Weddings Can Be Murder (15 page)

“To who? Joe or the Hades guy?”

Katie looked up. “Joe, of course. At the very least, I need to tell him how I feel.”

One of Les’s eyebrows rose. “And what about Hades?”

Katie visualized Carl, all perfect six feet–plus of him. “Remember Trey Poke?”

Les grinned. “I haven’t thought about him in years. Yum.”

“Remember the vow we made to each other?” Katie asked.

“To never be one of his pathetic ‘Poked’ conquests.” Les giggled.

“Well, Carl Hades makes Trey look like Pee-wee Herman. He’s a hundred percent bad boy. Hates marriage, afraid of commitment. All he wants is a sperm bank with legs.”

“That may be the case, but let’s be honest. If Trey had cast either of us a mere look, we’d both have taken that
train to Brokenheartsville so fast we’d never hear the whistle blow.”

“Maybe,” Katie admitted. “But we’re older and wiser now.”

“And as boring as a sugar-free, nonfat, plain-vanilla latte.” Les sighed. “Didn’t you just tell me he rang your bell? Maybe life’s too short not to listen to the bells because…Oh, hell, what am I saying? Don’t listen to me.”

Katie started to answer, but the ringing of another bell—the doorbell—interrupted her.

Les looked toward the living room. “You don’t think a murderer would ring a doorbell, do you?”

“Don’t you dare open that door!” Les called from behind her.

“It’s a florist delivery guy.” Katie looked over her shoulder at Les wielding a brass lamp in her hands like a weapon.

“And how can you be sure?”

“Because, Sherlock, he’s wearing a uniform with ‘Florist’ written on it, and he’s got flowers.”

“Yeah, and how many
Law & Order
episodes have you seen where the guy delivering the flowers is the murderer?”

Katie’s hand paused on the lock. “Okay, you have a point.”

The lock in the door clicked. Clicked like being-unlocked clicked. Clicked, like a murdering florist delivery guy on the other side was unlocking the door.

“Fudge,” Katie said and jumped back.

“No.
Fuck
,” Les screeched.

The door pushed open and a brass lamp went flying through the air.

Joe, flowers in tow, ducked in the nick of time, losing a few daisies in the process. The lamp clattered against the wall. “What the hell?” he asked.

“You…you surprised us,” Katie said.

“Imagine how I felt.” He glanced at the lamp.

“A cop came and said we should be careful,” Katie explained.

“And throwing lamps is careful?” He shrugged, and Katie saw him mentally release his frustration. Joe was good at that, letting things just roll off him. But he was also good at avoiding. And he’d avoided her for the past month. No longer.

“Here.” He held the flowers out to Katie. “I got these from the delivery guy.”

“Thanks.” Katie took the vase, expecting Joe to say he’d sent them. Which was going to make her feel like the slimy stuff you clean out of the bathtub drain, because she was about to have a serious heart-to-heart with him.

“From you?” she asked, trying not to sound unhappy.

“Not me.”

“Then who ”
Carl?

Hope filled her chest. She plucked the card from the plastic fork. Then she called herself a fool. Carl Hades didn’t seem like the flower-sending kind of guy. And if he was, the fact that he hadn’t waited around to speak to her at the police station meant he wasn’t interested in her in the send-flowers kind of way.

Not that it would have made a difference. Katie hadn’t liked the idea of winding up on the Poked List in high school any more than she liked the idea now. Bells or no bells. She wasn’t anyone’s sperm bank.

“Who’re they from?” Joe asked.

Aware that she stood staring at a bunch of daisies and yellow roses thinking about one man, while another—her fiancé—stood a foot away, made her concerns feel less manageable. She opened the card and read the note.

“It’s from the florist. The one I hired before Tabitha insisted I hire a different one. They’re congratulating me. Us.”

“That’s nice.” But Joe didn’t sound as if he meant it.

She met Joe’s eyes. “We need to talk.”

Joe’s gaze shot to Les. Katie cleared her throat to draw Joe’s attention. She wouldn’t let him avoid her anymore. And he had to listen to her, really listen.

And just like that, she knew what she had to do.

Dropping the flowers on Les, she took Joe’s arm. “Come on.”

She marched him down the hall, into her bedroom, and past the bed, yanked open her closet door, and motioned him inside.

“What?” he asked.

“After you.”

“In the closet?” His expression flatlined.

“Yes.”

“Why?” He looked at her a little strangely.

