Yasmine Galenorn - Chintz 'n' China 05

by One Hex of a Wedding

  “They would have been lovely together,” I finally said. “Except for one hitch. The seamstress who was working on the alterations skipped town and left Nanna’s dress in pieces. I’m going to have to find someone who can restore it, if it can be restored. And that certainly won’t be in time for my wedding.”

  She gasped. “What are you going to do? How can you get married without a wedding dress?”

  I grinned. A typical Rose reaction. If everything wasn’t exactly as she planned it, she couldn’t envision another direction. “Everything will be fine. I’ll just find another dress. After all, I have the groom,” echoing Joe’s sentiments earlier. And he was right, I decided. Dress or no dress, I’d be getting married. “That’s what really counts, you know.”

  “I suppose so,” she said. “But I’d be dissolved in tears right now.”

  “Been there, done that. Okay, I have company, honey, and you should go back to the folks. Tell them I love them. And … I love you, too, Rosy.”

  As she hung up, I wandered out of the pantry. Harlow and James were sitting at the table. Joe was rinsing our dinner dishes, and Jimbo was helping him. Murray glanced up, concern on her face.

  “Your grandma?” she asked.

  I nodded, then called the kids back into the kitchen. “Listen, that was your Aunt Rose. She called about your great-grandma.”

  “How is she?” Kip looked vaguely worried.

  I sighed. “She has to have a double bypass. That’s an operation on her heart—”

  “We’ve been learning about the heart in Health,” Randa said. “That means Great-Grandma has heart disease?”

  “Right. She goes into surgery tomorrow. I can’t be sure, of course, but I think she’ll be okay.” I slipped into the chair next to Harlow, who reached out and draped her arm around my shoulder.

  “So, are you going on with the wedding?” Harl asked.

  I nodded. “To be honest, I’m not that close to Grandma M. I offered to postpone it, but my parents and sister told me no. They’ll be taking care of her after she gets out of the hospital and I have the feeling the rest of the summer is shot for all of them.”

  “Mur was telling me about your dress,” she said, tossing her shoulder-length cornrows over her shoulder. She’d stuck with the hairstyle, finding it both preserved those golden curls and yet kept them out of the baby’s way. Baby Eileen was almost a year old and growing like a weed. She already promised to reach her mother’s height, and she mirrored her father’s bronzed skin.

  Kip and Randa gave me a quizzical look. “What’s wrong with your dress?” Kip asked. “I thought it was pretty.”

  I inhaled sharply. Regardless of my bravado to Rose, the minute I opened my mouth the pain rushed back. “Nanna’s dress was ruined. The seamstress left it in pieces and skipped town. By the way, Mur, any news about her? I’d like to take it out of her hide.”

  She shook her head. “No, though we found out she booked a flight out of Bellingham, down to Portland. We’ve contacted the authorities there, but this isn’t exactly a high profile case. You may just end up eating the expense.”

  “If you can’t find her, when do I get Nanna’s dress back?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll talk to Evidence about it.”

  I groaned and Harlow murmured sympathetically. Kip sidled up and patted my knee. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “Thanks, hon. I’m sorry, too,” I said, shrugging. “I’m just going to have to find a different dress to wear. I hope they catch her thieving ass, though.”

  Randa looked scandalized. She stood, hands on her hips, and glared at me. “Well, isn’t there anything you can do about it? You’ve got Nanna’s book and trunk of charms.”

  I stared at her. My daughter was advising me to use magic? My daughter who, except in times of extreme emergency, preferred to stay as far on the left-brained side of the world as possible? I snorted. “Hadn’t even thought of it, but now that you mention it, I might just do that.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Good. You always tell me to do whatever I can to make a situation better. I’m going to stargaze.” With a wave, she dashed down the hall and up the stairs.

  I looked over at Murray. “Well, I guess I’ve been told. She’s right, though, maybe I can play with things a little. Give good old Janette a case of conscience.”

  “I dunno,” Mur said. “I guess so, but is it really worth the effort?”

