Bloody Vows (Lilah Love 5)

I don’t know him. If I’ve ever met him, I don’t remember him. I don’t try to remember him, not after that stupid question. “I heard they have those chocolate cupcakes with that perfect creamy icing on top,” I say all sweet, something I do well, despite what others might claim. I scowl. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing here? I’m a profiler. There’s a dead bride. Unless you’re standing guard at the wrong wedding?”

Now he scowls. “You’re such a bitch, Lilah.”

“I’m appalled that you just said that. I will have you know that I am a perfect fucking angel and just for that, you don’t get a cupcake.” I start to move away from him and hesitate. “Where are all the guests?”

“There’s no wedding or cupcakes,” he snaps. “There’s a woman wearing a wedding dress.”

“Because she already got married, she’s about to be married, or she likes to play Barbie at home, and takes it too far?”

He scowls and it’s the most remarkable thing about him aside from his uniform. The uniform used to be enough for me to respect and remember a person. Then I found out people like me used to wear the same one, too.

“I have no idea,” he says. “I just hold the yellow line.”

I don’t comment. There’s nothing else to say. I duck under the tape and head up the stairs of the fancy Hamptons mansion, called here by my brother, the police chief. He’s been trying to bond with me since burying a body for me, but it hasn’t worked. Somehow that doesn’t surprise me or most likely him. I’d call Andrew, and our late mother, the cherry blossoms of the family, while me and Dad are figs. A lot of people don’t know that wasps feed off figs and then get stuck inside and die.

Once I reach the front door and flash my badge at another uniform, I don’t even consider shedding my trench coat. I’m not staying. I pull on gloves and booties I’ve brought with me in my field bag at my hip and deal with yet another uniform. Rather painlessly for once, I’m past the tape. Once inside the towering foyer with a fancy chandelier above me, Andrew is charging toward me.

My brother is tall, with blond hair, and good looking enough to make his pukey tan-colored uniform look good and that’s saying a lot. Tonight though, he’s in jeans and a T-shirt that hugs lots of muscles. I guess I hadn’t noticed that big bro’s been working out. Samantha, the bimbo who fucked Kane when we were broken up and then who fucked Andrew, moved away. I wonder who the new girl is. It’s my sisterly duty to find out.

“She scowls,” Andrew greets, stopping in front of me. “And here I thought a murder would make Thanksgiving Eve.”

“It might. Did someone get it right and kill Pocher properly this time?”

“Not only is he alive,” he comments dryly, “I got a call on the way over here. He’s putting on a fundraiser mid-December for Dad for the Governor runoff in January. Dad wants us to attend.”

Of course, Andrew and I still haven’t talked about the elephant in the room: Pocher, a man close to our father, ordering Mom’s death. For now, I snort and change the subject. “Right. Whatever. I’m not even having Thanksgiving with him. I’m not attending a fundraiser. Back to the murder. What do I need to know?”

“Aside from the wedding dress and the timing of the murder, the victim was scheduled for a big New Year’s Eve wedding here on the island. She’s fresh. Time of death in the past two hours.”

“Who called it in?”

“Anonymous caller, muffled, male voice.”

“And?”

“And what?” he counters.

“That’s it? That’s all you have for me?”

“I’ve been tied up on another case. I called in the medical examiner and CSI. Now we have you.”

“So really this could be a simple murder, probably predictable and jealousy-driven. This sounds boring.”

“Only you would call murder boring, Lilah,” he grumbles, holding up a hand. “And I told you why you’re here. And don’t make a rebuttal. There are no coincidences. Isn’t that what you always say?”

I decide to do what I never do for anyone. I comfort him, but then he’s my brother, who just got rid of a body for me. “Pocher thinks the serial killer killed his brother,” I say, and then change to a distraction strategy. “Go have a whiskey or a woman or something. Who replaced that bitch Samantha?”

His eyes cut right and down. “Oh fuck. I thought the wicked witch moved away? She’s back, isn’t she? Or did she even leave at all?”

“Really, Lilah?” Andrew snaps. “We’re going at it here and now, at a crime scene?”

“That’s a yes to her being back or never really leaving,” I say. “Well, this is good news about dinner tomorrow. Now you and Kane can bond over fucking the same woman, and burying the same body.”