Shotgun, Wedding, Bells

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  CHAPTER 51

  “While you were busy flapping your gums, a new officer showed up to take a turn at guard duty,” said Hadcho, with a jerk of his chin toward the hall. “I know him. He's good people. Your new husband is safe. For the time being.”

  I straightened my shoulders. “Good. But now I have a new problem. Margit isn't answering her phone. I need to drive over to the store and make sure she's okay.”

  “I can take a taxi back to the house, check on the kids, do the search, and pick up the BMW. That way we would have two cars here at the hospital,” said Brawny.

  “Okay,” I said reluctantly. I really wished that I could be the one going home. But this made more sense. “Come on Hadcho. Let's get bundled up.”

  Once we made it to the parking lot, he insisted on driving. But we didn't even make it out onto the street, before he realized his mistake. Turning the steering wheel caused him to groan with pain. The up-and-around motion put a lot of stress on his stitches.

  “Listen, tough guy,” I said, “wouldn't it be smarter for me to drive? After all, you're the person with the gun.”

  We swapped places.

  “What are you planning to do about your old BMW when the bambino comes along?”

  “Tie the papoose to the top of the car,” I said, backing out carefully.

  “Ha, ha, ha.”

  “Hey,” I said, “I know you don't feel good. Come on; let's make the best of this. You don't need to pick on me. You know how sensitive I am about that car.”

  That old BMW was the only material possession that had survived my first marriage. I hadn't sold it because it had no Blue Book value. Something about the cheerful red of the car always lifted my spirits. But admittedly, it was not a good car for this climate or my lifestyle.

  My mind had wandered while Hadcho was talking. “Feel good? I don't care about feeling good, Kiki. I care about the fact that whenever Robbie isn't around, my life and my career are left in the hands of a total nincompoop. Prescott is a menace. I intend to talk to Robbie when he gets back. In fact, I plan to do more than that. I'm going to file a formal grievance. The fact that he'd cancel protection for two LEOs makes me sick, and I have a hunch that my brothers and sisters in blue are going to be as angry as I am.”

  That made sense to me. “I'll do whatever I can to help you make your point,” I said. “As the wife of a Law Enforcement Official, I find it incredibly shabby that he'd leave you two high and dry in the hospital. If he'd done an investigation and determined that you were safe, I'd feel differently, but this is Prescott being malicious, and we all know it.”

  “Amen to that.”

  In short order, we pulled into the parking lot of my store. Margit's Subaru sat in the far spot. My heart sank a little at the thought of her walking across the icy pavement. Although Margit's as spry as they come, a broken bone could be disastrous at her age.

  Hadcho jumped out to get my door.

  “Cool it with the manners,” I said. “I'm perfectly capable, and you shouldn't overtax yourself.”

  “You don't have to ask me twice,” he said.

  We were halfway across the lot when a red pickup truck pulled in. I recognized the vehicle immediately. It belonged to Mert Chambers.

  My former best friend.

  CHAPTER 52

  Mert always dresses to “show off the merchandise.” Even though it was freezing outside, she had on a tight pair of jeans, a low-cut top, and a thin leather jacket that buttoned under her bust. Multiple earrings dangled on each side of her face.

  I hadn't seen her in nearly a year, and she had aged a decade in that time. Despite the makeup she'd carefully (and thickly) applied, Mert looked old. A deep crease lined her forehead and parentheses framed her mouth.

  The Mert I'd known was confident to the point of being cocky, but this woman approached us hesitantly. Her eyes sought mine as a way of asking, “Am I welcome?”

  “Your move,” said Hadcho. He knew that Mert blamed me after brother Johnny had gotten shot while trying to help me out. I still blamed myself. A little.

  To make matters worse, Johnny told his sister that he had fallen in love with me. Of course, I had had fond feelings for Johnny. I mean, who doesn't love a bad boy? With his penchant for flirtation and his love of living on the edge, most women find Johnny irresistible. But I had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with Detweiler, so that was that.

