Weddings Can Be Murder (13 page)

“I can’t have pets at my place.” His dad put Ms. Jones’s dog on the floor. The prissy mongrel, tail spinning, ran up to Carl.

“They were going to take her to a shelter,” his dad said.

Carl stared away from the dog. “Then let them.”

“It’s just for a few days.” He moved into the living room. “I’m sure some relative of Ms. Jones will come claim her.”

The dog ran circles around Carl’s leg, then rose up on her back legs, placing her front paws with pink-painted nails on Carl’s knee as if pleading with him to change his mind.

“Damn!” Carl grumbled.

Precious hauled ass into the room, his bark box turned on. The two dogs stood a foot apart from each other, growling and sniffing the air.

“See? They won’t get along. You have to take her.”

“Bullshit, give them some time. They’ll be the best of buds.”

Carl shook his head. “No! It’s bad enough I get stuck with one sissy dog, but I’ll be damned if I’ll get stuck with two.”

His dad shrugged. “I don’t know. You looked comfortable in that pink scarf this morning.”

“Real funny.” Carl walked around the dogs as they made circles around the coffee table, each trying to sniff the other’s ass.

“Is that coffee I smell?” his old man asked.

“Yeah. I just made a pot. But you’re taking that dog
with you when you go.” Carl went to the kitchen. His dad followed and grabbed his cup from the dishwasher.

“I figured you’d be sawing logs by now.”

Steam rose from Carl’s coffee. “Ahh, so you were going to just sneak the dog in and leave, weren’t you?”

His dad didn’t try to pretend. “Seemed like a good plan.”

“Well, it didn’t work.” Carl brought the cup up to his lips. He should have been sleeping, but he’d spent every second in bed remembering how soft Red had felt, how she’d fit against him, and how bitter it had felt seeing her fit all that softness up against Mr. Metro. Finally, Carl gave up trying to sleep and started reading through Tabitha’s files.

His dad focused on Carl’s desk. “CSI is checking the computer. They’ll know you snagged those files.”

Cup held to his lips, Carl looked at his dad through a trail of steam. “They have their job, and I have mine.”

“I hope she cut you a check before she checked out.”

“It’s not about money. It’s personal. I take personal offense when someone tries to use me as kindling.”

Glancing back at the painting resting on his mantel, Carl frowned. He remembered Katie’s look when he’d told her he’d bought a painting done by an elephant. And now the painting had taunted him since he’d come home. He couldn’t forget how Red had looked when she’d talked about painting. No disrespect for the dead, but her parents had been assholes to rob her of her dreams.

His dad grabbed the coffeepot and filled his cup. “Did you find anything in her files?”

“Just some names to look at.”

“You do know Ms. Jones made a police report last week about her missing brides.” Steam rose from his dad’s cup.

“Yeah, I got that much when I talked to her on the phone.”

His dad blew on the coffee. “They blew her off.”

Carl leaned against the counter. “Yeah, she said they did.”

“They’re going to be talking out their asses trying to make up for it, too.”

Carl studied his dad. “What do you mean?”

“A body was found about an hour ago. A woman. Rumor has it she was one of the missing brides.”

Carl set his cup down. “I was hoping Ms. Jones was wrong about the brides.”

“Doesn’t look that way,” Buck said. “What all did she tell you on the phone?”

“Just that she thought someone was killing her brides-to-be. She said she thought it was one of four people, but she never got around to saying who. I got the impression it was someone connected to the weddings. Ah, shit.”

“What?” his dad asked, noticing Carl’s mood shift.

“The freak could be after Red next.” He let out a pound of oxygen.

His dad’s eyebrow shot up. “Red’s getting married? Whoa. I thought…I mean the way you two—”

“Yeah, she’s getting married.”

“But…she wasn’t wearing a ring.”

Carl grabbed his coffee. “She flushed it down the john.”

His dad’s lips twitched into a smile. “They had a fight.”

“Supposedly, it was an accident.”

“Doesn’t sound like an accident.”

“I know.” Carl burned his tongue on the coffee. His dad continued to study him.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make sure Ben talks to her,” Carl said. “Then I’m going to catch the bastard.”

“Why don’t
you
talk to her?” His dad’s tone spoke volumes.

“That’s Ben’s job,” Carl snarled.

“They won’t offer her around-the-clock protection.”

“Neither will I.” He’d had one night of around-the-clock with her and wasn’t sure he could handle another. “Besides, she doesn’t need me. She has her fiancé to take
care of her.” The image of Mr. Metro and her together stabbed at his mind.

