A MATCH MADE IN MURDER (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 5) (8 page)

              But the one record that did come up boasted his innocence. Sterling had entered his science experiment into an elementary school competition that was held that day. Steve had attended in support of his son. Both their names came up on an old article that listed all the participants.

              Interestingly, Mary had not been listed.

              Had she bought the necklace for herself? Given its extravagant cost, it seemed unlikely. Surely Steve would’ve noticed thousands of dollars missing from their account. In fact, Kitty doubted a fundraiser and a stay-at-home mom would have thousands extra in savings or otherwise.

              But maybe Mary had a wealthy lover. Maybe she’d attended the auction that day and sweet-talked her secret lover into buying her the necklace. And maybe whoever that man was had grown sick and tired of her continuing to stay with Steve.

              There was only one way to find out and Kitty was certain there would be no way to include Sterling in this leg of her investigation.

              Kitty could hardly sleep. When the first rays of dawn began brightening her bedroom she slipped out of bed and quietly crept into the kitchen. She had some reservations about going off alone, but she reasoned that she could find out what she needed to know and make it to the William Wallace yacht in time for her wedding rehearsal. She even went so far as to justify that she would be faster alone than if she included Sterling, though it occurred to her that all this reasoning and justification proved she truly wasn’t feeling quite right about going off by herself. Still, she thought, some things were best done solo.

              The auctioneer was a man named Carter Halsey. According to the notes she’d taken from the Police Database, Carter still lived in Greenwich, though he no longer worked for the county. His last known address was a cottage set deep in the western countryside. Kitty could only hope he still lived there. She prayed he was still alive. If he was, he would be nearly ninety years old. She prayed he would be lucid.

              As she drove through the winding back roads that were supposed to lead to Carter’s home, she thought about the note she’d left for Sterling on the kitchen table. It detailed some last minute arrangements she’d delegated to Trudy, and mentioned she’d meet him at the yacht in time for the rehearsal. Nowhere in the note had she revealed where she was going or what she was up to. She wondered if that had been a mistake.

              Kitty sat up tall behind the wheel and glanced in her rearview mirror at the dress she’d picked out for the rehearsal and subsequent dinner at the Delamar. The dress hung on the interior rack. It was a beautiful, pale pink number made of satin ruffles.

              Eyeing the dress only made Kitty more determined to catch the killer. Her wedding day would not be clouded by the darkness of a killer hiding amongst her wedding party. She’d done this before—caught the killer in time. She’d do it again. But this time around it felt so much worse. The pressure, the anxiety, the fear all commingled into a feeling of nausea that burned through the pit of her stomach.

              She pulled off the country road when her GPS indicated, turning left onto a shady dirt drive that stretched so deeply into the woods that she couldn’t see its end. Trusting that Carter’s house was on the other side, she pressed her foot on the gas.

              Eventually, after many bends, she reached a quaint cottage that was bathed in a warm strip of morning sunlight. There was a pond beyond that shimmered and the surrounding trees were nothing short of picturesque.

              There was no vehicle out front, however, and she hadn’t called ahead.

              She rolled to a stop just shy of the front door then killed the engine. She felt nervous. What if Carter hadn’t woken up yet? What if he was dead inside? She shook her fears from her mind as she clamored out of her Fiat and quietly shut the door.

              When she knocked on the front door she immediately heard footsteps inside. It was then that she remembered she’d left her derringer pistol in the glove compartment. Sterling had warned her not to go anywhere without it. She hoped this wouldn’t be the one time she’d need it. Considering Carter was an elderly man it was safe to assume she wouldn’t, but you never knew.

              The door opened, creaking inward, and soon Kitty found herself peering into the ancient eyes of an old man. He had more wrinkles than she’d ever seen, and his face looked more dead than alive.

              “Mr. Halsey?”

              “Yes,” he groaned loudly. “Are you here with my groceries? Where’s Jenny? Did the hospice send you?”

              Kitty could sense his disappointment even before she answered. “No, I’m sorry. I’m Kitty Sinclair. I shouldn’t have showed up unannounced.”

              He grumbled something to the effect of how right she was about that, as he turned and hobbled down the shallow hallway that opened into a cozy living room.

              Kitty took that as an invitation so she gently shut the door and followed him.

              Carter eased into a reclining chair then fumbled with a remote control, which drew Kitty’s attention to a TV across from where he sat. A cheery morning show played, but without volume. She realized that was probably the button he was looking for.

              “Mr. Halsey, if I could have a few minutes of your time,” she began, making herself at home by sitting on the couch next to him. “I wanted to ask you about a necklace you sold at auction quite a few years ago.”

              Carter paused and his eyes lit up, snapping to meet hers.

              “Those were the days,” he mused, happy to be reminded.

              She breathed a sigh of relief. Now all she needed was a miracle that he’d be able to remember every last detail about that specific auction. She gulped, losing all confidence.

              “I wanted to ask you about a particular necklace that you sold at auction.” Quickly, Kitty pulled up an image of the necklace on her cell phone and held it for Carter to study.

              At first Carter seemed blown away by the small electronic device as though she was introducing him to futuristic technology, but soon his gaze steadied on the actual photo.

              “Do you remember this antique?” She asked after he’d been staring for a good long moment.

              “Why yes, I do.”

              She returned her phone to her purse and took a deep breath.

              “Do you remember who bought it that day?”

              Carter leaned back in his recliner and chuckled as though she’d told a good, clean joke.

              “Young lady,” he began once his laughter had died down. “I don’t need to remember anything. I kept records of every transaction.”

