Pink Diamonds & Murder

  Pink Diamonds and Murder:

  A Val Masters Wedding Planner Cozy Mystery

  Book 3

  The books in this series can be read in any order.

  But they’re best enjoyed all together!

  Copyright © 2018 Harper Harris; All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction and any portrayal of any person living or dead is completely coincidental and not intentional. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the author, other than brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews or promotion.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Day One: Masters’ Wedding Planning

  Chapter Two

  Masters’ Wedding Planning

  Chapter Three

  Morris’ Warehouse Apartment

  Chapter Four

  Morris’ Warehouse Apartment

  Chapter Five

  Bastian’s Beauty

  Chapter Six

  Day Two: High Street/ Masters’ Wedding Planning

  Chapter Seven

  Morris’ Warehouse Apartment

  Chapter Eight

  Morris’ Warehouse Apartment

  Chapter Nine

  Day Three: Home

  Chapter Ten

  Neptune’s Palace Hotel and Resort

  Chapter Eleven

  Posh Nightclub

  Chapter Twelve

  Home

  Chapter Thirteen

  Day Four: The Batter and Cream Bakery

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Pink Petal Place

  Chapter Fifteen

  Home

  Chapter Sixteen

  Posh Nightclub

  Chapter Seventeen

  Day Five: Bastian’s Beauty

  Chapter Eighteen

  Grande Assiette

  Chapter Nineteen

  Day Six: Home

  Chapter Twenty

  The Wedding: Neptune’s Palace Hotel and Resort

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Neptune’s Palace Hotel and Resort

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Neptune’s Palace Hotel and Resort

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Posh Nightclub

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Posh Nightclub

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Posh Nightclub

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Posh Nightclub

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Posh Nightclub

  Epilogue

  The Day After the Wedding: Home

  Sneak Peek into Ivory Veil & Murder

  Sneak Peek into Miss June’s Judgement

  Other Books in the Val Masters Wedding Planner Series

  Connect with Harper

  Chapter One

  Day One: Masters’ Wedding Planning

  “What is he doing here?” Benji asks, jutting his thumb toward Detective Mathews.

  Benji Reed, Derek Mathews and I stare blankly at each other. I feel frozen to my chair. Benji has just rushed in to the office of my wedding planning business to tell me that he thinks I’m beautiful.

  It’s a nice compliment, but not one I was expecting from a recent groom, who just lost his bride to murder. And certainly not from a recent ex-groom who attended said bride’s funeral this morning.

  I had been planning the wedding, but it hadn’t happened due to these unfortunate events. And now, here he was with his declaration of admiration, which is strange. Sure, the bride and groom weren’t really in love and it was more of an arranged marriage for the sake of merging two wealthy families, but regardless, it’s way too soon and not a mutual feeling, so I’m not sure what to say.

  “What do you mean what am I doing here?” Derek asks. “What are you doing here?”

  It’s a very fair question. The thing is, Derek had arrived earlier bearing gifts, my favorite truffles from The Batter & Cream Bakery. The two of us were chatting, enjoying a rare moment of quiet together in my normally chaotic office with our chocolates while Buttons, my Yorkie, ran around doing her own thing. Ever since I opened my business, inevitably some seemingly innocuous wedding has turned into a very big problem, so it was nice to have some peace and happiness to relax with Derek.

  But then Benji came crashing in. At least he arrived holding a box of donuts, also from The Batter & Cream. But that doesn’t take away from the awkwardness resulting from the fact that he had decided that the perfect moment to declare his feelings for me was right after the funeral of his former fiancée. Maybe waiting a week would have been good. Or calling. He should of, at the very least, called.

  So, now the three of us are staring uncomfortably at each other, and the tension and discomfort in the room is palpable. Both men who are glaring at each other are tall, with Derek rising a few inches taller. They are also both muscular, lean, and handsome men; Derek has sandy-brown hair, trimmed neatly to police standards, while Benji’s is auburn and styled fashionably with long bangs.

  And both of them brought offerings from my favorite bakery— a definite plus, although right now is no time to be choosing suitors, and it’s not as if there was any kind of tie to be broken between the two of them anyway.

  I need to think of something to say to break the tension. Just as I’m about to open my mouth, the door to my office bangs open again, and Morris Stevens runs in.

  “Val! Oh my God, I need your help. I’m in a lot of trouble!” Morris announces. The loud commotion of his entrance jars our still and silent scene.

  After taking large bounds inside my modest room, Morris turns, his foot-tall bleached blond mohawk following the movement of his head. He’s a local DJ who goes by the name of DJ Meow Meow, and I know him because he DJs the weddings I plan.

  Finally, he notices the two other men in my office. Whatever he is going to say next freezes on his lips.

  I’m stunned. And not just with Morris, but with everything right now. There are three different men who all made unplanned visits to my office currently surrounding me, trying to get my attention. I’d say one out of the three did it right— that one being Derek.

  I don’t know who to talk to first or quite what to say. Everyone is looking at Morris, because he’s definitely been the loudest. So, I start with him.

