by Parnell Hall
Cora’s smile was maternal. She was surprised to find herself thinking almost fondly of Harvey.
At a table in the far corner of the bakery, Brenda Wallenstein snapped her newspaper shut, picked up her coffee, and stalked out the door.
Dennis was sitting in the rental car with the motor running.
“What kept you?” he asked.
Brenda thrust his coffee through the open window, stomped around the car, and got in. She slammed the door just as Dennis was prying the plastic lid off the cardboard cup. Steaming coffee sloshed in his lap.
“Hey, watch it,” he snarled irritably. He looked over, caught her expression, scowled. “What’s the matter now?”
“I thought you went down to the paper to announce our engagement.”
“I did.”
“They didn’t print it.”
“Oh?”
“There’s a big piece about Cora getting married, but nothing about us.”
“That’s hardly my fault. Why are you getting torqued off?”
“How could that happen?”
“How should I know? Probably that kid reporter. You can tell he can’t stand me.”
“Is that who you talked to? I thought you talked to the editor.”
“I talked to both of them. But the kid must have written the piece.”
“And you told him it was a double wedding?”
“Of course.”
“Then why would he leave us out?”
Dennis took a sip of coffee, and sighed in exasperation before answering. “Brenda. Baby. What can I tell you? These are things over which I have no control. All I know is the guy’s got the hots for Sherry, he doesn’t like me, and I’m not at all surprised he didn’t want to write about me.”
“But you drank a toast with the editor. Wouldn’t the editor make him write the story?”
“If the old geezer gave a damn. Frankly, I think he was just looking for an excuse to take a drink.”
“But—”
Brenda was interrupted by a rapping on the window. She rolled it down, was surprised to find a man with a clerical collar peering into the car.
“Pardon me,” the minister said. “Would you happen to be Brenda Wallenstein?”
“Yes,” Brenda said, utterly puzzled.
“And you would be Dennis Pride?”
“That’s right.”
“I understand congratulations are in order. Forgive the intrusion. I’m the Reverend Kimble. I’ll be performing the service. If you wouldn’t mind stopping by the church a little later on, perhaps we can make some of the arrangements.”
“Arrangements? What do we need to arrange?”
“Oh, heavens. Choice of music. Guests. Wedding rehearsal.”
“We gotta rehearse this?”
“Of course. I’m sorry, I thought you’d been married before.”
“Not in a church.”
“Ah, well, then, we can treat this as a new experience, Mr. Pride. And with a double wedding, there’s twice as much to plan for, isn’t there? Could you come by later this morning, say between eleven and twelve?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Fine. I’ll see you then.”
The Reverend Kimble straightened up.
“Hey,” Brenda said. “Hang on. How did you know we were getting married?”
The Reverend said offhandedly, “Oh. It was in the paper.”
He nodded, smiled, and walked off.
Brenda and Dennis looked at each other.
“In the paper?” Dennis said.
19
SHERRY CARTER CLICKED THE SAVE BUTTON AND PICKED UP the phone. Sherry always backed up her work before taking a phone call, because she could never be sure how long the call would last, and if the computer were to crash, it could wipe out the whole puzzle. Sherry once had to recreate an entire crossword puzzle from memory before learning that bitter lesson; she would not make that mistake again.
The only problem was, the answering machine was in the kitchen, and it picked up on the fourth ring. So, if Sherry couldn’t save her work and answer the phone in three rings, the machine would beat her to it, and she’d be on the phone in the office with no way to turn the answering machine off. Sherry could talk into the phone, but her entire conversation would not only be recorded, it would also reverberate through the house as it was broadcast by the answering machine.
So, when the phone rang while Sherry was at work, it was always a race to save her data.
This time she was in luck. She snatched up the phone on the second ring, said, “Hello?”
“Sherry. It’s Brenda. Have you seen the Gazette?”
“It’s still in the mailbox. Why?”
“Your boyfriend put something in there about Cora getting married.”
“Well, he’s a reporter, that’s his job.”
“Did you know he was going to do it?”
“Did I? I don’t remember.”
“Damn it, Sherry. Either you did or you didn’t.”
“We discussed it many times. I can’t remember how we left it. What difference does it make?”
“He mentioned only your aunt’s wedding. He didn’t mention mine.”
“Oh. And he should have?”
“Of course he should have. Dennis went by the paper yesterday just to tell him about it. And he left it out. Deliberately.”
“I don’t think Aaron would do that.”
“Deliberately,” Brenda repeated firmly. “And it wasn’t what his editor wanted, because he drank a toast to us.”
“Brenda, why are you telling me this?”
“Well, I just think you should know that your boyfriend is not happy about this marriage, and is looking to sabotage us.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes.”
“Sherry, why else would he leave us out?”
“There could be lots of reasons.”
“Name one. He doesn’t like Dennis. Can you deny that?”
“Brenda—”
“Which is so unfair. Because he doesn’t even know Dennis.”
“I do.”
