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Chapter Sixteen

“Scab!” Serena screeched as Kate ducked into the tent. “You all saw her. Kate Valentine crossed the picket line! She’s a scab!”

“I’m not a scab!” Kate hissed back through the flap.

“Scab!” Serena shrilled louder. “Kate Valentine doesn’t support the working writers!”

Kate ducked farther into the tent to avoid the meager cries of “traitor” by the other authors, turning her attention inward. Even with one corner of the tent down and two dozen men hauling out the decorations, the tent was still magnificent. Like a fairy-tale forest, it had live trees spread throughout as support structures, with blown-glass butterflies suspended among the branches. Each table had a different installation, some with brightly colored mushrooms and flowers, others with lush pads of grass and small fairy houses. There was even a babbling brook that meandered around the dance floor and ended beneath a sheet of heavy-duty glass made to look like a reflecting pond, with fish swimming in an underground tank.

“Gentle with the lights,” Jean-Pierre said halfheartedly from the center of the tent, reaching out forlornly to touch a piece of his disman tled creation as one of Spencer’s cousins hauled it out. “They are handblown! Faites attention! ”

“It’s magnificent,” Kate said as she approached, watching one of the supporting trees as six waiters lifted it.

“It was,” Jean-Pierre said, his voice hollow. “My crowning glory. We couldn’t even get pictures because the photographer was busy at the rehearsal dinner and the tent collapsed overnight.”

“Hilarious, isn’t it?” snorted a familiar voice behind them, one that made Kate instantly want to take a shower. Jean-Pierre stiffened and did an about-face, striding away.

“Eric,” Kate said with distaste, turning to face Spencer’s younger brother.

“All this money and they can’t keep the walls from collapsing,” Eric said, shaking his head and brazenly drinking from a pocket flask. He grinned that shit-eating grin of his, smacking his teeth against a piece of gum that deserved a better fate. “You see those idiots with the signs out there? Hilarious! I asked the little Gomez Addams guy if I could borrow one of Rebecca’s hunting rifles, you know? Thin the herd a little. Pew, pew !”

He mimed holding up a rifle and shooting, which only made Kate loathe him all the more. Spencer had his inherited flaws, but Eric had perfected them. Spencer had always been strangely defensive of his brother, probably because he secretly knew what an awful human being he was. Spencer had even made Eric his best man, which meant Eric should have the inside line on Spencer’s whereabouts.

“Eric, it’s never a pleasure,” Kate said with a saccharine smile. “You haven’t seen your brother around, have you?”

“Why, you looking to make another scene?” Eric said, waggling his brows and braying once again. God, she hated him.

“Sure, I was hoping to throw myself at him in a desperate last-ditch attempt to win him back at his own wedding on his future bride’s obscenely wealthy private family island,” Kate said flatly. “Have you seen him or not?”

Eric shrugged, his gaze straggling over the tent as if he were already bored with her. “You’re the one who ought to know.”

“Why would I know?” Kate asked.

“Because he went looking for you after your little shit fit at the rehearsal dinner. We were supposed to bro down, drink some whiskies, smoke some cigars, get a little loose. You know, last night of freedom and all? But he was a no-show. So I had to make my own bro fun, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m glad I don’t,” Kate said. “But Spencer never found me last night. Have you seen him this morning?”

“Nah,” Eric said, smacking at his gum. “Missed his tux fitting this morning. That little French guy threw a total tantrum about it. Definitely not bro material.”

“Nobody says ‘bro’ anymore,” Kate said, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, well, you’re not gonna be my sister-in-law anymore, so I don’t have to pretend to listen to you,” Eric said, moving away from her toward a newly arrived cute female server.

“Don’t you dare molest that poor girl just trying to do her job!” Kate called after him.

Eric waved Kate off, leaving her to her own thoughts as she moved toward the collapsed corner to gather table linens. Spencer had apparently gone looking for her after she ran out of the rehearsal dinner, but he’d never found her. And he certainly hadn’t been there when she’d found Kennedy. So, what had he been doing instead?

Kate was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the heavier patter of rain on the tent roof overhead, nor did she notice the shout of warning as the collapsed section of roof created a funnel for the water to gather into a downspout. What she did register, however, was an unwelcome deluge through the open section of roof, right onto her head.

“Oh!” Kate yelped, the linens in her hands absorbing the majority of the water and dragging her arms down.

“ Non , oh!” said Jean-Pierre, hurrying toward her.

“I’m all right,” Kate said miserably, giving a little shiver.

“The poor table linens! They are ruined now!” Jean-Pierre took the bundle from her, tutting his tongue before realizing that Kate, an actual live human, had also gotten soaked. “Ah, apologies. You should… change.”

“Thanks,” Kate said dryly as Jean-Pierre hauled his precious cargo away.

She wrung out her sleeves as she dodged around two men carrying another tree jangling with fairy lights. She felt no shame, either, in timing her exit with a large table that obscured her from Serena’s view. The wind raised goose bumps along her arms as she hurried toward the Manor, the clouds heavy and leaden and far too close for comfort.

At least it was windless inside, if no warmer or more inviting. Somewhere the tantalizing scent of bacon beckoned, nearly derailing her from her course, but she had too much to do. She looked through the doors of the cocktail room wistfully at the towers of pastries and sleek stainless steel coffee urns, promising herself she’d return as soon as she had changed. She headed up the stairs but stopped on the third-floor landing as a thought occurred to her.

She could get changed and continue to help bring in the decorations. Or she could take this opportunity, while everyone else was occupied, to hunt down Spencer and get the truth. Find out where he was last night and what he’d been hiding. If she wanted to unmask the person who’d poisoned Kennedy and catch them before they tried it again, she’d have to engage in some good old-fashioned snooping, Loretta-style. Snooping was a highly maligned, underrated skill, in Kate’s opinion. After all, how else would Loretta have discovered that the groom’s sister in book three was the real killer if she hadn’t gone snooping in the sister’s room and found the family heirloom wedding ring hidden in the lining of her suitcase? It had been Spencer’s suggestion, actually.

Was that one of the murder signs Jake had accused her of missing all these years? Spencer really was a quick study at figuring out the most expedient way to get rid of a body in all of her books. Was it from personal experience? A mind that was used to plotting murder? Sure, he hated spider guts, but maybe that’s why he chose poison. No bloody mess to clean up.

Kate rubbed her face in frustration. She was losing it. The lack of sleep, the mainlining of caffeine, the wine hangover from last night, it was distorting her sense of reality. Kate didn’t have any good answers—only more questions—as she prowled the halls. She’d nearly cleared the third floor with no Spencer Lieman sighting when a door down the hall opened and a different, entirely undesirable Lieman stepped out to stare her down.

“Ohhhhh, there she is,” said Spencer’s mother, staring knives at Kate. She shined a flashlight directly in Kate’s eyes, momentarily blinding her. “The little wedding crasher, come to ruin Spencey’s big day once again.”

“Excuse me?” Kate said, her gut clenching tight. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, little missy,” said Mrs. Lieman, advancing on Kate. “I know exactly what you did, and you won’t get away with it.”