Page 31 of She Doesn't Have a Clue
“Nobody says ‘bro’ anymore,” Kate said, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, well, you’re not gonna be my sister-in-law anymore, so I don’t have to pretend to listen to you,” Eric said, moving away from her toward a newly arrived cute female server.
“Don’t you dare molest that poor girl just trying to do her job!” Kate called after him.
Eric waved Kate off, leaving her to her own thoughts as she moved toward the collapsed corner to gather table linens. Spencer had apparently gone looking for her after she ran out of the rehearsal dinner, but he’d never found her. And he certainly hadn’t been there when she’d found Kennedy. So, what had he been doing instead?
Kate was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the heavier patter of rain on the tent roof overhead, nor did she notice the shout of warning as the collapsed section of roof created a funnel for the water to gather into a downspout. What shedidregister, however, was an unwelcome deluge through the open section of roof, right onto her head.
“Oh!” Kate yelped, the linens in her hands absorbing the majority of the water and dragging her arms down.
“Non, oh!” said Jean-Pierre, hurrying toward her.
“I’m all right,” Kate said miserably, giving a little shiver.
“The poor table linens! They are ruined now!” Jean-Pierre took the bundle from her, tutting his tongue before realizing that Kate, an actual live human, had also gotten soaked. “Ah, apologies. You should… change.”
“Thanks,” Kate said dryly as Jean-Pierre hauled his precious cargo away.
She wrung out her sleeves as she dodged around two men carrying another tree jangling with fairy lights. She felt no shame, either, in timing her exit with a large table that obscured her from Serena’s view. The wind raised goose bumps along her arms as she hurried toward the Manor, the clouds heavy and leaden and far too close for comfort.
At least it was windless inside, if no warmer or more inviting. Somewhere the tantalizing scent of bacon beckoned, nearly derailing her from her course, but she had too much to do. She looked through the doors of the cocktail room wistfully at the towers of pastries and sleek stainless steel coffee urns, promising herself she’d return as soon as she had changed. She headed up the stairs but stopped on the third-floor landing as a thought occurred to her.
Shecouldget changed and continue to help bring in the decorations. Or shecouldtake this opportunity, while everyone else was occupied, to hunt down Spencer and get the truth. Find out where he was last night and what he’d been hiding. If she wanted to unmask the person who’d poisoned Kennedy and catch them before they tried it again, she’d have to engage in some good old-fashioned snooping, Loretta-style. Snooping was a highly maligned, underrated skill, in Kate’s opinion. After all, how else would Loretta have discovered that the groom’s sister in book three was the real killer if she hadn’t gone snooping in the sister’s room and found the family heirloom wedding ring hidden in the lining of her suitcase? It had been Spencer’s suggestion, actually.
Was that one of the murder signs Jake had accused her of missing all these years? Spencer really was a quick study at figuring out the most expedient way to get rid of a body in all of her books. Was it from personal experience? A mind that was used to plotting murder? Sure, he hated spider guts, but maybe that’s why he chose poison. No bloody mess to clean up.
Kate rubbed her face in frustration. She was losing it. The lack of sleep, the mainlining of caffeine, the wine hangover from last night, it was distorting her sense of reality. Kate didn’t have any good answers—only more questions—as she prowled the halls. She’d nearly cleared the third floor with no Spencer Lieman sighting when a door down the hall opened and a different, entirely undesirable Lieman stepped out to stare her down.
“Ohhhhh, there she is,” said Spencer’s mother, staring knives at Kate. She shined a flashlight directly in Kate’s eyes, momentarily blinding her. “The little wedding crasher, come to ruin Spencey’s big day once again.”
“Excuse me?” Kate said, her gut clenching tight. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, little missy,” said Mrs. Lieman, advancing on Kate. “I knowexactlywhat you did, and you won’t get away with it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Kate’s whole existence was just a long list of things that Spencer’s mother never approved of, and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out which one she was currently on the hook for. And so, as Mrs. Lieman marched down the hall to her, red-faced and huffing, Kate could only stare in bemusement, waiting to find out.
“You thought your little trick would work, didn’t you, Katherine? Trying to make him fall back in love with you. You broke his heart, and now here you are trying to sweep up the pieces and tape them back together so you can toss it out later.”
In all the time Kate had known Spencer’s mother, the woman had never gotten her name right. She’d called her Karen, Katherine, Katelyn, and once, after half a bottle of red wine, Virginia. Kate had never been able to parse that one. She’d also never been able to correct Mrs. Lieman, no matter how many times she or Spencer reminded her that Kate’s name was, in fact, just Kate.
“Mrs. Lieman, I’m not sure what you think I did—”
“Oh, we saw that little show you put on with Kennedy last night, didn’t we, Frank?” Mrs. Lieman didn’t bother looking back at her husband as he stepped out of their room, seeming far more interested insquinting at the wood carving relief of naked forest nymphs along the hallway. “Pushing the poor girl over, ruining her presents, so you could throw yourself at our Spencey. Is that when you did it? Switched them out, thought nobody would notice? Homewrecker!”
“Mrs. Lieman,” Kate said, exasperated. “What are you talking about?”
“The speech, you idiot girl, the speech!” A fleck of spit flew from her twisted lips. “You took our poor son’s speech and switched it out.”
Thespeech. She’d actually forgotten about Spencer’s speech, which really said something about what had transpired between the dessert course and now. But Spencer’s mother seemed to be under theverymistaken impression that Kate had been the one to slip Spencer the speech. Which was absolutely preposterous, and yet the woman was looking at her like she was about to recommend Kate for an eighteenth-century firing squad.
“Mom?” came Spencer’s voice from over Kate’s shoulder. “Mom, what are you doing? Who are you yelling at?”
Kate whirled around to confront Spencer, who looked—there wasn’t a polite way to say it—like an absolute wreck. His hair was pulled in ten different directions and his glasses were smudged, dark circles pressed in under his eyes. He wore his rehearsal dinner suit, the jacket gone, the shirt rumpled and stained under the arms, his belt missing about half the loops on his dress pants. His voice sounded just as bad, hoarse and rough, like he’d been shouting all night.
“Spencer,” Kate said, because she didn’t really know what else to say.