“You did,” Brenda corrected. “Dennis has changed, Sherry. You gotta give him a chance. Anyway, the minister wants to talk to him, and what’s that all about?”
“What’s what all about? Brenda, you’re not making sense.”
“Neither was the minister. He bangs on our car window, congratulates us on our engagement, and asks to talk to Dennis.”
For a moment Sherry wished the conversation were being recorded. Then she could play it back and hope to make sense of it. “Bren, could you give me a small hint what you’re talking about?”
“How does this clergyman know we’re getting married? It wasn’t in the paper.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can’t find it. You wanna try?”
“No, I’m sure you’re right. I don’t know. The Reverend must have heard it somewhere. You haven’t been keeping it a secret.”
“No, but no one knows us here. Except you and your aunt.”
“Oh.”
“Has Cora been blabbing?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, she’s your aunt.”
“I don’t own Cora, Bren. And she hasn’t even been staying here.”
“Yeah, I know. She’s across the street from us.”
“She’s what?”
“We moved yesterday. Dennis thinks the landlady was going through his things. So we found another place. Turns out it’s right across from Cora.”
“Well, that’s convenient.”
“Yeah. Too convenient, if Cora’s messing in our business.”
“Excuse me,” Sherry said. “Exactly whose idea was this double wedding?”
“Well, it wasn’t mine. And I’m beginning to think it’s not such a hot idea,” Brenda snapped, and banged down the phone.
Sherry, too, slammed the receiver down. Well, if that didn’t beat all.
Her anger swiftly turned to worry, however. Bre
nda just didn’t seem like herself. Brenda was feisty, yes, but never hostile. Not to her. Of course, a lot of her hostility could be defensive, because of Dennis, but even so. Brenda’s relationship with Dennis clearly wasn’t going as well as she might try to pretend. If only she’d stop deluding herself.
A bell, a spring, and a cuckoo clock, Sherry’s audio equivalent of “You’ve got mail,” announced an incoming message. Absently, she moved the mouse, retrieved the e-mail, looked at the screen.
Her mouth fell open.
Now they were coming by e-mail?
Sherry checked the return address:
That seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
Sherry hit NAME on the toolbar. Her e-mails, which had been sorted by date with the most recent first, were now grouped alphabetically. Sherry had three other e-mails from Bhl.org. The first one read:
Sherry blinked.
The public library?
She scooped up the phone, called the Bakerhaven Library, but to no avail. Emily Potter told her that she had been away from her desk working in the stacks. She hadn’t seen anyone near her computer, but her e-mail account had been open, and the offending message was in SENT MAIL, so someone must have used it, she just had no idea who.
Sherry hung up the phone, turned her attention to the cryptogram.
It wasn’t hard. The opening pattern suggested the salutation was “Dear Puzzle Lady.” Sherry plugged those letters in:
Sherry studied the result.
So. UKP would be you. So K was O. And AKD’C would be doD’C. So C would be either S or T. If C was T the word would be don’t, which would make D stand for N.
Humming to herself, Sherry attacked the puzzle.
20
CORA HUNG UP THE PHONE AND WANDERED INTO THE LIVING room, where Raymond Harstein III sat reading the newspaper.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, not looking up.
“Is it that obvious?” Cora asked. “Yeah, I guess it is. There’s been another one. Another message warning you off. This time it came through e-mail on our computer.”
“A coded message?”
“That’s right.”
“What did it say?”
“Something to the effect that if you didn’t mind your own business you’d get what was coming to you.”
Raymond frowned. “That’s not the same as telling me not to get married.”
“No,” Cora agreed. “But it’s not an invitation to a dance, either. This is really getting on my nerves.”
Raymond seemed interested. “But if it’s an e-mail, there must be a return address. Who sent it?”
“According to Sherry, it came from the Bakerhaven Library.”
“Well, that’s something. You can find out when the message was sent, and check who was in the library at the time.”
Cora looked at him searchingly. “You’re taking this seriously?”
He smiled. “This whole thing seems like a childish prank. Tell you what. Have Sherry send it to me and we’ll take a look.”
“Send it to you?”
“Sure. She can forward it to me. On my laptop. Call her back and tell her to send it along.”
“With the solution?”
“Oh, sure. No reason to work too hard.”
Cora called Sherry and gave her Raymond’s e-mail address. When Cora hung up, Raymond went on-line. Minutes later, the flag on the mailbox icon announced he had mail. Raymond moved the cursor and retrieved the message.
At the top was the address, showing that the e-mail had been forwarded from Bhl.org.
Below, Sherry had added the solution.
“Well,” Raymond said. “Shut me up? I wasn’t aware that I’d said anything offensive.”
“Of course not.”
“This is clearly nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You said uh-huh.”
“So?”
“Cora. I know you. If you say uh-huh in that tone of voice, I’m in trouble. What’s up?”
Cora pointed to the e-mail on the laptop. “Can you shrink that?”
“Sure.”
