In-Laws & Outlaws

by Ally Gray

  “All right! I want everyone lined up in these chairs,” she barked, pointing to the child-sized furniture that still lined the walls. “On the double people!”

  “Where’s Rod?” Stacy asked her assistant, but Mandy only shrugged.

  “Hey! You there! Cuties! I said to take a seat!” the detective snapped, pointing for Stacy and Mandy to join the others. Stacy smiled politely and stepped forward.

  “There’s a misunderstanding here. I’m Anastacia East, the director of Events by Design,” she said, offering her hand. The detective eyed her up and down with a sneer, ignoring the offer of a friendly handshake.

  “And I’m Detective McFadden, and I’m here to figure out which one of you is my perp. Now get in line!” she roared. Stacy blinked in surprise.

  “Detective, I can make your job a whole lot easier,” she said sweetly. Stacy pointed to the entire room, sweeping her arm in a broad stroke that encompassed all of the onlookers. “They’re all guilty. Every one of them.”

  * * *

  It was only an hour after the police had hauled off the entire crowd of attendees, all of them howling loudly in protest, and they’d finished cleaning up from the practice rehearsal that the sound of approaching sirens pulling up outside Stacy’s window alerted her to the fact that something was wrong. She looked up from the paperwork she was currently drafting to see multiple squad cars coming up the winding drive to the old house, screeching to a stop at jagged angles all over the yard. It was odd and probably a little on the deranged side that her first thought wasn’t about a possible crime or any kind of danger, given the amount of police presence, but instead that they’d better not damage the landscaping since there were fourteen events on the premises in the coming month.

  “What’s going on?” she asked her assistant, Mandy, who was busy at her own desk just outside Stacy’s office. Mandy just shook her head and joined her boss at the window. Together they peeked out carefully, half expecting to see a deranged knife-wielding man in a clown suit being chased by the Keystone Cops. Instead, it was quiet… too quiet.

  “Should we open the door, or wait for them to break it down?” Mandy stage-whispered to Stacy. They continued to peer around the drapes, but couldn’t see anything that told them something was wrong. There was definite movement from the police officers in their vehicles, and a few cars were already empty, which indicated some of the officers had disappeared to parts of the grounds that they couldn’t see from their vantage point.

  Suddenly, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass near where they stood caused both women to scream and dive for cover behind an antique divan. Gruff shouting quickly followed the explosive noise, along with the echoes of heavy boots stomping across the hardwood floors of the entryway. More yelling came from different rooms throughout the building as the officers located people going about their work.

  Stacy and Mandy watched from beneath the heavy furniture as more feet trampled past, leaving clear evidence of her distraught landscaping on the antique hallway runner. As loud shouts and the occasional sickening crash came from farther parts of the building, Stacy thought it might be safe to sit up and get a better look. Instead, an audible sound near her ear made her blood turn to ice in her veins, her heart slowing to the point she thought she might pass out. She risked a slight turn of her head and saw the open end of a police revolver pointed at her head.

  “Put your hands up and stand up slowly!” the officer barked. “Keep those hands where I can see them! Tell your friend to get off the floor, too.”

  Stacy did as she was told, keeping her hands close to her face as she motioned for Mandy to stand up. Her assistant’s dark-skinned and carefully manicured fingertips appeared at the wooden edge of the seat first, followed by her mop of gorgeously unruly hair.

  In what only took about five minutes but seemed to drag on so much longer, the entire workforce of Events by Design found themselves handcuffed with zip ties and kneeling in the front yard of the building, nearly all of them thanking the good lord above for the dense covering of trees surrounding the old property. It was the only thing that kept bystanders from watching the humiliation. Stacy managed to make a mental note to have a word with the reporter who was clicking away with a camera, hoping she could get to him before anything was uploaded or went to print.

  “Mandy, quick! Get that reporter’s attention, tell him you’re gonna spill the whole story to him as soon as you’re free to go!” Stacy urged in a whisper, jerking her head towards the skinny man with acne scars, a couple of cameras strapped to his body.

  “Are you high? I don’t have the foggiest clue what’s going on!” Mandy shot back. “How am I supposed to give him the scoop?”

  “Well I don’t know what this is all about either, but someone has to stop him from printing any old thing he wants to. I’ll talk to him as soon as this whole mess is cleaned up, just get his attention and promise him the whole story!”

  Stacy watched in pain as Mandy tried her best to beguilingly get the reporter’s attention without drawing notice from the police. Her “come hither” look was something like a cross between a Vegas stripper and a nun with palsy.

  “No wonder you’re still single! Do you make that face at guys in bars? And you haven’t been banned for life from most establishments for being a predator?” she asked, seething now that the reality of the situation was sinking in.

  “Excuse me, your highness, but that look happens to work quite well, thank you! And I don’t see a ring on your finger, either, not that anyone could see one with our hands bound behind our backs! What the hell is going on? Is there some kind of fraud or money laundering or embezzlement that I don’t know about? ‘Cause I’ll have you know, I’ve kept spotless books and I’ve got copies of everything going back to six months before I was hired!”

