by Raven Snow
"That's almost as bad as no cookie at all," I said absently.
We walked along, heading back to the Victorian. For the most part, we made our way in silence, both of us deep in thought. When Cooper started kicking rocks along his way, I knew that he was ready to talk about whatever was clearly bothering him.
"Grandma says you won't marry my dad."
Pursing my lips and cursing Nancy, I said slowly, "She's right."
His gaze snapped to me and then back to the pavement. "But why?"
“He smells funny.”
Cooper’s upper lip stopped trembling, outrage in his face. “That’s not true!”
Laughing, I pulled Cooper against my side and ruffled his hair. “You’re too easy, Coop.”
“If you and Dad got married,” he said quietly, “you could be my real mom. Don’t you want that?”
Chapter Nine
Cooper had given me a lot to think about, so once I dropped him off at home, I tried to take the bug out for a spin. Unfortunately, the key turned with a click instead of the telltale sounds of the engine turning over. Banging my head against the steering wheel, I ran back inside to borrow Wyatt's keys, and by extension, his car.
About ten minutes into the drive, I could tell this wasn't what I needed. Parking the car behind a vacant building, I set off for a walk around Waresville, trying to get some semblance of order in my mind.
The first on the agenda was the case. I seemed to have dozens of leads that went nowhere fast. My prime suspect, Julio, still looked the best for the crime, but all I had on him was a scrap of his vest at the factory where obviously some printing had gone on and I hadn't even officially matched that up. The motive of his business going under wasn't enough, even with the vest, to convince anyone.
Then, there was Greg and Katy. I didn't have anything on these two, except for a strange influx of money that they shouldn't have. But living above your means wasn't illegal, nor was drawing pictures of past presidents, especially when you're an art teacher.
Lastly, in contrast with the other two, I had hard evidence and motive for Don. He'd had the incriminating material in his dressing room, and if he wanted to stay in the country, he needed Justina's expensive hand in marriage. Still, you had to know which president went on the twenty-dollar bill to fake it. Was he really that ignorant, or was I being played for the fool? I just didn't know at this point.
Not knowing anything seemed to be a trend for this case.
And then there was all the personal stuff getting in the way lately. One way or the other, I knew I had to make a decision. For god's sakes, I'd let Kosher get the better of me. If that didn't scream "I need to focus," then I didn't know what would.
Cooper had brought up a good point earlier, and not just about me being his real mommy. I loved that little squirt, already thought of him as mine. Even without marriage, would there be any walking away from that if I found one day I wasn't good for my men anymore? I'd like to think so, but in my heart of hearts, I wasn't so sure.
Then, there was Wyatt. I loved him more than I would've believed myself capable of, and every day it got a little worse. He was like a fungus that had grown on me when I wasn't looking, and now I'd never be rid of him. What's more, I didn't want my fungus to go anywhere; I was sort of partial to it.
Then why did the idea of a ring, a white dress, and vowing forever make me break out in a panic sweat? I didn't have any answers besides my deep-rooted fear that Wyatt would regret it. Because if I ever woke up to Wyatt having doubts about our union, it would kill me. Why couldn't we leave things as they were?
With a shake of my head, I thought wryly that Wyatt was the marrying kind, that's why. He'd decided on me—stupid, stubborn man—and now he was ready to take the next "logical" step. Though he'd never admit it, Wyatt was more like his mom than either of them realized. And wasn't that a terrifying thought in a scary world. Was I really considering marrying into a family with two Nancy Bennetts?
With a start, I realized that the sun was no longer high in the sky. I'd been out there for hours, and the slight cold of winter had had time to sink into my bones. Shivering, I ran back to the car, flinging the door open and starting the engine with it ajar, hoping to get the heat going before sealing myself inside.
I heard an odd ticking, one that set the hairs on the back of my neck on edge. My muscles tensed, but it happened too fast for me to react. One moment, I was sitting in the car seat. The next, a roaring sound shook my world, and I was flying through the air.