His dad’s left brow arched. “I thought you two bonded.”

“We were locked in a room together. We had to bond.”

A grin widened his dad’s mouth. “How close of a bond?”

“Not that close. She’s not like that.” Carl made sure the look he shot his dad had a warning stamped all over it.

Buck Hades seldom paid heed to warnings. “You should go see her. Perhaps she’ll realize the real reason she flushed the ring and maybe you two can hook up.”

“Stop it.” Carl held up his hand.

His old man wrinkled his forehead. “I just think—”

“Stop thinking. It gets your ass in a crack every time.”

His dad shrugged as if letting it drop. They stood across from each other, each leaning against the counter, sipping coffee.

Carl’s thoughts zipped back to Red. Had Ben warned her about being in danger? He needed to talk to Ben.

Eyeing his dad he asked, “Have they released the name of the bride?”

“Not yet,” his dad said.

Would Ben give Carl the name? Like his dad, Carl’s brother played by the rules and believed in the system. Of course, the system hadn’t ever let them down, not the way it had him.

“Carl?” His dad’s brow creased. From the look on Buck’s face, Carl surmised they were back on the subject of Red.

“She’s getting married, Dad. So drop it.”

“It’s not about Red.” His dad grimaced.

“Then what?” he asked, not liking his dad’s expression.

“You were wrong.” His dad pulled his cup to his lips.

“Wrong about what?”

“The dogs are getting along…just fine.” Buck motioned to the living room.

Carl turned around. “Ah, fuck!” And yes. This was definitely f-word worthy. It was also what was going on.

“Yup,” his father said. “I think that’s what you call it.”

“This is your fault.” He pointed at his dad.

“Yup. I’ll take the hit on this one.” His old man eyed Carl over his coffee cup. “But you’re going to forgive me.”

“And what makes you so damn certain of that?” Carl snarled.

“Because I saved your ass this morning.”

Carl gritted his teeth. “There is that.”

Both of them stood and watched the dogs go at it. Carl finally laughed. “At least now I know he’s not queer.”

Les walked into Katie’s study, where Joe had just finished nailing a board over the broken window. “Katie’s asleep. I talked her into taking a sleeping pill.”

Joe placed the hammer on the side of the desk. It teetered on the edge, then fell and clattered against the floor. Joe’s frown, along with the way he raked his hand through his hair, told her he was on his last nerve. They all were. But Katie won the Worst Night award.

“Hell of a night.” Joe picked up the hammer.

“I was just thinking that myself.”

Tired lines were etched around his still-bloodshot eyes, and exhaustion echoed in his tone. Leaning against the desk, Les watched his Adam’s apple go up and down.

The crease between his eyebrows deepened. “We need to tell Katie about the shower and the 911 call. It’s not as if—”

“Anything happened,” Les finished for him. “I know.” She picked up a heart-shaped marble paperweight from Katie’s desk. The rock felt cold and heavy in her hands, sort of how her own heart felt lately. She held the stone tight.

He studied her. “Knowing Katie, she’ll laugh,” he said.

Les forced a smile on her lips. “It is kind of funny when you step back from it.” Her smile became genuine.
“You looked pretty stunned when you stepped into the shower.” She palmed the cold paperweight tighter. It felt a little warmer.

They shared a grin. He stuck his hands into his jeans, then pulled them out. “I’ve got to run by work for a bit. My plan is to grab a few hours of sleep. Then I’ll go get some glass to replace the window. I’ll be back sometime this afternoon, and I’ll see what I can do about getting Katie’s car back.”

“That’s fine. I’m sure she’ll sleep most of the day.” Les smoothed her fingers over the heart-shaped rock.

His gaze moved over her. “You look exhausted. You should try to get some rest also.”

“I will.” Their gazes met and held, and the humor she’d seen in his eyes seconds earlier faded into something different.

He shifted. The heater moaned as it tried to kick on. “Is the ring what you weren’t telling me about earlier?”

Les hesitated, then decided she had nothing to hide. “Yeah.”

“Was she really going to buy another one?”

“Yeah,” Les answered.

Katie had told Joe the truth. Les had sat in the backseat feeling like a third wheel and secretly admiring Katie for being honest. And admiring Joe. You had to respect a man who could hear that his fiancée had flushed his eight-thousand-dollar ring down the toilet and not get angry.

But then Katie had continued: “And the bad part, Joe, is that I’m not sure if it was an accident.”

Les had seen Joe’s shoulders tighten, and the only thing he said was, “I’m sure you’re tired right now.”

Then the car had gone silent.

