Chapter 21 #2
I liked the sparkly lights, Truffle yips with boundless enthusiasm.
SO many colors and they kept changing and flashing, and OH MY GOSH, did you see how they made everything look like a fairy tale?
And the music was SO LOUD but in a good way, and there were people spinning and laughing, and I wanted to spin, too, but my legs are too short for proper spinning, but I tried anyway and got a little dizzy, but it was AMAZING, and also there might have been confetti somewhere!
Good thing the last venue canceled on us!
“Bizzy!” Bea appears near the staircase, looking somewhat less composed than usual.
Her silver hair has escaped its elegant chignon, and there’s a slight flush to her cheeks that suggests she’s been sampling the champagne liberally.
“Congratulations on hosting such a spectacular evening. This has exceeded even my wildest expectations.”
“Thank you,” I reply, genuinely pleased. “Your daughter looks absolutely radiant tonight. That second dress is something else entirely.” Mostly because it glows more than the moon, I muse to myself. “And that tall robotic man with all the lights is not like anything I’ve ever seen before.”
“Oh yes, Charlotte insisted on the LED situation. It cost more than my first car, but she wanted to be sure she’d stand out on social media.
” Bea’s smile turns slightly bitter. “Everything has to be perfect for her followers, you know. Can’t have a simple wedding when you have millions of people watching. ”
At least the hussy that my new idiot son-in-law was cheating on my daughter with is dead, she thinks with startling clarity.
Whoever killed her did us all a favor. Poor girl, though—having to deal with Piers’s inevitable lies, and now poor Charlotte.
Who knows? Maybe the killer will strike again and rid us both of that idiot for good.
My mouth falls open, and I nearly stumble at the venom in her thoughts, but manage to keep my expression neutral. I guess Bea is definitely off the suspect list.
“Well, Piers seems completely smitten with her,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.”
Wait, did she imply that Piers had an affair with Tessa?
“Oh, I’m sure they will be,” Bea says with false brightness.
“As long as Charlotte never finds out about his gambling problem, or his tendency to sleep with wedding planners, or the fact that he’s marrying her for money that doesn’t actually exist.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it.
“But what bride doesn’t deserve a few surprises in her marriage? ”
The casual way she drops this information makes my skin crawl. Either Bea has completely lost her filter thanks to champagne or she’s more calculating than I gave her credit for.
“I should let you get to whatever you need to do,” she continues, already turning away. “Don’t let me keep you from your duties.”
“That was odd,” I say as I watch her stagger back toward the reception. “Though I will say, this entire day has been quite illuminating.”
That woman is scary, Sherlock barks as we continue down the hallway.
All hoomans are scary when they drink too much, Fish replies. But she’s extra scary.
Her words were SO mean and dark and scary like storm clouds, Truffle yips.
But WORSE because storm clouds are at least pretty sometimes, but her thoughts were just MEAN, mean, mean, and also, she smelled like sadness mixed with that sparkly drink stuff, and OH MY GOS,H did you hear how her voice got all weird and sharp?
It made my ears feel tingly in a bad way! Truffle chatters anxiously.
“That’s putting it mildly.”
I reach my office door and turn the handle, already mentally cataloging where I keep the backup equipment.
No sooner does the door swing open than I spot Kiki and Piers in a passionate embrace that would make the compromising position I caught Charlotte and Conrad in earlier look tame by comparison.
Only this time, unfortunately for me, I don’t go undetected.
Both of them gasp and spring apart, staring at me with expressions of pure horror mixed with enough guilt to cancel a wedding—but we all know it’s too late for that.
“Oh my goodness,” I blurt out, immediately backing away from the door. “I’m so sorry, I just needed to—”
“Bizzy, wait!” Piers calls out, but I’m already fleeing down the hallway with my pets racing beside me.
Well, that explains a few things, Fish yowls as we sprint toward the back entrance.
Like why Kiki still looked so determined during the ceremony, Sherlock adds, his claws clicking on the hardwood floors.
And why Piers kept looking around instead of paying attention to his own wedding! Truffle yips breathlessly. I noticed that, too! He was supposed to be looking at Charlotte, but his eyes kept wandering everywhere else!
“Bizzy, please stop!” Piers’s voice echoes behind us as I push through the doors leading to the beach.
The sound of the reception grows louder as we approach the deck, but I veer away from the lights and music, heading for the darker end of the cove where the rocks meet the water, hoping to lose him and find Jasper.
The moonlight reflects off the waves as I reach the secluded area, my heart pounding from both the running and the shock of what I just witnessed.
The wedding guests are too far away to hear anything over the pumping music and robot dance spectacular, which suddenly seems a lot less charming and a lot more ominous.
“We need to have a private conversation,” Piers bellows from behind.
This seems like a terrible place to have a private conversation, Fish yowls, her night vision allowing her to navigate the rocky terrain better than mine.
Very isolated, Sherlock agrees. Perfect for murder.
Or confessions, Truffle adds with a string of hopeful yips.
“Bizzy!” Piers appears behind me, slightly out of breath from chasing me across the sand. He reaches out and grabs my arm to stop me from walking farther into the darkness.
I jerk free from his grip, my instincts screaming that this is exactly how horror movies start. “Don’t you touch me.”
“It was a mistake,” he says quickly, his words slightly slurred from champagne or panic or both. “I thought she was Charlotte. I’m not thinking straight. I’m drunk!”
The smell of alcohol wafts from him, confirming at least part of his claim, but there’s something in his eyes that suggests this conversation is about to take a very dark turn. His usual charming smile is nowhere to be found, replaced by something desperate and dangerous.
