by Jeff Shelby
Tying The Knot
By Jeff Shelby
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Tying the Knot
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018
Cover design by Alchemy Book Covers and Design
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.
Books by Jeff Shelby
The Joe Tyler Novels
THREAD OF HOPE
THREAD OF SUSPICION
THREAD OF BETRAYAL
THREAD OF INNOCENCE
THREAD OF FEAR
THREAD OF REVENGE
THREAD OF DANGER
THREAD OF DOUBT
The Noah Braddock Novels
KILLER SWELL
WICKED BREAK
LIQUID SMOKE
DRIFT AWAY
LOCKED IN
IMPACT ZONE
WIPE OUT
The Moose River Mysteries
THE MURDER PIT
LAST RESORT
ALIBI HIGH
FOUL PLAY
YOU'VE GOT BLACKMAIL
ASSISTED MURDER
DEATH AT THE DINER
SCHOOL OF MURDER
DEAD IN THE WATER
The Rainy Day Mysteries
BOUGHT THE FARM
WHEN THE ROOSTER KILLS
CRACK OF DEATH
PLANTING EVIDENCE
ONE BAD EGG
BALE OUT
LAST STRAW
CUT AND DIED
SOUR GRAPES
TYING THE KNOT
The Sunny Springfield Mysteries
DEAD BY DINNER TIME
The Capitol Cases Mysteries
DEAD ON ARRIVAL
NATIONAL MAUL
DARK HORSE
The Elizabeth Tyler Mysteries
WHAT SHE LOST
The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)
STAY AT HOME DEAD
POPPED OFF
FATHERS KNOWS DEATH
Novel for Young Adults
PLAYING THE GAME
Short Story Collections
OUT OF TIME
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ONE
I had puppies on my mind.
Not because I wanted one, but because I was standing outside of the hardware store, heading in to buy paint for the minor remodel I’d decided to do on my farmhouse.
It didn’t need it. The paint was fine, and I’d already repainted a couple of the rooms when I’d first moved in over a year ago.
But I was itching to do some home improvement stuff and my expertise was…well, limited. Painting was something I thought I could do. It didn’t require any particular skillset, other than patience and a steady hand, and if I screwed up, it would be relatively easy to fix.
That was exactly my kind of project.
The puppies were distracting me, though.
Purrfect Pet Adoptions, a local animal charity, had a large white tent set up outside the hardware store and it was like a carnival of puppies. Colorful balloons adorned the tent, there was a table set up with a woman doing animal-related face painting, and a DJ was parked in one corner, blasting music. The smell of hot dogs and freshly spun cotton candy scented the air.
A woman wearing a blue t-shirt with a massive paw print emblazoned on the front approached me and immediately thrust a white ball of fur into my arms.
“You look like you need a puppy,” she announced.
I clutched the fur ball, mostly so I wouldn’t drop it, and she smiled triumphantly. “See? You’re already holding on to him for dear life. His name is Marshmallow. On account of his color.” Her grin widened. “But you can rename him whatever you want.”
“I’m not here for a puppy. I’m here for paint,” I told her, holding the animal back out to her. But my heart was already doing somersaults as I stared into the dog’s brown eyes. He was beyond adorable.
“Well, you might not have come here for a puppy, but you can certainly leave with one!”
“He definitely is cute,” I admitted. The puppy looked at me with soulful eyes and licked my hand.
“We’re running a special today,” she said. “Half off the adoption fee!”
A special on puppies?
I stroked the dog’s fur. He was so soft, and I could feel my heart melting.
But I shook my head. “I can’t. Not right now.”
“But summer is the perfect time to get a dog!”
“I…I have all these home projects I’m doing over the next few weeks. I couldn’t possibly…” My voice trailed off as the puppy lavished me with more kisses.
“He likes you,” the woman declared. “He has chosen you.”
This woman would have made an excellent car salesperson. Or oracle.
As tempting as it was, I did my best to hold firm. The last thing I needed was the responsibility of a pet. I was finally figuring out how to take care of myself and my farm, and the last thing I needed to do was add a dependent to my list of responsibilities. “Maybe another time.”
“When?” she demanded. “When do you want him?”
“I don’t want him.” I cringed a little as I said this, because I did. I wanted Marshmallow. In the span of less than five minutes, he had completely stolen my heart.
But want was not need. And I absolutely did not need a puppy.
“I understand now isn’t the best timing,” she conceded. “You’re busy, you have things going on. But the whole summer won’t be like that, right?”
“Well, no…”
She smiled triumphantly. “So maybe in a few weeks, you’ll be ready to adopt. Although I can’t promise Marshmallow will still be available,” she warned.
