Weddings Can Be Murder (11 page)

She grabbed Mr. Hades by his arm. “Then why don’t we go back and make Carl come with us? You’re his father, make him—”

“Once my boy has made up his mind, there’s no changing it. Stubborn as a mule, that one. Right now I really need you to calm down and—”

“But—”

He put a finger on her mouth. “Shh.”

“But—”

“Quiet.” His serious tone demanded obedience.

Katie clamped her mouth shut; then she heard the reason the senior Banderas wanted her hushed. Footsteps. Footsteps on the other side of the door. The door with the knob that he had his hand on and was at that exact moment turning.

He wasn’t really going to open it, was he?

Oh, heck. He was.

Les jumped into Joe’s car and they headed over to the wedding planner’s place. After a twenty-minute drive that felt longer due to the silence, they pulled into a driveway.

“Crap!”

Les heard Joe’s hand slam against the steering wheel as
she stared at the for
SALE SIGN
posted in front of the empty-looking home. But unwilling to give up, she got out and practically ran to the front porch. Something had to give. They had to find Katie.

Peering inside the window at the empty hall, she wanted to scream. Behind her, she heard Joe slam his car door. She moved to the next window and hoped she might see some sign that the house wasn’t vacated—a small sign would do—a piece of furniture, a bathroom light left on.

The empty room brought on a wave of hopelessness.

Closing her eyes, she counted to ten and prayed that somehow, in some way, Katie would turn up and be okay. When she opened her eyes, she saw Joe on the front porch of the house next door.

He pounded on the door, his frustration ringing clear in the sound of his fists against the door. Wasn’t it too late to wake up the neighbors? She checked her watch. Oh, hell, it was two a.m.

She heard voices and darted next door to join him. When she got there, Joe was raking his fingers through his hair. Bad sign.

“What?” she asked.

Curling his hand into a fist, Joe looked ready to fight. “He asked if I was the police. When I said no, he said he was calling them.”

Les looked from Joe to the door. There were a lot of things she felt inept at. Unlike Katie, her knowledge of art ended at the finger-painting level. Unlike her brother, the accountant, she barely managed to balance her checkbook. But getting people to talk, to cough up information, that was Les’s specialty. True, she’d given up investigative reporting to do restaurant reviews—food being another thing she knew. And since chefs were eager to hand over their specialties, she hadn’t had to use her feminine wit or wiles, but Les felt confident she could still remember how to strut her stuff.

For Katie, she’d strut every bit of her stuff.

“How old was he?” She needed to know which persona to put forth: the I-could-be-your-daughter or the sexy bimbo.

Joe’s brow puckered. “What?”

“How old did he look?” she asked again. “Come on, Joe. I shouldn’t have to work to get the info out of you. Just him.”

He shook his head. “Around my age. I guess.”

“That old, huh?” She bent at the waist and tossed her hair over her head and gave it a few good shakes.

When she straightened up, Joe stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “What’re you doing?”

“Just step back.” She pointed for him to move, and then she took off her jacket, tossed it to Joe, and gave her sweatshirt a few tugs to show her breasts to the best advantage.

Glancing down, Les suddenly realized Katie had been right about where her ten pounds had gone. Right to her boobs. Not bad. Funny how she hadn’t realized it until now. Another symptom of running away, she supposed.

Adjusting her bra straps to give her the perfect lift, Les felt the cold seep through her clothes and go bone deep. She shivered and noted the icy weather had brought out her headlights. Which could work to her advantage, of course. After moistening her lips, she stepped up to the door and knocked.

“Sir,” she said, in her best bimbo voice. “I know it’s late, but could you please just answer a few questions?”

“Like that’s going to work,” Joe said behind her.

She shot him a quick glance. “Watch and learn.” She knocked again. And for just a second, she felt the thrill of the old game. A thrill she hadn’t expected to feel ever again.

After Mike died, Les had lost the joy of reporting. Basically, she had stopped enjoying life. But right now she felt alive and aware. Aware that she had breasts. Aware that she had a wow voice. Never mind it had said
wow
about a very unattainable man; what was important was that it wasn’t completely broken. Yup, she felt alive. And, God, please let Katie be alive.

Alive and okay.

“Sir, I beg of you, please give me just a minute.”

The curtain snapped back. “I already told—” His eyes widened with male appreciation.

“Hi.” Les shot the man behind the glass a smile and leaned into the window. “Please, sir. Just a few questions. It’s really, really important.”

The curtain fluttered back into place.

“See,” Joe said.

