Don't Forget Me

by Meg Benjamin

  “Assuming we can remember it afterward,” Deirdre muttered, glancing at the bottles of champagne in the cooler.

  “Are you going to give me the same kind of gifts we gave you?” Allie asked suspiciously. “I really don’t need any sexy lingerie or bedroom toys.”

  “Nope. This is a very special kind of shower.” Docia glanced at Kit. “Tell her.”

  Kit took a deep breath. “This is a wedding dress shower, Aunt Allie. Also bridesmaid dresses. Mrs. Dupree found you all kinds of great things to choose from. We’re going to help you pick.”

  Allie gave her a look of sheer horror. “No!”

  “Yes.” Docia gestured toward the glass in Allie’s hand. “Drink up. Now.”

  “But no, I mean, I’m not ready…”

  “Goddamn it, Allie.” Docia sighed. “It’s time for you to be ready. You’re just afraid things at your wedding won’t be perfect. Well here’s a news flash—they won’t be. Weddings never are. Remember everything that happened at mine? You’ve got a way to go before you beat that, toots. But it’s going to be wonderful anyway. And now we’re going to have a great time finding you the right dress for the Woodrose event center.”

  Allie’s eyes looked very bright all of a sudden. Her hands gripped the chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her lower lip trembled dangerously. “But…”

  “Okay,” Bethany announced loudly, “I propose a new drinking game. Every time Allie says ‘but’ everybody has to drink.”

  “But…” Allie stammered.

  Everyone raised their champagne flutes. “This could be quite a party,” Clem muttered.

  It took another ten minutes—and lots of sipping—before Allie finally settled down enough to look at the dresses. Mrs. Dupree licked her lips. “Now I was told that you didn’t want an actual wedding gown, the full-length type.”

  “Oh, I don’t,” Allie said quickly. “That is, I don’t think so.” She gave Kit a beseeching glance.

  “You don’t,” Kit said flatly. “You told me that several times.” Before you lost you mind and your ability to make a decision, that is.

  “So,” Mrs. Dupree went on, “I found several of what you might call special occasion dresses.” She pulled out a rack of white and cream and ivory dresses, with a couple of peach and pink thrown in.

  Allie took a deep breath. “Oh. So many. I don’t…”

  “Drink,” Docia commanded. Everyone took a quick swallow.

  “Docia,” Allie said as she set her glass down on the table, “what happens if I end up choosing something while I’m plastered. What if I get something with pink polka dots.”

  “Mamie here is pledged to sobriety,” Docia said, nodding at Janie’s mother. “She’ll make sure you don’t do anything absolutely stupid. Plus she’s already eliminated all the pink polka dot numbers.”

  Morgan and Janie flipped through the dresses, oohing and aahing appropriately. “Oh, my, Allie, look,” Janie cooed, holding up a strapless empire column with a strip of silver embroidery under the bust.

  Allie shook her head. “If there’s one thing I don’t need, it’s something to emphasize my boobs. Believe me, there’s enough there without ribbons.”

  Kit checked her glass. It looked like Allie had emptied it in record time.

  Docia poured her more champagne. “Next.”

  “How about this?” Morgan held up a soft pleated jersey in ivory. The neckline dipped to a low V.

  Allie narrowed her eyes. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

  “Put it on the possibles rack,” Mrs. Dupree said quickly, pushing a group of hangers to the side.

  After thirty minutes, they had a selection of possibles, all of them soft and flowing, two of them strapless. Allie seemed to have settled into a rosy glow.

  “Now,” Docia said, rubbing her hands together briskly, “we do the fashion show.”

  Allie blanched. “I’m not wearing the right underwear.”

  “Not a problem. Mamie has everything you need, I promise.”

  “But I’m not…” Allie sputtered

  Everyone drank.

  Allie closed her eyes, as if to gather her strength. “Okay. Lead me to ’em. But keep in mind—mine is a figure that laughs at Spanx.”

  “You don’t want to wear a girdle at your wedding,” Bethany said. “You want to have a good time. Hell, we’re all beyond the Cinderella stage by now, aren’t we?”

