But as Bones and Flash get off their bikes and stretch their legs and come in close to inspect the DIE DUDE on Vince’s door, those bullets start machine- gunning out of me. I mean, Bones and Flash are right there. One good look inside and I’m doomed.
Then all of a sudden a brand-new cherry red Harley comes growling from behind the shop and onto the parking lot. The Vincenator’s on it, wearing chaps and a fringed leather jacket. “You monsters ready?” he shouts.
Gargoyle’s coming at the SUV, and since there’s no escaping, I crawl as far as I can, then dive into the cargo space behind the backseats, thinking that maybe I can sneak out the hatchback. But I’m barely there when Gargoyle gets in the driver’s seat. He shouts, “That is one tough ride!” out the window, then fires up the SUV. And since I can’t find a lever that opens the hatchback, I’m stuck.
Gargoyle puts the SUV in gear and follows Bones, Flash, and Vince out of the parking lot, down the street, and around a corner. And in my head I’m going, No! No-no-no! I mean, now what? Officer Borsch will never find me in time, ’cause in my hurry to hide I’d made the insanely stupid mistake of leaving the cell phone behind.
But then I hear a siren.
It’s not a full-blown honking or wailing siren.
It’s more a single siren.
Or maybe a toy siren.
And it does seem to be getting closer and a little bit louder, but Gargoyle sure isn’t pulling over for it. So I peek out the back window, and there’s Officer Borsch’s white car with his little portable flashing red light on top, starting through the intersection we’d just crossed, going toward the Harley shop, and away from us.
So, okay. Maybe there was a better way to handle this, but I’m a panicking purple fairy in a Die Dude Mobile with a gargoyle driving. And what panicking purple fairies in Die Dude Mobiles with gargoyles driving do is pop up and wave like crazy through the back window.
Lucky for me, Officer Borsch’s head whips a double take, and he skids and squeals, making the turn to follow us. But up front Gargoyle’s shouting, “What the hell?” and when I turn around, his face in the rearview mirror is terrifying. It’s like a big gray rock with bloodshot eyes, set to catapult.
And then he sees that a white car with a little flashing light and a toy siren is tailing him. “Who are you?” he shouts. “And what are you doing back there?”
“Uh … your fairy godmother? Here to say bibbity-boppity-boo?”
And that’s when I see that the traffic in front of us has stopped for a red light. I point and shout, “Watch out!” but it’s too late. Gargoyle crashes the SUV into Mr. Vince’s brand-new Harley.
Which smashes into Flash’s bike.
Which falls onto Bones’.
Officer Borsch screeches to a halt behind us and runs his lavender cummerbund and bow tie up to the Harley carnage in front of us. “Robert Vince!” he shouts. “You are under arrest!”
Gargoyle’s out of the car now, and ol’ Scratch ’n’ Spit isn’t even paying attention to Officer Borsch. He’s screaming at Gargoyle, cussing up a storm. “You totaled my brand-new bike!”
Officer Borsch grabs one of ol’ Scratch ’n’ Spit’s wrists with his cast hand and slaps a handcuff on it with his good one. “What are you doing?” Vince shouts at him, and believe me, everyone around is squinting hard at the Lavender Lover.
But the Borschman sure isn’t acting lavender. He pulls Mr. Vince out of the mess of motorcycles by the scruff of his biker jacket and says, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” He hauls him over to the SUV. “You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.” He claps the other half of the handcuff onto the Die Dude door handle. “Do you understand these rights?”
“What are you doing?” Mr. Vince shouts.
“Do you understand your rights?” the Borschman shouts back.
“Yes! But … what are you arresting me for?”
“How about we start with for perpetrating fraud, dude, and I’m sure we’ll have at least a dozen other charges before this is done, dude.”
“But … I’m the victim.”
Police sirens have been approaching, and as two black-and-white units with racks of flashing lights zigzag through stopped traffic to reach us, I open the back door of the SUV and step out.
When Mr. Vince sees me, his jaw drops. “Sammy?”