The door swung open and the man poked his head out, his gaze on her breasts. “Don’t tell me, it’s about Tabitha, right?”

Les’s smiled faded a little. “How did you know?”

“Because a cop has already been here.”

“A cop? What did he want?” Les asked.

“He just wanted to know where Ms. Jones moved to.”

“Which is exactly what we need to know,” Joe said.

The man frowned at Joe, and Les spoke up. “Please.” And for good mea sure she smiled again.

Katie grabbed Mr. Hades by the elbow. “Maybe we shouldn’t go in there.”

“Stay behind me,” he whispered back.

He opened the door and yelled out, “Hold it right there!”

Noise rang out, and Mr. Hades jumped in front of her. Noise. As in loud bangs. As in guns going off. As in bullets. As in bullets aimed at her.

Her mind flipped to the image of Tabitha falling to the white carpet and the blood spilling all over. Still holding her breath, Katie heard the creaking sound of a door opening, and light rushed into the room. Then the door shut.

“You okay?” he asked.

Okay? Had he not heard the bullets zinging around her? Her teeth chattered, and she felt herself slipping back into panic mode. “We shouldn’t have come in here.”

Her statement became even truer when she heard the thud of footsteps behind her.

“Police!” a voice yelled out. A familiar voice. A voice that was lying, because he wasn’t really the police.

“It’s us,” Mr. Hades said.

“You okay?” Carl asked, his breathing labored as if he’d been running. A clicking sound filled the room, and then a bark.

“Fine,” his dad said.

“Red?” Carl asked.

“Yeah,” she managed to squeak out. She felt as if her lungs weren’t taking in enough air.

“You doing okay?” he repeated.

Okay? Everyone kept asking her that. Were they idiots? Her panic state started naming all the reasons she wasn’t okay.

Someone had shot at her.

Someone had poured gas all over the floors of the house where, until three minutes ago, she’d been locked inside.

Someone had killed her wedding planner.

Her engagement ring was joyriding down the sewer.

She had to pee.

And, oh yeah, she had to figure out if she should or shouldn’t get married in two weeks. Her stomach roiled, and if she had anything in it, she would have lost it.

“I want to go home.” Even to her ears, she sounded like a child, a very scared child about to have a tantrum if she didn’t get her way. But she didn’t care. If a serious tantrum would get her out of here, she’d throw a doozy.

“We’re almost out,” Carl’s deep voice echoed, and just hearing him made her feel safer.

“He went out that door,” the older Hades said.

“You two hang back a few minutes,” Carl said.

Her mind turned, twisted, and she realized he was leaving her again. “Why don’t we all hang back?”

“Gotta go, Red.” The door squeaked open and Carl left, followed by the clicking paws of the dog.

Katie’s knees wobbled and she felt her stomach twisting. “You ready?” Mr. Hades asked.

“For what?” Katie didn’t hide her frustration.

“It’s going to be okay.” Buck sounded like his son.

“Carl said that about twelve hours ago, and it hasn’t gotten okay yet. And as a matter of fact, it’s just gotten worse.”

He took her by the arm and forced her to move. “Let’s go.”

Light and heat greeted them as soon as they walked through the door. “Stay behind me.” Mr. Hades kept his arm out, his gun extended. “Carl?” he called, moving in, and she followed in his shadow.

She had Carl’s name on her lips to call out, too, when Carl and Baby—Tabitha’s bichon frise; a white, poodle-looking canine—came hurrying down the hall. The hall with the white carpet. Katie suddenly realized where they were.

“Bastard got away,” Carl growled. “I heard his car. And my fucking keys are in my coat pocket.”

Mr. Hades cleared his throat. Katie stood on weak knees, her gaze fixed forward. From here, all she could see was a pair of legs. But she knew they were Tabitha’s legs. And she knew if she moved just a little closer she’d see the blood. Tabitha’s blood. Her head started
buzzing. She pressed the tips of her thumbnails into her index fingers.

“What are you doing?” Carl asked his dad, but the conversation seemed far away.

“Calling for backup,” Mr. Hades answered, his voice ringing even more distant. “I should have already done that.”

One knee let go and Katie barely managed to keep standing. She leaned against the wall, the conversation happening around her registering like background noise, like a television left on after one dozed off to sleep.

“Give me a few minutes before you call this in,” Carl said.

“For what?”

“To do my own look-around, so…Shit! Red?” This time his voice sounded less distant. “Don’t look at her, Red.”

“Too late,” she mumbled, or maybe she didn’t say it. She wasn’t sure, because even her own voice sounded like static.

“You okay?” he asked.

