by Ali Brandon
They halted in front of the Pettistone’s booth, and Darla caught a strong whiff of vanilla and violet scent. She grimaced a little as she recognized the perfume from an accidental spraying at a department store makeup counter. If she recalled correctly, this fragrance was the one named for a certain Sex and the City actress.
“Everyone, this is Connie. Uh, Connie Capello.” Reese paused and visibly swallowed. “Connie, this is James, Robert, and, uh, uh . . .”
“Darla,” Darla supplied with a tight smile as he struggled over her name. She stuck out her hand, all at once glad that she’d splurged for a manicure the day before at the nail shop down the street. “Nice to meet you.”
Connie grasped her hand in a surprisingly firm grip.
“So pleased to meet you, too,” she said in a nasal accent that, in Darla’s opinion, made her sound just like that actress from the movie My Cousin Vinny. “Fiorello has told me all about you guys. You’re the bookstore lady with the cat, right? Sorry, I can’t stand cats and I don’t read books, but I’m sure you’re a very nice person, all the same. And your Southern accent, it’s so cute.”
Before Darla could explain that a Texas accent and a Southern accent were not one and the same, Connie had released Darla’s hand and turned on Reese with a mock pout.
“But, Fi”—she pronounced it “Fee”—“you didn’t introduce me right to your friends. Here, I’ll take care of that.”
Red-lipsticked mouth parting in a wide smile, Connie whipped around to face Darla and the others again, all the while flapping her left hand meaningfully before her. A sparkler’s worth of refracted light bounced from the vicinity of the other woman’s third finger, and Darla’s overly frantic heartbeat was now accompanied by a sudden twisting feeling in her stomach.
Surely that wasn’t . . .
“The name’s Connie Capello,” the woman declared, “but come Christmas you can call me Mrs. Fiorello Reese!”
NINE
An engagement ring? Darla hoped that she didn’t look as shell-shocked as she abruptly felt. Reese, getting married? It had to be a joke. Yet one look at the detective’s sheepish expression assured her that it was not.
Well, she told herself firmly, it wasn’t as if she and Reese were anything more than pals. So why in the heck did the announcement make her feel like Hamlet suddenly had sunk sharp claws into her heart?
This time, Jake was the first one to jump in to alleviate the awkwardness.
“You’re engaged? Hey, that’s great. Congratulations, you two,” she exclaimed, smiling brightly, though Darla caught the slanted look she shot Reese’s way. “So, how did old Fiorello pop the question?”
Connie preened just a little.
“It was so romantic. Last weekend, we was doing A.C.”—Atlantic City, Darla mentally translated—“you know, checking out some of the fancy casinos before they close down for good. We was walking back from Caesars to the motel, when we passed a jewelry store. I stopped to look in the window . . . you know, just for fun. The next thing I know, we was inside, and Fi was putting this ring on my finger!” She shrugged and winked. “You know what they say: ‘diamonds are a girl’s best friend.’”
“Let me offer my felicitations, as well,” James said, holding out his hand to Reese, while Robert vigorously nodded his agreement. “How does the old saying go? Married in days of December cheer, Love’s star shines brighter from year to year.”
“Well, we figured the holidays would be convenient for all the relatives,” Reese mumbled as he shook the store manager’s hand. “And Connie’s favorite color is red, so she wants to go with that whole poinsettia and cranberry theme.”
“Yeah, I got it all planned out already. I’ll have all my bridesmaids dress in red, and the guys can all wear red bow ties and cummerbunds.” Then, fluttering her false lashes at Reese, she added, “Of course, my dress will be traditional virginal white.”
Right, Darla thought, and then swiftly turned a reflexive snort into a cough. Plastering an innocent smile on her lips, she said aloud, “Wonderful news. I’m sure you two will be very happy. So, tell me, Connie, how long have you and Reese—er, Fiorello—known each other?”
The woman waved a dismissive hand, her ring flashing.