“Of course. And yeah…maybe in a few weeks…” I was eager to get the puppy out of my hands. Holding him was like kryptonite. I had no resolve, no ability to stand firm. I held him out to the lady, begging her with my eyes to take him back.
She frowned but took the puppy from my arms and handed me a sheet of paper in his stead. “Here’s our contact info,” she said. “If you change your mind.”
She immediately began to scan the crowd, her eyes lighting up as she zeroed in on her next victim.
I stuffed the flyer in my purse and hurried into the store to avoid being targeted by another blue-shirted volunteer. I was weak, too weak to say no again if someone else accosted me with another dog. Heck, in the weakened state I was in, I might have walked away with an iguana.
Jerry, the store manager, smiled when he saw me come through the door. “I have all your paint mixed up and ready to go,” he said. I’d chosen the colors a couple of days earlier and arranged to pick up later.
He motioned to ten gallon-size cans of paint. “You need help loading these up?”
I thought for a minute. I could carry them out to the car by myself if I made a few trips. But doing that would put me repeatedly in the line of fire of the puppy people.
“I would love help,” I said.
More like cover from the army of pet pawners.
Jerry loaded the gallons of paint onto a rolling cart and after ringing up the purchase, wheeled it out to my car. Thankfully, the adoption volunteers were busy and barely even noticed as we made our way through the crowd. The one woman who’d handed me the puppy did look up as I walked by, making eye contact with me.
“You let me know when you’re ready for a pu
ppy and I’ll hook you up.” She sounded suspiciously like a drug dealer.
I just nodded weakly and picked up my pace.
I popped the trunk and Jerry loaded the cans of paint inside. He was a little older than me, probably in his late fifties, with thinning hair and an expanding waistline. His forehead was covered in sweat as he set the last can of paint into the trunk and I felt bad that he’d had to do that in the late morning heat. May in this part of Virginia could be pleasant or it could be brutal, especially if the humidity was up. And boy, was it up today.
He wiped his brow. “You’re all set.”
“Thank you so much,” I said. “For helping me pick out the paint and for getting it out to my car.”
He rubbed his hands down the front of his jeans. “That’s what I’m here for.” He smiled. “Take some before and after pictures. I can put them up on our Wall of Fame in the store and on our Facebook page.”
I wasn’t entirely confident that the work I’d do would warrant any accolades but I nodded.
We said goodbye and I got into the car, ready to head home and tackle the first room.
Once I decided which one to do, of course. I was still debating whether to start with my room, the bathroom, the hallways, or the living room. The good news was that I had no timetable. I could work as leisurely or as quickly as I wanted to.
Because it was my house, and the only person affected by the painting was me.
And maybe Gunnar. But even though we were a couple and often spent the night at each other’s homes, he didn’t technically live with me, and he certainly wouldn’t care if I decided to take all summer to finish the paint jobs I had planned.
Nope.
It was just me, and whatever schedule I decided on.
And that was perfectly fine with me.
My phone started ringing as soon as I took off the parking brake, and I reached into my purse to answer it.
I sighed when I saw who was calling.
It was Laura.
My daughter.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to her. She was my daughter, after all, and we didn’t live near each other anymore. It wasn’t like she could just swing by for a cup of coffee or to have a chat like she used to.
But she was also in the middle of planning her wedding, and it seemed like the only things she wanted to talk about when she called were flowers and cakes and how many dresses she’d tried on and how she still hadn’t found the right one.
Considering the wedding wasn’t happening until next summer, I didn’t think any of these things constituted a crisis.
Laura, however, thought otherwise.
I let the call roll over to voicemail and tried to ignore the nagging guilt I felt at doing so. I’d call her back as soon as I got home, I told myself.
And as soon as I unloaded the paint.
And decided what room to start with.
My phone rang again.
It was Laura. Again.
I frowned.
A second phone call immediately after the first could mean one of two things.
It was important.
Or Laura was feeling impatient.
I pressed the button to accept the call and Laura’s panicked voice sounded immediately in my ear.
“Connor’s grandmother is dying!”
“What?”
“His grandma.” Laura’s voice was slightly hysterical and I tried to remember if she even knew his grandma. I’d never heard any mention of her. “She’s on her deathbed.”
“Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry to hear that.” I shifted the car into drive. This news was clearly bothering her.
“Mother. Don’t you see?”
I pulled out on to the road, directly behind a delivery truck. “See what?”
“She’s on her deathbed,” she repeated with an exasperated sigh. “Her dying wish was to see her only grandson get married.”
Now she was making some sense. “Oh, that is terrible,” I murmured. “I’m so sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am,” Laura said. “Because we’re moving the wedding up!”
I was glad I’d pulled up to a stop sign and that my foot was already on the brake. “What?”