Okay. Okay
. Katie heard his voice echoing, but she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes off the pair of legs. They were so still. Instantly, black spots popped into her vision like fireworks.

“Red?” Someone turned her around. Strong arms circled her. She leaned in and found the warm spot for her head on his chest.

“Breathe, Red. Breathe.”

She inhaled the spicy scent and knew it was Carl holding her. Holding her against his chest, close, and amazingly she felt safe again. If he’d just keep holding her, she’d always be safe. And she wouldn’t be lonely. Alone sucked. Alone hurt.

“Listen to me.” His words played against her ear like soft music. “I need you to hold it together. Just a little longer.”

“I’m fine,” she managed to say, but didn’t move. Moving, when her legs felt like rope, didn’t sound like a good idea. Besides, she liked it here. Against him.
Safe
.

“You’re not going to faint, are you?” he asked.

“I don’t faint.” Well, she had twice before, but those times didn’t count. One involved alcohol—and yes, she’d sworn off tequila after that—and the other was at the funeral. But she was a Ray, and Rays were supposed to be strong. Remembering that, she forced herself to pull her head off his chest.

His arms dropped from around her. She glanced up. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“I lied.” Then Katie fainted.

“Shit!” Carl caught her before she hit the carpet.

“Is she okay?” his father asked and closed his phone.

Moving out of the hall, Carl headed into the closest room—an office, from the look of things. And from the pile in the middle of the room that Baby ran to investigate, Katie had already been in here.

“Stop that,” he yelled at the dog.

In the corner was one of those half-assed couches; he laid Red down, and then got on his knees beside her.

“Put her head between her knees,” his father said.

Carl couldn’t see trying to force Red into any awkward position. “Just see if you can find a bathroom and grab me a damp washcloth.” He started unzipping Red’s jacket and vaguely recalled doing this in his fantasies, but then he shoved those thoughts away.

“Come on, girl.” He pulled her jacket off and tossed it over the mess on the carpet, then unwrapped her scarf. Leaning down, he whispered softly in her ear, “Red? Wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered open. She stared at him. Then she did the most amazing thing. She smiled.

God help him if it wasn’t the most beautiful smile he’d
ever seen. It took everything he had not to close the half inch between their lips and taste her. He had a feeling she’d taste sweet and innocent—better than any woman he’d ever kissed.

“You okay?” He leaned back to avoid temptation, but couldn’t resist brushing his fingers over her cheek. Skin, it was so damn soft, he’d never touched anything like it. Grabbing his hand, she pressed a warm kiss into his palm.

She blinked; her eyes widened as if she realized where she was and who she was looking at. Hell, maybe she’d even confused him for her fiancé—which would explain the sweet smile. Which would also explain the sweet kiss.
Now explain the surge of jealousy you feel toward the sensitive
jerk
.

She dropped his hand. “Did I faint?”

“Don’t worry. I told you, I like girly-girls.”

His dad came hurrying back into the room. “Here.”

Carl took the warm, damp cloth and started to wipe her forehead, but she took it and started pushing herself up.

“You should probably stay down for a minute.” He got up, not trusting himself this close.

She closed her eyes for a minute, then sat the rest of the way up. “I’m fine.”

Fine didn’t begin to describe her. With the jacket off, her sweet body was open for viewing again. Breasts, curves. He tore his gaze off her. Baby bumped his leg with his nose. Carl ignored the dog, tried to ignore Red, and tried to think like a cop…or rather, a PI. If he was going to collect any information, now was the time, before the cavalry arrived. He knew his dad wouldn’t give him but a few minutes.

He glanced around the room. An office. Thankfully, they’d ended up in the right place to search. His gaze moved back to Red. “Where does Tabitha keep her files?”

“Files?” She pressed the damp cloth to her forehead.

“On the weddings? She had to keep some kind of files.”

She blinked her baby blues. “I think she did everything online.”

“Son, we have to make the call.” His dad’s loyalty to the force rang in his tone—loyalty Carl no longer shared, and which was a bone of contention between him and all of the Hades family.

Carl hurried to the desk. “Five minutes,” he bit out.

Fortunately, Tabitha was already signed in and had every file labeled and easy to identify. In a matter of minutes, he had her work files shooting to his e-mail. “Go for it,” he told his dad, who held his phone out as if impatient.

His father called in the troops, then shot Carl a look. “They’ll call your ass on the carpet for messing with her computer.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Carl snapped. “But they got my badge already. So I don’t give a flying fuck.”

His dad glanced at Red, then cut him a cold look. “Watch the language.”

“I told him the same thing,” Red muttered from the sofa.