“Oh, we grew up in the neighborhood together, so we’ve known each other since we were kids.” Then, snuggling still closer to the man, she added, “But I have to say, even though we only really started dating a few weeks ago, I always knew even when I was a little girl that me and Fi would end up together. It was, you know, Fate.”
“Hey, why don’t we go check out the rest of the street fair?” Reese interjected. “If we’re going to watch the fireworks tonight, we need to be outta here pretty soon so we can get to the river before traffic is too backed up.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Dropping her voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper, Connie added for Darla and the others’ benefit, “Since Fiorello is a cop, we get to watch the show from one of the police boats.”
“Wow!” Robert spoke up. “That would be, like, totally great. I wish I could go.”
“Robert, remember, we’re going to be watching from the rooftop of our building,” Darla told him. “And if we don’t have a good enough view there, I’ll have the television tuned to the live broadcast.”
To Connie, she said, “I’m glad you two could stop by. It was nice to meet you, and congratulations on your engagement. Y’all should go walk around some more and have fun. Our retailers have lots of freebies and good deals at their booths. And the TAMA dojo should be putting on their last demonstration of the day in about thirty minutes.”
“Sounds like fun. Nice meetin’ everyone.”
The pair headed down the sidewalk, Connie still clinging to Reese’s arm. Darla watched them go, scowling a little when she overheard Connie say, “Your friends are really nice, Fi, especially that Darla. And wasn’t it cute the way she did her hair? She looked just like those little girls who were dancing.”
I was just trying to beat the heat, Darla thought defensively, not that she hadn’t made the same comparison herself earlier. And it wasn’t as if she couldn’t have made a crack about Connie’s teased do, if she’d wanted to. She decided to take the other woman’s words as a compliment, however, vowing to take the high road in the situation.
“So is Detective Reese really getting married?” Robert asked with a puzzled look.
Jake shrugged. “Looks like it. And before anyone asks”—she paused and shot a look at Darla—“no, I didn’t know anything about this. Talk about a surprise.”
“Hey, it’s a nice surprise,” Darla was quick to declare, wondering as she did whether this bombshell was the subject Reese had wanted to discuss the other day. Note to self, she wryly thought, when someone is trying to tell you something, shut up and let them.
“Connie seems like a nice girl,” she went on. “Still, I have to admit I never expected to see Reese, of all people, tying the knot.”
“Technically, the pair are only affianced at this time,” James pointed out before Jake could respond. “Much can happen in six months.”
Darla gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
“Let us just say that, like Ms. Capello, I am a believer in Fate.”
With those cryptic words, James turned to a couple—a middle-aged woman and her elderly father—who’d approached the booth and were checking out the Hamlet-logoed coffee mugs. Darla, meanwhile, couldn’t help a baffled look in his direction.
Fate?
She’d known the pragmatic James long enough to be certain he wasn’t the type to give credence to anything that smacked of Destiny or Providence. So what was he really trying to say, in his roundabout way?
She glanced at her watch and promptly gave Fate the symbolic heave-ho. Reese and his relationship status would have to wait. The block party still had two more hours to go, and t
hat was where her attention needed to be.
She summoned a smile for Jake and Robert. “Okay, back to more important matters. It’s almost time for the pie-eating contest. Robert, are you going to give it a shot? Come on, I’ll be your official cheerleader.”
“Pie eating?” Robert shrugged and grinned a little. “Yeah, sure. Free food, right?”
“Great. What about you, Jake? You up for some blueberry pie?”
Jake snorted. “Not in your dreams, kid. How about I keep an eye on Roma while you two go play county fair?”
“Deal,” Darla replied, glad for a legitimate excuse to exit stage left before Jake had a chance to turn the conversation back to the subject of Reese’s announcement. Doubtless the PI would have more—much more!—to say on the matter.
Thirty minutes later Darla and Robert were back at the Pettistone’s booth, with the latter looking like a male version of the purple girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
“I thought you were supposed to eat the pie, not wear it,” Jake commented with a friendly smirk as she handed over Roma’s leash to the youth. Robert settled on the stoop, and the little dog promptly began licking the sticky berry residue from his face.