Hitting the ground with jarring force, I rolled viciously from the force of the explosion. Lights danced behind my eyelids, and my skin felt raw, like the time I'd jumped from a moving vehicle and kissed cement.
I stumbled to my feet, coughing as smoke invaded my lungs. The ringing in my ears was so bad that I could barely walk straight, all of my senses out of whack. From what I could see, though, what was left of Wyatt's car was a steaming hunk of flaming junk. The car that Wyatt had spent weekends rebuilding, polishing, and adoring had been turned to carbon. He'd never forgive me.
From my peripherals, I watched people running toward me, pulling out their cell phones and dialing emergency help. Suddenly, the weight of it all came crashing down on me, my bones turning to liquid. The last thing I registered before passing out was the sound of sirens in the distance.
___
"Dina!" I called out to the hallway in the ICU. "I want more pudding! I know you can hear me."
They'd put me in my usual bed as soon as I came in. It was a holiday, so a lot of the regular staff was home with their families, but there were still some familiar faces. And everyone, whether I knew them or not, knew me as a frequent flier. Hence, setting me up here just minutes after I arrived on the scene.
"Dina," I said, drawing out the name and giggling. The pain medication had kicked in five minutes ago.
It wasn’t Dina who walked through the door to my room, though. Wyatt, looking as pale as I'd ever seen him, stumbled through. He walked over to my bed with slow purpose, eyes and fingers lightly running over my myriad of bandages.
"Just a couple of second degree burns," I told him. "Most of it's cuts from flying glass and shrapnel."
He fell into the visitor’s seat by my bed, tucking one of my uninjured hands against his chest and closing his eyes. He looked to be about ten years older than when I'd first left the house.
"I'm sorry about your car," I said in a small voice. "I know how much you loved it."
"Hang the car, Harper," he said harshly. "I thought you went up with it."
The corner of my mouth curved. "No such luck."
Laughing wearily, he pressed his lips to one of my bandages, taking excruciating care not to hurt me. "You're not a good-time girl, Harper," he said, all earlier amusement gone.
"We're talking about last night now?"
"You're my good-time girl." His hand brushed my chin. "And even though those good times are mixed with days like these—where you scare the life out of me, and I just want to shake some sense into you—I want them to keep rolling for the rest of our lives together."
"I'll probably get blown up again," I warned him.
"You're probably right." He sat back, eyes going all cop. "Any suspects?"
"Kosher?"
As I'd intended, his face lost a few years, and he rolled his eyes. "If Peter wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
"Cheery," I said. "There was... outside Melanie's store, I felt like someone was watching me."
Smiling wryly, he asked, "Can't you pick one case that doesn't lead to attempts on your life?"
"I like to think of it as an extra incentive."
Wyatt checked me out against doctor's orders. We did this so frequently that we didn't have to fill out any new paperwork, just asking the nurses to refer to one of the other incidences on file. He'd argued against me jumping back into the case, but it was clear that whomever had tried to blow me up was connected to the case. The faster I solved it, the better my chances of
survival. Wyatt could appreciate math like that.
Unfortunately, me continuing the case looked a lot like me making a fool of myself on the dance floor. A few hours later, covered in bandages and squeezed into one of my lightest dresses, I was waddling around Town Hall, avoiding the stares and trying to look dignified while moving as if I had no bones. Even the good drugs had worn off, so I was really on my own out there.
"You wanted to come," Wyatt said with a smile. Despite his amusement, he shielded me from the eyes of the people, crowding me into a quiet corner where we could still observe.
"I didn't want to come," I told him grumpily. "I just didn't want to end up a smear on the sidewalk."
"I wouldn't want that, either. How would a smear fit into a white dress or walk down the aisle to meet me at the altar?"
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I said, "I thought you decided you didn't want me to wear the big gown."
He leaned down and kissed my collarbone, keeping intimate eye contact that made my legs feel like jelly. "It would be interesting. A once in a lifetime kind of event."