  I thought of Nanna’s dress laying on the shop floor, in pieces. Nanna’s dress that she’d carried over from the old country, that had meant the world to her. “Yeah, it’s worth it,” I said, breathing softly.

  James spoke up. “Whatever dress you choose to get married in, I’m still doing the photography for you. Speaking of photos, Harlow and I had an ulterior motive in sneaking out tonight and leaving Eileen with Lily.” Lily was their nanny, and a damned good one from what Harlow said.

  “Do tell?” I leaned forward, eager to hear about something other than illness, stalkers, or ripped-up wedding dresses.

  He cleared his throat. “I got the word today. I have another big photo shoot coming up. I’m going to be gone for four months this time.”

  I glanced at Harlow. Even though she was beaming, I knew she wasn’t happy. She hated it when James was gone, but she wouldn’t interfere. As she’d told me a few months ago, she’d had her time in the sun, and she’d voluntarily given up her career to return to Chiqetaw and marry James.

  “I’m happier than I’ve ever been, Em,” she had said. Now on her way to her degree, she’d finally found a new career that meant something to her. Modeling had been a means to an end, providing her with the money to sustain a lifestyle that was comfortable, but not ostentatious. Unlike most of the other supermodels, Harlow had been realistic about the longevity of the career.

  “Where are you going?” Joe asked, wiping his hands as he finished cleaning the counter.

  James flashed us an impish grin. “Mongolia. A writer for National Expedition Magazine is working on a three-part article examining the lives of the reindeer herders. He saw my photos that I took for the eco-safari last year in Africa, and asked NEM to commission me to be his photographer. They agreed, so I’ll be living with one of the tribes for four months, on the move, photographing them, getting to know their way of life.”

  His eyes shone with excitement. I also knew James well enough that I knew he hadn’t figured out how Harlow really felt about his absences. She kept it well-hidden and had enjoined me to silence.

  “When do you leave?” Murray asked, her voice soft. She also knew how Harlow felt.

  Harl answered quickly. “He leaves on July fifteenth.”

  And then I understood her angst. He’d returned from the eco-safari a week after Eileen had been born—late, thanks to some localized trouble over there. And now, he’d be missing her first birthday, which would be in August. I glanced at Harlow and held her gaze. She pressed her lips together and blinked hard. I kept my mouth shut.

  Murray wasn’t so reticent. “Going to be gone on Eileen’s birthday, are you? That must be rough.”

  James paused in mid-smile, as if it hadn’t even dawned on him. He gave a hurried look at Harlow, then hung his head. “Yeah, I guess I will. I don’t like the idea, but she’s too young to travel, and Harlow won’t go without her.”

  So, they’d already discussed that option. Sensing tension flaring, I abruptly stood and headed toward the espresso maker. Joe had recently replaced my old one with a new state-of-the-art coffee center. It made espresso, foamed milk, brewed coffee, even heated water for tea, although I still insisted on using my beloved old teakettle. Even though I loved the new machine, I still waxed nostalgic for my old one. We’d shared a lot of good brews together.

  “Coffee, anybody?”

  “Espresso for me,” Murray said, hurrying over to help. She pulled out the grinder. Mur knew my kitchen better than I did.

  “Coffee for me,” Joe said.

  “Me, too—” Jimbo and James spok
e as one, then stopped mid-sentence, and laughed.

  I glanced at Harlow. “How about you, babe? Decaf?” She shook her head. “Some chamomile tea would be great. Eileen’s been fussing a lot lately. I was up at three last night.”

  “I told you to let Lily take over at night,” James said. “That’s what we pay her for.”

  Harlow’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, but if our daughter is fussing, I want to know why. Lily takes care of her while I’m working and studying. She needs her sleep, too.” As if realizing how sharp she sounded, she stopped abruptly and took a deep breath, letting it trickle out.

  Joe jumped in, bringing up his calendar shoot again, asking James for tips on how to pose. As the conversation segued to lighter topics, I relaxed a little. Weddings were always good for a nervous breakdown, I thought, but why did my breakdown have to include all my friends along with me?

