Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Kate scrounged up a bra while Jake lowered the ladder and climbed down to the hallway. He looked unfairly refreshed for a man who had slept slouched over in a chair all night. But at least he’d slept; Kate was running on caffeine and adrenaline and, other than her sleuthing sweater, she definitely had not packed for a murder investigation. The only other shoes she had besides her heels were a pair of ballet flats, and the heels had worn a blister on the side of her foot that rubbed against the faux leather of her flats and made her want to weep.
“It’s not really possible, is it?” Kate argued as they descended the stairs to the main floor. “I mean, Spencer? Spencer Lieman? I used to have to kill the spiders he found in the bathroom because he couldn’t handle the squishing sound. And now you think he’s graduated all the way to murder?”
“Are you sure you aren’t just upset that you dated him all that time and never noticed any of his murderous tendencies?” Jake countered. “Pretty big oversight for a mystery writer.”
He had a point, actually. If Spencer really were capable of murder, she should have seen it ages ago, right? Funny taste in her morning coffee, faulty brakes on her car, toaster in the bathtub. He had been acting strangely last night, and Jake had been right that he’d seemed upset with Kennedy. She was positive he was hiding something; but murder ?
“What would he stand to gain by killing Kennedy now?” Kate persisted, lowering her voice as they reached the main entryway in case any other guests were up and about early. The last thing she needed was panic about the bride being poisoned, much less any more eyebrows raised or fingers pointed her way. “They’re not married yet, which means he wouldn’t inherit any of her money.”
“Unless money wasn’t his motivation,” Jake said meaningfully.
“You can’t still be on this,” Kate said, rolling her eyes as the doors to the entry hall were thrown open in a dramatic fashion.
“Everything is fine!” said Abraham from the doorway. “Right on schedule. Going smoother than a certain minor Dutch princess’s wedding on a certain lake in Switzerland! I can’t say what happened, but let’s just say it rhymes with smecret smaffair. A little issue with the generator, but I have my best team members working on it despite none of us knowing how a generator actually works and no maintenance workers on the island!”
“What happened?” Jake asked. “I don’t have a lot of experience with electrical work, but I did once make a battery in the jungle with a handful of pennies and a copper wire.”
“Oh good, you come with me, then,” Abraham said, grabbing Jake’s arm.
“Actually, we were just headed somewhere on very important business,” Kate said, trailing after them toward the exterior doors.
“More important than fixing the power and rescuing the wedding decorations?” Abraham said, shocked that she’d even suggest such a thing.
“What’s wrong with the wedding decorations?”
Abraham pursed his lips. “Nothing is wrong, per se. There’s just a bit more wind at the moment than forecasted, and we’re having trouble keeping the outdoor tent staked down. Rebecca Hempstead must be a late riser because I haven’t been able to find her all morning to confirm where we can set up the reception inside the house, much less to tell us how to fix the pesky generator. So fun, planning a wedding in the Pacific Northwest in late October!” He gave a sharp hysterical laugh, dropping his voice into a mutter. “This never would have happened at a certain soccer star’s son’s wedding, I can tell you that.”
A crack of thunder loud enough to rock the island shattered the momentary stillness of the house, a gust of wind making the walls moan and creak. Kate could have sworn she saw them bend to one side and back, even though she knew that was impossible.
“So! We need to fix the generator and bring the décor in,” Abraham said, a little too cheerily. “Preferably before it floods and ruins a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of preparations!”
He hurried out the main doors, a blast of wind tossing them open with a clap. Kate couldn’t imagine how much force it took to toss twenty-foot-tall solid wooden doors open like they were lace curtains, but she was sure she didn’t want to subject her body to it. The house had a wide patio on either side with thick stone railings and a flight of stairs leading to a perfectly manicured courtyard. Each section had a massive water fountain as its focal piece, one a perfect reproduction of the Trevi Fountain and the other an ocean monster with water pouring out of its fourteen mouths by Kate’s count. There were other statues in marble and brass, tinged in a green patina but no less impressive for their detail and size.
“Baby Hemsworth, you come with me,” said Abraham, already tugging Jake around the side of the house where the generator was presumably located. He gave a dismissive wave to Kate. “And you go over there, help Jean-Pierre move the decorations.”
“Over there” seemed to be a massive white tent that had been erected on the front lawn. She’d missed it yesterday, coming up to the house from the back, but it buzzed with activity now. The tent had indeed sustained damage, one corner completely collapsed and the left wall listing dangerously inward. A line of servers, groomsmen, and younger wedding guests carted out chairs, tables, more glass sculptures, and flower arrangements. Petals scattered into the air and swirled around their heads before being snatched out to sea, and a nearby sound of shattering glass brought out Jean-Pierre’s shrill voice from within.
“Support it on all sides!” the young Frenchman shouted. “All sides!”
There were even a few guests holding signs, though Kate couldn’t imagine why Kennedy would want crudely drawn handmade signs as part of her wedding décor. They were chanting something as well, crossing through the line of servants carrying chairs and hiking their signs up and down. Serena Archer was at their head, still dressed in her cocktail gown.
“Fairer contracts for all!” they chanted, slightly out of sync. “No more wages from the dark ages! Sign our checks or we’ll ring your necks!”
“Serena?” Kate asked in confusion. She recognized a few of the sign holders as other Simon Says authors, though she didn’t remember seeing them at the rehearsal dinner. “What are you doing?”
“There you are, Kate, about time!” Serena proclaimed, thrusting a sign toward her as if she’d been waiting for Kate’s imminent arrival. “We’re protesting the unfair contract negotiation tactics of Simon Says publishing. Simon and Kennedy want to sabotage our careers and ignore our calls? Well, they can’t ignore the lion’s roar!”
Serena thrust her sign skyward to the scattered cheer of the handful of authors. The moment was rather undercut, however, when three men carrying a glass tower in the shape of a tree bumped her out of the way. Still, Serena was never one to ignore an opportunity.
“Scabs!” she cried, swinging her sign at them. “Crossing a picket line in support of the elite, shame on you! Enjoy your paychecks, lads, because they’re signed with our blood!”
“Where did these authors come from?” Kate asked, still confused.
“Snuck them on the island last night,” Serena said, obviously proud of herself. “A very clandestine affair, very romantic.”
“It was less romantic and more miserable,” said a man in his early sixties, looking haggard. “The storm battered us around like a kitten with a yarn ball. We thought we’d capsize.”
“Nonsense, Peter,” Serena said, waving him back. “Get on the line, don’t let up on them, boys!”
“Were you expecting… more people?” Kate asked, looking at the meager collection.
“Cowards, the lot of them,” Serena said darkly. “A bit of rain and wind and suddenly everybody’s got a case of the scaredy cats. We may be small, but our roar is mighty. And they’ll hear us, all the way back to Seattle. And you’re here now! Simon and Kennedy certainly can’t ignore their superstar. With you on the line, we’ll have some real firepower.”
“Oh, actually,” Kate said, shuffling awkwardly sideways toward the entrance, “I promised I would help move some things? It’s a time-sensitive matter, you understand.”
“Time-sensitive?” Serena said, her eyes bulging in shock. “And our career plight is not? Are you saying you won’t join us, Kate?”
“I’m not… exactly saying that,” Kate said, grimacing.
“You mark my words, Kate Valentine,” Serena said, pressing into her personal space and overwhelming her with the smell of flowery perfume and sweat. “You’re either one of us or one of them. And if you’re one of them, you’ll suffer the same fate as them. Mark. My. Words.”