"You'd have to be ridiculously lucky to see one of those."
"I like my chances."
Just then, Kosher came onto the scene, looking smug enough to gut like a fish. Wyatt had to physically hold me back, because I wanted to go after him like the last piece of cheesecake. If I'd have been a bull, I'd have stamped my hooves and blown hot air from my nostrils. Instead, I shouted obscenities at him over the loud music.
The music suddenly shut off, leaving my yelled curse words hanging in the now silent courtyard. Some looking offended, some amused, people turned toward me. Smiling, I did a little finger wave for the crowd, ignoring the feeling of Wyatt's body shaking with laughter against mine.
The peoples' attention was soon claimed by Mrs. Debutante as she addressed the crowd. You could have heard a pin drop in that stuffed room, a testament to the kind of power that old, prissy lady held. It was awe-inspiring and annoying.
"Much to my chagrin," she said, speaking clear as a bell, "the remaining judges have decided to cancel tonight's competition."
Booing and gasping rang out, breaking the silence, but I was far more caught up in the word "remaining." Craning my neck, I tried to get a good look at the judges that were present, a sick feeling in my stomach. People kept getting in the way, however, and I couldn't see any judge but the dragon lady.
Mrs. Debutante didn't keep us in suspense for long. "Melanie Gross, one of our esteemed judges, has gone missing. Until she is found, the competition will be put on hold. If anyone knows anything about her whereabouts, please contact the dance committee or the police. Thank you."
Kosher shot me a suspicious look, and I shrugged. "I have an alibi. Probably."
"I'm surprised you're not racing out of here to find her and prove me wrong about Don."
"The latter does have its appeal," I said, leaning against Wyatt, "And somehow, I think my world will keep spinning without Melanie Gross in it."
"Harper," Wyatt said, a warning and reminder in his voice.
The reminder was that we were the good guys; we didn't get to pick who we saved. The warning was to be careful and to not forget that I was one of the good guys, badge or not. It was good to see our nonverbal communication was working without a hitch. It was about time that something in this case did.
"Alright, I'll question some people. But I won't like it."
Leaving Wyatt's warm, comforting side was hard, so I decided to get this over with as soon as possible. I ran over to Julio, my uncooperative, prime suspect. He was wearing a scarlet vest that looked like the slippers Dorothy wore, and strangely, matched Oliver's red cape perfectly. For a distracting moment, I wondered if they'd dressed together.
Then, I was all business again. "I don't suppose you have an alibi for the past couple hours?"
He gave me the mother of all stink eyes. "No, but I don't have to give you one, do I?"
"Not her," Kosher said, coming up from behind me and flashing that badge he was so fond of. "But you do have to provide one to me."
"That's true," I said sagely. "Even if his badge is silver, not gold−”
A sound smack upside the back of my head distracted me from ribbing Kosher about his officer status and brought me back to the matter at hand. Julio looked very uncomfortable, shifting from side to side and eyeing Kosher like he might spontaneously start beating on him.
"He was with me," a voice said from the right. Oliver appeared on my side, the edge of his brilliant cape brushing my arm. "We were getting to know each other."
I raised an eyebrow. "In the biblical sense?"
Oliver gave me his signature grin, one that made boys and girls throughout Waresville lose their panties. "Is there any other way?"
"Not for you," I said, the teasing coming oh so naturally. Oliver acted like he may reply, but I was already turning away, heading on to my next suspects.
Unfortunately, everyone had alibis for when Melanie had roughly disappeared. Some of them were thin and needed checking up on, but there was no one we could arrest or single out tonight. I went home feeling defeated and very achy. Luckily, I had a hunky cop that could help with both of those things—especially the soreness.
The next morning, while Cooper and Wyatt were off buying real food to cook for Christmas dinner, I got the call I'd always dreaded. It came in the form of a peppy hello from Nancy Bennett, who didn't even have the decency not to call before noon.