In the silence, Les had remembered she’d been the one to earlier accuse Katie of having motives for flushing the ring.
Nothing like feeling responsible for creating your best
friend’s problems
.

Katie’s heater groaned again, bringing Les back to the moment. She clutched the heart-shaped paperweight.

Joe stared at the ceiling. “Do you think she meant to flush the ring?”

Les swallowed. “Don’t blame Katie. I was the one who said maybe she’d done it on purpose. She said she loved you and I…I planted the doubt there.”

“Why?” he asked.

She gave his question a quick thought. “I was concerned that maybe she was getting married just to replace her family. But now I’m not sure if maybe I wasn’t just…” The word jealous didn’t seem appropriate.

“Just what?”

“Envious.” That word came a little easier, but she stared at the wall. “Envious that she could move past everything, and I couldn’t.” She felt him looking at her and she glanced back.

He frowned. “Katie said you and her brother were close. Soul mates, she called it. Losing someone can’t be easy.”

She set the paperweight back on the table. “It isn’t.”

But this conversation wasn’t about her. “Katie’s not thinking straight. Tomorrow you guys will go pick out another ring.”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“What?” Had she heard him right? No, she couldn’t have.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he met her gaze head-on. “Katie’s not the only one having second thoughts, Les.”

No, this couldn’t be happening. “It’s called cold feet. It’s normal.”

He ran his hand through his hair and didn’t stop until he squeezed the back of his neck. “I almost kissed you.”

Hearing him say it aloud gave her an emotional jolt. “But you didn’t.”

“I wanted to,” he admitted.

“But you didn’t,” she repeated, and before she used her hands to strangle him, or herself—yup, she blamed herself for this, too—she grabbed the heart-shaped paperweight again.

“Katie deserves someone who…wouldn’t want to kiss someone else a few weeks before the wedding.”

Les didn’t know if she could argue with that, but she had to try, because no way in hell was she going to let this happen when it was her fault. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, hurt Katie.

“It was stress. Our emotions were out of whack. You can’t make this decision based on something that didn’t even happen.”

“What about right now?” he asked. “What if I’m still wanting to kiss you? Is it just wacky emotions? Or could it be a sign that maybe Katie was right to flush the engagement ring?”

“Don’t say that.” Les dropped the piece of cold stone back on the desk. “Oh, God.
What
have I done?”

“This isn’t your fault. I’m the one engaged here.”

As if that excused her. “Engaged to my best friend, and I—”

“You didn’t do
anything
.” He took one step to the door.

“Neither did you.” She had to fix this.
Now
. Right now.

He turned around. “But I wanted to do something.”

So did I, Les thought, but she didn’t dare say it. Then, grasping at straws, she started talking. “Look, all men are dogs. They’ll hump anything. What’s important is that you didn’t go hump crazy.” Okay, so her grasping-at-straws talk wasn’t up to par. She grabbed him by the arm and started down the hall toward Katie’s room. He put on the brakes.

“What are you doing?” He came to a complete stop.

“You two are going to kiss and make up. Right now. I’d rather eat worms than think I did anything to hurt Katie.”

He pulled away. When she reached for him again, he held up his hand. “Stop it, Les. Katie and I don’t need to kiss and make up. What we need is to be honest with each other.”

Les shook her head. “I refuse to be the reason—”

“Whoa.” He glared at her. “It’s not
just
you. I’ve been second-guessing what I felt for three weeks now. You were just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

Straw?
“Well, I don’t like being straw.”

“I’m sorry.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Frankly, it’s not even about you. It’s about Katie and me.” Then he took off.

Oh, gawd! Les watched him leave. What had she done? And how the hell was she going to fix it?

Carl stepped up to the front door and knocked. After his dad left, Carl had gone through Tabitha’s files again and typed a report and made two copies. If he was going to wheedle information and a few favors out of Ben, it would help if he had a bargaining chip. Info for info. Most of it could be found on Ms. Jones’s computer, but Carl knew how slow Computer Forensics was at combing through files.

The door opened, and Ben junior stood there wearing his Zorro costume and carrying his sword. Carl yanked out an imaginary sword and challenged his nephew to a duel. “To the death!”

Benny, grin in place, started swinging. They fought their way into the living room, dodging moving boxes and making battle grunts and moans and imaginary sword-slamming noises.

“No roughhousing,” his sister-in-law’s voice rang out.

“But Mom, were fighting to the death,” Benny whined.

“Not in the house you’re not,” Tami said from the kitchen. “And go finish unpacking your toys and put them away.”

Carl swung his nephew up in his arms. “Princess Tami has requested a truce, but we’ll continue this fight another day.”

