by Parnell Hall
“I wish I were. The young man seemed most eager to rehearse with you and the maid of honor.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. He did seem to attach undue importance to it. Just as we feared. So, inappropriate as the whole idea is, it’s probably best to grab the bull by the horns, so to speak, and try to ascertain just how deep the problem lies.”
“At a certain expense to my niece,” Cora said, dryly.
“I understand. And I’d like to spare Sherry as much as possible. It will be good to have the two of you there as a buffer. As well as anyone else you’d like to throw into the mix.”
“Such as?”
“Bridesmaids, best men, ring bearers.”
“Ring bearers?”
“You’ve never had ring bearers? They carry the rings on pillows. Usually small lads, prone toward mischief. I remember one actually lost a ring once, down a ventilator shaft. Claimed it fell. That may be so, but I think the boys were playing a game like marbles.”
“We will not be having ring bearers,” Cora said emphatically.
“All right, but anyone you could bring along would be appreciated. After all, we’re throwing this together on the spur of the moment.”
“Yes, I know,” Cora said. She hung up the phone to find Raymond looking at her expectantly. “Believe it or not, we have a wedding rehearsal tonight. At eight-thirty in the church.”
“You’re kidding. Who agreed to that?”
“I just did,” Cora admitted. “But Dennis and Brenda set it up.”
“Did they? And we’re just supposed to go along? Well, that’s a fine howdy-do. I don’t even have a tux. And you don’t have your dress.”
“Oh, well, actually I have one that might fit,” Cora said. It was one of her typical prevarications, not exactly a lie, but not exactly the whole truth, either. In fact, the dress she was referring to was the brand-new one she’d had made for the occasion. It had arrived last week and was hanging in her closet.
“Well, that’s lucky,” Raymond said. “And you’ll forgive me if I wear a business suit.”
“I’d forgive you anything,” Cora cooed, snuggling up against him. This tender moment was short-lived, as she swung right back into making plans. “Now, then, we have to put together a wedding party. I’m gonna ask the girls to be bridesmaids.”
“Girls? What girls?”
“The women I’m having dinner with tonight.”
“Ah, yes.” Raymond did not mention that those “girls” were older than Cora. “And I’m not dining with you?”
“Of course not, goosey. It’s my engagement party.” Cora frowned. “Oh, dear. How is this going to work?”
“What?”
“The cars. Sherry’s got my car. She’ll need it to get to the church. And I’m taking your car to dinner.”
“Sherry’s not going to the dinner?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Are you kidding? If you were having a bachelor party, showing stag films, would you wanna take your young nephew along?”
“You’ll be showing stag films?”
“No, we’re having a male stripper. At the Country Kitchen. If I wind up in jail, bail me out.”
“I’m going to assume you’re joking about the male stripper, but serious about Sherry not going. So, you’ll be there without her. I trust you’ll be on your best behavior.”
“Raymond.”
“There’s a lot of drinking of toasts at these affairs, isn’t there?”
“There’s a lot of drinking toasts to me, not by me. So, we gotta get you a ride.”
“You can’t pick me up?”
“You know how these things are. I’m going to have trouble getting away. I’ll meet you at the church.”
“And how am I getting there?”
“Let me see. Oh, of course.” Cora strode to the door, opened it. “Good. His car’s there.”
“Whose car?”
“The other bridegroom.”
Dennis’s car was indeed parked at the curb in front of the big white Victorian across the street, which a hand-painted sign identified as TRUMBLE’S BED-AND-BREAKFAST. Cora crossed the street, went up on the front porch, and rang the bell. The door was opened by a middle-aged lady with bright red hair that clashed with an even brighter plaid dress. After a brief negotiation, she went and fetched Dennis.
Brenda and Dennis both came down. Brenda was merely inquisitive, but Dennis bristled at the sight of Raymond Harstein III. “What is it?” he demanded.
“The wedding rehearsal tonight,” Cora said. “I understand that’s your idea.”