"Harper," she said, "I heard about your accident. You're not permanently scarred, are you?"
Trust Nancy to turn a murder attempt into an "accident." I'd tell her she missed her calling as a mob boss's defense attorney, but I didn't want to give that woman any ideas. It was hard enough getting the bad guys without me having to worry if my mother-in-law was on their payroll.
Eyes widening, I couldn't believe I just thought the words "mother-in-law" about Nancy Bennett.
"I'm fine," I told her stiffly—kind of like my body at the moment. "I was just going to get some rest, actually. Doctor's orders, you know..."
That was as pointed as I could make it without being rude, but she seemed to breeze by my brush-off, not paying it any heed. I grumbled to myself with words too low and pedestrian for her to hear.
"I'm so happy to hear that. Since you're feeling better, you simply must come over for brunch. I'm making that bruschetta you liked so much."
My eyes flew open wide, and I tripped over myself trying to find an excuse. "Oh, really, I couldn't−"
"I insist."
A couple hours later, most of which was spent complaining to Wyatt, I went over to the Bennetts’ in one of my most modest outfits. The bright colors had dulled, making it a little less eye-catching, and the only thing remotely scandalous about it was that it zipped in the front. Nancy frowned upon seeing it but said nothing. I wondered if she would like the dress any more if she knew just how much... enjoyment... Wyatt had gotten out of it during our time together.
Probably not.
As promised, she had all kinds of delicious things to eat—hard to make things. I put them in my mouth with thoughtful curiosity, because Nancy wouldn't have gone through all this trouble just for the pleasure of my company. She wanted something, and this yummy, yummy food was just the finger-licking tool she was using to get it. At least this was more enjoyable than her berating me for hours.
"Harper," she began in a serious voice, and I thought I'd spoken too soon. Here came the berating. "I asked you here to apologize."
I choked on a large cherry tomato, my eyes watering and my face turning red. Rushing over, Nancy pounded on my back with surprising strength, the red fruit erupting from my throat and shooting across the room. To her credit, she didn't run after it or make any face, sitting down with grace and poise, like I hadn't just belched up a fully-formed fruit.
"Apologize?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"Yes," she said seriously. "I may have come on a little... strong the
other day." When no flicker of recognition crossed my face, she continued with a little impatience. "With the bridal magazines."
"Oh. That."
"Yes, that." She shifted in her seat. "My son informed me that I might have been a little crass about your feelings about this whole wedding business."
"There's no wedding," I told her without heat, resigned to missing out on the rest of the meal. It wasn't like I could eat with my stomach in knots.
"Not yet," she sort-of agreed. "And maybe not ever if I don't butt out, right?"
If this was going in the direction of a real apology and a promise to change, I wasn't sure how to take it. Instead of saying anything, I fell silent and waited for the bigger predator to decide whether or not to eat me.
She sighed. "I don't have any daughters, Harper, and I suppose I got a little too excited at the idea of planning another wedding. Can you forgive me?"
"Sure," I said stiffly, waiting for a shoe to drop.
"But really, why are you being so difficult about this whole wedding business?"
There it went.
Flatly, I said, "I have commitment issues."
"It's my Wyatt, though," she said, cocking her head. "Why wouldn't you want to spend the rest of your life with him if he's willing?"
"Apart from the huge reason sitting right in front of me?"
Her eyes narrowed, and I cursed my lack of control. This woman had the power to make me very miserable, and she knew it. The ring of a phone, however, saved me, and I jumped to answer my cellphone.
"Yes?" I said, prepared to talk to this person for the rest of the day, even if it was a wrong number.
"Justina's at work now. If you want to check out her and Don's place, meet me at the shop in five."
I hung up and glanced back at a steaming Nancy. "Something's just come up."
After the allotted time, I was parked in front of Hane's Magic Shoppe, waiting for Oliver to join me. He slid into my car with an easy familiarity that made me sore in a whole different way that was nothing physical. I'd missed this.