“Yeah, Curveball, it’s me.”
He blinks at me a minute, then wails, “No! No! No! No! No!” and starts beating his free fist against the SUV.
When the on-duty cops arrive, Officer Borsch turns the arrest and accident reporting and all that over to them and then hustles back to his own car, calling, “Hurry up, Sammy! I’ve got a wedding to get to!”
So I jump in, and off we go, the little red light flashing and toy siren wailing.
THIRTY-ONE
I tell Officer Borsch again that I’m sorry, but all I get out of him is a grunt. And I’m thinking he’s completely ticked off at me until he says, “I don’t know why I didn’t peg him. The guy’s an obvious lemon.” He shakes his head. “I just didn’t get his angle.” He glances over at me. “Disability for a nervous breakdown?”
“Crazy, huh? And really sleazy.”
“How long was he expecting to milk that one, I wonder.”
“Forever?” Then I shrug and add, “Or at least through Hogtoberfest?”
He gives me a quick look. “How do you know about Hogtoberfest?”
So while he blazes a path with his toy siren and portable flashing light, I tell him about my little eavesdropping at Cheezers and then what Brandi had told me on our walk over to the church.
Officer Borsch frowns. “Guys like that give the rest of us a bad name.”
At first I don’t get what he means, but then it hits me. “You have a Harley?”
He eyes me. “Don’t lump me in with those losers, all right?”
I laugh. “Never!” Then I eye him and say, “Like any of them would have the guts to bust a biker gang wearing lavender?”
He scowls at me.
“Hey, you look spiffidy-doo-dah.”
“I look like a damn fool,” he grumbles.
And that’s when something else hits me. “You must really love her,” I say softly.
He ducks past two cars that have pulled to the side out of our way. “I must.” Then he lets out a deep, puffy sigh and says, “I swore I’d never get married again. The first two were disasters. Let’s hope I’ve learned something in the last couple of decades, huh?”
Now, I had no idea that the Borschman had been married before, let alone twice before. And hearing this makes me wonder why so many people split up. I mean, you don’t get married unless you love someone, right? So how come so many people go from being in love to getting nasty divorces?
Officer Borsch sees me thinking. “They were my fault for the most part. I wasn’t exactly a communicator. I’d bottle things up, and it caused a lot of problems.” He shrugs. “Deb is the sweetest, kindest, most understanding woman I’ve ever known.” He takes a tight turn. “And it helps that she’s at the station. She knows what she’s in for, marrying a cop.”
We’re blasting down Constance now, real near Vince’s house. “Oh!” I cry. “My shoes!”
“Your shoes?”
“Stop right here!” I say, pointing to Vince’s house.
He nose-dives to a halt, and I jump out, only my shoes and skateboard are nowhere to be found. “Oh no!” I say, spinning around. And even though the shoes being stolen is not good, it’s really my skateboard that I’m upset about.
“Get in,” he shouts.
So I dive back in and slam the door. “Someone stole my skateboard! And the shoes! Debra’s going to hate me forever.”
“Sorry about your skateboard,” he says, then chuckles. “I told Deb it was risky having you in the wedding.” He eyes me. “You do ha
ve the ring, right?”
I hold up my wrist.
His gold band is still handcuffed to my bracelet.
He nods. “I think she’ll forgive you.” Then he screeches to a halt in front of the church, throws the gearshift in park, and bolts out the door. “Let’s get this show on the road!”
“He’s back!” someone in the group of people on the front porch shouts into the church.
Now, Officer Borsch goes around the back of the church, but the changing room where I figure Debra is waiting is closer to the front of the church. So I hike up my skirts and charge my bare feet up the steps as fast as I can.
The people who are gathered on the steps move aside for me, and I’m so busy trying not to trip on my skirts that I don’t really look up until I reach the top. And when I finally do look up, who do I see?
Casey.
He’s, like, two feet in front of me, just standing there, looking amazingly handsome in a long-sleeved button-down shirt and skinny black tie.
