Chapter 25
Sage
I peer through the metal bars at my sleeping sister like she’s on display at the zoo. She’s curled up on a metal-framed bed and wrapped in a thin gray blanket. Her long dark hair is matted, and even from this distance I can see the shiner Victor warned me about. An angry blue-black half-circle blooms under Thyme’s left eye.
The corrections officer, a guy named Malone, smacks his baton against the bar, and the sound reverberates. Thyme jumps up, wide-eyed and dazed.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Your sister here bailed you out.”
Thyme meets my eyes reluctantly. “Hi. Ugh, I’m so stiff.”
She drops into a full backbend. You know, as one does to work out the kinks. Finally she straightens, then lowers herself into a front split.
Officer Malone is agog.
“She’s a yoga instructor,” I explain.
“Well, she’s sure not a hockey player.” He chuckles at his own joke.
Thyme gets out of the split and does a series of stretches.
“You look like death,” I tell her. It’s true. Jumpsuit orange isn’t her color. And the fluorescent lighting doesn’t help.
“You should see the other gal,” she cracks.
“That’d be hard. She was transferred into federal custody earlier this morning,” Malone tells her.
Thyme’s eyes widen in surprise, and then her hand flies up to cover the bruise. “Ow. She was?”
“She was. You did it. You caught her,” I say.
She grins, and it’s such an expression of pure joy that I bite back the lecture I planned to launch into.
Officer Malone has no such inhibitions. “Yes, you caught a felon, who’s currently under suspicion for murder, through a combination of dumb luck and … well, just dumb luck. What you did was risky, foolish, and ought not to be repeated. Next time, call the police.”
“Yes, sir.” Thyme drops her eyes, abashed. But I think it’s an act.
The guard seems satisfied, though. “Good. Now, get. I hear you have a wedding to get to.” He presses a button on the wall, there’s a loud click, and the door to her cell swings open.
She shuffles toward us, then freezes. “Wait. I do?”
I nod. “That’s why I’m here. Victor’s over at the clerk’s office picking up the marriage license.”
“Really? But, what about my … status?”
“Agent Morgan flew out last night to take Naomi Van Claus into custody. He worked his magic to get you declared undead.”
“Yes!” She runs out of the cell and throws her arms around me in a hug. “I can’t believe it!”
“Believe it. He’s out in the waiting room with Roman. We invited him to stick around for the wedding. I assume that’s okay?”
“Of course,” she sings. Then she gets a stricken look. “Where’s Rosemary? She’s mad at me, isn’t she?”
“No, she’s not mad. She was distraught last night, but she’s over it. She’s too busy to be mad. She’s making your cake.”
“She is?”
“She is,” I confirm. “But she says since you chose to spend your last night as a single woman in the clink, she had to pick your flavors for you.”
Thyme nods. “That seems fair. What did she decide to go with?”
“Lemon lavender cake with honeysuckle cream.” I wonder if she’ll catch the significance.
She does. “She used the same flavors for your cake—and hers.”
“Just in different combinations. Because we’re all different combinations of the same flavors.” Or something like that.
She grins. “I love it.”
I fling my arm around her. “Good. Now let’s get out of here. We have our work cut out for us to make you look like a blushing bride and not a bruised and battered brawler.”
The mention of her fight reminds her of Naomi and she stops walking again. “The guard said she’s under suspicion for murder. Adrianna’s?”
I sigh. I was hoping we could avoid this conversation, at least until after the nuptials.
“Yes. The government has a theory that Adrianna helped her sister vanish four years ago and knew, in broad strokes, that she was living somewhere in Arizona. It’s unclear whether they were splitting the money Naomi scammed out of the residents of Snow City or if Adrianna found out Naomi was profiting and demanded to be cut in. But there’s some evidence that the so-called chance meeting in Phoenix was actually pre-arranged and went poorly.” I shrug. “They’ll know more if Naomi decides to talk.”
“Could you imagine … killing your sister?” she shudders and wraps her arms around her midsection.
“No. Never.” I smile at her. “But if we don’t get you out of here and back to the house pronto, we’re going to test whether Rosemary shares that view. Come on.”
She rests her head against my shoulder briefly, then we walk out into the waiting room arm in arm. She smells faintly of stale beer.
Chapter 26
Rosemary
Sage and I stand in the master bedroom of the rental house and wait for Thyme to emerge from the bathroom. And wait.
Sage flashes me a worried look.
Finally, I cross the room and rap on the door. “Thyme? Do you need help?”
“No. I’ll be out in a second.”
A moment later, the door creaks open. Behind me, Sage catches her breath.
“You look beautiful,” I breathe.
Thyme twirls, and the simple strapless dress she’s wearing flares out around her. She’s arranged her thick dark hair in an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck. On her feet, are Sage’s soft blue wedding shoes, satisfying both the something borrowed and something blue requirements.
“All we need is something new,” Sage murmurs.