“Because.” Because she could still recall how talking in the dark with Carl Hades had made it so easy to listen, easy to hear the truth. And right now, she and Joe needed to have a truthful conversation that involved a lot of listening.

“Katie? Are you okay?”

“No! I’m not okay.” She gave him a hearty nudge into the closet, stepped in behind him, and shut the door.

The bell on the door jingled as Carl stepped into the shop. The mixture of floral scents teased his senses with a vague memory. Inhaling, he moved behind a guy at the counter who talked to the female attendant about the type of flowers to send the woman he’d spent the night with.

“Well,” the attendant asked, “what message would you like the flowers to send?”

Thanks for a good lay
, Carl thought to himself, but keeping his opinion and smile to himself, he moved back a few feet and pretended to be interested in some bouquets.

It wasn’t that he had anything against the idea of
sending flowers. His brother had probably seduced Tami with roses, candy, and all the other romantic gestures. But considering that Carl’s involvement with women was never meant to lead anywhere, he’d never put that much effort into the sentimental side of romance.

Hearing the two people still talking behind him, he stared again at all the flowers. Most were common varieties—roses, carnations, the kinds of flowers even men could identify—but there was one…For some unexplainable reason, he thought of Red, of having a bouquet delivered. Had Mr. Metro sent her flowers?

Right then, he knew what the flower’s scent reminded him of. Red’s perfume.

All day, his mind had teased him with images of her: her smile when she’d first woken up from passing out, the pattern of the freckles across her nose. And, oh yeah, the one he’d enjoyed the most, her standing frozen, staring wide-eyed at the enormous vibrator in her hands. Yup! Definitely his favorite.

“Can I help you, sir?” a female voice asked.

Carl turned around and chased the image of Red from his head. “Yes. I wanted to speak with the owner. Jack Edwards?”

At first, Carl had decided to wait and get the background checks before doing the face-to-face interviews, but patience had never been his game. Who knew how long it would be before his brother got the information back? Especially with two more crime scenes to comb through.

“Mr. Edwards went to make some deliveries. I don’t think he’s planning on returning today. Is there something I can do?”

“No.” Carl frowned. “But if you could have him give me a call at his earliest convenience, I’d be grateful.” This made the third name on his list of four that he’d visited who hadn’t been around: the cake maker, the DJ, and now the florist.

He handed the woman his card and turned to leave. Three down and one to go. He planned to stop by the photographer and—

“Private investigator?” the woman’s voice piped up.

Carl glanced back. “Yes, ma’am.”

From her expression, he could see she was more than a little curious. “And what is this about?”

He smiled. “A wedding.”

“Then I should be able to help you. I’m the one who sets up Mr. Edwards’s weddings. He hates doing them.”

And why would that be?
“I appreciate it, but I’d rather speak to Mr. Edwards myself.”

Joe fumbled around the closet until he found the light switch. He stared at Katie standing by the door. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her blue eyes honest, caring.

“Please cut it off,” she whispered.

He had the word
no
on the tip of his tongue, but then he met her gaze. So pleading.

So sweet.

So Katie.

Why couldn’t he love her as she deserved to be loved? What the hell was wrong with him?

She reached over and hit the switch.

“Leave it off, Joe.”

His question changed. What the hell was wrong with her? Why did she have him in the closet with the lights off?

The darkness pooled around him. “Katie, what’s going on?”

“Sit down, Joe.”

“There’s shoes everywhere,” he said, and wondered if she was suffering from some kind of postpanic attack.

“Just push them away and sit down.”

He shoved the shoes aside and found a spot. “Are you going to explain what we’re doing in here?”

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Talking is fine, but you do know you brought me into a closet, right?”

“I know.” She paused. “Last night when I was locked in the dark, I discovered you’re forced to listen when you can’t see. I need you to listen, Joe. Really listen.”

“Are you saying I don’t listen?” Of course she was. He’d avoided listening and speaking to her for weeks.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. But it may not be just you.”

“I’m so sorry, Katie.” He heard the guilt in his voice.

“For what?” she asked, as if she heard more in his statement.

For not loving you enough, for lusting after your best friend,
for having to call off the wedding
. “For not listening.”

Coward
.

He had to tell her. “I’m sorry for everything.” The silence hung in the dark like the clothes hanging over his head. The tiny room smelled like Katie’s perfume.

“What are you not telling me, Joe?”

He’d spent all morning searching for the right words, but there wasn’t a good way. “I don’t know how to say this. You’re so damn perfect, Katie. Google the Internet for the perfect wife and I swear, your picture will come up. You’re sweet, caring, sexy, but…”

“But what, Joe?” she asked.