  “Hear, hear.” Docia opened another bottle of champagne.

  Kit glanced down at her glass. When had it emptied?

  After a few minutes in the dressing room, Allie stepped out in the jersey dress. The soft folds fell around her knees. The V-neck dipped down to show a sizeable amount of cleavage. The ivory color made Allie’s skin glow. The shower guests seemed to sigh in unison.

  Allie stepped in front of the mirror. “It’s not bad, is it?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Kit murmured. “As far as I’m concerned you can stop right there.”

  “No she can’t,” Docia corrected. “Let’s see ’em all. Then we’ll go for the bridesmaids’ outfits.” She lounged back in her chair, munching on a quesadilla.

  Kit sighed, settling down in the chair beside her. It looked like they were all in for a long evening.

  Nando turned the cruiser down Fifteenth Street, ready to make his third run through town. After this one, he’d head back to the station to catch up on paperwork for a half hour or so, then drive through town another two or three times before morning. They’d already decided they needed to patrol at irregular intervals so the perp couldn’t predict when they’d be by. Rollie would take over patrolling while Nando was at the station, then they’d switch again later in the night.

  So far he hadn’t seen anything more interesting than some unexpected lights at the Lucky Lady clothing store. But he’d also seen Janie Toleffson heading in the front door with Allie Maldonado, plus the place was fully lighted with shadows passing back and forth across the windows, so he figured whatever was going on was okay. It probably had something to do with Allie’s mystery shower. And he had no intention of going to a dress store that was liable to be full of women doing something he probably didn’t want to know about.

  He hadn’t seen Kit since Sunday, but he hadn’t really expected to. The only people he saw when he was on night duty were customers staggering out of the Faro or the Dew Drop Inn or the Silver Spur. And his main job in that case was to make sure they didn’t stagger into the driver’s seat and out onto the road.

  He sighed. Maybe it was just as well he’d ended up doing night duty this week after all. Maybe he and Kit both needed a little time to process what was going on between them, or what wasn’t.

  Their last fight before she’d left for San Antonio that fall had been a screamer. As he recalled, Kit had thrown him out of her life in no uncertain terms. To be fair, he’d done about the same to her. And then he’d sealed the deal by picking up Lizzie Farraday at the Dew Drop in front of half the town.

  It seemed like one minute they’d been fine, more than fine. Good in bed, good everywhere else. And then, bam, they’d blown sky high. At the time, he’d blamed it all on Kit since he hadn’t particularly wanted to blame it on himself and since the whole thing seemed to come out of nowhere. But once he’d screwed up with the Lizzie Farraday thing, he’d been willing to admit she hadn’t been the only one at fault.

  What he mainly remembered about the last few days before the blowup that summer was being scared shitless. Scared that Kit would leave. Scared that she’d stay. Scared that he’d have to decide which thing he wanted more.

  He turned down Spicewood, checking the dark windows at the bookstore. He doubted the vandal would be dumb enough to hit it twice, but given that they had no idea why he’d done it the first time, Nando wasn’t inclined to risk it.

  He looped into the alley, heading the other direction from the bookstore and traveling slowly. There was no way to be absolutely silent in a car as heavy as the cruiser on a gravel surfac
e like the alley, but he tried to keep the engine noise down as much as he could, rolling through the ruts using only his parking lights.

  The buildings were all dark except, of course, for the Lucky Lady. He thought he could hear a quick sputter of female laughter coming from inside. Okay, he definitely wanted to avoid the Lucky Lady at all costs. Whatever was going on in there was nothing he or any other male needed to see.

  He counted off the other shops as he rolled slowly along the backside of the block: the candle store, Ivy Merkel’s gift store, the fudge shop, Beaman’s antiques, Margaret Hastings’ angel store, the card and stationery place.

  Something flashed at the edge of his vision. He slowed even more, bringing the cruiser to a stop as he turned to check again. All the shop windows were dark, the security light over Beaman’s back entrance casting long shadows on either side. Nando held his breath, measuring seconds.