“Right,” I say, panting as I do my best to back away from him. “You thought Kiki was your wife of exactly three hours. That makes perfect sense, considering they look absolutely nothing alike and you were gobbling up her face as if it were your wedding cake.”
“Look, I can explain—”
“Can you explain why you killed Tessa Greene?”
The words hang in the air between us like a challenge thrown down at high noon, and I watch his face go through several expressions before settling on something that looks almost relieved.
“I didn’t kill Tessa,” he says, but his voice lacks any conviction, and his eyes keep darting around like he’s looking for escape routes.
“You were having an affair with her.” I try my best to keep my voice steady, but I’m calculating distances to safety and cursing myself for not bringing Jasper’s gun, not that he would have given it to me.
Piers runs a hand through his hair, messing up his perfectly styled locks. Okay, so Kiki beat him to it.
“Fine,” he growls. “Yes, I was sleeping with her. So what? I wasn’t married yet. A man has needs, and Charlotte has been so focused on her social media empire, she barely had time for me.”
He’s admitting to cheating, Fish gasps. That’s not usually a good sign in a murder investigation.
No, it is not a good sign.
“But she was blackmailing you about it,” I continue, as I start picking up fragments of his increasingly panicked thoughts.
Can’t let Charlotte find out... fifty thousand... I didn’t have that kind of money... the wedding was in a week... everything would have been ruined...
“Yes!” The word explodes out of him with obvious frustration. “Yes, she was blackmailing me. Happy now? She threatened to tell Charlotte about us right before the wedding unless I paid her fifty thousand dollars.”
I don’t have a dime to my name and could never have held her at bay, his thoughts become crystal clear.
That’s why Charlotte is such a find. I’ll get my hands on her money and sleep with whomever I want on the side.
It’s the perfect setup—a rich wife who’s too busy with her social media followers to pay attention to what I’m doing.
She gets the ring, I get everything I want, cash, women, and a future filled with endless vacations and booze. It’s a win for everyone.
I gasp, unable to hide my shock at the cold calculation in his heart. “You don’t have any money. You’re a complete gold digger.”
His expression shifts from defensive to dangerous, like a mask being ripped away to reveal something rotten underneath.
“You need to stop talking right now,” he warns with a growl.
“It’s true, isn’t it? You’re absolutely broke, and you were counting on Charlotte’s trust fund to solve all your problems. But Tessa threatened to expose your affair and ruin everything.” I continue backing away, but the rocks behind me are getting treacherous, and I’m running out of escape routes.
“She was going to destroy my entire future over some meaningless fling,” he snarls, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Some stupid secretary who thought she could cash in on my personal life.”
What he pulls out gleams in the moonlight—a switchblade that clicks open with a sound that makes my blood run cold.
Bizzy, run! Fish yells.
We need to get help! Sherlock barks.
We are the help! Fish yowls back.
I’ll bite his ankles really hard and maybe his shins, too, if I can jump high enough! Truffle announces with fierce, tiny dog determination. Nobody hurts our Bizzy!
“You killed her to protect your meal ticket,” I continue, desperate to keep him talking and buying time for someone to notice I’m missing.
“But here’s the really funny part—Charlotte doesn’t even have any money, does she?
Bea’s been hiding the fact that they’re completely broke.
I have news. You’re marrying into debt, not wealth,” I point out while relishing the fact way too much.
The look on his face would be comical if he weren’t holding a knife. It’s nothing but pure shock followed by rage followed by a desperation that makes people do very stupid, very violent things.
“What are you talking about?” he demands, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m telling the truth.
“The Van Buren fortune is gone. Charlotte’s daddy gambled it all away before he died. There is no trust fund, no family money, no financial security. You just married into the same broke situation you’re already in.”
Piers lunges forward with the knife just as all three pets launch themselves at him with claws, teeth, and a heck of a lot of righteous fury.
Fish goes for his face with her claws extended, Sherlock tackles his legs with the determination of a linebacker, and tiny Truffle latches onto his ankle with surprising strength and absolutely zero intention of letting go.
“Get off me!” Piers shouts, stumbling backward as he tries to shake off the furry assault team while maintaining his grip on the knife. “You mangy little—”
“FREEZE! Sheriff’s department!” Jasper’s voice booms across the beach as he and Leo come running with weapons drawn, flashlights cutting through the darkness.
“He’s confessed to everything!” I call out as Piers stumbles backward, still fighting off three very determined pets who have absolutely no intention of letting a murderer harm their human. “He killed Tessa because she was blackmailing him about their affair!”
Leo tackles Piers while Jasper secures the knife, and within moments, the would-be killer is face-down in the sand with handcuffs around his wrists, cursing a blue streak about everything from blackmailing secretaries to lying mothers-in-law to attacking cats.
Good work, team, Fish yowls, sitting down to clean sand from her fur with the satisfaction of a job well done.
I bit him SO HARD and held on and he tried to shake me off, but I’m really good at holding on. And also, I think I got his shoelace, too, which was kind of chewy but not in a good way! Truffle announces proudly, her tiny tail wagging with victory.
I may have gotten some of his sock in my mouth, Sherlock adds, making disgusted faces. A murderer’s sock tastes worse than regular people’s socks.
As the tiki torches flicker in the ocean breeze and the wedding music continues to pump in the distance—because apparently, robot dancers wait for no murder confession—I realize that sometimes the most beautiful celebrations hide the ugliest truths.
Underneath all the sparkle and champagne, a killer was hiding in plain sight, and tonight, justice had finally crashed this party with handcuffs.