, we’re desperate for your assistance. This man is a murderer, and he’s about to be arrested. If you can find a way to get Lieutenant Anthony Falcone on the phone, he’ll send somebody down here as fast as he can.”

The fact that Kyle’s giant knife was lying on the ground, just out of reach, must have convinced them that I knew what I was talking about. He also kept demanding a lawyer, which didn’t help his case much either.

When one of the firefighters somehow used his clout to get hold of Falcone and tried to explain what was going on, I interrupted, “Let me talk to him.”

“What the hell are you doing, Dr. Popper?” Falcone demanded as soon as I’d said hello.

“Catching Simon Wainwright’s murderer,” I replied. “It’s Kyle Carlson. He confessed.”

“But what about his roommate? The one who provided his alibi?”

“When I tell you the whole story,” I told him, “you’re not going to believe it. Unless you keep in mind that Kyle Carlson is an actor.

“In fact,” I added, “it turns out that he’s actually a surprisingly good actor.”

Betty and Winston’s wedding day was the perfect spring day. Early that morning, I stood in the open doorway of my cottage, clasping a mug of breakfast coffee and basking in the warmth of the May sun. It seemed to be smiling down from the cloudless blue sky. The flowers in the garden were in full bloom, filling the air with their fragrance.

The ceremony was scheduled to begin in the early afternoon, with the reception immediately afterward. The caterers had already arrived and were setting up tables and chairs under the big white tent that had arrived the day before. As I sipped my coffee and Max and Lou frolicked in the grass, I watched the crew drape pale pink linen tablecloths over a dozen big round tables, then set each place with matching napkins and Betty’s fine white china and silverware.

Then the florist drove up. She busily set about placing a crystal vase of pink and white roses at the center of each table. Meanwhile, a group of her employees fastened pink roses onto the white gazebo that had been delivered along with the tent. Another group festooned the walkway with lengths of white netting dotted with more pink roses.

That was my last moment of peace the entire morning. Betty had arranged for two women from a local salon to come to the house to do our hair and makeup. I was afraid I’d end up looking like Marge Simpson. Instead, the two of them performed something close to magic.

Suzanne showed up late that morning to help me dress. She insisted she couldn’t wait for the actual ceremony to see how I looked, but I think she wanted to make sure I didn’t walk down the aisle with toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe.

“You’re going to look fabulous,” she gushed as she slipped the mint green monstrosity of a bridesmaid’s dress over my head. “The only thing I’m worried about is how you’re going to handle yourself in those shoes. Maybe you should have practiced walking in heels all week.”

“Nothing wrong with adding a little comic relief to the occasion,” I commented, my voice muffled by the endless folds of fabric that still swarmed around my head.

After tugging at the dress a few times and pushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear, Suzanne stood back and studied me. Her silence was driving me crazy.

“What do you think?” I finally asked, unnerved by her expressionless face.

She considered my question for what seemed like a very long time. “I think…I think Nick was nuts to let you get away.” She pulled me toward the full-length mirror in the bedroom. “Take a look for yourself.”

I held my breath, dreading the sight of Kermit the Frog in drag. Instead, I did a double take. I’m not big on vanity, but I was astonished that the elegant-looking woman in the mirror was actually me. I took a few baby steps, just to see how the skirt swirled when I moved. The effect was dazzling. Gabriella Bertucci was an absolute genius.

“Speaking of Nick,” Suzanne continued, clearly trying to sound casual, “what’s up with him? Isn’t he in the wedding party?”

I nodded, still unable to take my eyes off the astounding image in the mirror. “He’s walking Betty down the aisle.”

“Did you see him at the rehearsal?”

“Yup. Last night’s rehearsal dinner too. We made a point of ignoring each other the whole time.”

She sighed. “I don’t know which one of you is more stubborn.”

Fortunately, we didn’t have time for any further discussion of my character flaws. I happened to glance at the clock next to my bed, then let out a shriek.

“It’s time!” I cried.