“We’re moving the wedding up,” she repeated. She sounded a lot more hysterical now. “Connor insisted. And so now everything is off. All the plans I’d already made? Poof. Gone.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said. I drove through the intersection and then pulled to the curb, trying to ensure I could focus on the conversation I was having. “What do you mean you’re moving the wedding up? To when?”
“Connor wanted to fly down to Florida and just do it with a justice of the peace there at her retirement home, but I refused. That’s not how I’m having my wedding.”
“So when are you having it? And where?”
“I don’t know,” she wailed. “That’s the problem. There are literally no venues anywhere that are available in the next few weeks. None.”
“Can’t you get married at the courthouse?” I suggested. “And then maybe just have a nice dinner somewhere? Keep it small?”
“The courthouse, followed by dinner at Red Lobster?” Laura snorted. “I’m only planning on getting married once in my lifetime. I want to do it right or I’m not doing it at all.”
I wanted to point out that I hadn’t said anything about a particular restaurant, but she clearly wasn’t in the mood for reason. Actually, she never was, but it seemed pointless to mention that, either.
“How much time does she have?” I asked.
Laura sighed. “I have no idea. Connor’s getting all of this from his mom, but she seems to think there is a 4-6 week window.”
“4-6 week window until…death?”
“I guess.” She sighed again. “I have no idea. All I know is that my wedding is now ruined. All thanks to her.”
I frowned. Laura was my daughter and I loved her, but she could also be incredibly shortsighted and, well, selfish.
“What about Connor’s parents house?” I suggested. “They have a nice home.” I’d only been there once, but I remembered the brick colonial in Falls Church. It was an older home but their main floor had a fairly open floor plan and there was a nice deck attached to it.
“Their house is on the market,” she said flatly.
“It is?” This was news to me.
“They’re downsizing,” she said. “And not moving two hours away from their only child.”
A pang of guilt shot through me. It was a barbed dig at the choice I’d made over a year ago, to sell my place in Arlington and use my small inheritance to purchase my little hobby farm in Latney.
Laura still hadn’t forgiven me for it.
She liked the house—she’d at least grudgingly admitted that—but she was still upset that I’d moved away from her.
I let her ramble on for a bit, only half-listening.
Because an idea struck me.
It was probably a terrible one.
But it might make her life a little easier.
And it might help assuage some of the guilt I always felt when I thought about just how much my moving away had affected her.
“What about here?” I asked.
Silence greeted me. Then, “What?”
“What about having the wedding here?” I repeated. The idea was coming together. “We could have it outside. Think of all the space available. And the house is big enough for staging, and if people need to stay here, too. There are the bedrooms here in the house, and the guesthouse. We could even put people in the bungalow if we needed to.”
“The place where the dead body was?”
I frowned. She always found a way to bring those things up. “Skeleton,” I said. “Dead skeleton.”
She was quiet once again, and this told me that she was at least considering my suggestion.
“But it’s so far away…” she finally said.
“Only an hour and a half,” I pointed out. “You’ve traveled farther for
weddings.”
I knew she couldn’t dispute this. She and Connor had recently driven to Lancaster, Pennsylvania for a friend’s wedding.
“And you have room for all of us?” she asked. “For his grandma, too? She’ll need a place to stay, too. If she’s still alive,” she added bitterly.
I did a mental count of all of the sleeping spaces. There were two spare bedrooms in the house, and the guesthouse out back could easily sleep four. I assumed Luke would come out for his sister’s wedding, but that still left plenty of space for Connor’s family.
“Yes,” I said confidently. “Plenty of room.”
“It’s not a terrible idea,” Laura murmured.
I smiled.
“But I didn’t really want a farm wedding,” Laura said, almost more to herself than to me. “I wanted something elegant.”
“You can do elegant here,” I promised. “It doesn’t have to be a country wedding.”
“Yeah, I’m sure Annabelle and I can come up with something.”
“Annabelle?”
“My wedding planner,” Laura said. “There’s no way I can do all of the planning alone. There’s so much to take care of.”
I thought back to my own wedding, when I’d married her dad. Charlie and I had had a nice, conventional wedding. Flowers, a cake, a DJ, a photographer. All the normal stuff. And I’d managed to plan it on my own.
But this was Laura, I reminded myself. And she was most definitely not me.
Not even close.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked. “Would having it at the house ease your mind? Or at least some of your concerns?”
The silence on her end told me she was thinking, mulling it over.
“I think we can make it work,” she said at last. “As long as you’re willing to host, and as long as you can have the house ready sometime in the next four weeks.”
My mind instantly flashed to the gallons of paint in my trunk.
It looked like my idea of leisurely painting the summer away had died a quick death.
“I’ll be ready,” I promised her.
TWO
I set my hands on my hips and surveyed the room in front of me. A large canvas of light gray greeted me.