I gasp, and my heart goes positively wacky in my chest.
He smiles, then produces my glass-beaded shoes from behind his back. “I’ve been looking for the girl who fits these shoes.”
I laugh and put my hands out to take them, but instead of handing them over, he gives a little grin and says, “They were next to a skateboard on the side of the road,” then drops to one knee.
Everyone around us falls quiet as Casey reaches out, scoops my left heel forward, and slips a shoe onto my foot.
He smiles up at me. “It looks like I’ve found her.” Then he takes my right foot and slips on the other shoe.
I’m now three inches taller, and when he stands, I just blink at him, eye to eye, with a big Oh! on my face.
People around us start whispering like mad, but Casey just grins like they’re not even there. “I think they’re waiting for you in back,” he says, then steps aside with a half bow and a sweep of the arm, ushering me through.
I’m feeling totally light-headed and breathless, but when I stumble into the changing room, I get snapped back to earth.
“Sams!” Debra cries when she sees me. “What happened? Where’s the ring?”
“You really don’t want me to explain it now,” I tell her, and the minute I hand over the ring, she instantly forgives me. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “You’re here, Gil’s here, we’ve got the ring … everything’s okay.”
I sort of laugh and say, “Officer Borsch told me you were the sweetest, kindest, most understanding woman he’s ever known, and I think he’s right.”
Her eyes get teary. “He said that?” She looks around at Tippy and Brandi. “Girls, let’s move! I need to marry that man!”
So we grab our bouquets and line up, and after a short break in the music that’s been droning in the background, the organist goes dun-da-da-da, dun-da-da-da and begins the wedding march.
I start feeling a little heady again as I walk up the aisle. Like I’m floating or about to fall or … I don’t know what. It’s not from being three inches taller, either. And I am trying to take the walk slow like I’m supposed to, but it’s making the whole trip even more strange. It’s like I’m in a dream. And I know the church is packed, but the people in it are just a blur to me. I’m, like, in my own little cloudy world just moving forward, step by step by step.
It isn’t until we’re all lined up at the altar and Reverend Doyle has announced, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here …,” that I actually see people in the crowd. Some of them look vaguely familiar to me. Like I’ve seen them around town. Or at the police station. But most of them are strangers. People I’ve never seen before in my life. And there’s one ancient couple sitting in the front row that I keep looking back at. The man’s skin is mottled, and his hair is like sparse dried grass sticking out of a boulder. The woman is twitching like she might have Parkinson’s, and her dress looks like it’s draped over a collapsing hanger.
But the reason I keep looking at them is their hands.
Their spotty, knotty hands.
She’s holding his, and he’s covering hers, and something about that mound of spotty, knotty hands makes me choke up.
A million years ago they said “ ’til death do us part,” and they meant it.
They lived it.
Right there in front of me is proof.
It can be done.
Well, I don’t want to be standing up in front of all these people getting weepy about a mound of spotty, knotty hands, so I force myself to look away. And that’s when I see my mother. She’s sitting next to Grams, and she’s smiling at me as she dabs the inside corner of her eye with a tissue.
I just blink at her.
She’s crying?
Why in the world is she crying?
She can’t even see the old people up in the front row.
But my grams is all weepy, too, which I can tell ’cause her nose always runs when she cries, and she’s out there pinching at her nostrils with a Kleenex.
And then I see Casey. The pews are all full, and I guess there’s no room for wedding crashers, ’cause he’s standing by himself in the back of the church. He gives me a little smile. So I smile back, but then I feel all embarrassed, so I look down.
And what do I see when I look down?
The toes of my shoes, peeking out from under a mountain of lavender.
Seeing them makes me think about Casey slipping them onto my feet, which makes me feel heady and happy and … I don’t know … twinkly-toed.
The ceremony seems to fly by. There are no readers or singers or interludes. It’s just Reverend Doyle talking and reading passages from the Bible, and before I know it, Debra and Officer Borsch are exchanging rings and kissing and everyone’s cheering.