Leaving the florist, Carl noticed the temperature had risen nearly twenty degrees. Houston was back to feeling like Houston. Carl looked up at the blue sky as he hit the clicker and unlocked his car. He’d just gotten behind the wheel when his phone rang.

“Yeah?”

“Carl Hades?” the voice asked.

“You got him.”

“This is Will Reed, with Reed’s DJ. Your card and a note was taped to my door. You needed something?”

The man sounded nervous. “Yes. I was hoping to meet with you to discuss a wedding.” There was silence. “Mr. Reed?”

“I’m sorry. Your card said ‘private investigator.’ I thought it was about something else.”

“I get that a lot.” Carl focused on the man’s voice, hoping he might recognize it as being the man who’d tried to burn him and Red alive. “Everyone has something to hide.” He tried to sound light.

“I guess,” Reed said, still sounding cautious. Too cautious.

“Are you home now? Can I swing by?”

“I’m busy cutting CDs. Why don’t you check out my Web site? If you’re interested, we can talk later.”

In the background, Carl heard music, wedding music. If he pushed Mr. Reed for answers too quickly, the guy might get suspicious. Maybe even as suspicious as Carl felt. “I’d really like to talk to you today.”

“Can’t do it. But tomorrow would be fine. Around three?”

Maybe by then Carl would have his background info, but damn, he didn’t like waiting. “I guess I’ll have to be patient.”

“And feel free to bring your bride with you. Brides are generally the ones with the most input on music.”

Carl’s suspicion deepened. “She’s working out of town, so I’m stuck doing all the women’s work.”

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“I’ll be there.” Carl hung up and grabbed a note pad from his glove box. He wrote down the time beside Mr. Will Reed’s number and address. Then he dialed his brother.

“Hades,” his brother answered.

“How soon can you get background checks?”

“Maybe by tomorrow. Maybe next year,” Ben said.

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s a sick bastard. Visits the bodies. Leaves flowers.”

Carl glanced up at the florist’s shop. “I really need those background checks, Ben.”

“But what?” Katie asked when Joe stopped talking. Waiting for him to answer, she tried to lean back, only to feel something in her way. She reached around and realized what it was. Her old paintings. She’d forgotten they were in here.

“I love you. I do.”

Joe’s words brought her head up. Then she recognized a hesitation in his tone. “But?”

“You’re perfect. But I can’t marry you.”

He couldn’t? Had he really said that?

He continued, “I know this creates huge problems. And it’s embarrassing as hell. And I’ll take all the blame, Katie.”

He would? She envisioned her parents glancing down from the afterlife saying
Thank you, God. The Ray name is
saved
. Relief trickled over her. She could hold her head high. It was easier being the victim of a canceled wedding than the villain.

She could hear Joe breathing and sensed the guilt he felt. She finally spoke. “I’m not perfect.” She could almost hear her parents gasp. “I’m a lousy cook, remember?”

He chuckled. “Okay, I’ll give you that one.”

The silence returned. “And I can’t paint.”

She ran her fingers over one of the canvases, over the thick smears of acrylic. She felt the loss of her dreams in the brush strokes, just as she felt the loss of her dream of making her own family to replace the one that had been so unjustly yanked away from her.
Alone sucks. Alone hurts
.

Tears threatened. She stiffened her spine. She’d survive.

“I didn’t know you painted,” Joe said.

It seemed odd she’d told Carl Hades, a stranger, something about herself that she hadn’t told Joe. “I suck at it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and she knew he wasn’t talking about her lack of artistic talent.

“I’m really not perfect, Joe.” Her parents had wanted her to be, but she wasn’t.

“You’re close enough,” he said.

“No.” She took a deep breath. “I’m so imperfect that I’m sitting here wondering if I can live with myself if I let you take all the blame for canceling the wedding. The truth is that I brought you in here to tell you the same thing. I love you, but I don’t love you in the right way.” The darkness went silent.

“How did you figure it out?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he prompted, “Katie?”

“Do you really want to know?” She didn’t think he would. After her talk with Les, she realized what her first clue had been.

“Yes?”

“The sex well, it…”

“It what?”

“Sucked. Well, not that I…” How was she going to get out of this one?

“Okay, that hurt.” There was a bit of tease in his voice.

“It’s not your fault. There just wasn’t any pizzazz.”

“And that doesn’t help.” He shuffled around, then let go a deep gulp of air. “But I know what you mean. I sort of kept waiting for it to get better, too. Not that it was your fault.”