Raymond moved the cursor, clicked on the minimize bar at the top right of the screen. The e-mail program shrank to an icon, revealing the other icons on the start-up screen.
Cora pointed to the notebook icon. “If you thought it was nothing, why did you type it up?”
Raymond frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I know I shouldn’t have looked, but I was in here last night, and there it was on your laptop.”
Cora moved the cursor, clicked on the icon. The cryptogram instantly filled the screen:
“There. If you thought it was nothing, why did you copy it?”
Raymond seemed troubled. “Oh.”
“See?” Cora said. “You are taking it seriously. We’d already solved this cryptogram, and you still typed it up.”
“Oh.” Raymond took Cora by the shoulders. He smiled. “You know, one of the dangers of having a computer is you tend to use it for everything. Yellow Pages. Maps. Weather. Notes. The thing you have to realize is, a note on a laptop isn’t any more important than a note on a scrap of paper.”
“Yes, but—”
Raymond tilted up her chin. “Cora. I am not really worried. All right?”
He kissed her. After a moment’s resistance, she melted into his arms. All thoughts of danger, and warnings, and secret messages were swept away. She closed her eyes.
Raymond’s eyes were open. He was looking not at the computer screen, but at the strip of paper on the far side of the keyboard. It was a thin white strip, inconspicuous on the sheet of notebook paper on which it lay. A column of letters was written down the paper:
Behind Cora’s back, Raymond’s right hand reached out, pulled a sheet of paper over the column of letters, and pushed the screen of the laptop down.
21
“REHEARSAL,” DENNIS DECLARED. “I WANT A REHEARSAL.”
“Yes, of course,” the Reverend Kimble agreed. “We’ll be sure to schedule it in.”
“No. Tonight,” Dennis insisted. “I want a rehearsal tonight.”
The Reverend leaned back in his chair, sized Dennis up. The young man’s demeanor was perfectly amiable, and yet there seemed to be a challenge behind it. The Reverend wondered how many of Cora’s suspicions might be true.
“A rehearsal is a good idea,” he said, “although I doubt if there’s any way we could do it with so little preparation. You’re from out of town, aren’t you? You and your bride?”
“So?”
“I assume your wedding party is not local, either. Best man. Father of the bride. How are you going to get them here on such short notice?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll manage.”
“And I’d have to contact Cora, see who she was planning on having. Who may or may not be available. And then there’s this whole maid-of-honor thing. I’m not entirely sure how that works. Double weddings are one thing. Siamese weddings are another.”
“Very clever.” The groom’s smile was noncommittal, neither gracious nor sarcastic.
Skilled as the Reverend was at sizing people up, he found Dennis Pride remarkably hard to read. “Thank you,” he told the young man. “The point is, if we can’t get the people, there’s nothing much we can do.”
“You can rehearse the principals. We’re the ones who really need it. Go over the procedure, settle the questions you just raised. Isn’t that the way to do it? I mean, you talk to me, you talk to Cora, you come back and tell me what Cora said, and I tell you what I think of that. That’s what takes so long. Why not get us all together and work these things out?”
“That’s hardly a wedding rehearsal.”
“Call it anything you like. The point is, do you have the time? If you do, I do. Let’s ask them. Run through the ceremony, see how it’s going to go.”
“Here again it will d
epend on who the other parties are.”
“Why?”
“Well, if it doesn’t work . . .”
“If it doesn’t work, we’ll do something else. That’s what we want to determine.”
“If you’re willing to make concessions, Mr. Pride, there’s no need for the rehearsal.”
“Yes, but what about the maid of honor? Brenda’s got her heart set on Sherry. And that Felton woman doesn’t want to give her up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. That’s the reason for the double wedding to begin with. So, if that’s the only overlap, that’s the only thing we need to rehearse. The wedding couples and Sherry.”
The Reverend Kimble frowned. Changed his assessment of Dennis for the third or fourth time since their conversation had begun. “You want me to get the five of you together tonight to see how that’s going to work?”
“Sure,” Dennis said. “Isn’t that the whole idea?”
The Reverend Kimble was beginning to think it was.
22
WHEN THE PHONE RANG, CORA AND RAYMOND WERE MAKING out on the couch like teenagers.
“Gonna get that?” he murmured.
“Me? It’s your phone.”
“Yeah, but you get all the calls.”
“Let the machine get it.”
“There’s no machine.”
Cora nuzzled his ear. “Let it ring.”
“What if it’s Sherry?”
“Aw, hell.”
Cora extracted herself from Raymond’s embrace, stood up, and straightened her clothing. “This better not be a crank call. If someone starts talking in code, I’m going to flip out.” Cora stomped over to the phone, picked it up. “Hello?”
“Cora Felton?”
“Why, Reverend Kimble. I was sure you were a crank.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No, not you. The phone call. Never mind. What’s up, Rev?”
The Reverend Kimble filled Cora in on what Dennis had in mind.
“Tonight?” Cora asked him. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