              Like a pug struggling up a flight of stairs, Carter worked his way out of the recliner and hobbled over to a bookshelf on the far side of the TV set and began scrolling his finger horizontally over a long set of leather bound books.

              Kitty rose to her feet and drew near, noticing that the spines had gold lettering boasting the month and year. Then she took in the full gamut of the bookshelf. It had to contain at least twenty years of records. She turned and noticed another bookshelf also lined with leather bound books.

              Carter must have some form of lifelong OCD. She was surrounded by bookshelves and records, and wondered what
didn’t
the man detail within these pages?

              “Ah! Here we are!” He exclaimed, as he slid a particularly dusty book from the shelf.

              As he started for his recliner, Kitty rushed to him, took him by the arm, and helped him back until he was settled carefully in his chair. She sat on the edge of her seat beside him and watched as he gingerly turned page after page.

              “Why did you keep these records?” She wondered. “Didn’t the county want them?”

              “The county has their own records,” he explained. “But they’re not nearly as detailed.”

              When he found the page he was looking for he reviewed its contents silently.

              “Appears to be a cash sale,” he noted.

              Kitty leaned in even closer. She already knew that, but didn’t want to seem discouraging or ungrateful.

              “Is there anything else you can tell me? Did a woman buy the necklace?”

              “No, it was a gentleman,” he interrupted. “I remember that much. I remember because he didn’t seem the sort that would buy such an antique.” Carter had a think on that then added. “A woman was with him.”

              “Really?” Kitty asked, finally feeling like she was getting somewhere.

              Eager to confirm it had been Mary, Kitty extracted her cell from her purse once again and pulled up an old photo of Mary that depicted the young mother holding Sterling in her arms. Sterling had to have been only five in the photo. He was squirming in her arms.

              “Was this the woman?” She asked, holding up her cell.

              Carter was still reviewing his records, but when he found a good stopping place he glanced up. His eyes narrowed, and then shifted with a glimmer of recognition.

              “Yes, I believe so.”

              Excited, Kitty pulled up an old photo of Steve Slaughter.

              “Was this the man who bought the necklace?” She asked, even though she knew it hadn’t been Steve.

              Carter’s mouth twisted then pinched into a frown.

              “No,” he stated with what sounded like absolute certainty. “The gentleman looked scholarly.”

              Kent Hollister came to mind, the professor who’d dedicated his life to studying serial killers and who had been lurking in the field behind her house when Layla had been discovered.

              As Kitty searched her cell’s web browser for an image of Kent Hollister, Carter dove back into his records.

              “The gentleman was impatient when it was time to collect the items he’d bid on...”

              “Items?”

              “That’s correct,” Carter said, his gaze locked on his records. “He bid on the necklace and its matching ring, as well as a wedding dress—all beautiful antiques.”

              “As though he thought he’d marry Mary,” she said, thinking out loud.

              “He was very affectionate toward the woman, but I could tell he didn’t want to be seen there or with her. He was agitated. He didn’t stay for the items. He only gave cash and left an address where he wanted the items shipped.”

              “Can I see?” She asked, though she’d already snatched his book.

              Frantic, she searched for the shipping address, but when she found it, it wasn’t Sterling’s childhood home. Whoever had had the items shipped, chose to receive them at his own residence and then he shipped only the necklace to Mary. It reminded Kitty of dangling a carrot in front of a horse to get it moving. Maybe Mary’s lover was, in essence, trying to bribe her to him, one item at a time.

              Kitty jotted the strange address down on her note pad then glanced up at Carter who seemed very put off that she’d taken his book.

              “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, handing it back to him.

              He made a performance out of wiping her germs off.

              “Was this the man?” She asked, holding up the picture of Kent Hollister she’d found online.

              Carter snatched her phone then studied the photo. He looked at it for a good long while as though he couldn’t decide. It was a recent photo. Twenty years ago Hollister could’ve looked much different and Kitty wanted to mention his cane, but wasn’t sure if he would’ve used it that day or even had it back then. She tried anyway.

              “Did he walk with a cane?”

              “No,” he said easily. Then Carter handed the phone to her. “That’s not him.”

              Kitty sat there stumped. She wracked her brain for anything else she might be able to ask him.

              “Did you see the car he drove?”

              Carter shook his head.

              She looked down at her note pad. With the shipping address and the fact that she had access to the Police Database, it shouldn’t be too hard to find out who’d lived there at that time.

              She breathed a sigh of relief. She was close. And she could do nothing more here.

              “Mr. Halsey, I’m going to leave you with my contact card. Would you call me if you remember anything else?”

              He took the card, obliging.

              Then Kitty snapped a quick photo of the page from his book using her cell phone, thanked him, and saw herself to the door.

              It was warming up quite a bit outside by the time she’d shut the door behind her. Kitty made her way to her car, but kept her gaze glued to her cell screen where she magnified the photo she’d just taken to be sure the clarity was good enough to enlarge and read every word.

              Before she could reach for the door handle on her Fiat, she was suddenly grabbed from behind. It happened so fast she could barely process it: two black gloved hands lifting her by her waist, her feet kicking into the air, Kitty trying to scream, but she dropped and a hand was pressing over her mouth. Without warning she was shoved into a van. The next thing she knew, a black hood was over her head and the door slammed shut. Her hands were tied behind her back but she couldn’t understand when that had happened. Suddenly, she was thrown to the back of the van when it accelerated hard and fast down the driveway. The impact against the van doors struck her head at such a jarring angle that Kitty only had a moment of consciousness before her world went entirely black.