The Wedding Caper

by Janice Thompson

  She lifted her head then brushed away what appeared to be a tear. “There’s nothing I can do about it now. It’s in the hands of the police. I feel confident we’ll get it back.”

  “The bank won’t cover the loss?” I asked.

  “Well,” she shook her head as she explained, “Since I made the deposit in cash, it’s really a matter of our word against theirs. In other words, they didn’t even view it as a missing deposit until I contacted them. They simply didn’t know I’d made a deposit at all. And with the power being out, well, that just complicated things even further.”

  “Wow.” I felt my cheeks heat up as I asked the dreaded question. “A–any word about a suspect?”

  For a moment, I thought the conversation had ended. She used the back of her hand to brush away another lingering tear as she opened up and shared more personal information. Her words surprised me. “They arrested my son a few days ago.”

  “Y–Your son?” This certainly raised my antennae. The infamous drifter was her son? This information felt a little too personal, and almost gave me cause to think I had no right probing any further.

  I was just in the process of shifting our conversation to the wedding when Kristina interjected her thoughts on the matter. I couldn’t help but notice the sarcasm in her voice.

  “These small-town cops don’t have a clue what they’re doing.” She shook her head in disgust. “They caught my brother hanging around the bank at some odd hours, so I guess they put two and two together and came up with five.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.” I fiddled with the catering brochure to busy my hands. Otherwise, the vibration might give me away.

  Janetta cast a woeful glance my direction. “This is my youngest we’re talking about here,” she said, emphasis on youngest. “I guess you could say it’s my fault. His daddy took off when he was little and I was worn out from raising all the others, so I probably let him get away with too much.”

  “You did a fine job, Mama.” Kristina gave a reassuring nod and my heart warmed toward her right away. In many ways, she reminded me of my own girls.

  “My son is—” Janetta’s gaze shifted downward, “He’s pretty messed up. I mean, he’s mentally capable and all that, but he’s had some serious drug-related problems. He’s been away for years. In fact, I hardly recognized him when the police brought him in for questioning. He’s so. . .changed. The drugs and alcohol really took a toll on him physically.” Here, her voice broke.

  I joined her in her pain. Oh Father, help her. Help them all. My hand instinctively reached out to grab hers. “Oh, Janetta, I’m so sorry.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to drive the whole thing from her memory. “It’s water under the bridge. But apparently Jake—we call him Jakey—was hanging out at the bank late at night a couple of nights in a row, hoping Kristina would come by to make a deposit. He wanted to see if I’d take him back, since he’d sobered up and all. Least, that’s what he says.”

  “It’s the truth, Mama, and you know it.” Kristina’s eyes reflected her pain.

  I didn’t dare ask Janetta if she would have taken him back. None of my business, though the ache in my heart grew by the moment.

  Her face tightened. “I just don’t see how they can continue to hold him. There’s no proof he took the money. In fact, they never found a penny on him.”

  “Doesn’t make sense then.” Did I just say that out loud? Do I really want to narrow down the list of suspects this quickly, especially with my husband still at the top of the list?

  A look of frustration set in. “They’re saying he probably rigged the night deposit box somehow, and then got to the money before the bank opened the next morning. But how could someone so—messed up—manage such a thing?”

  “And where did the money go?” Kristina threw in. “It’s not like he’s got a hotel room or some fancy car to hide it in. He’s got nothing. No one.”

  “Have you asked them that?” As I shifted my gaze between both women, I could almost feel their pain.

  I didn’t think Janetta’s face could tighten any more, but it did. “They’re saying he did it to get even with me for kicking him out when he was seventeen.” A hoarse laugh erupted from the back of her throat. “They didn’t believe me when I told them I didn’t kick him out. He ran off. On his own.”

  A lone tear rolled down Kristina’s cheek. “We didn’t know where he was for years. I prayed for him every night.”

  A lump the size of Mount Rushmore grew up in my throat.

  Janetta rose from her chair and walked to Kristina. She leaned down and kissed her daughter on the forehead as she whispered, “We’re just glad he’s back. And we’ll prove the police wrong if it’s the last thing we do.”

