Chapter 20
There’s something deeply satisfying about approaching a murder suspect when they’re at their emotional breaking point, mainly because people tend to tell the truth when they’re too upset to remember they should be lying.
“Kiki,” I say gently, approaching her like I might approach a wounded animal—carefully and with an escape route planned.
The champagne reception is in full swing around us, the afternoon sun casting everything in golden light while guests laugh and toast the happy couple who may or may not stay married past the honeymoon. If there’s a betting pool, I’d like to be a part of it.
The Maine summer heat is starting to build at an aggressive rate, and I can smell the mingled scents of sea salt drifting up from the harbor, blooming hydrangeas from the small army of flowers, and the faint sweetness of the desserts being laid out in the catering tent.
A gentle breeze rustles through the white silk ribbons adorning the reception chairs, and the soft splash of waves against the shoreline creates a backbeat to the festivities.
Truffle watches us from a shaded spot under one of the linen-draped cocktail tables, panting softly while keeping a watchful eye on me as if I might be the next one to have a knife in her chest.
Kiki turns to look at me, and I’m struck by how different she looks from the composed lawyer I’ve been seeing all week.
Her emerald eyes are bright with unshed tears, and her perfect composure has finally shattered like a mirror dashed to the floor.
The humidity has caused a few dark strands to escape her usually pristine updo, and there’s a slight tremor in her hands as she sets down her untouched champagne flute on the nearby garden table adorned with white peonies.
“Oh, Bizzy,” she says with a bitter laugh. “What can I help you with?” she quickly wipes away her tears. “Sorry. I tend to get emotional at weddings.” Especially when the love of my life marries a nincompoop, she thinks with a bitter scowl before forcing a smile.
Around us, the string quartet switches to something that sounds fancy and wedding-appropriate while servers dodge between guests with champagne glasses that sparkle like expensive jewelry in the sunlight.
Charlotte’s laugh rings out across the reception as she poses for yet another photo with Conrad by the flower arch, and even from here, I can see Piers’s jaw clench as if he’s chewing glass.
“I’m here because you look like you could use a friend,” I tell her with far too much honesty. “And because I have some questions.”
“Questions about what?” One of her brows spikes in the air.
“About how I just watched the man I love marry someone else? About how I was literally silenced when I tried to object? About how my entire life just imploded in front of half of Maine?” The tears start to flow as she gasps.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said any of that out loud.
I didn’t mean it.” She pinches her eyes shut.
“I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night, and the champagne is already getting to me. I guess I’m spiraling.”
A burst of laughter from a nearby group of guests punctuates her words, the sound almost mocking in its timing. Someone’s golden retriever—one of the guest’s dogs, I assume—trots past us with a white bow tie around his collar, his tail wagging as he searches for dropped hors d’oeuvres.
I wince over at Kiki. She’s spiraling, all right. And it’s time to push a little harder.
“My questions actually have to do with Tessa Greene,” I say quietly.
Kiki’s face goes white, her sun-kissed complexion suddenly looking gray. “What about her?”
“About why you killed her.”
The accusation sits between us like an unwelcome wedding guest. Around us, the reception rages on—people laughing, glasses clinking, the string quartet doing their fancy wedding music thing. But right here in our little corner of drama, it’s like someone hit the pause button.
“I didn’t kill Tessa,” Kiki says, but her voice lacks conviction.
“You had motive.” I continue, “I heard Tessa knew about your plan to object at the wedding.” Did I hear that? Does it matter?
“Yes,” Kiki says suddenly, the words tumbling out with the force of a dam bursting.
“Yes, I was going to object, and I was foolish enough to bring it up to Tessa.” She glances around nervously, then steps closer to me, lowering her voice.
“Tessa works—worked—at the law office where I practice. Conrad’s been utilizing our firm as a client for his investment banking deals. ”
I raise an eyebrow. “So Conrad’s around the office often?”
“Often enough. That’s how Piers met Tessa in the first place.
He’s always with Conrad. I’m not sure what happened to his business, but I think it took a tumble.
” Her voice takes on a bitter edge. “He visits me at the office often because he still loves me—I know he does. He hired Tessa for this train wreck because he thought getting a wedding planner from my firm would somehow... I don’t know, keep me involved?
Make me change my mind about him? I have no idea why he chose her.
In fact, she didn’t even have a wedding planning side gig until he hired her. ”
“This was her first wedding event?”
She nods.