  A light flashed again behind one of the back windows—faint, almost a reflection. Probably it was a reflection. But he had to check. He counted off the stores again: Margaret Hastings’ place.

  Nando felt like groaning. Of all the stores on the block, Margaret’s would be the worst to check out in the dark. It was full of hanging things, tinkling things, angelic things with flat shiny surfaces that could reflect the street lights. Trying to figure out whether someone was really inside shining a light would be a bitch and a half.

  He switched off the engine and the dome light, then slid out the door of the cruiser as quietly as he could. If somebody was there, he definitely didn’t want them to have advance warning that the law was on the way.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By nine thirty, they’d managed to get Allie’s wedding dress chosen and tucked away where she couldn’t change her mind. It was, in fact, the same flowing jersey she’d tried on first, but Docia was right—trying on lots of other dresses had helped cement Allie’s choice in her mind and had convinced her that the shower was actually a perfectly splendid idea. That, plus a really amazing amount of champagne.

  Kit had discovered she herself had a champagne limit, even for very good champagne like the stuff Docia was pouring. After two glasses, she’d switched to bottled water, although only Janie’s mother seemed to notice, giving her a sympathetic nod.

  Now they were working on the bridesmaid dresses, and a raucous lot the attendants and kibitzers had turned out to be. Jess, Janie and Morgan were all bridesmaids. Docia was matron of honor. Allie had wanted Kit to be a bridesmaid, too, but she’d gently refused since she couldn’t possibly keep track of all the things she needed to keep track of at the wedding and also march up the aisle. That left her, along with the other non-bridesmaids—Deirdre, Bethany, and Clem—to offer totally unsolicited advice, passing judgment on the rack of dresses Mrs. Dupree had managed to scare up as the various bridesmaids tried them on in various combinations.

  “That gun-metal satin looks terrific on Jess,” Clem commented, taking a hearty sip of her champagne.

  Deirdre shook her head. “Won’t work for Janie. It’ll make her skin look too sallow.”

  “Janie looks lovely in that pale pink.” Mrs. Dupree gave her a look of maternal approval that had Janie blushing.

  Docia paused, fluffing her bright red hair. “No pale pink for me, please.”

  Kit frowned. “It’s going to be really hard to find a single color for all of you. Unless you all wear something unimaginative like black. Do you all have to match?”

  “We could probably do different colors if they were all the same style, assuming Mom could order them for us,” Janie said helpfully.

  Mrs. Dupree smiled very brightly, but Kit could see the panic in her eyes. “Well, we could certainly try. Some of them might be available in several colors and sizes. Of course, we do only have a few weeks until the ceremony.”

  “Who says they have to match?” Allie asked from the throne-like chair they’d set up for her in the middle of the room.

  “Well…” Mrs. Dupree looked slightly nonplussed. “I mean, it’s sort of traditional, isn’t it?”

  “Why?” Allie’s eyes had taken on a certain dreaminess. “Why should I have to have a matched set? I mean it’s not like they’re carriage horses or something.”

  Janie snickered, then wiped her face clean of expression when her mother glared.

  Allie was warming to her subject. “After all, if I wanted them all to match, I could put them all in chef’s pants and jackets for Pete’s sake.”

  “Wow, great idea,” Morgan enthused. “We could really work with that.”

  “Dibs on the ones with the chilies,” Docia added quickly.

  “And beanies,” Clem threw in from the audience. “You could all wear chef’s beanies. Fantastic for bad hair days.”

  “No!” Allie slapped her hand down on the arm of her chair. “It was just a rhetoric…rhetorish…rhetorical example. You will not wear chef’s beanies at my wedding.”

  Clem shrugged. “Your choice, Al. Personally, I’m going to consider it seriously if Lu and I ever decide to tie the knot.”

  “Anyway,” Allie continued, with a quelling glance at the audience, “I want you each to choose the prettiest dress for yourself. And then we’ll tell you whether or not we agree. And then we’ll see how they all fit together. If they’re like, harmonious.”

