Weddings Can Be Murder Read Online Free Page A

while he listened to his CD. From the conversation he’d had with Ms. Jones, he figured he might need a bit of Zeppelin before facing both her and her story of missing brides-to-be. He wasn’t sure if he bought into her concerns, either. From what she’d said, the cops hadn’t given her story any weight. But he’d learned the hard way not to discount anything too quickly. Discounting things had gotten him shot.
    When the song finished, he forced himself out of his car and studied the house. Having grown up only a few miles down the road, he’d heard the rumors about this place. Supposedly, the guy who’d had the home built was a rich paranoid schizophrenic who’d believed the government was out to get him. Carl chuckled. A home with so much prison emphasis was going to house a wedding planner? What irony, seeing that marriage was the social equivalent.
    To some people . Carl admitted that his older brother seemed happy locked up in his jubilant little life with adoting, pie-baking wife, cute kid, and a fetching manly dog. To each his own .
    His humor vanished when he heard a scream. Grabbing his gun, he edged up to the door, which stood ajar. Thrown subconsciously into his police training, he backed up against the wall and became acutely aware of his surroundings. The cold. The wind. The sudden silence.
    And the coppery scent.
    Counting to three, he shifted to peer inside. His gaze lit on a woman lying faceup on the carpet. Blood. It was everywhere. “Ah, shit.”
    Was it Tabitha? Was she the one who’d just screamed?
    As if in answer, another scream sounded. And not from the lady in white.
    The urgency in the shrill voice echoing from deeper inside the house put Carl on automatic. “Police!” he called out. “Throw down your weapons!”
    He’d surged into the room before he realized what he’d said. He wasn’t with the police anymore. Not that he missed it.
    Like hell you don’t . He hadn’t stopped loving this: the excitement, the rush that came with catching the bad guys. He gave his once-injured shoulder a good roll.
    Moving in a little more, his gaze cut back to the victim on the carpet. He started to check for a pulse, but the blank stare in her eyes told him not to waste his time. Dead. She was dead. This part of police work he didn’t miss.
    A banging noise from the back of the house sent another shot of adrenaline down his spine. He reached for his phone to call for backup, but then remembered he’d left his phone in his car. “Shit!”
    Choices flipped through his mind: grab his cell, wait for backup, or rush in like a fearless hero. He hated making quick decisions. Particularly those that involvedlife and death. Especially when it involved his life and death.
    He’d taken two steps toward the door to grab his phone when another scream split the silence. “Fuck!” He always had to be the hero, didn’t he? He swung around and took off down the hall, his gun held tight.
    The deeper he got inside the house, the creepier the place felt. Most of the windows were covered with plywood. The doors were metal and had the old-fashioned bar-across-the-door lock. The hall dumped him out into one big room, with only one window, then spidered off in several directions. The outlying halls were darker and colder.
    He chose one to follow.
    “Police!” he called out again. “Throw down your weapons.”
    This time, he’d purposely said the words. Yeah, he could be arrested for impersonating an officer, but something told him the person he was after wouldn’t have the authority to make the arrest. Besides, Police! sounded better than PI—I don’t have a right to be here, but I am anyway .
    Okay, maybe he had some right. Tabitha Jones had been about to hire him to protect her and investigate her bride situation. And if it wasn’t Ms. Jones dead on the living room floor, then she might be the one screaming, needing protection.
    Carl moved with his back against the wall, almost blinded by the surrounding