  THE NEXT MORNING found Joe agonizing over which pair of pants to wear. I handed him his faded jeans that curved nicely around his butt and went back to angsting over the phone. Grandma M. was in surgery, but we’d be at the photo shoot by the time she was out of the operation. I didn’t want to make a nuisance of myself by having my cell phone bleat out the tinny rendition of the Futurama theme song that I’d downloaded, thereby annoying the photographer and anybody else who might be within hearing distance. So, I settled for calling Rose and telling her I’d phone within the hour after Grandma M. was due out of surgery.

  The shoot was taking place in Perry Field, one of Chiqetaw’s largest parks. The land had been donated to the town by Wilber Perry, an eccentric and wealthy old man, along with enough money to outfit it fully on the stipulation it must never be sold. As we approached the Larch Street entrance, I forced myself to keep my mouth shut when I saw the gathering of hunks crowded around the photographer and event organizer.

  A gaggle of gorgeous men, and a few incredibly endowed women, with all vital parts barely concealed in revealing, steamy outfits. Eye-candy heaven.

  Last night, Mur had confided that they’d asked her to be part of the shoot. Of course there was no question that she’d turned them down. She’d worked far too hard to gain the esteem of her coworkers and if she showed up in a cheesecake calendar in a bikini—regardless of the cause—she’d lose the dignity and respect that she’d so carefully built over the years.

  It galled me, though. The men involved wouldn’t have to worry about their peers. Double standards still ran strong. Joe wouldn’t lose any respect for contributing. I had a strong suspicion that the few women involved were in lower-echelon jobs. I just hoped this didn’t curtail their chances for advancement. Unfortunately, people seemed to lose track that this was, after all, a charity calendar. Police officers and firemen sunbathed in bikinis and Speedos, and ran around in shorts like everybody else.

  As we wandered over to the photographer, I felt eyes turning our way. Mainly from the women, both those waiting to be in front of the camera and those behind the scenes. Their gazes slid over me quickly, then lingered on Joe. I scrunched closer to him, taking his arm in mine. Not that I was worried! Nope, not me. I trusted Joe implicitly. Still, no sense letting him forget I was on the sidelines, cheering him on.

  Joe introduced himself to the photographer while the events organizer checked his name off a list. He started to introduce me, but the EO cut him off.

  “She can wait over there,” the woman said, pointing to me and then to a picnic table. “You said you’ve been injured? Let’s see it. Maybe we can make it work for us.” And before I could say a word, she’d slid her arm through Joe’s and dragged him away from me, over to the milling group of men and women who were waiting their turn in front of the camera.

  Apparently, I’d been dismissed. A little put out, I made my way over to the picnic table where several other women were sitting. One I recognized as Melissa White, Roger’s wife. Roger worked with Joe at the station.

  “This the place for gawkers and girlfriends?” I asked as she looked up.

  “Have a seat and join the rest of the castoffs. It’s apparent they didn’t expect us to show up. When Roger and I got here, that bitch said, ‘What’s she doing here?’ right in front of me. Whoever hired that bozo is going to hear about it from me.” Melissa tapped one long, polished nail on the wooden tabletop, obviously pissed.

  “I think it was Eunice Addison,” another one of the women spoke up. I glanced over at her. She was wearing a crop top that showed a pair of remarkably large, perky breasts—unnaturally perky—and a low-riding pair of jeans. “I’m Corrie Jackson. I’m Sandy Whitmeyer’s girlfriend.”

  I sat down and held out my hand. “Emerald O’Brien, Joe Files’ fiancée.” So, this shindig was Eunice Addison’s baby? I’d had several dealings with the social maven of Chiqetaw, some good, a few not so good. Overall, she was a nosy old biddy but she did a lot for charity. For that alone, I respected her.

  “Oh, we all know who you are,” Corrie shot back, a grin spreading across her face. “You’ve been in the paper so many times that I don’t think anybody can live in Chiqetaw without knowing your name.”

  Once again, my reputation preceded me. I prepared for an onslaught of questions about anything from ghosts to tarot to sparring with murderers, but Corrie surprised me.