  It took another forty-five minutes of trying on dresses, complaining about dresses, commenting on dresses, and finally, amazingly, reaching consensus on dresses. Jess wore the gun-metal gray satin that Deirdre had picked out for her, and she looked stunning. Janie wore pale pink that made her complexion glow and her dark eyes snap. Pete Toleffson was going to be a very happy man, Kit reflected. Morgan found a full-skirted silk dress the color of burgundy that was wildly appropriate for the marketing director of Cedar Creek Winery. And Docia settled on a magnificent emerald green that somehow managed to make her red hair even redder.

  Allie chewed her lip as she stared at them. “Oh my, you’re all absolutely gorgeous. I should have thought of that. Nobody’s going to notice me with the four of you standing around.”

  Bethany blew a raspberry that sounded way too unruly for the mayor’s wife. “Allie, honey, nobody ever notices anybody except the bride at a wedding. Believe me, once you walk down that aisle, it’ll be just like nobody else is even there.”

  Allie sniffed loudly and took another sip of her champagne.

  “Okay, now that we’ve found the dresses, let’s get back into our civvies for the rest of the evening.” Docia headed toward the dressing rooms, followed by her fellow bridesmaids.

  “I think they’re gorgeous. I think everybody’s gorgeous.” Deirdre watched them go with a smile that seemed slightly off center. Kit was suddenly very glad they had those designated drivers.

  She bustled around the room, handing out food to try to compensate for all the champagne they’d consumed, until the bridesmaids returned, clad once again in their normal jeans and T-shirts.

  “Okay, now it’s time for the presents.” Janie bent down behind another rack of clothes, emerging with a brightly colored gift sack.

  “Presents?” Allie looked confused. “I thought this was a clothes shower?”

  Deirdre shrugged. “Well, now that the clothes have all been taken care of, we’ve got other things to contribute.”

  Allie narrowed her eyes. “Other things like what?”

  “Like this.” Docia handed her a small package wrapped in silver striped paper. “Open it, Toots.”

  Allie pulled off the wrappings, then stared. “Chocolate-flavored body paint?”

  Behind them, Mrs. Dupree turned bright pink. “I’ll just get those dresses ready for you all.” She headed out of the room with considerable speed.

  “This is actually a culinary shower,” Docia purred. “Or rather a shower that’s geared toward eating, drinking and licking.”

  Nando approached the back windows of Margaret Hastings’ shop cautiously. If it was laid out like all the other shops on Main, the b
ack would be a storeroom, closed off from the main part. He slid his flashlight from his belt, cupping the front in his hand as he leaned toward the back windows but waiting to turn it on until he was sure he needed to. Behind the screens, he could see vague shapes of furniture and boxes. Storage, as he’d suspected.

  He crouched in the darkened yard, letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light, waiting to see if the flash would come again.

  Probably just a reflection. A headlight in the street, catching one of Margaret’s mobiles with the glass angels or the Christmas tree ornaments with the glass angels or the wind chimes with the glass angels. Margaret loved glass angels, and they were everywhere around the freakin’ store.

  He moved carefully along the side of the building in the narrow space between Margaret’s store and Beaman’s antiques. If their boy was looking for something valuable to smash, Beaman’s would be a much better bet, but Beaman was a lot more likely to invest in an alarm system than Margaret was.

  The movement in the store was so subtle he almost missed it. A mini-flashlight of some kind pointed downward so that the light couldn’t be seen from the street. He watched the shadow move across the floor, trying to gauge size—if it was kids, he’d head straight for them. If it was a man, he’d have to be more careful.

  He moved back the way he’d come, trying to see how the intruder had gotten in. An unlocked door would be handy, but he could use an open window if he had to, since calling Margaret to come down and unlock her shop didn’t seem like much of an option.

  He paused at the back door that led into the storeroom, turning the knob. It moved in his hand, proving that either the intruder was good with a lock pick or Margaret was incredibly careless about security. Either one could be true, given Margaret’s level of competence. The woman was dating Ham, after all.