“And did you prevail?” James wanted to know.
Robert gave the older man a blue-tinted grin between dodging Roma’s long pink tongue. “Not a chance. Believe it or not, one of those rag doll dancers won. She, like, left us all in the dust. I came in third after Mr. Plinski.”
“You should have seen it,” Darla exclaimed with a laugh, as James gave them both a genteel look of disbelief. “We had a couple of beefy guys who looked like they ate pie all day long, and they both got beat out by our top three. Emma, the girl who won, weighs maybe ninety pounds, but she never missed a bite. And Mr. Plinski was a champ. I swear, he didn’t even get a spot on that white shirt of his. I suspect the only reason he didn’t win was because his dentures slipped. And you should have seen Mary Ann cheering him on.”
Darla waved at both Plinskis, who had returned to their booth and were settling into their respective chairs. Mary Ann gave a wave back, while her brother gave a sedate nod, his features still shrouded by the bucket hat. At least she’d finally gotten a close-up look at the old man who, save for his neatly oiled and surprisingly thick gray hair, looked uncannily like his sister.
Then, with a pat for Roma, whose white and gray snout now had a distinctly blue tinge to it, Darla headed up the steps, adding, “I’m going to grab Hamlet and make a final round of all the booths. We’ll be winding up the block party soon, and I want to be sure all our retailers and guests are enjoying themselves.”
“I am sure that you will receive nothing but kudos,” James assured her. “I realize that you had a committee assisting you, but you certainly did the lion’s share of the work. You can be very proud of yourself.”
“Thanks, James.” Darla felt herself blush. A compliment from Professor James was, as he would term it, quite the rara avis. She would make certain to pass on the sentiment to the rest of her team.
Opening the bookshop door, she called, “C’mon, Hammy. Time to let your public get one last look at the Karate Kitty.”
Hamlet was still sitting in the window, though he seemed to have gotten over his previous disdain and was now facing forward and snoozing quite comfortably on the broad display sill. At Darla’s summons, he yawned wide, showing an alarming expanse of pink inner mouth and two rows of sharp teeth. She clipped his lead onto his harness, and they walked back out onto the street, leaving James and a still-sticky Robert to keep an eye on the booth.
Alone now except for Hamlet—and a few dozen milling block party attendees, some of whom stopped her for a better look at her feline companion—Darla had time to consider just what Reese’s bombshell announcement meant to her. It wasn’t like the two of them had had any sort of understanding. Heck, they’d only gone out a couple of times, after which they’d both apparently come to the unspoken agreement that they worked better as friends. Even so, she had always felt some sort of a spark between them—maybe not the sort of spark that set off a raging forest fire, but enough of a spark to summon up a decent campfire.
On the other hand, maybe that whole spark business had been a figment of her imagination. After all, Reese hadn’t been concerned enough about sparks to make a second attempt to give her a heads-up about the situation before the block party.
“Quit it,” she muttered aloud, the words earning a questioning glance from Hamlet, though he quickly returned his attention to the sights around them. In the distance, she heard Pinky and his Screaming Babies start up their final set, their doleful sound feeling more than a bit appropriate given her present mood.
Darla headed in that direction, giving a wave to Steve as she passed the Thai Me Up booth. His smile in return was a bit flustered since, even with his son and daughter to help him, the line to his booth stretched several people back. Good problem to have, she thought in approval.
A few shops down, Doug’s doughnut booth was temporarily unattended, but two display platters held fresh doughnut holes, the glass lids steamy from the still-warm samples. She snagged a bite-sized red velvet cake one and popped it in her mouth. But even that bit of gooey, sugary bliss wasn’t enough to dispel her melancholy.
“Hey, kid.”
Jake’s voice from behind her made Darla halt in midstep. So much for the alone time, she told herself, suppressing a sigh. Hoping to postpone the inevitable interrogation, however, she quickly said, “I thought you had clients. Who’s minding the store?”
