Free Weddings Can Be Murder by Christie Craig

Katie had been in an accident?
    No. Not Katie, too .
    Her chest tightened.
    Looking at the phone she still held, she dialed Katie’s cell number again. It rang, then went to the recording. “Katie, I’m getting worried. Call me. I’m back at your house. I’m…”
    The heater clicked off, replaced by a scary-movie kind of silence. “I’m sure you’re fine. Traffic, right?” Les popped up and went to the back door to make sure it waslocked. It was. “I’m going to shower—a long hot shower—and we’ll have a pajama party when you get home. And I’ll tell you about this hot guy I met to night. He made my wow voice go off, Katie. Of course, I’m not ready yet. Okay, call me.”
    She had no sooner hung up when a sudden clatter came from outside. Swinging back to the door, she hit the light switches. Light flooded both the living room and outside on the patio.
    With her nose pressed to the cold, glass panel of the back door, she cut her eyes left. Nothing.
    Right. Nothing.
    Of course, nothing. Just the wind.
    Telling herself Katie was fine and it was only the storm outside, Les went into the bedroom. Yep, a hot shower sounded good. She turned on the radio so she wouldn’t have to hear the heater bitch about spewing warmth. Her clothes came off, landing here and there. Yeah, she was a bit of a slob. A slob compared to Katie, who was, well…perfect.
    Naked, but realizing Katie might call, she did the streak into the living room and grabbed her cell phone to take with her into the bathroom. Katie would call or come home soon. Surely.
       
    Katie reached for a new box. She’d confiscated some packing paper to clean up the mess they had both left on the floor. Just like a man, Carl hadn’t offered to help, but at least he’d said thank you.
    So far they’d found books and dishes. And in a big box, she’d found a foldout bed—just one—and oh yeah, that one box of sex toys. Which Carl, aka Mr. Banderas, hadn’t stopped snickering over.
    He let out another chuckle.
    “You can stop laughing now,” Katie snapped. “It’s rude to laugh at someone who—”
    “Whoa!” He held up his hands. “I’m not laughing at Tabitha. I’m laughing at you.”
    “Me?” she asked. Well, that’s much better then. Not!
    “Yeah. The look on your face was pretty funny.”
    “It’s still rude. They were her things.” She didn’t want to get into her feelings about him laughing at her.
    “And I don’t see a thing wrong with them either,” he said. “I mean…” One of his eyebrows shot up. “I figure most of you women have toys. All the girls I hang out with do.”
    “And what kind of girls do you hang out with?” She opened another box and feigned disinterest in his answer. But actually, she waited with an on-the-edge-of-your-seat anticipation.
    “No, this isn’t about me. I simply wonder if you have toys.”
    She could feel his gaze, could feel her cheeks brighten. Of course she had toys. Okay, a toy. She was almost twenty-nine and she wasn’t a prude. But her toy wasn’t penis shaped. She’d bought the kind over which, if she accidentally died, whoever cleaned out her things and stumbled upon it wouldn’t have a heart attack. Her battery-operated device could be used as a foot massager, or to soothe aching necks.
    However, she was not going to start talking sex toys with Carl. Not when every time she’d used the uh…foot massager, the imaginary lover had been a man who looked just like him.
    She stiffened. “I think we need to change the subject.”
    “And just when it was getting interesting, too,” he said. There was a pause, some rattling of paper, then he spoke again. “So, what do you want to talk about?”
    “Why do we have to talk at all?” She looked up.
    “Because you get nervous when it gets quiet.”
    Okay, it was true, but she didn’t like him pointing it out. “Oh, I know a subject. How about the dog you lied about?”
    The look on his face made her laugh.
    “How do you know I