Benny patted Carl’s pocket and whispered, “Got any worms?”

Carl glanced toward the kitchen in time to see the all-hearing Tami frown. “You promise to brush your teeth.”

“Promise,” Benny said.

Carl put Ben down and handed him the bag he’d bought. Then, as his nephew ran to hide his stash, Carl went to face the music from Princess Tami—same song and dance every time.

“You’re taking him to the dentist, and when they find cavities you will feel like scum.”

Carl gave his sister-in-law a hug. “I’m his uncle. I should be allowed to spoil him.”

“Not with candy.” She thumped him on his chest before she looked up and frowned. “Heard you had a bad night.”

“Piece of cake,” he lied.

“Ben said you’d been in a catfight. He didn’t tell me the cat won.” She chuckled. “Hungry?”

“Hungry? My stomach’s sucking on my backbone.” Remembering why he hadn’t eaten reminded him why he’d come. “Is Ben here?”

“He just got out of the shower. How about I heat over some of last night’s spaghetti—that you didn’t show up for.”

“Spaghetti?” His mouth watered. “I swear, if my brother is stupid enough to leave you, I’m marrying you.”

“And who says I’d take you,” Tami shot back. “I know your reputation with the ladies.”

He followed Tami to the kitchen and dropped into a chair.

“Are you hitting on my wife again?” Ben walked in, wearing jeans and a towel hung around his bare shoulders.

“Yeah. But it’s your own damn fault,” Carl said. “You should’ve married someone ugly who couldn’t cook.”

Ben grabbed himself a soda from the fridge, kissed his pretty wife on her neck, then shot Carl a look. “And here I thought you’d have a certain redhead on your mind.”

“Funny you should mention her.” Carl reached into his coat pocket and laid out the folded papers, his bargaining chip.

His brother pulled on the towel around his neck. “Why do I get a bad feeling in my gut?”

“Probably just gas.” Carl chuckled.

Ben turned a chair around and straddled it. “What’s up?”

“I thought we might help each other out.”

“And how’s that?” Ben stared at the papers.

“The Jones case. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

“Stan said you were holding back in your statement.”

Carl scratched his jaw. “Well, Stan’s a smart cop.”

Ben shook his head. “Tabitha Jones is dead. She’s not your client anymore, so let us take care of it.”

“I like the scratch idea better.” Carl crossed his arms. As Tami set a plate of spaghetti in front of him, he inhaled the scent of tomato, onion, and garlic. “I love you,” he told her.

She smiled. “Eat before you pass out.”

He picked up the fork and Ben reached for the papers. “Not so fast,” Carl mouthed around some pasta and snatched his bargaining chip out of Ben’s reach. “Do we have a deal?”

“What is it you want?”

“A rundown on the names I give you. A few answers.” He wrapped more pasta around his fork. “But mostly, check on Red, make sure she knows this is serious. Make sure, okay?”

Ben eyed him. “Why can’t you check on her?”

He swirled his fork some more to catch noodles. Then he grabbed a piece of French bread that magically appeared on the table. God, he really did love his sister-in-law—loved all women who could cook. “That’s not my job.”

“Red’s not your job, but neither is catching this guy.”

“True, but you know how I feel about people who try
to burn me alive.” Carl dipped the bread in the sauce and savored it.

“Yeah, that always did piss you off, didn’t it?” Ben let out a deep breath and chuckled.

“Then it’s a deal?” Carl picked up another piece of bread.

Ben’s brows pinched. “You haven’t said what you’ve got yet.”

“I’ve got a list of suspects.”

Ben scowled. “And you knew this when you talked to Stan?”

Carl used a paper napkin to clean sauce from his chin. “Not really.” He forked another bite of pasta into his mouth.

Ben studied him. “Should I ask where you got this info?”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”
Not when I know you’re going to
chew my ass out later
.

“Okay, but you know there’s lines I won’t cross.”

“I respect lines,” he lied, knowing lines were the reason he’d quit the force. The reason he’d taken a bullet. Carl ate the last bite of pasta. “Who was it you found? Beth Hill or Susie Langs?”

Ben’s expression hardened. “How did you get the victim’s name? It hasn’t been released.”

“There were two canceled weddings in Ms. Jones’s files.” Carl set his fork down. “Where was the body found?”

“In a patch of woods in Northwest Houston.” His brother paused. “So you think Susie is dead, too?”

Carl frowned. “I’d give those woods a good hard look.”

“Damn, I hate looking for sick fuckers,” Ben said.