  “Of course not! How could you even ask me such a thing? I don’t have any more idea than you do about this!”

  Fortunately, there was no need to wait too much longer for an explanation. A booming voice from inside the large mansion declared it to be “clean” of people, and the officers outside all seemed to visibly relax. To Stacy’s utter dismay, Detective McFadden appeared again, seemingly in charge of the investigation. She almost smiled, looking at the group of wedding planners, florists, and caterers—complete with a chef in a white button-up coat and tall hat—before she addressed the group.

  “I’m gonna ask this once, and I expect an honest answer. Any attempts to engage in a cover up will only result in additional charges for conspiracy. Right now, I want to know where to find this Miss Stacy East I spoke with earlier,” the detective began in a kind but firm and formal voice. Stacy looked up and flinched, but quickly composed herself. Even while possibly under arrest, Abigail would expect her to remain poised and speak with very clear diction.

  “I’m over here,” she called out, avoiding the confounded looks from her team members down the line on either side of her, then waited for the officer to speak again. The detective must have been unused to such a calm demeanor from her suspects, because she blinked and waited for Stacy to become hysterical. Instead, the two women regarded each other coolly, despite the fact that only one of them was ready to pee herself in fear.

  “Oh, well then. During the course of trying to figure out what’s going on with the hordes of rednecks currently sitting in our holding cells, we were informed about your little operation.” Stacy looked confused, so the detective clarified. “We were told about a contraband package on this property. If you can tell us where it is, we won’t have to ransack the place. If you don’t wish to cooperate, that is your right, but I have to warn you… we’re going to find that package. We can look behind the furniture—or inside of it. It’s your call.”

  She waited for Stacy to answer, and watched as the range of emotions playing across Stacy’s face went from disbelief to quiet resignation.

  “Officer, I am quite happy to cooperate. I can assure you if there is contraband of any kind on t
he premises it does not belong to me or any of my staff, and we would like it removed immediately. If you’ll describe this package, I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

  The detective reached into an interior pocket in her blazer—strange for a woman’s garment, Stacy thought, then decided the entire outfit might be the result of an unfortunate tailoring job from a cheap menswear outlet—and retrieved her small notebook. She flipped through the pages until she found the right source.

  “Our witness said it was a large, white cardboard box, approximately yay-high,” the detective read out loud, gesturing with her hand flat at waist height to show how large the package was. “It might have writing on it in large gold script, but he couldn’t make out what it said.”

  The entire fleet of officers jumped when they heard the sound of fifty people groaning, some of them dropping back to rest their rear ends on their heels in exasperation. They all started grumbling with their neighbors at once, some becoming so loud and animated that the detective had to clap her hands for silence.

  “Excuse me?” Stacy began. “The package you’re describing is a box from a bridal shop, one right here in town—”

  “Detective! We found it! It was hidden in a closet!” a blue-uniformed policeman called from the front door. The entire line of officers raced up the front steps and across the wide porch, nearly shoving each other to get inside. Their suspects were momentarily forgotten as they watched the officers’ frantic movement in disbelief from where they still knelt in a line across the front yard.

  “Please tell me they’re not talking about the box that contains Priscilla Hardy’s wedding dress,” Tori called out. The grumbling resumed and the staff members looked around nervously, watching the house for any signs of activity from the police. When the door finally opened nearly fifteen tense minutes later and the detective emerged, she walked straight towards Stacy, wielding a box cutter.

  After slicing through the zip tie binding Stacy’s hands, the detective went down the row, cutting each person loose. They were afraid to move until they were finally told they could stand up, which they did, cautiously looking at the detective for answers.

  “It seems there might have been a mistake. I just received a phone call from the person who gave us the tip. He didn’t have much to say, just some kind of crazy laughter. Considering the package didn’t contain any contraband, I’d say this was some kind of sick prank. And to think, he used his one phone call to make sure I’d found this alleged contraband.”

  “A prank? How did you come to that conclusion?” Stacy asked, confused. The detective ignored her question.

  “We conducted a very thorough search and didn’t come up with anything out of the ordinary. We tried to keep the damage contained, and considering this incident appears to be a malicious attempt at revenge for having the individuals arrested, you can submit a requisition to my department for any costs you incurred as a result.”

  “Damages? You mean, other than the antique door that your people destroyed? Or did you mean any of the sundry items inside the offices that were damaged when you roughed up my employees?” Stacy watched the woman’s face without backing down, glaring at her in a showdown of unfathomable importance.

  “There might be a… considerable amount… of damage. You’ll be a better judge of the value and the scope of things when you get a look inside.”

  It was a really bad sign that the officer wasn’t making eye contact, as Stacy worked daily with contractors of all kinds. Years of business dealings had taught her that anyone who wouldn’t make eye contact had something to hide.

  “You don’t mean…” Stacy asked, realization dawning on her before she gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. She felt lightheaded for a second as the detective’s meaning finally washed over her. The officer looked away, then nodded. “The dress?”

  “Remember, you can file a requisition form to cover most of the damage. I’ll leave you to that. We’re… sorry about all this.”

