Now What? Chapter 58
Kate grabs her third paper napkin to clean the sauce off her fingers. "Those were great ribs."
"Maybe we should have Dragon Well cater our wedding," Rick suggests. "But it's a small operation. I don't see them having the personnel or the equipment to set up in the Hamptons. We'd have to do the wedding here. That would mean a pretty small guest list."
Kate spreads plum sauce on a thin pancake before filling it with pork. "I think that's what I want anyway, friends and family, not some extravagant production."
"Are you sure?" Rick asks. "Don't tell me that little Kate Beckett didn't tear pictures of wedding dresses out of magazines and imagine herself floating down the aisle in front of a crowd of joyful worshippers."
"I didn't tear them. I cut them out neatly, but I never wanted a crowd. My parents didn't have one, and they never regretted it. Remember I told you that I've been a bridesmaid six times? So far, in my experience, the more extravagant the wedding, the less time the marriage lasted."
"You may have something there. My wedding to Meredith was as big as we could manage under the time constraints."
"Time constraints? Was she pregnant with Alexis?"
"She told me she was. But Alexis was a full-term baby, seven pounds and 15 ounces. And when I did a little arithmetic, I figured out that Meredith actually got pregnant on our honeymoon. When I faced her with it, she claimed she had a false pregnancy before her real one. But Meredith is a pretty good actress. She specializes in making the false seem real. So, I guess I'll never know for sure. And my wedding to Gina was huge. Everyone who was anyone or wanted to be anyone from the publishing world was there, along with all of Gina's extended family. Gina demanded the rarest and most expensive flowers she could find and commissioned Vera Wang to design her dress. I already knew she loved to shop, but the wedding was a huge tip-off to her true shopaholic tendencies. Then, our around-the-world honeymoon was the topper. She spent all the royalties from at least two of my books – the ones with the biggest sales. And our marriage barely lasted until all the bills came in. She loved shopping for Alexis, too. But she never told me what she was getting, which resulted in embarrassing situations on Christmas. Anyway, given that history, going small sounds good. According to the fire marshal, the limit for this loft is 100 people, although Mother's thrown some bashes where she tried to push that. Still, if we want room for tables and a dance floor, we might want to keep it to around 50 or less. That will include my writers' crew. Adding in Mother and Alexis and factoring in your father, your aunt, your cousin, the boys, Montgomery, Lanie, and their mates or plus-ones still leaves about 30 or so open seats. Will that be enough?"
Eyes closed, Kate nods slowly. "More than enough."
"Then shall I fill out the engagement form for Barb Winslet, or do you still want to think about our choice of planner?"
"Before you fill out anything, I want to make sure that none of the planners murdered Peter Newminster."
"Always the homicide detective, but that does make sense," Rick concedes. "Then we'll just have to hurry up and solve the case."
Selena Williams gazes nervously around Interrogation One. "I don't know why I'm here. I only dated Peter a couple of times. I told you all I could about him."
Kate pulls a report out of her black folder. "I'm not sure you did, Selena. You know that Marion background checks all its employees prior to hiring. That included taking your prints. I imagine that didn't bother you at the time. You haven't got a rap sheet. But your prints did remain on file. The crime scene unit checked Peter Newminster's apartment for prints, and guess what they found? Peter's were there, of course, and his sister's, who freely admitted to visiting him. In fact, she spent a lot of time there while he was regaining strength from his cancer treatments. But yours were there too."
"Now, why would the prints of a woman Peter only casually dated a couple of times be in his apartment?" Rick queries.
"I went over there once to explain some renovations the Marion made to the ballrooms," Selena claims. "I thought he'd appreciate how they'd better meet the needs of his clients."
"And you couldn't do that in his office – or yours?" Kate presses. "No, that isn't why your prints were there, Selena. You see, where prints are found can be as revealing as who put them there. Your full hand was on the door as if you pushed it open after unlocking it. What did you do? Lift his key while he was busy working on an event at the hotel and get someone to make you a copy? The maintenance department at Marion has a 3-D printer, one of the newer ones, that does metal parts. It wouldn't have been tough to make a key there. And one of the guys remembers you asking him to help you out with a duplicate for a special friend of a guest."
"You were frustrated and angry that Peter Newminster cared more about his business than he did about you," Rick continues. "You took the duplicate key with you to his apartment. When he didn't want to let you in, you let yourself in. He told you as he had before, that it was over, that he didn't want to see you anymore, not even professionally. As long as you were at the Marion, he wouldn't be there, and neither would his clients. It was a double blow, wasn't it? He struck at your heart, both personally and professionally. So you struck back hard, plunging in your stiletto as far as you could."
"Maybe you can prove I was at Peter's apartment, but you can't prove I murdered him," Selena retorts.
"No?" Kate asks, rising from her seat. "Detectives Ryan and Esposito are at your apartment building right now. And you know what? They didn't just check your place. They checked that little hidden yard behind the building that's so popular with the tenants. And I'm guessing I don't have to tell you what they found: a stiletto buried about a foot down near the back fence."
"If you're going to bury a weapon, you really should go deeper than that," Rick quips.
"That knife has prints and blood on it," Kate says. "It won't take long for the lab to identify the blood as Peter Newminster's and the prints as yours. I have a cell all ready where you can wait until the report comes back."
"A woman scorned, one of the oldest murder scenarios in history," Rick says as he and Kate watch LT lead Selena to Holding.
"We won't be able to prove that until we get the lab report," Kate reminds him.
"While Selena desperately tries to think of someone else who would bury a stiletto in her backyard," Rick guesses. "Maybe she'll try to blame that on Barb Winslet, too. But what I'm wondering about is who found the body and called it in. Selena locked the door again, didn't she?"
"It will be in my report, but didn't Ryan tell you? Peter had a thing about picking up his paper in the morning."
"Maybe to keep track of the engagement announcements," Rick speculates.
"Could be," Kate accepts. "But anyway, one of his neighbors who doesn't see well tripped over the paper on her way to the elevator. She complained about tripping to the super, who was making his morning rounds. So he checked on Peter and called 911."
"So if it hadn't been for the paper, Peter's body might have laid there for God knows how long – or at least until the neighbors caught the stench. Let's hear it for the written word," Rick declares.
"Does that mean you're going to write out all the invitations?" Kate teases.
Leaning against the nearest wall, Rick groans.