The irony isn’t lost on me. Piers essentially hired his own doom by bringing Tessa into their lives.
I think back on the name of Tessa’s business—Something Borrowed, Knot Your Average Wedding. Oh wow. And now I’m wondering if there isn’t some ironic meaning in the name.
“Of course, once Tessa found out about my plan to object, she threatened me,” Kiki continues, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “She wanted a hefty wad of cash in return for her silence. Can you believe that? She was going to blackmail me to keep quiet about my own feelings.”
“You had the opportunity. You were at the kickoff luau. You had access to the catering area where the knife came from.”
“So did everyone else!”
“And you slapped her. You’re a lawyer, Kiki. You know darn well that’s assault. And you also know how to plan, how to execute, how to cover your tracks.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can practically see her internal debate playing out across her face. Denial or confession? Lies or truth? But oddly, not a thought crosses her mind.
“You want to know what really happened?” she asks with a blink.
“I’m all ears.”
Kiki glances around before stepping in close. “Yes, I was planning to object at the wedding. Yes, Tessa found out about it and tried to blackmail me. I may have slapped her, but I didn’t kill her.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know!” The words burst out of her with obvious frustration. “But I have suspicions.”
“What kind of suspicions?”
“The kind that involve Charlotte not being nearly as innocent as everyone thinks she is.”
“What do you mean?” I ask even though I know exactly what she means. Or at least I think I do.
“I mean,” Kiki lowers her voice to barely above a whisper, “that your sweet little bride has been playing a much deeper game than anyone realizes. Including her new husband.”
Before I can ask her to define the word game, a commotion near the reception tent draws our attention. Charlotte is laughing loudly at something Conrad has whispered in her ear, while Piers stands nearby looking increasingly uncomfortable.
“See that?” Kiki asks, nodding toward the newlyweds. “Charlotte has been carrying on with Conrad for months. Everyone thinks she’s this naive social media, trust fund princess, but she’s been orchestrating this entire wedding as a cover for her affair.”
“How do you know that?” I’m wondering if she’s witnessed what I witnessed.
“Because I’m a lawyer, and I know how to investigate. I have photos, Bizzy. Text messages. Hotel receipts. Charlotte Van Buren has been playing everyone—her mother, her fiancé, her wedding planner, and probably half the wedding party. She’s certainly playing Piers.”
My mind is racing. If Kiki is telling the truth, then Charlotte is a manipulator who’s been using everyone around her. But why?
“If you knew all this,” I ask slowly, “why didn’t you expose her before the wedding?”
Kiki’s smile is sharp as broken glass. “Because I wanted Piers to figure it out on his own. I wanted him to see what he was really marrying before it was too late.”
“But Bea stopped your objection.”
“I doubt Bea knows about the affair because she didn’t want me disrupting her daughter’s wedding day. But now...” She glances toward where Charlotte is glowing with happiness while openly flirting with her husband’s best man. “Now it’s too late.”
“Unless,” I say carefully, “Charlotte killed Tessa to keep her affair secret.”
“Exactly.” Kiki’s eyes meet mine. “Tessa wasn’t just blackmailing me, Bizzy. She was blackmailing everyone. And trust me, Charlotte, nee Van Buren, was not left off that list.”
The pieces start clicking into place in my mind. Charlotte had a motive—keeping her affair secret. Charlotte certainly had an opportunity—she had access to the catering area as the bride. Charlotte is clearly not as na?ve and ditzy as she pretends to be.
“You mentioned you had proof. Where is this evidence now?”
“Safe. Very safe. And if anything happens to me, it all goes public.”
I study Kiki’s face, trying to read whether she’s telling the truth or spinning an elaborate lie to deflect suspicion from herself. She certainly looks sincere, and her theory about Charlotte makes a disturbing amount of sense.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
“Because you’re the only person here who might actually be able to help me prove what happened to Tessa.
And because...” She pauses, looking toward where Piers is now standing alone while his new wife laughs with another man.
“Because he deserves to know the truth about what kind of a monster he just married.”
A burst of laughter from the reception area draws our attention back to the celebration. Charlotte is posing for photos with Conrad, their body language so intimate that even the guests are starting to notice.
“Poor Piers,” Kiki murmurs. “He has no idea his marriage is already over.”
And yet a part of me wonders if he cares.
As I watch as Charlotte beams with triumph while her clueless new husband stands nearby, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve just found my killer.