The P.I.

Drew met his eyes. “If they have my purse, they must know my name and my address.”

“That’s a possibility we’ll have to consider when you remember who you are.”

The way he said the words as if it were a certainty sent a ribbon of warmth through her. Kit tilted the pan and continued to stir the eggs. There was a competence about the way he did it—a competence that seemed to carry over into everything he did.

“You’re the expert at investigating a case,” she said. “What do you suggest?”

“Usually, I start by reviewing just the facts.” He crumbled cheese over the eggs. “Why don’t you start? Summarize what we know so far.”

She thought for a minute. “I woke up in a taxi with a bump on my head, a wedding dress in a bag, a tote with a recently fired gun and twenty-thousand dollars in cash. I was dressed in a fairly expensive suit and shoes, and I had no memory of who I was, where I was coming from or where I was going. There was blood on my suit—not mine.” She paused to consider, then added, “I had your card, and I learned from the taxi driver where he’d picked me up—on Bellevue.”

Kit gathered plates, utensils and napkins out of cupboards and drawers. “Excellent. You’d make a good investigator. Continue.”

“In your office, I recalled holding a gun and pulling the trigger at a large figure I’m sure was a man. You learned from your brother that there’d been an interrupted wedding at St. Peter’s Church, which was on Bellevue and Skylar and that your friend Roman had been hurt.”

“And, when I got there, I discovered that a man had been killed in the sacristy. He had a gun in his hand that had been fired. Roman had been overheard arguing and probably fighting—most likely with the groom.”

“Just the facts,” Drew reminded him.

“Touché.” He shot her a grin as he cut the omelet in half and slipped it onto two plates. “Even though the caterer didn’t see the fight, it makes sense that it was Roman and the bridegroom. Shots were fired. Later, Roman fell over the railing of the choir loft. There was a gun in his hand that also had been fired.” He set a plate in front of her. “I just learned from Nik that the dead man in the sacristy was Gino DeLucca, Paulo’s bodyguard, and the bullet that killed him most likely came from Roman’s gun.”

“If Roman shot that man, it must have been in self-defense,” she said firmly.

“I agree, but that’s theory.” He sat down next to her and picked up his fork. “We’re sticking to facts. I discovered more evidence of shootings in the loft storeroom—blood on two different walls. I saw the wedding bouquet the bride left behind. And earlier I saw a purse that belongs to Sadie Oliver. So she must have been there, too. Since her cell’s in her purse, I haven’t been able to reach her. Neither has her father. Can you think of anything else?”

She shook her head as she cut into her omelet and took a bite. For a moment, Drew was distracted by the explosion of flavors on her tongue. “This is good.”

“Thanks.” Kit lifted his wine and took a sip. “There are a lot of facts we don’t know.”

She nodded as she scooped up another bite. “I agree. We don’t know for sure why Roman was there, who I am, why I was there, why Sadie was there, how Roman fell, where the bride and groom are. And how did so many people get wind of a secret wedding at the last minute?”

“Good question.”

For a moment they ate in silence. Then Kit said, “Now what the police are doing is creating a scenario that fits the facts that they do know. In their minds, Roman came to stop his sister’s wedding. They’ll probably figure that’s why Sadie was there, too. I’m thinking there were at least two other men with guns at the church—besides the bodyguard. There was the one you shot and the one the caterer saw shoot Father Mike. The police will believe that Roman brought some help along to get the job done.”

“But you know better.”

Kit set down his fork. “I know it didn’t happen that way. I know Roman almost as well as I know my brothers. I’ve seen the way he is with his sisters.”

Drew slipped her hand into his as he turned to face her. For the first time, she glimpsed how the trouble his friend was in was tearing him up inside.

“I keep thinking of what I would have done if it was Philly getting married last night to a man I thought was all wrong for her. Would I have tried to talk her out of it? Absolutely. Would I go there with guns to shoot everyone?”