  And I’ll help you. I gave her hand a little squeeze. “I surely didn’t mean to pry into your family business. I had no idea the man they’d been questioning was related to you.”

  She shrugged and the strangest mixture of emotions ran through me. Complete relief—as I realize Jake’s arrest probably let my husband off the hook, at least temporarily. And complete heartache—as I realized the universal pain of a mother agonizing over a wayward child.

  I garnered up all the determination I could and turned my attentions back to the weddings at hand.

  Chapter Five

  When you’re the mother of twin girls, you don’t have to join a gym or purchase fancy workout equipment from infomercials to stay in shape. Just following around after the little darlings—and their laundry—will do the trick. Add a young son to the mix and you’ve got a Why-do-I-need-to-do-sit-ups?-I’ll-just-chase-the-kids-around-the-park-to-get-my-exercise kind of mama.

  For years, this strategy appeared to be working. Thanks to good genes (kudos, Mom!), fairly healthy eating habits, (I’ll have the salad, please, with low-fat dressing) and an active lifestyle, (Who would’ve guessed I’d learn to play football with my husband and son?) I’d managed to stay in shape.

  Until recently.

  I could blame it on pre-menopause, but truth be told, it was just plain laziness on my part. The things I used to care so much about—counting calories, weighing food, fitting into that great new skirt—just didn’t seem so important anymore, what with certain parts of my anatomy heading south. And now that I could purchase cute clothes in nearly every size, I’d decided to fill my closet with just that: nearly every size.

  Warren didn’t seem to mind. In fact, as we burrowed down on the sofa each evening with our over-sized bowls of Moo-lenium Crunch Ice Cream, he seemed more content than ever. Sure, his size 32 waist had stretch to a 36, and yes, my jeans now came in one size larger, but who cared? We loved our lives and we loved each other—just as we were.

  That’s why, when I opened up Lesson Three on Monday morning, I couldn’t help but groan. A GOOD INVESTIGATOR IS IN TIP-TOP SHAPE. I slapped myself in the head. Were they kidding? What in the world did this have to do with anything?

  I almost didn’t read the crazy thing. What was the point, really? At forty-nine, I doubted I’d ever find myself chasing criminals down back-alleys, even if I managed to shimmy the flab off of my thighs and upper arms with the latest advertised contraption.

  Still, with two weddings coming up, it would be nice to take off a few pounds. A little shiver rippled down my spine as I thought about it. The mother of the bride was often put on display much like the bride, herself. Mental note: Make sure all wedding photos are taken dead-on. Double chins don’t show as much from the front as the side.

  Perhaps, in light of all that lay ahead, I should pay more attention to my diet. And a little exercise never killed anyone—at least not the kind that I might get involved in.

  I started to sign off the Internet to contemplate my plan of action, but a whisper from the Lord reminded me I hadn’t yet read my daily devotional. I scrolled to my favorite Word for the Day site. My heart rate doubled as I read the scripture verse: He must increase, but I must decrease. John 3:30. Another coincide
nce? I had to wonder.

  Lord, are you trying to tell me something?

  I reached over to grab a fistful of miniature chocolates from the bowl next to the computer as I pondered the possibilities. I must decrease. Hmm. Yes, losing a few pounds and getting into shape appeared to be the message of the day.

  I popped a couple of pieces of candy into my mouth and one apparently went down the wrong way. I didn’t panic when the coughing jag started. But as I struggled to catch my breath, I found myself contemplating the inevitable stories people would share about me after my demise.

  I could picture the headliner on the obituary in the Clark County Gazette now: LOCAL CRIME FIGHTER DIES WITH TELL-TALE SIGNS OF CHOCOLATE ON HER BREATH. The dramatic piece would go on to reveal the particulars of my last moments on planet earth—how I’d been found clutching pieces of candy-coated chocolates in my chubby fist. From there, it would discuss my inability to fit into the casket, due to the width of my hips.