  I couldn’t help but notice that his whole attitude changed when he saw Derek standing off to the side. Morris seems to have clammed up, but after his panic literally five seconds ago, I can’t see a reason for that. I try to get some answers.

  “What is it, Morris? What’s wrong?” I give him my most come-on-dude pointed stare.

  I’m waiting for Morris to say something, but he’s looking between me and Derek. I am about to ask again when Morris finally replies.

  “Nothing much. It’s not a big deal,” he shrugs, badly faking ease and disinterest. He wrinkles his nose and crosses his arms, acting like he didn't just stomp into my office and my day.

  The blasé attitude is infuriating because I know he's putting on an act. Morris is overdramatic and likes to make a production out of things, but usually he does it out of verve and excitement— not fear. For him to burst into my office and ask for help like this… Well, whatever’s bothering him sure has him freaked out.

  “But—”

  I am about to push him on this, but just then, I notice another one of his sideways glances to Derek. Apparently, whatever he has to say isn’t for the detective’s ears.

  Right. Great. Now, I’m worried Morris has gotten himself into legal trouble. I’m not a lawyer and I really don’t want to clean up a crime if I can avoid it. Given the circumstances, I don’t know what to do because no one is talking, and we are all just standing around looking at one another.

  My searching
gaze passes over a now peacefully sleeping Buttons. The pup is so blissfully unaware of the situation unfolding right before her. I wish I could sleep through this whole fiasco too, but no. I’ve got to make sense of this mess, in some capacity.

  I would rather not spend my day in awkward silence, so I do what I was taught to do when people come over. I offer some food.

  “Do you want a donut?” I hold the box out for Morris to grab one if he feels so inclined.

  He looks at the box like I’m crazy for even considering giving him something to eat.

  I am just about to shatter from the deafening silence when someone’s phone rings. I know it’s not mine because my ringtone is a drunk Megs, my best friend and roommate, singing “Telephone” by Lady Gaga. Plus, my ringer is rarely turned on, because my ringtone is a drunk Megs singing “Telephone” by Lady Gaga.

  Derek pats along his suit pockets and I realize it’s coming from him. He takes his phone out of his pocket and a big smile grows on his handsome face when he sees the caller ID.

  I immediately become curious. I can’t help but wonder who it is. It has to be someone Derek really likes, for him to go from whatever quiet mood he brought into my office to pure joy so quickly. Who could make him so happy?

  He looks over at me and his gray eyes sparkle. “I have to take this,” he says, pointing at the ringing phone in his hand. “I’ll talk to you later, if that’s okay?”

  He and I, we’re still on shaky ground, so I understand his hesitation. I also secretly don't want him to go. But now is not the time to make this situation even more awkward. So, I nod, and he smiles at me before waving goodbye.

  I give a small wave back and he walks out the door of my office. Before he gets outside and away from my curious ears, I hear him answer the phone and enthusiastically call out, “Tory! Are you in town already?”

  I’m not able to catch more of the conversation before he strides off, out of earshot. I find myself more upset than I should be or want to be. I know I don’t really have a right to be upset that Derek is so cheerfully talking to another woman, since it’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything. And even if he was, I can’t expect him to have no relationships with all other women. That would be ridiculous.

  Even with all these logical thoughts going through my head, my heart still sinks a little because apparently, it isn’t getting the common sense signals my brain is sending. All I can think about is the fact that Derek and I were supposed to get coffee and how it never happened, and now he may have moved on to someone else. And I've lost my chance.

  Ugh!

  I don’t get much time to resolve my waxing and waning emotions when Morris interrupts my thoughts. Sighing loudly, he slumps with a heavy thud into the chair that Derek was just standing by.

  I put the untouched donut box down on my desk, albeit with a little force to show Morris I’m kind of annoyed with him. He doesn’t respond to my passive aggression, instead, he continues his pleas.

  “I need your help, Val!”

  “Yes, thank you. I know, Morris. What is it?” I sigh. I’m exasperated but I can tell he’s desperate.

  He lets out a long sigh and then says, largely with his hands, “Someone is trying to murder me!”

  Well, isn’t this great? I think. Apparently I’ve gone from solving one murder mystery to having another one dumped in my lap. But is Morris really in danger, or is this just paranoia or over dramatics? And do I want to find out?

  Chapter Two

  Masters’ Wedding Planning

  I take a couple of seconds to absorb Morris’ claim. It takes a few seconds not only because I feel like Morris is being overdramatic, but also, I did just come off the heels of a double murder. And it was just this morning we all attended the funeral.

  Sebastian’s words from earlier flash through my mind. If this murder business happens another time, will I be able to brush it off as coincidence? Do I just attract murder? Is something wrong with my aura?

  I take a deep breath and ask, “What happened?”

  Benji voices pipes up. “Why didn’t you want to talk to Detective Mathews?” Benji asks. “Maybe he could help. I feel like he’d be good with this.”