“You got a problem with that?”
“Not at all. We think it’s an excellent idea, don’t we, dear?”
Raymond Harstein III, prompted, chimed in with, “Yes, yes, of course.”
“The only thing is, Raymond needs a ride. Sherry’s got my car, I’ve got his car. Then it occurred to me you guys are going.”
“Oh. Yeah,” Dennis said, with a complete lack of enthusiasm. “Only thing is, we’ll be going out to eat first.”
“We’ll be coming back to change,” Brenda pointed out.
“We will?”
“You think I’m going out to dinner in my wedding dress?”
“You don’t have your wedding dress.”
“I know I don’t have my wedding dress. I mean what I’m wearing tonight. I’m gonna change after dinner. Aren’t you?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Men,” Brenda said, affectionately. “Of course we’ll take you, won’t we, dear?”
Dennis, having come to the conclusion there was no way out of it, gave in with hearty good grace. “Of course we will. After all, we’re getting married together. So, we gotta be there at eight-thirty, whaddya say we leave at eight-fifteen?”
“Perfect,” Raymond said. “I’ll be right outside.”
“We’ll see you then,” Brenda said.
“There, that wasn’t so hard,” Cora said, as she and Raymond recrossed the street.
“Are you kidding, it was like pulling teeth. That boy doesn’t like me.”
“He’s a complex kid. For Sherry’s sake, we have to put up with him.”
“I’d like to knock his block off for Sherry’s sake,” Raymond muttered, as they went up the front steps. “Someone ought to kill that kid.”
“Raymond, for God’s sake,” Cora hissed. Brenda and Dennis had gone back inside, but Raymond’s hippie neighbors were out on their porch, smoking something that might have been tobacco, but then again might not. Cora wasn’t really afraid they might suspect her prospective bridegroom of plotting murder, but she didn’t want them drawn into any conversation with him where they might happen to mention what they’d seen her smoke.
Cora followed Raymond into the living room. “You shouldn’t say such things, even in jest,” she chided him.
Raymond threw his hands up in the air. “I can’t win. I agree to a double wedding, get kicked in the shin because the bridegroom’s a schmuck. I voice the same opinion, and you blast me for it.”
“Suggesting he die is hardly the same opinion.”
“Well, if you’re gonna pick on every little thing . . .”
Cora started to flare up, then noticed his eyes were twinkling. “Oh, you. You are such a bad boy. Now, can I count on you riding to the wedding rehearsal without killing the other bridegroom?”
Raymond raised his right hand. “You have my word.”
“I know I do.” Cora melted into his arms. He kissed her. She nuzzled his neck. “Now then, if you could just do something about the wedding party . . .”
“What?”
“I’m lining up bridesmaids. What are you going to do about a best man?”
“Well, that’s a bit of a dilemma. I doubt if I can get any of my friends to abandon their corporate responsibilities to fly in on such short notice. And I don’t really know anyone here. What about Sherry’s boyfriend? The newspaper reporter?”
/> Cora winced. “Oh, bad move. If you think Dennis hates you, that’s nothing compared to how he feels about him. It’s bad enough having Aaron around. Start calling him the best man, and Dennis will really flip out.”
“You’re right. Maybe this wedding’s not such a good idea.”
“Raymond.”
But his eyes were twinkling again. “This is one for the record books. You want a best man your niece’s ex-husband won’t hate. Okay, how about our next-door neighbor?”
“Who?”
“Mr. Flower Child. Mr. Love Beads could be my best man and give me a ride in his microbus. Then I wouldn’t have to go with Dennis tonight.”
“On second thought,” Cora said, remembering the sweet scent of their neighbors’ recreational smoking, “I’m sure Aaron will be just fine.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Raymond said. “So, how about you? Who’s going to give you away, my love?”
“Oh, right,” Cora said. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Cora went to the phone, punched in a number. “Hi, Chief, it’s Cora Felton.”
