Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Harriet
The Glassworks Galleria in neighboring Creighton is a massive old-timey warehouse that used to be a glass factory.
Now it’s Grand Central Station for all things artful and tasteful. The first floor hosts yoga studios and boutique designer shops. The top two floors form an event complex for concerts, small conventions, and weddings.
Today it’s a bridal expo, and it’s packed.
Rows of booths stretch down the length of the venue. There are florists, photographers, calligraphers, bakers, and more. There’s a stage at the far end for a bridal fashion show tonight, but right now it’s all dramatically lit florals.
A harpist plays somewhere in the distance, and cake and signature drink samples are set out like bait to lure passersby.
But all eyes are on us.
Okay, not us.
Him.
Alexandru strolls along in his three-piece suit like someone who just stepped off the pages of Evil Incarnate Menswear Daily, all majestic bearing and weaponized cool.
Since it’s daytime, he wore a hat, gloves, and dark sunglasses on the way here. On any other man, the ensemble would have been fussy, but he makes it work, what with his whole beastly prowling thing.
I nearly lost my balance when he removed his gloves—one slow, crisp finger tug at a time like a man at ease in his power. And then he pulled the gloves free, revealing those large, strong hands, fingers flexing.
“This event serves several towns,” I say. “Plus, there are probably a few Cleveland brides going for a small-town vibe.”
He doesn’t answer. His eyes track movement—waitstaff, caterers, planners. Is he watching the herd for signs of weakness? Looking for a spot to settle in for a nice heaping helping of human?
Eight days left. We can catch a killer in eight days.
Right?
I grab a program from the info table and study the names. “Check it out!” I point to the corner area on the map. “This is Kip’s business. I bet he’s here. Kip is the bartender who was at every single wedding where there was a suspicious accident.”
Alexandru’s eyes gleam. “Excellent,” he says. “Point me to him.”
“But we’re just here for context,” I remind him. “Still in the information gathering phase. The motive column of my spreadsheet needs to be filled out before we do anything like outright accosting a suspect, okay?”
“The motive column? Good god.”
“I know what you’re thinking. Cumbersome though my methods are, you’re going to let me take the lead, right?”
“For now.”
A baby bursts into tears as we pass. Does it sense Alexandru? Is that possible?
I study his patrician profile. He appears oblivious to the attention that he’s getting, but appearances can be deceiving. He probably takes it as his due.
I return to the map. My heart sinks when I discover neither Whitney nor Berky is listed as vendors. “Dang,” I say. “I wanted you to hear Berky’s cake story and meet Whitney, the wedding planner. Never mind. There’s still a lot of sleuthing to do here.”
“Mmmm,” Alexandru says.
“Weddings are probably boring to you,” I say.
“Not at all. Weddings and marriages are an important part of the supply chain for my kind.”
Somebody takes a not-that-discreet picture of him. I’d be a little bit worried if I hadn’t seen those pictures in the castle of him during his travels.
I go back to studying the guide. “I should’ve come to one of these events when I was first starting to research this killer.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know. I’m much more of an online researcher.”
“I prefer the direct approach.” He’s looking around at the people. Maybe cataloging everybody’s blood types.
“It’s possible we could even identify a new and unexpected suspect.”
“A new suspect? That would elongate our process.”
“But the goal here is to find the guilty party, not rush to judgment and... etcetera.”
Alexandru’s eyes sparkle. “Etcetera?”
“Check it out!” I point to booth thirty-nine. “DJ Sassy Sadie! She was the DJ at one of the early accident weddings. She had the confetti cannon I told you about. She was sure it wasn’t her fault.”
“A cannon of confetti.” His voice drips with disdain.
I lower my voice as we walk. “She was supposed to shoot it off the moment the bride and groom kissed after the ceremony, but the thing went off way too early. While the preacher was asking for objections. The mother of the bride thought she set it off on purpose because the timing was so outrageous, but DJ Sassy Sadie was really insistent that she didn’t activate the remote and that the cannon was in perfect working order.
I’m going to get her to talk about it, and you see what you pick up. ”
Alexandru sighs.
DJ Sassy Sadie’s booth is strung with neon lights and metallic garlands. A banner above her reads “DJ Sassy Sadie” in glittering pink cursive. Sadie is fiddling with a soundboard. Her hair is teased upwards, and her hoop earrings sparkle in the light.
“Hey, hey,” she calls when she sees us. “How’s it going?” She glances at Alexandru nervously. He really seems to make people nervous.
“Good,” I say, trying to project a friendly vibe. “Just checking things out.”
“Let me know if you have any questions.” Behind her, a banner reading “Big Fun for Your Big Day” flaps gently in the HVAC breeze.
I take a card, a slick black number with a holographic QR code. I hand it to Alexandru, and he scowls at it.
“All my packages are online now—updated weekly,” Sadie says. “Everything from bare bones to total extravaganza.”
“I was actually just at a wedding you did. It was a few months back, out at Gazebo Park in Ashwood? The confetti cannon went off right in the middle of the ‘Any objections’ part. I felt so bad on your behalf.”