“And some concealer,” Thyme counters, pointing to her black eye.
“It gives you character,” I say, channeling our mother, and the three of us collapse on the bed in peals of laughter. According to Mary Jane, everything from chicken pox to intestinal distress to being caught in a mudslide builds character. There’s zero doubt she wouldn’t make the claim if she were here.
A knock on the bedroom door interrupts our antics.
“Are you Victor?” I demand.
“No,” answers a female voice. It’s Dr. Pridemore.
“Come in, then,” Sage says, as we sit up and straighten our clothes.
She pokes her head in. “I don’t want to interrupt, but I wanted to give you your gift early. You’ll see why.”
“Well, come in,” Thyme says, gesturing.
Thyme and Victor’s very small, family-only wedding, has doubled in size from four guests to eight: Alexis Pridemore; Dora; Sheriff Fellman; and Agent Morgan are all joining us. Plus Mom and Dad by video. It’s an unusual guest list, by any standards. But it seems fitting.
Now, the dentist walks into the room and presses a rectangular, hinged jewelry box into Thyme’s hands. “This is from all of us at Snow City, for everything you—well, all of you—did for us.”
Thyme raises the velvet-covered lid to reveal a light pink necklace nestled against the silk lining. She lifts it from the box with reverence. “Did Kimber make this?”
“Yes. It’s more delicate than her usual work. She was drawn to bold designs. But she used a lighter hand for this. It’s the only design Natural Gems didn’t copy. I’d be honored if you’d wear it today?”
Thyme’s free hand flutters to her bare neck, and she hands me the necklace. “Will you help me put it on, Rosie?”
“Of course.”
I place the necklace around her neck and it settles in the hollow at the base of her throat. I clasp it and then turn her so I can see it. “It’s perfect.”
She looks at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the closet door. “It really is.” She turns to embrace the dentist. “Thank you. I love it.”
“And,” Sage deadpans, “it draws one’s eye away from your shiner.”
“You know, I’m sure it�
��s good luck to have a black eye on your wedding day,” Doctor Pridemore ventures.
And suddenly, we’re doubled over, cracking up again.
Chapter 27
Thyme
We originally planned to have the ceremony at the Japanese gardens outside the fanciest hotel resort on the Strip. But, when Colin Morgan manages to arrange for Mom and Dad to attend via video feed, we change our plans.
And the one place Victor manages to find on short notice that has the necessary satellite link and closed-circuit feed is the one, the only, Louie Lou’s Ice Palace. I can’t really complain about his choice of venues, given that I was in the county lockup while he did all the work.
The ceremony will not, thank heavens, take place on center ice. This is a good thing, because I’m still pretty banged up from last night’s encounter at the rink. And, at least according to Sage, there’s sawdust sprinkled across the blood and beer on the ice. That’s me, classy all the way.
Sage and Rosemary and I are squeezed into the kitchen area behind the snack bar, waiting to hear the in-house country band strike up the first notes of Pachelbel’s Canon in D.
“Is that it?” I whisper.
“I don’t know,” Rosemary whispers back, “I’ve never heard it played on a banjo before.”
Sage snorts, loudly, and then blushes, belatedly covering her mouth with her hand. She stretches up on her toes and peeks through the doorway. “Let’s just go, I see Victor looking around out there.”
With a sister on each side of me, I step out onto the sticky wooden surface and smile at my soon-to-be husband, who’s standing mere feet away, flanked by my brothers-in law, right in front of the Slushie machine.
“Hiya, Thyme!” I hear my dad’s voice boom.
I glance up. He and my mom are beaming at me from each of the eight big-screen televisions on the wall. Mom waves enthusiastically. Mona Lisa, who’s sleeping at Dave’s feet, wakes up, barks once at the commotion, and then sinks back into doggie slumber.
Dora, Colin Morgan, Keith Fellman, and Alexis Pridemore are squeezed into the red vinyl bench seats of a melamine booth right up close to the action. They all stand up as we proceed down the aisle—sure, let’s call it an aisle.
The officiant, whom I met for a hot twenty seconds back in the kitchen, was recommended by Officer Malone, the guard at the county lockup. She has all the necessary approvals to marry us, so who am I to argue?
She smiles and greets us as we arrange ourselves in front of her. I slip my hand into Victors. He squeezes his fingers around mine. This may not be the wedding I dreamed of as a little girl—after all, very few girls picture their big day going down at the snack bar of the ice skating rink where they got arrested the night before—but as far as I’m concerned, it’s picture perfect.
My sisters are here. Rosemary, my rock and my guide. Sage, my soft heart and warm soul. And Victor. Smart, brave, sensitive Victor. I think I’ve loved him since the first day I met him, desperately seeking his sister, unwilling to rest until he found her. I smile up at him, pretending to listen to the words the officiant is reciting, while my heart swells with emotion.