“Miss Felton,” Chief Harper said. “What can I do for you?”
Cora smiled. “Funny you should ask.”
23
CORA FELTON, WHIRLING AROUND THE LIVING ROOM IN HER bridal veil, and belting out wedding songs from Broad-way musicals with the lusty glee peculiar to the blissfully tone-deaf, was driving her niece to distraction.
“Oh, stop it,” Sherry cried, covering her ears. “You are not getting married in the morning. You are going to a wedding rehearsal. At night. And the bells aren’t going to chime. So keep it down, would you?”
“I’m also going to my engagement dinner.”
“Well, I pray there’s no song about that.”
“Spoilsport. Let me have my fun.”
“Have your fun. Just don’t sing about it.”
“You should be as happy as me. You’re my maid of honor.”
“I’m everyone’s maid of honor. This is an absolute nightmare, Cora.”
“I know how you feel. But I’m not putting off my wedding.”
“No one’s asking you to.”
“And if Dennis wants to marry Brenda, well, that could be good.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Well, it could.”
“Oh, yeah? Trust me: If their marriage was a good idea, I wouldn’t be involved in it.”
“You’re coming tonight?”
“Can I get out of it?”
“I told the Reverend you’d be there.”
“That was presumptuous of you.”
“Well, you told me you’d be there.”
“Yeah, ’cause you twisted my arm. But you’d already told the Reverend I’d be there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. You used it in your argument for why I had to go.”
“If you say so.”
“Which means you’d already told the Reverend.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, when I agreed to be there, you’d already said I would.”
Cora patted her on the cheek. “Really, dear. You set such store on sequencing.”
Humming, Cora tried on her lavender blouse, found it a trifle snug. “Damn. It’s like I gain one full size per husband.”
“Must be size 80,” Sherry muttered.
“I heard that,” Cora said tartly. She pulled off the blouse, rummaged through her closet, came out with a purple shirt. She held it up, eyed it critically. “And what are you going to wear tonight?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not so long as you’re there. You will be there, won’t you? Eight-thirty? At the church?”
“Aren’t you picking me up?”
Cora gawked at Sherry over the top of a leopard-print blouse she was seriously considering wearing. “Sherry, sweetie, is your mind elsewhere? I’m leaving you the car. I’m taking Raymond’s car out to my engagement-bash dinner with Iris Cooper and the girls. I’m going directly from there to the church. You just have to meet me there.”
“What about Raymond?”
“Dennis is bringing him.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Why not? They’re staying right across the street. It’s a nice gesture, Sherry. It shows Dennis is trying.”
“Don’t tell me you asked him to drive Raymond?”
“Of course I asked him. Otherwise, how would he know Raymond needed a ride?”
Cora tugged out a white blouse with ruffles. “Oh, I hate this blouse. I hope it doesn’t fit. Damn it, it does.”
“Don’t wear it.”
“Bite your tongue. I’m not going to my engagement dinner in an outfit that makes me look like a sausage with too tight a skin.”
“Precious image.”
“Okay, that’s a top. Now to find a skirt that goes with it . . .”
“Anything goes with white.”
“Wanna bet? I can find you half a dozen things that’ll clash.”
“I stand corrected.”
“Sherry, loosen up. Nothing’s gonna happen in front of the Reverend. Maybe he can even help you work some things out.”
Sherry’s eyes widened. “This wedding rehearsal was your idea?”
“Not at all,” Cora protested. “Dennis asked the Reverend for a rehearsal.”
“And why was Dennis speaking to the Reverend?”