Carl stared at his dad, then back to Red.

“No.” He thumbed through Tabitha’s desk. “You said the moment had to be f-word worthy. I vote this one f-word worthy.”

She shifted, and his attention switched to her. Her long hair hung past her shoulders and clung to the soft mounds of breast. He should be looking at anything else, searching for clues. Something to help him catch this bastard. And he would catch him. That coward had been about to burn Red and him alive.

He started going through a few more of Tabitha’s computer files. However, his gaze kept shooting back to the froufrou sofa and the damn froufrou woman sitting on it, looking as if she could use a good shoulder to lean
on. And he happened to have two. One was sort of shot up, but she could still use it. Hell, when she’d leaned against him earlier, it’d felt so good that everything leading up to it had almost been worthwhile.

Sirens echoed in the distance and his dad spoke up. “Do me a favor before the police get here.”

“What?” Carl forced his gaze away from Red.

“Take that pink scarf off. You look almost as fruity as Mr. Logan in that pink nightie.” Buck laughed.

Carl snatched the scarf off. Baby, with her pink-painted nails, chose that moment to jump up onto Carl’s lap.

“He said to take a left,” Les insisted.

They had gotten lost and driven around for an eternity looking for the road in the dark. And like most living, breathing, penis-carrying specimens, Joe Lyon would rather have admitted to erectile dysfunction than to being lost. Asking for directions seemed to run right up there with castration. Only after she’d threatened to get out and find the address on foot did he find a twenty-four-hour food mart.
Les
asked for directions.

When Joe turned onto the correct street, Les’s heart dropped. Police cars and ambulances were parked up and down the road, their lights flashing reds and blues into the night. She didn’t wait for the car to come to a complete stop; she jumped out and ran up to the officer guarding the door. And when she spotted Katie’s car parked to the right of the circular drive, her heart slammed against her rib cage.

“What happened?” She grabbed the officer by the arm and tried to move in front of him to see inside.

“Ma’am, you’re going to have to step back.” His tone held authority, but in her reporting days, Les had been accustomed to chewing up and spitting that out. “Anything for a story” had been the job’s motto. Now, it was “Anything for Katie.” And Les cared a hell of a lot more for Katie than she ever had for a story.

Joe came to a sudden stop beside her. “What happened?”

“Who are you?” The cop’s gaze shot to Joe.

“Joe Lyon. We’re looking for—”

With the officer’s attention shifted, Les ran past him. If Katie was in there, she might need her. And except for the last year, there hadn’t been a time she could remember that she and Katie hadn’t been there for each other. From lost lunch money to missed birth control pills, from mono to funerals, they had faced life together.

“Ma’am!” the cop yelled behind her. “Stop!”

But it was too late; she’d already gotten far enough in to see the sheet-draped body and the blood-soaked carpet.

She came to an abrupt halt right inside the door. The cold air froze in her lungs and her feet could have been set in concrete, they were so locked in place. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tear her eyes off the red splotches on the white carpet.

The cop dragged her out. Another officer, dressed in plain clothes, came hurrying over. “Do you know Ms. Jones?” When Les didn’t answer, he repeated the question.

Les couldn’t answer. Images of Katie flashed in her head. Kindergarten, the first time they’d met, Katie wearing overalls, her hair in pigtails. Third grade, Katie punching a boy in the nose for calling Les names. Junior high, the two of them standing in front of a mirror stuffing their bras. College, both lying in the bed in their dorm room laughing their asses off as they talked about their unsuccessful attempts at performing oral sex.

Why those memories, those images, Les didn’t know, but her mind clung to them because they were likely to be all she had left. Tears filled her eyes.

Joe rushed in, and Les became vaguely aware of him stepping between the officer and her—vaguely aware that she wanted to throw herself into his arms and weep like a baby.

“What happened?” Joe asked.

Les looked at him, but the words wouldn’t come. Logic insisted she didn’t know if the body under the sheet was Katie, but the panic clawing at her knew that there was a chance it was. And that chance opened up a chasm of pain.

“Sir, do you know Ms. Jones?” the older, plain-clothed gentleman asked Joe.

“Yes. Well, not me, but my fiancée. Tabitha Jones was planning our wedding.”

“Is this your fiancée?” He pointed to Les.

“No,” Joe said. “This is her friend.” Then Joe’s eyes widened. “That’s my fiancée’s car.”

Another man spoke up. “What’s her name?”

“Katie Ray.” Joe looked at Les, saw her tears, and pulled her against him. Les buried her head against his shoulder and let even more tears fall.