“Sage, psst, Sage!” My mother is calling Sage’s name in a loud stage whisper while waving her arms overhead like a flagger at the airport.
The officiant stops mid-sentence.
“Yes, Mom?” Sage’s voice is neutral but I can see the tendons in her neck popping out.
“Does your sister have a black eye?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Listen, you soak a slice of apple in some witch hazel and—”
“Calendula tea, we know, Mom,” Rosemary assures her. “We did, and we’ll do another one after the wedding. Now, zip it!”
Mom shakes her head, affronted. And I start to giggle.
The officiant gives me a look of concern. “Do you need a minute?”
“No,” I laugh. “Let’s keep rolling.”
“Actually,” Victor interjects, “let’s skip to the part where we say ‘I do.’ How’s that sound to you, Thyme?”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “That’s the best idea you’ve had yet, lover.”
Two minutes later, Victor and I are wearing shiny new wedding bands, the officiant proclaims us Mrs. Thyme Magnolia Field-Callais and Mr. Victor Callais, and I find myself on the receiving end of a long, warm kiss that promises to be the beginning of our next adventure.
I guess Victor had to fill out a new form to get our license. So I guess I’m also stuck with Magnolia. I probably would’ve missed my bizarro middle name anyway. I wonder which apartment he put down as our address?
Before I can ask him, the band strikes up Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On.” I surmise from Mr. Callais’ bemused expression that their choice is as much a surprise to him as it is to me.
The motley crew in the booth whoop and clap, and my sisters envelop me and Victor in a hug. Roman and Dave join us in the embrace, waking up Mona Lisa in the process. Dad is sobbing on the big screen, and Mom is rubbing his back.
It is, hands down and without a doubt, the best wedding I’ve ever attended.
Chapter 28
Three weeks later, New York
Thyme
I’m curled up with a mug of chai and a book when I hear Victor’s footsteps in the hall outside our apartment. We decided to keep his place because it’s two-hundred-square-feet larger than mine. I thought there’d be a longer adjustment, but this place already feels like home.
I mark my page and put down my book and my mug to greet my husband. He’s been working pretty long hours since we got back from our road trip. As soon as he wrapped up the series on the economic state of small towns across the country, he pitched a series of articles focused on the pros and cons of multi-level marketing systems. And, as he’s learning through interviews, there are benefits. Not everyone who gets involved in direct sales to their friends and family ends up a remorseless killer or bankrupt.
Plus, some of the products are pretty awesome, I allow, petting my MiMiMew legging-encased legs. Dora/Carlie helped the federal agents clear out Naomi’s house and somehow convinced them to let her send me, Sage, and Rosemary each several pairs of cozy leggings out of the inventory.
Victor turns his key in the door as I’m walking to the entryway. I flick on the hall light and smile as he comes inside.
“Honey, I’m home!” he shouts, as he’s shouted every one of the twenty-one days of our marriage.
And, as I’ve done every one of those twenty-one days, I wrap my arms around him in greeting and kiss him.
He kisses me back but doesn’t return my embrace—probably because he’s holding a large box in his hands.
“What’s in the box?”
He grins at me. “Close your eyes.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Close ‘em,” he insists.
So I close my eyes and hold out my hands. “Is it a puppy?” The box is big, but it’s not wriggling or barking.
He doesn’t answer, but I can hear the rustle of tissue paper.
“Can I open them?”
“Not yet. Do you remember the first gift I ever gave you?”
“Mmm, well, you bought me an outfit to wear to your sister’s fake funeral because we were on the run and I couldn’t go home to get a change of clothes.”
“Right, the traditional fake funeral attire gift. Do you remember the shoes?”
Do I remember the shoes? Of course, I remember the shoes. They were towering, sexy, expensive black high heels that I couldn’t walk in. I ended up giving them to my octogenarian neighbor Mrs. Katzen, who rocked them with style. Please don’t let him have replaced them. Please.
“I remember,” I say, bracing myself.
“I guess I like buying you footwear.”
Crud.
“Oh?”
“Okay, open your eyes.”
Reluctantly, I do. And my gaze falls on the open box. Nestled inside is a pair of snowy white, size 8, figure skates.
/> “Um?”
“Don’t worry. They come with lessons. I thought by Christmas time, you might have your feet under you. We can skate under the tree at Rockefeller Center like tourists.”
I smile at the image. “Well, thank you. These lessons you mentioned … who’s the instructor?”
He brushes my bangs out of my face, “I was thinking I could teach you. I’m not bad on the ice.”
“I noticed. And that’ll work out just fine. Have I ever mentioned my fantasy starring an ice skating instructor?”
“I don’t think you have. Why don’t I get out of these work clothes and you can tell me all about it?”
I place the box on the counter and take my husband by the hand. This newlywed business is even more fun than I’d expected it to be.
Thank You!
Thanks for reading Wanted Wed or Alive!
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Wanted Wed or Alive: Thyme's Wedding Page 14