  Mert was convinced that I'd given her baby brother the brush-off. She retaliated by cutting me out of her life entirely.

  I missed her terribly.

  But I also learned an important lesson. You can't force people to love you. Either they will or they won't, and you have to accept what they choose. As time passed, I began to wonder if we'd ever really been friends. I'd always known that Mert was quick to anger and slow to forgive, but I thought I'd proven myself to her.

  Our estrangement hurt. A lot.

  Now here she stood—and I wasn't sure what to do next.

  “Hi,” she said. Her earrings twinkled at me in the light.

  “Hi.”

  “Heard about the shooting.” Her smile was crooked.

  “Yeah. My second shotgun wedding, and this time someone actually brought a firearm. Go figure.” I tried a little laugh, but it sounded weak.

  She grinned. “Yeah, I heard. Congratulations for tying the knot. Laurel called me from your house. She says Erik is as cute as all get out.”

  “He is.”

  “She says he's a busy little guy. Anya is growing up.”

  “Laurel is like a big sister to both of them. I don't know what I'd do without her and Joe. The kids love having them around.”

  Laurel is Mert's daughter, the product of rape that happened while she was in foster care. It had taken years for them to meet and find a way to build a relationship. Actually, I was surprised to hear that they'd been talking with each other. It wasn't that Laurel didn't forgive Mert for adopting her out. She did. Mert never had the chance to keep Laurel. She'd been tricked by her foster family into giving her baby up. And Laurel didn't hold that against Mert.

  No, Laurel had another reason for holding back. Her adoptive mother had terminal cancer. Watching one mother die made it doubly-hard to welcome a second mother into her life. Laurel didn't have the emotional energy to deal with both women at once.

  “I figured that Margit might be here alone. I thought I'd come and help out.” Mert frowned, as if waiting for me to tell her that she wasn't welcome.

  “That's really kind of you.”

  “Ladies? I'm freezing my keister off. Could we take this reunion inside?” Hadcho jerked his head toward the store.

  “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

  CHAPTER 53

  “Margit?” I called out to her from the back room. “Hello?”

  She's gotten a bit hard of hearing. I kept calling as I moved from the stock room onto the sales floor. There I found my friend with her head bowed over a pair of socks. She was knitting on a circular needle.

  “Mein Gott!” she shouted, as I put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I called out, but you didn't hear me.”

  “It is this pattern. Ach. The devil himself must have designed it. Such a problem. I wish I'd never started this mess,” she said, setting aside the blue and green argyle needlework.

  She rose and gave me a hug. She smelled of moth balls and lavender. Our embrace knocked her cat-eye glasses askew.

  “So now you are Frau Detweiler,” she said, her eyes shining with tears. “Good. This is good. For you, for him, and the children.”

  “We plan to have a second ceremony, one that everyone can enjoy, but time was running out.” I patted my belly.

  “Ja, customers have been asking all day if you weren't here because you were having your baby.”

  “Well, as you heard, our wedding ceremony ended with a bang.”

  Then I realized what I'd said and we both busted out laughing.

  “
Ach, that is good,” she said, wiping her eyes. “How is he?”

  “Detweiler will be okay,” I said, “but I'm concerned for your safety while you're here at the store.”

  Briefly, I explained what we had concluded about the shooter's goals. I wrapped it up with, “Sure, this is all speculation, but under the circumstances, I think it's best that we go ahead and close the store. We can say it's for inventory, but really, it's to give the assassin one less place to visit.”

  She adjusted her glasses. “It has been slow this afternoon, but come and look at what happened this morning.”

  I followed Margit out of the small room dedicated to our needle arts materials and into the back room. After saying hello to Hadcho and Mert, she clasped her hands together formally. “This morning when I opened the store, there were four cars waiting for me in the parking lot. Six more came later. Five more came after that.”

  Stepping to one side, she opened the refrigerator door. Every shelf was filled with food.

