BLURB:
Katherine’s wedding day has arrived and she and Lars make their vows. When she notices one of her best friends hasn’t arrived, she begins to worry. Her friend owns a shop where tea and accompaniments are sold. Her friend’s partner is a micromanager. Katherine’s friend has wanted to dissolve the partnership. A call to the New England town brings the dreadful news of a murder. Kate’s protectiveness factor takes hold and she leaves a note for Lars and heads to rescue her friend. Though she has promised to leave murders alone, she feels she has no choice. Lars follows to help her solve another murder.
Editorial Review
Long-time beau Lars has finally convinced Katherine Miller to become Katherine Claybourne. But fans won't be surprised that even on her honeymoon, Kate can't stop herself. She's a magnet for murder. ~ Writer Gail Roughton
During the second week of June,
Lars arrived in the
The time had come for our plans to marry to reach fruition. Though I suggested we elope, Lars wanted a wedding. I gave in to his desire. We set the date for a Wednesday in mid-August. While discussing where to live, a house I’d admired located just two blocks from my “Painted Lady” came on the market. Though one day, the sign vanished. I hadn’t realized Lars had put a binder on the house. When he told me I was delighted. With my attorney Richard’s help we completed the sale. Lars and I purchased the house jointly using my attorney for the deal. That’s when the problems began.
Lars called me on a warm June morning. “Katherine, are you free tomorrow?”
“I’ve nothing planned.”
He released a long breath. “Call Richard and have him meet us at Barnes and Jones.
“Why?”
“George is upset. He thinks we need some kind of prenuptial agreement.”
I sighed. While I’m no romantic, the thoughts of legal squabbling made me uneasy. “Must we?”
Lars laughed. “Wouldn’t want George to appear in the middle of the ceremony and protest.”
“I’ll call Richard. What time?”
“One o’clock.”
* * *
By two thirty on Wednesday, a scream rumbled through me, one I couldn’t let loose. Lars’ attorney droned on in a voice void of expression. Why had I agreed to this meeting? I looked across the wide, highly polished table at the man who would be my husband six weeks from today. Tall, tanned with a craggy face and hair now more gray than blond. His blue eyes twinkled and he pressed his lips together to hide a smile.
I clenched my teeth. I wouldn’t scream. This meeting was my punishment for marrying a man of wealth. Oh, I’m comfortable enough but my fortune runs to hundreds of thousands, not millions.
Just give me the papers and I’ll sign. Those words hovered close to my lips. My foot tapped against the thick carpet in an impatient rhythm.
Then the attorney mentioned the house. A sprawling ranch with a magnificent view of the Hudson River Lars and I had jointly purchased. I’d admired this house for years but never thought to own the place where I could sit in the living room, dining room or master bedroom and watch the river’s changing moods.
“Why wasn’t I informed about this purchase?” George Jones asked. “Lars, you must protect your assets.”
My patience evaporated like dew beneath the summer sun. “Excuse me. Lars and I are adults and able to make decisions. I don’t see why our joint ownership is a bad idea. We contributed equal amounts for the purchase.”
The pompous man huffed. “You must think of your heirs.”
“Why?” The question erupted like a shot from a gun. “Neither Lars or I will be around to worry about them when that time comes. Let them fight over the dregs.”
Lars burst into the laughter he’d contained earlier. “She’s right. Just split the house down the middle. Half to her heirs and half to mine.”
For a moment George sputtered. He ran his hand over his balding head. “But what if one of you outlives the other?”
“The same rule will apply.” I leaned across the table and snagged the large pile of papers.
Beside me Richard Broadhurst, attorney and fiancé of my first floor tenant, nodded. “Mrs. Miller is right. Let them sign and we’ll be done.”
The next half-hour was filled with signatures, witnesses and the thud of the notary seal. I signed the last paper and turned to Lars. “Next time I’ll marry a pauper.”
He walked around the table and kissed my cheek. “We should have eloped.”
“I wanted to years ago but we didn’t. We still could. Blame our families for the delay.” I smiled.
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