  “So, is Joe as dreamy in bed as he is to look at?” Her question was innocent, her tone was not.

  Startled, I groped for a reply. I considered myself fairly shockproof but this one caught me unprepared. After a moment, I said, “I really don’t think our love life is the ideal topic of discussion for this time in the morning.”

  To take the sting out of my words, I added, “Of course, I think he’s wonderful.” I spread my fingers, displaying my ring. “Less than a week and we’ll be married,” I added, just in case she needed a warning. “What about you and Sandy? Been together long?”

  She shook her head. “A year, but I’ll never see a ring. He can’t even commit to where he wants to go for dinner.” Her voice sounded like she’d just bit down on something gravelly. “You’re older than Joe, aren’t you?”

  I gazed at her, searching for what might be hidden back behind that wide-eyed innocent act. Corrie was playing with a hidden agenda, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Melissa flashing me a quick look, her face masked but then she gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head and arched one eyebrow.

  I cleared my throat. “Yes, I am.” Quickly, before she could say another word, I turned to Melissa. “So, what have you been up to?”

  Bless her heart. Even though we’d seldom spoken, she graciously picked up on my desperation to change the subject, and we chatted away as if we were old friends. Grateful for her help, I decided we’d have to invite Roger and Melissa over for dinner some evening. They were coming to the wedding as it was. Roger was one of the groomsmen.

  Joe was third in the queue for the camera. Ahead of him, a busty woman in a thong bikini and two triangles of cloth that barely covered her nipples leaned up against a tall, lanky young man with short curly hair. They posed their way through a series of shots.

  I held my breath, wondering if the bikini top was going to stay affixed to its target areas, but she must have used a little double-stick tape, a trick I knew about thanks to Harlow, because the cloth didn’t budge an inch. The man posed awkwardly and, even from where we were sitting, I could hear the cameraman swear something about “amateurs,” but finally he finished and waved the pair off.

  Joe’s turn was next. As he stepped up to a tree and leaned against it, I gasped. His shirt had disappeared, and his jeans looked a tad bit lower than usual, framing his waist and hips in a delightful way. The bruise on his shoulder looked a bit darker, as if they’d added makeup to make it more symmetrical. As he hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, the cameraman stopped and whispered to the EO, who nodded, a smile spreading across her face.

  “Dylan, Dylan, come here!” One of the blond vixens in a bikini wander
ed over. I immediately felt my hackles go up.

  “Who’s that?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “They brought in a couple models to work with the guys. They must think Joe’s got it going on if they want to pair him with her.” She fought back a smile—I could see it creeping around the edges of her lips—and took a quick swig from her Pepsi.

  I swung back around to the photo shoot, a knot forming in my stomach. I didn’t mind Joe participating for charity. I’d reconciled myself to the fact that thousands of women might be looking at him, fantasizing. But having him pose with some beach-blanket bimbo wasn’t part of the deal! If I said anything, though, I’d sound like a jealous harpy, which wasn’t far from the truth. I just didn’t want anybody else to know how I felt but me.

  “Put your arm around Dylan and let her drape herself over you. It’ll be a good shot and we can tell people she helps out in your station house. Or, if it doesn’t hurt your shoulder too much, pick her up like you’re carrying her to safety.” The cameraman motioned for Dylan to move in on Joe. She sauntered over to him, gave him a thorough up-and-down once-over, and then languidly draped her arm around his shoulder, pushing her boobs against his chest.

  Right then, Joe glanced in my direction. I wasn’t expecting him to look at me and had been focused on the eye-candy now oozing into his arms. Positive my jealousy showed like Big Bird at a black-tie formal, I blushed, tears welling up in my eyes. I fought them back. I didn’t like myself this way, I didn’t want to feel threatened.

  Immediately, he stepped aside, almost throwing the girl off balance. “I’m sorry, I pose alone,” he said.

  The photographer swore. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m doing this for charity, but no way am I posing with a half-naked woman splayed out in my arms. At least, not unless that woman’s my fiancée. You let her pose with me, and we’ll do it up hot for you. Otherwise—no go.”