“No,” she said. “And neither would Roman.”

“How can you be so sure of that? You don’t know Roman.”

She smiled at him. “I know you, and he’s your friend.”

He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the mouth. “You’re very sweet.”

When he drew back, neither of them spoke for a moment. Then she asked, “What’s your scenario?”

“Roman came to the church to talk his sister and Paulo out of going through with the wedding. But he wasn’t the only one who came to put a stop to the nuptials. There were at least two other men, maybe more. I figure these guys are probably not expecting Roman. So the shooting starts, and perhaps the bodyguard gets caught in the crossfire. Paulo runs to the choir loft to protect the bride. I’m thinking that since he brought his bodyguard to the wedding, he might have been carrying a gun, too—just in case. And let’s say another guy follows Paulo upstairs and Roman takes off after him. After all, his sister is in that upstairs room. I figure the guy Roman is following goes into the storeroom.”

“And he’s the one I shot?”

“Could be.”

“Why didn’t Paulo shoot him?”

Kit met her eyes. “Good question. Maybe he couldn’t. Could be he’s wounded from the shots that were fired in the sacristy. That would explain the two areas of blood in that storeroom.”

“So Paulo gives me his gun and I shoot one of the bad guys.”

“But you don’t kill him—he stumbles back out of the storeroom, struggles with Roman and they tumble down the stairs. In the meantime, the caterer distracts the shooter who’s trying to kill Father Mike. She runs and hides, dials 9-1-1. While that’s going on, you and the bride and groom make tracks. That’s my best-case scenario. In my other one, you escape and some of the bad guys snatch the bride and groom—and maybe Sadie Oliver, too.”

“You’re worried about her.”

He nodded. “I can understand why the bride and groom might decide to hide out for a while, but if Sadie could, I think she’d be in that hospital with Roman.”

“Yes.” Drew frowned as she thought about it. “So two bad guys escaped.”

“At least two. The one you shot and the one who shot Father Mike. But they left witnesses. You, for one, and the caterer, for another.”

“Don’t forget Roman. He could be in danger.”

“There’s a policeman posted at his door.”

Drew looked down and was surprised to find that her plate was empty. Sliding off the stool she carried it to the sink. “Now that we’ve looked at the facts and the dueling scenarios, what’s next?”

Kit joined her and transferred plates and utensils to the dishwasher. “We go back to the facts and pick out the ones that are odd, that don’t seem to fit either scenario.”

“The whole thing is pretty odd,” she said.

“I’m with you there.”

She swallowed the last sip of wine and handed him the glass. “Not the secret wedding. That’s understandable because of the feud between the families. But usually couples who get secretly married elope.”

“It’s harder to elope when you’re Catholic, so religion may have played a role,” Kit said.

“But it’s harder to keep a secret wedding secret if you hold it in a church and hire a caterer.”

“Agreed. Roman and Sadie and you clearly knew about the wedding. So did Paulo’s bodyguard. What else strikes you as odd?”

“The money. What in the world was someone doing with twenty-thousand dollars?”

Kit took her hand and led her into the living room. “Maybe it belonged to the bride and groom. Could be they were planning on eloping after the wedding.” He pressed a button on the stereo and the sound of a low sax spilled into the room. “Paulo would know that credit cards could be traced.”

“You’re good at this,” Drew said. “I never thought of that.”

“Practice.” He pulled her into his arms and began to dance.

“Is dancing part of your regular routine when you’re going over odd facts?” she asked.

He drew her closer and turned her in a circle. “I’m improvising. But don’t let me interrupt your train of thought. What else seems odd?”

“Your card. How did I end up with it? And why did someone give it to me?”

“I was wondering when you’d get to that.” Kit turned her again, and she stopped resisting the urge to lean her head against his shoulder. “I figure you either got it from Roman or Juliana.”

“But why?”

“Whoever it was wanted you to get help—to come to me and tell me what had happened.”