  Benji makes a general shrugging gesture, encapsulating how little either of us know about Morris’ predicament. I suppose it’s nice of him to even be trying to help, considering he’s kind of trapped in the middle of this. That’s his own fault, though, for rushing in with donuts and compliments, so perhaps his effort to help is his attempt at atonement.

  “The police department is corrupt and full of dirty cops!” Morris responds, choosing to answer Benji first. “You can’t trust anyone who works there. They are all just a part of the system that further perpetuates a legal structure that steps on whoever’s vulnerable. You should already know that. I mean, come on, man.”

  “Derek isn’t— I mean, Detective Mathews isn’t corrupt. He’s a good cop and he’s a good guy.” It comes out a lot more passionate than I would have liked.

  I was just trying to rationalize my earlier hurt feelings regarding Derek and now I am coming to his defense like he really needs me defending his honor. But, still, I don’t like Morris’ implications.

  “No cops,” he insists.

  My words do nothing to convince him. I can tell he really means it. He’s staring me down and I see no point in putting up a fight. I hadn’t been planning on calling any BDPD officers anyway. I’m more on the side of thinking Morris might just need a few moments to calm himself down, but I do want to hear his story.

  “Fine. Whatever you want. Just tell me what’s going on and why you came into my office waving your arms like a crazy person,” I say, throwing my hands up in defeat.

  Suddenly, though, Morris turns to Benji. “Hey, don’t go telling any reporters or journalists about this,” he demands. “I don’t need my business in the papers.”

  Morris finishes by crossing his arms and giving Benji a very accusatory look. I would maybe say it’s about thirty percent called for. Sure, Benji is a member of the Reed family, the rich family who owns all the local newspapers and local TV channels, but since he didn’t tell the press all about our drama during the whole crazy ordeal from the weeks before, I highly doubt Morris has much to worry about.

  “Whoa. I have, like, nothing to do with Reed Media. I barely talk to anyone there, my father included,” Benji insists.

  Morris stares at Benji for a few more seconds. I give Buttons another check and see her waking up, then waltzing over. She takes up her usual spot by my desk and looks up to watch the three humans have a serious chat.

  Finally, Morris is ready to explain why he’s in crisis. “Okay, so last week, I was doing my usual set at Posh Nightclub and I was killing it. Like, I had mad flow that night and was riding this high on the most trill of performances. The night was good.

  “I took one of my usual breaks and, I guess while I was gone, someone knocked over all my DJ equipment. Like, they really did a number on it. I came back and all of my stuff was scattered all over the place and kinda stomped on.

  I was going to chalk it up to the usual hazards of partiers and nightlife and just call it my loss. I mean, this stuff happens sometimes, which is why I keep myself insured. But, check it—

  then I found a note that said that everyone was going to know what I’d done.”

  I’m still skeptical that he isn’t blowing things out of proportion. That note sounds extremely vague. Anyone could make that threat to literally anyone. I’m sure there are a few things I’d done that I’d rather not see the light of day, but I don’t know if any of it is worth threatening me over. Plus, that doesn’t sound like much of a threat against his life. It sounds like someone going a little too far to prove a point.

  “I was kind of freaked out by it,” Morris continues, “but just threw it to the back of my mind and let it become another memory. Sometimes my fans can go a little extra above and beyond with their fandom and I thought maybe one of them had taken the
ir affection for yours truly a little too far.

  “But this morning, someone was banging on my apartment door. Like, they were doing some crazy pounding. That didn’t freak me out either, because a lot of my friends know I’m a heavy sleeper and sometimes it takes a lot of sound to get me to the door. But when I opened it, no one was there. Just another note— this one even more threatening. I can show it to you— it’s still on my front door, actually. I didn’t want to, you know, disturb the crime scene or anything, so I couldn’t think of anything else to do except leave everything exactly as I found it and run over here to your place, Val.”

  This part interests me a little more. If someone went to his home, that could potentially be more dangerous.

  “Why do you want my help? What do you think I can do?” I ask.

  I have a feeling I know what Morris is going to say, but I just need him to tell me straight up what he thinks my abilities are. This is also how I run my business. I can’t help someone if they aren’t giving me enough information to help them with.

  “Come on, Val!” He looks almost disappointed, like I’m not seeing what is right in front of my face. “You’ve solved how many murders? You’ll see things I won’t see, and we can look for evidence and together we can figure out who is trying to kill me. Like Sherlock and Watson, or Morse and Lewis… or Poirot and his mustache!”

  I have to admit I like Morris’ references. Though I’m not sure if I’d be Poirot or the mustache. But that’s not the only reason why I agree to help. I also want to know what is really going on.

  What he’s saying has gotten me worried. At first, I thought Morris was just being Morris, overdramatic and theatrical with just a touch more panic than usual. But some of the details he gave raised my hackles. Something is not right. That’s got me a little worried for him.

  “Okay, then. I’ll help you out. Where do we start?” I ask.

  Morris gets excited that I’m in. He leans forward a little. “We should go to my apartment. I can show you the notes and we can move on from there. I’ll even let you snoop through my things if that’ll help.”