ENGAGED TO BE MURDERED (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 4) (9 page)

              He was gentle, though. He spoke in a soft voice intended to calm her. When he met her gaze his eyes were kind. That’s how good a liar he was, or so she’d been led to assume.

              “When did you last hear from her?”

              “Um,” she started. Her throat felt raw and dry.

              Harry offered her a glass of water, but it wasn’t cold. A far cry from the Perrier she doled out to her customers whenever the need arose. Still, she gulped it and collected her thoughts.

              “When I dropped her off here a few hours ago.”

              “At one,” Harry supplied, lacing this pudgy fingers over his round belly.

              “And you didn’t speak with her since?”

              “No.” Kitty drank more water, choked it down as it were, and then added, “I called and called but she never picked up.”

              “And you said she’d been involved with Jimmy Kimball?”

              Kitty nodded. “Do you know who that is?”

              “I know he’s no longer at the Harbor Inn. He could be anywhere.”

              “He could have her.”

              “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

              Sterling took a moment to assess the bakery then put his hands on his hips.

              “I hate to kick you out of your own shop,” he told Harry.

              “I’ll give you a minute,” said the baker, picking up on the need. He waddled through the back then shut the door, leaving Kitty to the privacy of her dismay.

              Sterling pulled out a chair, angled it close to Kitty, then sat and leaned in. She felt suddenly aware of the space she was taking up, awkward about her hands on the table, stiff in her posture, yet her legs felt rubbery. He took her hands, which only made him harder to look at so she stared at the rigid way her fingers wouldn’t curve around his.

              “Trudy’s an adult. I can’t go off half-cocked and order a manhunt when there’s no evidence she left for any reason that wasn’t voluntary.”

              Kitty turned to stone and felt so small beside him.

              “Did you hear about the tinctures?” she asked in a faltering tone. She was scared to look at him. She didn’t want to peer into his dark eyes and see within him that he didn’t love her.

              Sterling nodded. “I’m not going to congratulate or encourage you, but yes, that was extremely helpful.”

              “They were in Sadie’s back studio where she worked on Trudy’s ring.”

              “But Kitty, we both know Sadie didn’t work on Trudy’s ring.”

              “Fine,” she said in a small voice. “Then Sadie polished the ring once she had it back. Same difference. The poison was found. I found it.”

              “You’re right.” Sterling put his hand on her tense shoulder and attempted to loosen it up, but her muscles only fought him, stiffening worse before she pulled away. “What’s going on with you?”

              Somehow, somewhere she found the strength to look him in the eye. “Greer said something to me...about you...us.”

              His brows rose.

              “About your reasons for being with me...”

              His eyes narrowed and brow knitted together, concerned.

              But Kitty couldn’t say more. If she did it would give him the opportunity to come clean and admit his true feelings or lack thereof, and she wouldn’t be able to bear it.

              “There was another person who could’ve had access to the engagement ring,” she said, instead, diving head first into her tried-and-true brazen meddling that seemed never wrong, unlike her feeling toward him. “Margie’s brother, Patrick. He has a shop. It’s not much, just a garage. But that’s where Jimmy Kimball did his work. I still think Sadie did it, but Patrick is another piece of the puzzle we might as well look into. And, if Jimmy was close enough to him to use his shop, then it’s possible that’s where Jimmy ran off to. It’s possible he has Trudy there.

              “Would Trudy be in any real danger in their company if you’re convinced Sadie’s guilty?” he challenged, though kindly.

              “Maybe not,” she admitted. “But I won’t rest until I know Trudy is safe and sound.”

              Sterling nodded. It was understandable, and finding Trudy should be easy enough or at least that’s what his expression told her.

              He helped her to her feet then shouted his thank yous to Harry, whom they both knew was waiting with his ear pressed to the door.

              “Hope you find her!” he called out, as Sterling held the door open for Kitty to step out into the cold, dark, snowy night.

              Without conversation they walked to his Jeep that was parked at no less an awkward angle than Kitty’s Fiat. When he opened the passenger’s side door, Kitty climbed in without reservation and buckled up as he rounded the front and slid behind the wheel.

              “Patrick McAlister,” he mused, turning the name over as though it didn’t taste right.

              “That’s where I think she is,” said Kitty, staring through the snow-laden windshield that only the thinnest twinkles penetrated.

              “You got an address?” he asked, coolly or in fear, she couldn’t be sure. Tension had been rising between them and she didn’t dare stick her neck out to break it down.

              Kitty handed him a piece of paper noting Patrick’s residence and Sterling started off down the street, his windshield wipers flapping and headlights glaring through a town that looked otherwise asleep.

              The house looked more like a rustic cabin when they reached the outskirts of town where the howling wolves and hooting owls replaced the city’s muffled stereos and drunken cheers. There was something spooky about the place and it wasn’t the fact that it was located at the bad end of a twelve-mile dirt road. Cell service was patchy at best, and there didn’t seem to be one light on as far as the eye could see.

              Despite the quietude and apparent vacancy, two cars were parked out front, likely Jimmy Kimball’s and Patrick McAlister’s, but Kitty had no way of being certain.

              Sterling killed the headlights as the Jeep crept forward then he eased off the gas and the vehicle rolled to a natural stop, snow crunching under tires and competing with the faint purr of the engine.