“And he’s really sick.” Carl paused. “And here’s the thing: All the people who were lined up to work on the weddings—the florist, the DJ, the cake maker, the photographer—they were all working on those two weddings. And they’re all men.”

Ben’s frown deepened. “So you think it’s one of them.”

“That’s what I’m betting on. Ms. Jones hinted it was someone working with her. And Red said that Tabitha and the shooter had dialogue.”

“She told me about that.” Ben ran a hand over his jaw. “So I do background checks on all of them.”

“And you share that info with me,” Carl said.

Ben’s brow creased, and he twisted the towel around his neck. “What about other weddings? Other brides? Are any of the men on the list working with other brides now?”

“Two. I called them and made it clear that they weren’t to contact
anyone
working on their weddings until they talked to you.”

“And Red’s one of them?” Ben asked.

“No.” Carl didn’t mind letting his relief show. “None of the men are listed as working on her wedding. But what would it hurt for you to just talk to her? Tell her to be careful.”

“And that, brother, brings me back to my original question. If you care that much, why aren’t you talking to her?”

Carl dropped his fork. “I told you, that’s not my job.”

Tami set a slice of pie in front of Carl and pressed a kiss on her husband’s bare shoulder.

Carl flashed Tami a smile. “You’ve got to keep that woman,” he said, as the flaky crust and sweet apples melted in his mouth.

Ben watched his wife walk out of the room. “I am. Because, let me tell you, her talents don’t stop in the kitchen.”

Carl laughed, and for a second he wanted this: home cooking, home loving. Then reality struck, and he knew better. But his mind flashed to an image of Red. Could she cook?

He handed the papers to Ben. “Go see Red today.” The pie melted on his lips.

“I can’t today.” Ben rose from the chair.

“We had a deal.” The pie lost its flavor.

“I said I’d check on her. But if what you say is true, I have two other brides I should take care of first.”

“Damn, Ben. How long would it take to stop by and see her?”

“I’ll go, but I’m not promising it’ll be today. And if that’s not good enough, go see her yourself.”

“Well, it just looks like I’ll have to, don’t it?” He dropped his fork at the same time Ben’s cell phone rang.

“Yeah?” Ben answered, and a look of disgust filled his eyes. “I’m on my way.” Ben snapped the phone closed.

“What?” Carl asked.

“You were right,” Ben said. “They uncovered another body. This one’s wearing a wedding gown.” He snatched up Ben’s papers. “This is getting uglier and uglier.”

Tabitha’s killer slowed down, then stopped when he saw the police cars parked on the side of the road. He hadn’t intended to get out, just drive by. He usually drove by once a day. Why were the police here? Were they going to take the bodies away?
No!
They belonged to him. They were his brides. He wasn’t ready to give them up yet.

He gripped the steering wheel. The tap at his window made him swing around.

The cop motioned for him to roll down his window. He inhaled, once, twice. Then he did what the officer bade him do.
Normal. Act normal
.

“You’ll have to turn around, the road’s closed.” The cop visually searched the car, as if looking for something.

“What happened?” he forced himself to ask, because normal people would ask. And he worked really hard at pretending to be normal. Even before Maria, as a kid, he’d hated it when people looked at him as weird, when they made fun of him or treated him like a freak. He couldn’t help it if he wasn’t normal.

As he got older, he’d learned to hide it. People had stopped laughing. Or at least they had until the wedding.

“Police investigation,” the cop said, confirming his fears.

He managed to keep a normal expression on his face. Nodding, he turned the car around. They were taking his brides away. He would have to do without them.

He waited until he got far enough away that the officer couldn’t see him before he started rocking against the car seat. Back. Forth. If someone saw him they would laugh. They had always laughed before he’d learned to control it. Now he only did it in private. Pulling off to a side street, he let himself rock faster. Harder.

Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

After a few minutes, the need to feel the rhythm lessened. He would get more brides. Find a new place to keep them. He started humming. Music helped. He knew all the wedding songs. So he hummed. Then he envisioned Katie Ray dressed in white. She was going to make a beautiful bride. But it would have to be soon. Maybe he could drive by her house now just to see her.

“Katie.” Someone whispered her name.

Katie forced her eyes open and stared at a puffy-eyed and sleepy Les staring down at her. She smiled, then rolled back over.

“Katie, some guy’s here, and he says he needs to speak to you. He’s being insistent about it. Do you want me to tell him to come back later?”

Pushing away the cobwebs of sleep, Katie rose up on her elbow. “Who is it? What’s his name?”

“His name?” Les repeated in her drowsy voice. “He didn’t give me his name. And I didn’t ask.”