“My goodness, look at the time! I’m gonna be late. What am I gonna do for a skirt? Ah, here we are.” Cora pulled down a baby-blue skirt, stepped into it. “Now then, O merciful gods of fabric. Button meet buttonhole.” She buttoned the skirt around her waist. “Ta-da! We have a winner. All set; I’m off to dinner. Sherry, sweetie, pull yourself together and get out of your funk. If you need help, I’ve got a mantra for you. Meditate on this. Ready?” Cora cocked her head. “ ‘He’s not marrying me.’ ”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s not supposed to be funny,” Cora retorted. “It’s supposed to be reassuring. If you think about it, you’ll realize just how reassuring it is. Well, gotta go. Ah, yes, shoes. Can’t get married without shoes.” She stepped into a pair of black leather pumps. “Thank God my feet haven’t grown too. Eight-thirty, Sherry. Set the clock.”
“I don’t need to set the clock.”
“You do if you’re working on a puzzle. You know how you lose track of time.”
“I’ll be there,” Sherry promised grimly.
Cora reached in the back of the closet, tugged out her wedding dress, which was on a wooden hanger and carefully swathed in plastic.
“You’re wearing your wedding dress for the rehearsal?” Sherry exclaimed.
“Of course I am. It’s such a lovely dress. It would be a shame to only wear it once.”
“You could save it for your next wedding.”
“Bite your tongue.”
“Assuming it still fit.”
Cora refused to dignify this remark with a comment. She stuck her nose in the air, and, humming the Wedding March, waltzed out the door.
Sherry heaved a sigh, plodded into the kitchen. Cora was going out, so what should she have for dinner? It hardly seemed worth the effort to cook for one. In the city, she’d call for takeout. But not in Bakerhaven. There was no takeout in Bakerhaven. Were there any leftovers? Ah, chicken. Perhaps a field greens salad with balsamic vinaigrette and sliced chicken breast . . .
Sherry got out the salad spinner, prepared to wash the lettuce.
The phone rang.
Sherry scooped it up, cradled the phone to her ear, as she tore romaine lettuce leaves into the spinner.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Hi, Aaron.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, why?”
“You sound upset. Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s just dandy. I have to go to a wedding rehearsal tonight. With Cora and my ex-husband.”
“I know. I’m be
st man.”
“For Raymond?”
“Well, not for Dennis.”
“No. I suppose not.”
“Aha. Sherry, look—”
“I don’t want to talk about Dennis.”
“I don’t, either. That’s not why I called. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
“Oh?”
“I just heard from my man in San Diego. Raymond Harstein III doesn’t own any hotels.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Not at all. He’s a drug dealer.”
“Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes. According to the reporter in California, Cora’s prospective bridegroom is a notorious dope peddler, with a record as long as your arm.”
24
“HE’S DREAMY-LOOKING,” IRIS COOPER DECLARED. THE FACT her own husband was bald and pudgy probably had a great deal to do with her enthusiasm.
“I’ll say,” Lois Greely put in. A large, horsey-faced woman, Lois was the proprietor of the general store just on the other side of the covered bridge. Though Cora had never met Lois’s husband, she couldn’t imagine anyone marrying her except a large, horsey-faced man.
“Absolutely dreamy,” Judy Douglas Knauer agreed. The real-estate agent Iris Cooper had recommended turned out to be a genial woman, eager to agree with everyone, no doubt a social carryover from her trade.
Of the diners assembled, only Amy Cox didn’t chime in immediately with effusive praise. A younger woman whose husband ran an insurance company in Hartford, Amy was not so easily impressed with an aging fiancé. “You’re a lucky woman, Cora,” she said, raising her glass.
The ladies all clinked their glasses.
Cora took a big pull from hers.
“Hey, slow down,” Judy Douglas Knauer laughed.
Cora frowned slightly. Her tall, frosted glass looked like a gin and tonic, but was actually a tonic and lime. Not being able to drink at her own engagement party was annoying. Not that Raymond wasn’t right about her drinking, of course. Raymond was often right. Even so, Cora hoped someone would change the subject.
Iris Cooper did. “So, what do we do as bridesmaids?”
“I don’t know,” Cora said. “I’ve never been a brides-maid. I’ve been a bride often enough, but I never paid much attention to the other women.”
“Didn’t you ever have a wedding rehearsal?” Lois Greely asked.
