Cat Burglar in Training by Shelley Munro Page B

digging in my heels, stating again for the record that I didn’t like stealing. The argument had heated up to shouting and cursing, and things headed downhill from there.
    A bright flash of lightning zipped through the sky. Thunder boomed scant seconds after the lightning. The black clouds had hovered in the distance for the whole journey, and now they were about to unleash nature’s wrath. Rain lashed my windshield. I flicked the window wipers on and resigned myself to getting wet since my Mini leaked like a fishing net.
    I peered through the rain and finally spotted the turnoff. Half an hour later, chilled and damp, I pulled up outside the church and parked behind a dark blue Mercedes.
    Two men climbed from the saloon. Although I could only see the back view of both men, my heart sank. One of them was Kahu Williams. I’d stake my left leg on it. My pulse rate kicked up. Drat. I’d hoped to sneak in and peruse the attendees without any messy entanglements. Kahu Williams was the definition of messy, and judging by the nerves dancing a jig in my stomach, entanglement as well.
    Aghast at my reaction, I dawdled. I had no idea why I was attracted to danger. “Maybe it’s genetics catching up on you,” I muttered in disgust.
    The second the two men disappeared inside the church, I opened my door and stepped from my Mini. My black jacket and knee-length skirt didn’t look too bad despite the dampness.
    I strode to double wooden doors that looked old enough to date from medieval times, opened them and slid inside the church. Before I could close them, a gust of wind ripped the handle from my grasp. The resulting crash had every head turning to stare. Most wore disapproval, although I did catch a couple of snickers from two teenage males.
    “Sorry,” I said, desperately searching for an empty pew to duck into and hide.
    “Eve, over here.” The masculine voice held a trace of amusement beneath the huskiness.
    After a quick nod of greeting, I slid onto the hard wooden pew and stared straight ahead. Beside me, Kahu moved slightly, his hard thigh cozying up to mine.
    “You’re wet.” His warm breath stirred a tendril of hair at my temple.
    I turned to face temptation in spite of my inner qualms. “It is raining outside.” The heart palpitations should have forewarned me, but his masculinity struck me afresh. Tanned skin, dark intelligent eyes that held laughter at the moment, and a lean face combined together into a dangerous package. Briefly, I prayed for fortitude.
    “I didn’t know you were coming to the funeral,” I said.
    “Standard procedure these days. You’d be surprised how many murderers attend the funeral because they knew the victim.”
    My brows rose at the subtle implication. “Family? Do you think one of her family murdered her?” Guilt made the words at the end of my sentence rise. I was reasonably confident the murderer was no relation to Perdita Moning because my discreet inquiries beforehand had told me her husband had flown to Brussels on important company business. It was more likely a crime of passion.
    “Surely that doesn’t surprise you,” Kahu said. “A lot of victims know their murderers.”
    I bit my lip and debated how to answer. Forensic tests would show Perdita Moning’s sexual activities prior to her death. No doubt the cops would check the husband’s alibi closely. Finally, I settled for something generic. “I guess you’d know from experience.”
    I turned my attention to the minister’s sermon, listening to the friends and family members who read from the Bible or related personal memories of Perdita, and filed away impressions to drag out later. It was hard not to get emotional. A young woman snuffed out before her prime. I wasn’t the only one attempting to hold back tender sentiments. A lone tear spilled down my cheek. If I didn’t do something quick, there’d be more. I groped in my jacket pocket, searching for the handkerchief I’d put there this morning, and came