“If we marry in Boston, we need a license up there, but let’s get both in case you hate the hotel.”
“I’m not going to hate the hotel.”
“You’re marrying me no matter what, so if something happens, and we can’t get there—”
I laugh. “We’ll get a license here, too, just to be safe, despite how overkill that is.”
“It’s called planning to get what I want. I actually have some company business tomorrow after lunch. I’ll book a room and I can fly up late evening and meet you, but I want Jay and Kit to go with you.”
“Jay, yes. Kit stays with you. And I have your two men watching Marilyn.”
“Take Enrique and Jay.”
“You do know Enrique is afraid of Marilyn, right?”
“Afraid? Enrique? Why?”
“He thinks she’s a witch. Something about a Mexican witch he once knew and something about Marilyn’s ways reminds him of her.”
“Mexican superstitions.” He refills his coffee cup and sets the pot down. “They still live large and wide. My mother used to make me wear a red string around my wrist to ward off Mal de Ojo, or Evil Eye. I had one practically the minute I was born.”
I sip my coffee. “A string?”
“Yes. A string. With my father being my father, she felt I needed all the protection I could get.”
“She wasn’t wrong. I’ll take Enrique and Jay some red string and then put him to work. Jay is the one who needs some protection.”
“Right now, the fires are simmering, not burning. Pocher is subdued and I have a close eye on Miguel. Catch your killer and let’s go buy a vacation house and get married. We’ve been trying to do this for years. It’s time.”
He’s right. It is time. Our time.
I leave the kitchen more motivated than ever to catch a killer.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
I inherited my love of clothes from my mother. When I moved away from the Hamptons, Kane, and anything familiar, I cut off anything that made me the movie star’s daughter. Being compared to her was just too damn painful, but I’m done with denial. As time goes on, memories dim, and now that her house burned down, I find myself clinging to anything that reminds me of her. And while I have her wedding dress in storage, I won’t wear something that connected her to my father.
Which is exactly why I, with Jay in tow, end up in the bridal store where my mother bought her gown.
I laugh at the panic in his eyes, and motion to the sunny sky. “Stay out here. There’s a coffee shop next door. Grab some tea. I know how much you love it.”
And so, I step inside the shop and sea of white, alone, which is my preference today.
Part of me thinks I’m unworthy of white. I’m someone who wears blood red, the color of life and death, which is everything about my life. But Kane and I are the purest thing I know and will likely ever know. Okay, we as people are not, but us together, we are.
I want to wear white.
I’ve taken about two steps inside the doorway and I’m recognized.
“Oh my God. Lilah Love.”
This from a slim woman in a pale blue dress that I can’t quite age, as her skin is too perfect to be natural. She’s got money, but then, of course she does. This store is the store where Hollywood stars buy their dresses, and my mother was an icon.
“You look like her,” she says softly. “Ah, your mother. She was soft-spoken and humble. Beautiful. Stunning, really. I enjoyed dressing her so very much.”
“I’m not soft-spoken and I’m generally not all that humble.”
“You’re a profiler and need people to feel confident you know your job. And I know this because I read about you. You were on the Umbrella Man case. And you’re marrying the oil mogul himself, Kane Mendez.”
The oil mogul. It is so nice to hear him described as he should be described.
“I am,” I confirm. “And I’m late picking a dress. I need it for New Year’s Eve and I still want something special. Something that will make me feel like my mother is with me. What can you do for me?”
“You know, the minute you walked in, I thought of a special dress that reminds me of your mother’s. It’s at another store. I’m going to send someone to get it. In the meantime, pick out dresses you might like and I’ll bring you some as well. Let’s get you set-up with a room and champagne. Oh, and I’m Brenda, by the way. Nice to meet you, Lilah.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m trying on dresses, but nothing feels right. An hour later, I’m staring at myself in yet another dress when I hear Brenda say, “That’s not it, but this is.”
I turn and stare at the dress she’s holding, so like my mother’s, and so very beautiful. The bottom is sheer with a slight flare, but the dress itself is fitted with beautiful flowers embroidered throughout from the bodice to the sheer flare. The arms are also sheer, but there are a few random flowers in perfect placement to accent the fitted core of the dress.
“Please let it fit,” I say softly.
“It’s going to fit,” Brenda assures me.
And it does. It’s perfect. I stand in front of the mirror certain this is the dress.
Soon after, I make arrangements to deliver the dress to our apartment, and soon after that, I join Jay outside.
“New Year’s Eve. Be there. Boston. Our wedding,” I say, as we climb into the SUV.
“I’m invited?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“You took a bullet for me, Jay. You’re invited. You’re one of the only people invited.”
“Lilah. I ah—I don’t what to say—I ah—”
“Don’t get sappy. I don’t do sappy.”
He laughs. “Okay. No sappy. I’ll be there.”
***
I’m home before Kane and head to Purgatory, happy to have the quiet time to work the case, and thankfully for once, without my phone ringing. I skip the chocolate and Cheetos this time, though. I do have to fit in that dress in a few weeks. The bulk of my time is spent behind my desk reading through everything Tic Tac and Lucas have on Marilyn, her career, and her family. She has no siblings. Her father is dead. Her mother is dead. Her family moved to New York from Boston when she was sixteen and there doesn’t seem to be a real connection to anyone but her grandmother, who is also dead. Cause of deaths all appear natural and spaced out, as would be expected. We’re still missing a connection to her and I decide it has to be someone that attended those events Rip held, someone who created a weapon that rips your throat inside out. Someone we won’t find in the lists Marilyn gave us.
I dial Tic Tac. “I know,” he says. “You need stuff.”
“Yes, I do. Did the New York crew get you the Clementine hotel guest logs?”
“They did, but I already had them thanks to Lucas. Now I can just admit I have them.”
“Kind of nice to get a jumpstart on things, right?”