I actually had butterflies in my stomach as I joined the other members of the wedding party who were assembling in Betty’s front parlor—minus the bride herself, of course, who was following the tradition of staying hidden until the very last minute. Winston looked wonderfully dignified in his tuxedo. Happy too. And I had to admit that the other bridesmaids looked lovely. One was dressed in pale blue, one in yellow, and one in lavender. Little Fiona, Chloe’s daughter, wore pink, and her waist-length blond hair was tied back with a matching ribbon. All those pastels together reminded me of a bouquet of flowers.

Not that the bridesmaids necessarily acted the part. Chloe, who stood nearly six feet tall and in her yellow dress reminded me of a giant banana, was scolding her husband. She acted as if he, like her daughter, was six years old. The blasé expressions of Winston’s son, James, and his wife, Grace, said they’d seen all this before.

Watching the interactions was fascinating. Yet I suddenly got the strange feeling that someone was staring at me. I turned and discovered that somebody’s eyes were, indeed, boring into me.

They belonged to Nick.

Whatever mushy sentimentality I was feeling over Betty’s wedding day disappeared—fast. My heart began racing and I stood frozen to the spot.

Nick, however, had not lost his powers of mobility. In fact, he was heading right in my direction.

He looked pretty darned good too. His tuxedo fit him perfectly, and he’d actually managed to tame the lock of dark hair that was always falling into his eyes. Actually, I kind of missed it.

“Hi,” he said simply.

“Hi,” I returned.

“You look…amazing.” He’d barely gotten the words out before patches of red broke out on his cheeks.

“You look nice too,” I replied. I suspected my own face was a matching shade of crimson.

We were both silent for what seemed like a really long time. “Betty told me you’ve been doing a terrific job in the play,” Nick finally said.

I grimaced. “I’ve been muddling through. Opening night was a little scary, but it gets easier each time.”

“Does that mean you’ll be going to Broadway when it opens in the fall?”

“I think I’ll stick with the veterinarian biz,” I said. “But it really has been fun. And it turned out to be worthwhile too. I can’t tell you how rewarding it was watching Lieutenant Falcone arrest Simon Wainwright’s murderer.”

“Yeah, Betty told me all about that too.” Nick swallowed, making a loud gulping sound. “Listen, Jessie. I—”

Just then the string quartet sitting next to the gazebo broke into the opening bars of Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons,
our cue that the ceremony was about to begin.

“We should probably get into our places,” I suggested.

“Right,” he replied. “And I’d better go find Betty. I don’t want to keep the bride waiting on her big day.”

As a result of that short, meaningless conversation, my head was spinning as I began strolling down the aisle in time to the music, clutching a bouquet of white roses tied together with a mint green satin ribbon. I forced myself to concentrate on what was going on around me. I scanned the faces of the hundred or so guests sitting in the chairs lined up in front of the gazebo, craning their necks to watch the procession. Suzanne smiled and nodded approvingly as I walked by. I noted that Derek and Jill and several other people from the Port Players were in attendance, along with some of Winston’s friends whom I’d met while treating their polo ponies and house pets.

Speaking of house pets, the three dogs who were invited guests sat in front, kept in line by a young man from the catering company. I had to admit that Betty had also been right about their fashion statement. Max and Lou looked adorable in their bright red bow ties. I’d bathed them both the day before, and Max looked like a fuzzy white teddy bear. Lou’s white fur gleamed so brightly that it was hard to believe that less than three weeks before I’d been afraid he’d spend the rest of his life as orange as Garfield. Meanwhile, Frederick’s soft light brown fur served as a nice contrast to all that blinding white. And the sunshine-yellow bow tie complemented it perfectly.

As I reached the gazebo, the string quartet broke into “Here Comes the Bride,” a sign that Betty was about to start down the aisle. The guests stood and we all turned to watch her grand entrance.

She looked absolutely beautiful, mainly because she was as radiant as every bride should be. Her sapphire-blue eyes were shining, and a serene smile played at her lips. In short, her expression was one of pure joy.

And her white satin dress was like something out of a fairy tale. The long-sleeved bodice was made of Belgian lace, and a row of tiny beads ran down the front. It also had just a touch of theatricality: a skirt that was full enough to swirl around her ankles, making her look as if she was waiting for Fred Astaire to join her in a dance.