Her entire demeanor shifts. Even her hair seems to deflate. I feel like a jerk bringing it up. “That… should not have happened.”
“Did you ever figure out what went wrong?”
She squares her stand. “Yes, I did. Somebody set it off purposely. I know that might sound paranoid to you.”
“Not at all!” I say. “How’d you find out?”
She glances nervously at Alexandru. “It’s a long story, and I’ve ensured it won’t happen again.”
“I want to know,” I say.
Sadie sighs. “So, like, those confetti cannons operate by remote control. The buttons are super touchy, so I’ve always made it a practice to keep the batteries out of the remote until the very last minute. They were still in my pocket when the cannon went off.”
“Could it have been a malfunction?”
“I wondered it myself, but I couldn’t see how.
They’re not complex machines, you know? I use them constantly, and it makes no sense.
I felt so bad when it happened. I’m telling you, I spent hours trying to get the manufacturer on the phone.
They were zero help, so I loaded that thing in the back of my truck and drove down three hours to the U.S.
headquarters. I need to know I can rely on my tools, and people love the confetti cannon. ”
I nod.
“They called the overseas factory and ended up taking my cannon apart to check the circuitry. It was perfectly operational. They assured me that the only way it could have happened is if somebody else had a remote.”
“How would somebody else get the remote to your cannon?” I look at Alexandru. He’s listening intently.
“Turns out these cannons all use universal remotes. Anyone with the same model could have set it off.”
“Did you ask for a list of other buyers? Like of the model you have?”
“That would’ve been nice, but they claimed they couldn’t provide one—sales go through , party store chains, middlemen. Clearly, it would take a lot of doing.”
Alexandru leans in slightly. “Do you think they could be… persuaded?”
She stiffens. “Persuaded? Like... how?”
He lowers his voice to a tone that’s a little scarier than the situation requires, let’s just say. “Persuaded.”
“He’s just joking,” I say quickly. “But what do you make of it in hindsight? Do you have other theories about who did it? A rival DJ? A mischief maker?”
She gives me a strange look. “The DJ community is pretty cooperative. But a mischief maker? Somebody who hates the couple enough to purchase a confetti cannon just to get the remote and deliberately set it off at the wrong time?” She pauses here.
“Is there… some reason you have a specific interest in this? I mean, if you’re worried about your own wedding. ..”
“Oh, that’s not why we’re asking,” I say quickly, drawing Alexandru’s attention, probably with my spiking heart rate. “We’re not engaged or anything like that.”
“Her kind serves me,” he clarifies unhelpfully.
“Oh!! Got it. Totally cool!” DJ Sassy Sadie says. “I love it!”
“He just means he’s my boss.”
“Yeah, yeah, say no more!” she insists. “And I want you to know I am down with all sorts of ceremonies and the entire spectrum of potential relationships! Really down with whatever you’ve got going.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“And I want to put your minds at rest right now,” she continues. “I personally reprogrammed the remotes. I’m obsessed with making your day unforgettable.”
Alexandru hands her back the card, slow and elegant. “You’ve given us much to consider.”
“Please, keep it,” she says.
I snatch it from his outstretched fingers. “We will!”
“Seriously, Alexandru!” I say as we walk away from her booth. “You one hundred percent need to drop the servant thing.”
“She imagined we were betrothed. I cannot think of anything more preposterous. I would not marry a Renfield even if the alternative were to be chained to the bottom of the sea and consumed by eels. Slowly.”
“If you act cool today, maybe I’ll get you a T-shirt with that on it.” I run my hand over a hanging display of silky ribbons at the wedding present wrapping booth.
He gives me an imperious look, and for just a moment, it’s weirdly hot.
I look away, ignoring his dark lord beauty, reminding myself that he’s an inhuman killing machine, and whatever hotness he has is probably some vampire mesmerizing trick.
And his English accent is not helping.
“Though we are at a wedding expo,” I say. “It could serve us to let people think we are in a relationship. And that was pretty interesting with DJ Sassy Sadie, right? Did it seem like she was telling the truth?”
“She was being honest,” he says.
“The culprit would’ve had to know the model of cannon she uses and where to order it. And how did they know the remotes were universal? This is somebody who’s been around the wedding game.”
“Not a guest, then? Perhaps we don’t need the guest lists from Sloane anymore.”
“I still think we need them. More information is better than less.” I go back to my map.
“This place is an assault on my senses. The brightness, the scents, the chaos of emotions.”
I look up at his glowering face, like something Michelangelo might’ve sculpted to represent the concepts of beauty and majesty, except then it got possessed by a demon. “I didn’t even think of that. It just comes at you? All the emotions around this place? Like a soup of emotions?”
“Like competing orchestras.”
“You need to leave?”
He gives me a dark look. “I have been through worse.”
There is an edge to the way he says this. Almost an accusatory edge, as though I put him through something worse.
A small display with an elegant gold bird logo catches my eye. Golden Goose Catering. “The runaway dish cart!” I say. “It was their dirty dish cart that careened into my grandmother and a bunch of other people at a wedding reception in Gazebo Park. We should question them.”