  The “melt-in-your-mouth” piece finally dissolved enough to slide down my throat and, after a few sips of water and an exorbitant amount of coughing, I managed to regain my composure. I prayed several heartfelt words of thanksgiving, drew in a few deep breaths and shoved the candy dish aside. The Lord really was trying to tell me something—both through the lesson and the Bible verse. I must do something, and I must do it now.

  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Sasha jumping up and down. She let out a few frantic yips, capturing my full attention. I turned to face her, now able to speak. “Need to go out, little girl?” I stood and reached for her leash. As I did so, a thought occurred to me. Taking the dog for a walk burns calories. Taking her for several walks will burn several calories.

  Only one problem with this idea. I glanced down at the slim, trim dachshund. She didn’t look like she had many calories to burn.

  As we made our way out to the sidewalk, I pondered my predicament. Whether I wanted to or not, I should probably join a gym. And it wasn’t like I’d have to look far. I’d noticed the signs around town for the new Clark County Co-Ed Fitness Center on Main. I’d seen, through the large panes of glass out front, the sweaty bodies inside.

  I just never dreamed I’d be one of them.

  With Sasha leading the way, I headed into town. We sprinted along, enjoying the crisp autumn day. I couldn’t help but focus on the leaves on my neighbor’s stately oak as the afternoon sunshine rippled through them. For a moment, the sheer beauty of it all captivated me. God, in His goodness, gave me a glimpse of eternity as I gazed up through the trees and into the heavenlies.

  I paused to reflect on the splendorous interruption. “How do You do it, God?” I questioned. “How is it that everything you create is so. . .perfect?”

  For a moment, the wind seemed to offer a response. “I created you, too.”

  Just the breeze, surely. Nothing more.

  I picked up my pace once again, chugging along behind the puppy, who seemed to know just where I wanted to go. She led me to the end of the street and turned toward town.

  We passed the Dairy Barn, where the lunch crowd swallowed down greasy fries and artery-clogging burgers. We continued on past the coffee shop, where customers nibbled at tasty baked goods, chased down by caramel mocha frappuccinos.

  None of that for me. No sir. I swallowed hard and kept walking, stopping only when I landed in front of the new gym. Through the large panes of glass, I could see everything and everyone. The folks inside looked energized, mesmerized, slenderized.

  Aw, who was I kidding? They looked just plain awful. And I would too, if I dared to join them. I grew weary just pondering my dilemma. Even a really trendy sweat suit would do little to impress onlookers if the woman wearing it passed out cold after just two minutes on the elliptical machine.

  I pressed my face against the window to have a closer look. What in the world? What was Richard Blevins doing here, in the middle of the day? I glanced at my watch. Twelve fifteen. Ah. He’s on his lunch break. Interesting midday activity. Working off his guilt, perhaps?

  My finely tuned detective skills kicked in unannounced. It didn’t take long to remind myself why this little episode with Richard felt strange. Just yesterday—with tears in his eyes, I might add—my husband read Richard’s resignation letter aloud to a room full of stunned Sunday school class members. Turned out, Richard and Judy weren’t just stepping away from the class, they were leaving the church. Gone. Like a puff of smoke.

  But, why?

  I peered a bit closer, eventually creating a haze on the glass with my breath. Even from here, I could see the frustration etched on Richard’s face. He handled the Stairmaster like a man possessed.

  Yes, he surely needed a sense of release from something. But, what? The situation with his wife, or something more?

  I wanted to go inside, wanted to follow him from machine to machine, in search of clues. Wanted to ask him strategic questions. Wanted to find a way to pinpoint him as the perpetrator. Wanted to. . .

  Help me, Lord.

  With a sigh, I came to recognize the truth. I wanted to exonerate my husband—to free him from the cloud of guilt that hovered over him like the branches of that old oak in my neighbor’s yard. I didn’t really want to incriminate anyone else, especially not a good friend and Bible scholar. Chasing Richard Blevins around the Co-Ed Fitness Center suddenly felt rather shameful. And a little silly.

  Besides, I didn’t really want to sweat. Not with so much work awaiting me at home.