  There were casseroles, roasts, salads, desserts, and side dishes. I'd never seen so much homemade chow. Before I could speak, Margit opened the freezer compartment. It was packed with frozen meals. “Word got around about the shooting. Everyone wants to help. They cooked their best recipes and brought them in, so you wouldn't have to worry about making food while running to the hospital.”

  Through tears, I stared at evidence of something I've said over and over: Scrapbookers and crafters are the kindest, most generous people in the world. They believe in giving of themselves to others. Our handmade wares are but one example of how we keep our hands busy while our hearts are breaking. Sure, I've helped out over the years when I've heard that a friend or a customer is facing tough times, but I've never expected anything in return. I gave out of gratitude because I've been blessed with enough to share.

  “That is a ton of food,” said Hadcho. “I bet there's good stuff in there.”

  I was so stunned by their largess that I didn't know what to say.

  “That's not all,” Margit continued. She walked over to her desk and pulled out a mesh bag bulging at the seams. “These are all cards addressed to you and your family. Most are homemade, but some are not. There are even a few handwritten notes. Plus this.”

  From under her desk, she pulled out another bag. Inside were wrapped packages for Anya and Erik and Baby Boy.

  “You've touched a lot of lives,” said Mert. “Done a lot of good.”

  Coming from Mert that was a big compliment.

  CHAPTER 54

  I helped Margit close Time in a Bottle. We emptied out the cash register, dumped the small trash into a larger bin, rounded up everything that could be recycled, changed the signs, and finally dialed down the thermostat. After I loaded a lot of the food into mesh carrier bags, I instructed Mert and Margit to take whatever they wanted.

  “You, too, Hadcho,” I said. “There's so much here. We won't be able to eat it all.”

  He chose a salad. He's very picky about what he eats.

  “I can write up an email blast from my notebook computer,” I said. “Margit? Could you put a sign in the front door?”

  While I'd been busy, Mert had cleaned the bathroom for us, which was a really nice touch. A clean john is one of life's joys, in my humble opinion. Call me weird, but I love the smell of cleansers, as long as they aren't perfume-y. Putting away the Formula 409, Mert said, “I can also clean your house for you. Laurel has her hands full. I guess that nanny of yours hasn't been around much.”

  “That's right,” I said, feeling a little irked at the smug way she hinted that Brawny was slacking off. “Brawny brought down one of the gunmen with her knife. Since then, she's been standing guard over Detweiler. I think that's a wee bit more important right now than cleaning the house.”

  Mert looked appropriately chagrined. “S-s-she used a knife?”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “She used to be a member of Special Reconnaissance Regiment. She's been trained for all sorts of combat situations.”

  “Good thing,” said Hadcho. We'd parked him at the table and served him a cup of coffee. “Brawny was faster with that knife than I was with my gun. Cold doesn't seem to bother her. And run? Deer can't move faster than that woman does. She practically flies! There I stood, dripping blood, gripping my shoulder, and watching her race through the snow. If you recall, it was two feet deep in some places, but she plowed through as though it was nothing. The woman is positively fearless.”

  I nodded. “She told me once that her family motto is Tutum te robore reddam, which means I shall render you safe by my strength and she means every word of it.”

  “Where in Sam Hill did you find her?” Mert rinsed out the coffee pot.

  “I didn't find her. She came with Erik. Been with him since birth. Van Lauber, Erik's adopted father, hired Brawny. Van was incredibly wealthy, so he wanted to be able to travel with Gina when the whim struck him. He also needed to be sure that no one would kidnap Erik and hold him for ransom. I guess when you have that kind of money, it's always a worry.”

  Hadcho agreed. “I'm surprised more of the parents at CALA haven't hired some sort of security for their own kids.”

  He had a good point. Many of the wealthiest families in St. Louis sent their children to CALA. Jennifer and I had once talked about how easy it would be to have a child kidnapped from the school. With its sprawling grounds, many buildings, and open campus, a kid could easily be grabbed and spirited away.