              After pulling the key from the ignition and tossing off his seatbelt, Sterling extracted his gun from the holster beneath his left arm, causing Kitty to start in her seat.

              “Why are you armed? You think you need to be armed?”

              “You think these people abducted your friend and I’m going to waltz in with my hands in the air?”

             
Good point.

              “What do we know about Patrick?” she challenged.

              Sterling shrugged. “Nothing.”

              “Is he armed and dangerous?”

              “How would I know?”

              “Do you know anything about Jimmy Kimball?”

              “Other than what you told me?”

              Kitty nodded emphatically.

              “Are you trying to stall me?”

              “I just want to be on the same page.”

              “In what sense?” The way he’d asked it alluded to the possibility that their relationship was the new topic of conversation.

              “Don’t tell me to stay in the Jeep,” she stated, dodging his implication.

              Sterling held her gaze for a long while. She could see the thoughts work through his mind. He knew full well she wouldn’t stay put. And worse, once she got out of the Jeep he’d have no real way of controlling her. He’d be lucky if he could keep her safe.

              “What?” she asked.

              “I’m going to regret this,” he muttered then lifted his jeans from the bottom edge of his right leg, exposing a derringer pistol. She stared at it transfixed as he unsnapped the ankle holster that held it and lifted the gun up. He handed it to her, but Kitty’s hands went limp at the thought. “Don’t shoot unless you know for sure who you’re shooting at. And don’t be shooting at anyone unless your life is threatened.”

              “I can’t work a gun!”

              “Quiet!” He wrapped his hands around hers, forcing her to grasp the gun firmly. “You keep inserting yourself into the thick of it. Well, you’re getting what you want. You can’t back down now.”

              Kitty swallowed hard and said a silent prayer not to shoot herself in the foot.

              “Don’t point it at anything you don’t want dead,” he stated, a final word of advice. Then Sterling popped his door open and stepped onto the freshly fallen snow.

              Kitty followed suit, holding the gun like the foreign, terrifying object that it was.

              Together, they approached the front door where Sterling pressed his ear, listening for any indication her friend was inside, being held against her will. Then he knocked, easily, confidently, like he’d arrived to a barbecue as the honored guest, though he held his gun in his right hand by his leg, concealing it well enough should anyone come to the door.

              To the surprise of them both, someone did.

              Mild mannered with innocent eyes, a man the spitting image of Margie McAlister greeted them with an open mix of pleasantries and confusion.

              “Can I help you?” He asked in a voice that wasn’t unlike Margie’s, though coming out of a petite man sounded jarringly comical.

              Sterling grinned, and from the corner of Kitty’s eye, it appeared challenging, as if Sterling not only expected a fight, but welcomed it.

              “I’m Detective Sterling Slaughter,” he stated, staring the man down.

              Patrick’s expression didn’t shift or change. It was either one hell of a poker face or the man genuinely had no clue why an officer of the law was at his door.

              However, Patrick did glance at Kitty expectantly. She cleared her throat and smiled, a strange display considering the cold and lethal weapon behind her skirt.

              “I’m Kitty Sinclair. I’m planning Trudy Sanders’ wedding in fact. By chance, is she here?”

              That’s when Patrick turned on a dime.

              Before she could register what was happening, Sterling was tearing through the house, hot on Patrick’s heels. The man had dodged backwards and took to sprinting through the cabin, veering this way and that, knocking furniture as he went to thwart Sterling’s path.

              Kitty fought the impulse to discharge the derringer and took off after them, running and heaving and leaping over an end table then a shattered lamp, until she spilled into the wilderness behind the cabin where Sterling was charging at Patrick and disappearing into the shadows at the same time.

              She keeled over to catch her breath then turned back for the house.

              “Trudy! Trudy! Are you here? It’s Kitty!” she called out as she slowly stalked through the darkened halls.

              When she found a set of stairs she ascended them, now whispering Trudy’s name, as she pointed the derringer straight ahead in her trembling hands.

              “Trudy!”

              She heard murmuring voices down the hall. There was barely any light, but Kitty detected two closed doors, one to the left of the window at the end of the hallway, and the other to the right. She stalked forward, shifting her weight carefully so as not to make a sound, all the while disturbing thoughts about Trudy being hurt, held against her will, swarmed her racing mind.

              The murmurs died down just as she reached the window, but her instincts told her they were coming from the room on her left so she turned and pressed her ear to the door. More muffled sounds. Perhaps Jimmy had shoved a rag in her mouth? Oh the thought was awful! If only Sterling hadn’t run off into the woods!

              Kitty mustered every shred of courage she possessed, which admittedly wasn’t much, until she remembered that Trudy’s wedding was the most important priority in either of their lives. With that unquestionable fact in mind, Kitty dug deep, took a step back, and kicked down the door.

              It fell easily.

              Evidently, it hadn’t been locked.

              She thrust the derringer into the darkness and yelled “Freeze!” for no other reason than it felt right.

              A woman shrieked and a man yelled, “What in God’s name!”

              Then someone turned on the lights.

              The scene was difficult to comprehend considering the atrocities Kitty had been expecting.

              Trudy was in a dark negligee, her arms wrapped around Jimmy’s neck. Jimmy was scantily clad himself, as they teetered at the edge of a bed.

              “Unhand her!” she demanded, still certain Trudy was in peril.