  The detective walked back towards her unmarked car with her head down, and the rest of the officers quickly followed suit, ducking into their vehicles without looking around at anyone. Stacy ran into the house and headed straight for the back fitting room. Jeremiah jumped up from where he leaned against a wall. Having reached the site of the destruction first, he put his hands out to stop her.

  “You don’t want to go in there,” he cautioned. “It’s not pretty.”

  “How bad is it?” she asked, wilting against his shoulder for a moment. She couldn’t deal with another dress being defaced in her offices, and having to tell another bride that her wedding dress was a goner. The memories of that first incident a year ago were still the stuff of her nightmares.

  “It’s bad. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Can it be saved? You know, Anderson’s does amazing work, it was their highest quality to begin with, and maybe with a little bit of time and a whole lot of work they can—”

  “It’s… shredded. Priscilla can dye it green and go as the Swamp Thing for Halloween.”

  Stacy reached behind her for a chair to collapse in, and instinctively checked it for police slash marks before sitting in it. Once she decided it was safe, she fell back against it. “I’ve got to call Priscilla. Someone has to tell her.”

  “Come on, we’ll get a head start on the necessary drinking to be in the right frame of mind to tell her.”

  Chapter 6

  “Good, you’re here,” Tori called out the next morning when Stacy pulled her car into her parking space and stepped out. She ducked back in the sedan for the coffees she’d picked up for everyone and her briefcase, then turned around and gave her team members a winning, encouraging smile. One look at their faces, though, melted the smile right off her face.

  “What’s wrong? I know that look, what have those circus sideshow freaks done now?” she demanded, looking around frantically for signs of some kind of horror.

  “I don’t know how they did it from jail, but someone’s been practicing their lock smithing skills,” Mr. Giudice said, pointing to the front door. “Somebody came by during the night and put hasps and padlocks on all the entrances, even the old unused cellar door. We don’t have any way in.”

  “But why would they…” Stacy began, but she left the rest of her sentence hanging. She knew exactly why they did it, it was because they’re spiteful morons. She looked helplessly up at her offices, painfully aware that everything necessary for not only the Lancaster wedding but also three other pending events was locked up tightly inside.

  “Can we call someone to come open the front door?” she offered, but her security chief shook his head.

  “Not unless you want to go and pay off-duty hours prices. There’s not a lock smith in town that’ll be open for another three hours.”

  “I don’t see any other way except to pay for a service call, unless anyone can get in through a window and find a way to let the rest of us in. Can’t any of your guys just break the lock?”

  “Miss East, I’m real grateful you think my guys are a bunch of muscle heads who can just go pummel a door down, but—” He was interrupted by a loud shout from the front porch.

  “Got the lock offa there, boss!” one of the so-called muscle heads announced, holding up the hasp in one hand and a crow bar in the other. Stacy covered her eyes when she saw a palm-sized piece of the door frame still screwed to the hasp, dangling from the large man’s fist.

  “Oh, good. We’ll just deduct that damage from the security deposit. That’s what they get for locking me out of my own business. I mean, us. Locking us out,” she said quickly, looking around and certain that everyone could see Nathan’s half-proposal brandished across her chest like a scarlet letter. No one seemed to have noticed her slip, or at least no one said anything if they did. “Let’s all get to work. Mr. Giudice, please be sure to thank your guard for his help, it was really important that we get inside.”

  They scattered, eager to get to their assigned departmen
ts and tasks, as most of them were already a couple of hours behind thanks to the lockout. Stacy announced that the coffee would be in the kitchen and welcomed everyone to help themselves, then she got to work. Everything had to be in place by that afternoon if she could expect their other events to go off without a hitch, or with a hitch, if the wedding lingo was correct.

  A short time later, the sound of scraping wood nearby brought Stacy back to her senses. It was an ominous sound, one that meant an even larger chunk of the company’s antique house was being destroyed. She whipped her head around to find the source of the noise, and was relieved to see her increasingly long-time friend, Rod Sims. Detective Rod Sims, to be precise. It was the first time she’d had a moment to think about the fact that her friend was a member of the very same police force who’d only the night before been trashing her office building.

  “Rod! What are you doing here?” Stacy demanded, smiling with relief from knowing the source of the horrible damage sound wasn’t another SWAT team raid.

  “An anonymous tipster called me and told me there was trouble here.”

  “Anonymous? Who could have called you, we were all man-handled and handcuffed! There was no one within reach of a phone!”

  “Oh, it wasn’t one of your guys,” Rod answered, nodding in acknowledgment at the reporter who had returned to the property to take notes and snap more pictures.

  “Remind me to thank him, even if he did get you here a little too late. In fact, I know the perfect way to thank him. Her name’s Mandy, and she was giving me grief just yesterday for still being single. Tell him to ask her out… I’m her boss and I’m requiring her to agree.” Stacy turned her attention away from the reporter and back to Rod. “But what’s going on? Someone called the police about drugs in my office, and it was all a big joke?”

  “Yeah, that’s how it looks. I spoke to Amy about it, she’s the detective on the case—”