  “The only answer I can come up with is that those families probably don't even know someone like Brawny exists.” I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the counter. Mimicking the way my darling husband liked to stand. It felt oddly reassuring. “In addition to Brawny's military training, she's a graduate of a school in England that turns out professional nannies. Believe me; you'd have to bring in an entire army to get between her and the kids. Speaking of CALA, the first week she was here, she sat down with the head of security at CALA and made a few suggestions. Too bad the man barely gave her the time of day.”

  “Ach,” said Margit, “and she can knit, too. She comes every Wednesday to help out with our knitters. Very, very patient.”

  Margit's words pleased me greatly. She and Brawny had had their differences. I was happy for every little sign that they'd put them in the past.

  “Sounds like you found a perfect mother's helper,” said Mert, but her voice didn't agree with her words. I could tell she was feeling jealous because all these accolades were being thrown at Brawny. My life had moved on without Mert. I'd forgotten how easily she could get her tail feathers in a twist.

  “No,” I said, “she's not perfect, but we are really lucky to have her. Van did his homework when he hired Brawny, and we're reaping the benefit of his diligence. She's at the house right now, going over the grounds.”

  “Actually,” said Hadcho, “she's walking the grounds in a grid. The other officers searched the place earlier, but now that the snow has melted, there might be an entirely different set of clues. Things we missed when they were covered in white.”

  I held up my crossed fingers. “Here's hoping. Otherwise, I have no idea how we're going to chase down that missing gunman.”

  CHAPTER 55

  After loading the cars with food, I gave Margit a hug and thanked her for watching Time in a Bottle while I was at the hospital.

  “It's nothing,” she said. “You tell Detective Detweiler that Rom ist auch nicht an einem Tag erbaut worden.”

  “Translation, please!”

  “Rome wasn't built in a day. He needs to take time and heal. I am sure he is eager to be on his feet. Too eager, in fact. Your new husband is a restless man.”

  I sighed and hugged her again. “You are right about that. Earlier today, he refused his pain meds, trying to tough it out.”

  Margit shook a finger at me. “Tell him that I expect him to follow the doctor's orders and get well. Or I will come and box his ears.”

  “I will.” I've alway
s wondered exactly what it means to box someone's ears. It certainly sounds like a punishment worth avoiding.

  The Highlander fit snugly into our garage. It took me a while to wiggle my way between the cars, thanks to my big belly. When I turned around, Hadcho was struggling to get out of the passenger seat.

  “Here.” I offered him my hand. As he stood up, his jacket and coat fell open. A bright red stain spread slowly across his white shirt.

  He let loose a string of curses. “This is a bespoke shirt that I had made in London.”

  Brawny had heard my car pull in. She stuck her head into the garage to greet us. But her words died in her throat when she noticed the blood on Hadcho's shirt.

  “You're bleeding,” she said. “That's not good. Not good at all.”

  “I'll be okay,” he sputtered.

  “No, you won't,” I said. “Quit trying to play the tough guy. You need to go back to the hospital. Get in bed and stay there.”

  “Huh-uh,” he said, vehemently. “I'm sticking close to Kiki. Brawny, you want to play detective? Go right ahead. We've got Detweiler covered—but what about the children? This house is huge. Do you think Father Joe and Laurel could handle an intruder if someone broke in? Think again!”

  He was right.

  Standing there in the garage, I studied the house, seeing it from his point of view. There were multiple entrances. Tons of windows on the ground floor. Sure, Brawny had heard us pull into the garage, but that's because she was expecting us. The kids and the other adults hadn't come to greet us. Gracie wasn't barking. That meant an intruder could have entered the garage and walked right in. Everyone inside could have been killed by now.

  I buried my face in my gloves. What were we going to do? How could I safeguard my children and track down an assassin at the same time? Should I hire more off-duty police to watch my home?

  And my business?

  Where would it end?

  Climbing slowly out of her truck, Mert walked over to where I stood. She waved her cell phone at us. “I have a solution to this here problem of yours. I put a call in to my brother Johnny.”