“Eh, the PI is ‘out’ for the rest of the day,” Jake replied, falling in step beside her. “Anyone else needs advice, they can make an appointment during regular business hours. So, you want to talk about it?”
Darla gave her friend an innocent look. “You mean, about the block party? Sure, why not? I think everything has gone great, even with the wrong band. Everyone I’ve talked to so far says—”
“You know what I mean,” Jake cut her short with an exasperated shake of her curly head. “Do you want to talk about the whole Reese-getting-engaged deal? I know you and he had some sort of a thing going a while back, so having him lob this kind of news at you out of the blue has got to sting a little.”
Sting a little? How about sting like an onslaught of killer wasps?
Darla frowned at herself. Where had that idea come from? The whole marriage situation must be getting to her more than she’d expected. Abandoning her plan to play dumb—no way would Jake let her get away with that, anyhow—she simply nodded.
“Yeah, it kind of does.”
“Well, kid, let me let you in on a little secret. I’ve known Reese for a long time and, ring or no ring, I don’t think he’s found what he’s looking for yet.”
“So, are you and James both playing soothsayer today?”
Jake grinned a little. “Just playing student of human nature, kid . . . and I have to say, I’ve got an advanced degree in it.”
Darla didn’t doubt that, given Jake’s years on the police force before her early retirement and reinventing herself as a private investigator. But she, Darla, was no stranger to the vagaries of the male species (exhibit one being her slimeball ex-husband). She was pretty certain that Reese had found what he was looking for . . . or, at least, what he thought he was after.
“It is what it is, Jake,” she replied in a firm tone. “If I’d really wanted a shot with Reese, I would have tried harder. And same thing on his part. I think I’m just suffering from a bit of wounded pride.”
“Yeah, I know that one. The old ‘I don’t want you but I don’t want anyone else to have you’ routine. Better known as ‘dog in the manger’ syndrome.”
“Well, I’m not going there,” Darla resolved with a stout nod. “All you’re going to hear from me is congratulations. If they invite me to the wedding, I’m there with a big present and
a smile. Let’s just pray Connie doesn’t want me for one of her bridesmaids.”
“Agreed.” Jake rolled her eyes. “Did you get a load of that tiger-striped outfit she had on, like she was a refugee from a J. Lo music video? I can only imagine the bridesmaid gowns she’ll pick. She’s already said red, and they’ll be strapless, for sure. And split so high in front that one wrong move and your whole . . . everything is on display.”
“Oh, and don’t forget the wedding photos,” Darla exclaimed, getting into the spirit of things as they continued down the sidewalk. “She’ll have to have one taken with all her bridesmaids with their backs to the photographer and their skirts stuck in their undies so they’re flashing their butts. And one where everyone is hanging out their tongues and making dirty hand gestures that the parents and grandparents won’t get.”
Jake snorted. “And wouldn’t you love to be the bridesmaid who catches the bouquet? Then you get to have Connie’s second cousin—the one with sweaty hands and acne—slide the garter he caught as high on your thigh as he can get away with before you deck him.”
Darla laughed, cheered by this bit of silliness. “Well, even though I decline the bridesmaid honor, I’ll still show up at the wedding, just to watch the shenanigans. Now, how about we forget Reese and Connie for a while and see if we can pry some free iced coffee out of George. Remember, he owes Hamlet an apology from this morning.”
The Babies, meanwhile, had launched into a new song as the women approached, and Darla was pleased to realize the band was back to doing covers again.
“Santana,” Jake said in an approving tone as the lyrics to “Black Magic Woman”—slightly speeded up—drifted to them. “Those fellas are pretty darned versatile, aren’t they? Reese and Connie ought to hire them for . . . oops!”
Jake gave her forehead a melodramatic slap, and Darla laughed a bit ruefully.
“That’s okay, you get one free pass. And, I agree, the Babies would make for a pretty interesting wedding band.”
They found a shady section of street curb not far from the stage and settled there to listen to the rest of the song. The music was too loud for talking, for which Darla was grateful. Fake it ’til you make it was her motto for the moment, but faking it took more energy than she realized.