  I glanced down at Sasha, who had come to rest on the small grassy area to my right. “It’s a pity I can’t go inside,” I told her. “But, alas, no pets allowed.”

  I secretly celebrated the fact. Honestly, I could hardly keep the grin from curling up the edges of my lips. Perhaps I had known all along I wouldn’t carry through with this ridiculous notion.

  On the other hand. . . . I looked through the window again. It didn’t look so bad. And I really could stand to tone up a little. “Lord,” I whispered to the skies, “If this is Your will—”

  The honking of a horn interrupted me and I turned as my son’s voice rang out through the open window of our truck. “Whatcha doin’, Mom?”

  “What? Oh, I—”

  “Are you joining the gym?” Devin pulled the truck to a stop, slammed it into park, and leapt from the door like a gazelle loping across the meadow.

  “I’m not sure.”

  His face lit with more enthusiasm than I would have imagined possible for a seventeen-year-old male. “I think you should. And, in fact,” he pointed to a sign, “you should sign all of us up. They’ve got a great family plan and I’ve been thinking about working out more, anyway. I need to stay in shape, you know.” He flexed a muscle in his upper arm and gave me a wink.

  “Ah.” I couldn’t seem to force any more words to the surface. “Well, maybe someday.”

  What is it about sons? How do they melt the heart with a look? Devin flashed me that “Aw, Mom” face and I dripped like butter through his fingers.

  “The special ends this afternoon,” he explained. “If we’re going to do it, we have to do it.”

  Sure enough. The sign on the door proudly bore today’s date as the final day for the advertised price. But how could I go inside with Sasha in tow?

  As if reading my mind, Devin scooped her up into his arms. “Go on, Mom. And don’t worry about Sasha. I’ll take her home in the truck.”

  Without even asking my permission, he and my canine cohort took off and left me hanging in the lurch.

  I pulled open the door and was met immediately by a young “Fitness Rep” as he called himself.

  Fitness Rep, my eye. “Joey. I remember you.” He’d been in Devin’s Cub Scout troop, if memory served me correctly.

  Within minutes, “Joey the Fitness Rep Extraordinaire” handed me a pen so that I could sign on the dotted line. After a little coaching, I’d settled not for the “regular” family membership, but the 24-hour Premium membership. Man, he was good.
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  Or maybe I was just gullible.

  Just before signing, I telephoned Warren, to ask his opinion. He seemed a little surprised by my impulsive decision, but heartily agreed, even going so far as to state, “We could all stand to lose a few pounds.”

  At that point, I passed my credit card off to Joey and the deed was done. Afterwards, my new fitness rep ushered me into the small shop at the front of the center, where I selected a cute workout outfit. Navy blue with gray stripes. Not bad, not bad. Kind of reminded me of my junior high gym suit. Maybe someday I would actually put it on.

  As if reading my thoughts, Joey pointed to the ladies’ changing area and encouraged me to “dive right in.”

  Dive right in? Fifteen minutes ago, I’d been content to stare in the window. Now I was supposed to forget every concern and climb aboard the fitness express?

  I scoped the room to see if I could locate Richard. Nope. Looked like he’d already headed back to the bank. No one would be any the wiser. I really could exercise without an audience. But, did I want to?

  The title of today’s lesson echoed loudly in my brain. A good investigator is in tip-top shape.

  And so I did it. I donned the outfit. And with Joey’s expert assistance, I made the rounds from machine to machine. Though I started off tentatively, my concerns lifted in record time. In fact, my excitement grew with each new piece of equipment. I felt so energized by the time I left that I practically sprinted home, not even caring what the neighbors thought.

  I arrived at the house in breathless excitement. Sasha met me at the door, equally as pleased. We celebrated my victory together. Then we headed to the kitchen, where I cooked a low-fat dinner: grilled chicken breasts, broccoli, and a salad. I even mixed up a batch of sugar-free brownies, just for fun.

  Warren arrived home at six thirty, as always. He commented on the healthy glow in my cheeks and I kissed him squarely on the lips in gratitude. A glance in the mirror let me know I did look healthier. And I felt healthier, too.