Then the organist starts up again, and we file out in the opposite order we came in, with Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert Borsch leading the way.
Now, in no time, the area outside the front of the church is milling with people, and I’m scanning the crowd for Casey.
Instead, I find my mother and Grams. “Oh, Samantha!” my mom says, holding my cheeks. “You looked like a princess up there!” Then she starts pushing at the little pearl pins in my hair and fussing with my curls. “You must not have worn your scarf.”
“Lana …,” Grams warns gently.
I laugh. “My hair is fine, Mom. Actually, it’s amazing. I can’t believe it held up this well.”
“Why, thank you,” she says, looking very pleased. Then her face flutters a little, and she says, “I hope you don’t mind, but I did manage to get in touch with Casey, and I explained what you told me. I … I also told him you’d be here, and I thought he was going to come, but …”
Her voice just trails off. And I don’t know, all of a sudden I love her to the ends of the earth and back. I mean, despite everything, if it wasn’t for her, Casey and I might never have figured things out. And I want to tell her that he’s here … somewhere … and about what he did with the shoes, but it all still feels like a dream to me.
Besides, how in the world could I explain about the shoes?
What kind of guy does that?
And then suddenly a hand slips into mine, and when I look over, there’s Casey.
“Well!” my mother says, suddenly all rosy-cheeked. “I’m glad you could make it!”
“Thanks,” he says back to her, then smiles at me. “You think it’d be okay if I stick around?”
“You can take my place,” my mom offers. Then she wrinkles her nose a little and says, “Tri-tip barbecue is not my thing.”
Grams looks at her like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “But it’s Ray James at the grill!”
My mother rolls her eyes. “You can stay, Mother, but I’ve got other things to do.” Then she adds, “And I’m sure Casey will enjoy my seat a lot more than I would.”
But in the end, Grams leaves with her. And the truth is, I kinda wanted to leave, too, and just hang out with Casey somewhere and catch up, but I knew it woul
d be really tacky of me.
Turns out, I’m glad I stayed. For one thing, I loved seeing Debra so happy. She was just glowing, holding on to Officer Borsch everywhere they went. And Officer Borsch looked like a happy little boy.
In a blustery don’t-mess-with-me kind of way, but still …
And the toasts were funny, and the speeches were tearjerkers, and the food was amazing, and the DJ was great. Everyone danced, and believe me, it was very entertaining to see grown men in lavender cummerbunds getting down.
Casey and I danced, too. We danced a lot. But every time a slow song started, we had just sat down or had just gone to get something to drink. And even though we talked a ton and he held my hand, like, nonstop, I started wondering if maybe I had a big, nasty piece of tri-tip stuck in my teeth or something.
Finally I excuse myself and go into the bathroom to check my teeth in the mirror and what do I see?
Nothing. No tri-tip, no pepper, no bits of lettuce, nothing.
So I yank open the door, only when I step out into the hallway, I jump back ’cause Casey’s standing right there.
“Hey,” he says with a little grin. “Any chance we could maybe get out of here?”
“Uh …” I think about it a minute. I mean, we’ve been there for hours, and, really, what do they need me for? Cleanup?
I did way more than my fair share of setup.
“Sure,” I tell him. “But I need to get out of this dress and these shoes first, okay?”
He nods. “I’ll meet you out front.”
So I go to the changing room and switch back into my jeans and high-tops, thinking that the minute I get home, I’m going to find my little horseshoe charm and lace it back on. Then I remove all the little pearl pins and totally brush out my hair and pull it into a ponytail.
And I’m just leaving when I remember—the receipt.
Who knew if they would actually need it to convict Mr. Vince?
So I dig through the trash until I find it, and stuff it back into my pocket. And I’m on my way out again when I see my glass-beaded shoes tossed to the side.
I think about it a minute, then snatch them off the floor. I mean, I know I’ll never wear them again. I know they’re ridiculous. But still. Something inside tells me I’ll be keeping them forever.
Sammy Keyes and the Wedding Crasher Page 22
