by Gina LaManna
“You do?”
“The upside down number seven, the saggy outside of the building. The green curb and your stupid alarm systems that triggered only on me, and never on an intruder.”
We both shared a soft smile as Clay muttered an apology.
“No, don’t be sorry. Those were some of the best years of my life, Clay, but there will be more. With us. You and me, Meg, Anthony, even Nora and Carlos. We’re a family—I’m not going anywhere.”
“You already technically moved somewhere else.”
“It’s a good thing! I promise you, it’s a very good thing, Clay. But that doesn’t mean we won’t have some bittersweet memories for a little while. Down the road, when we have kids, just think of the stories we can tell them.”
“Kids?”
“You know, a long time in the future,” I said, obviously more for him than for me. “My point is that this is all just the beginning.”
Clay watched me for a long moment, then nodded. “I don’t like change. It took me long enough to get used to you that by the time I decided I liked you, you moved out.”
“Remember all the annoying things I did?”
“Took forever in the shower and fogged up all the windows. Ate all the food the second our fridge was full. Burned marshmallows over the stove so that our whole house smelled like a bonfire. Had men breaking in at all hours of the day and night to visit you. Clipped your nails really loudly and—”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s plenty, thanks. See? There were annoying things, too. You just don’t remember them. You’re blocking them out for all of the good memories.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“I promise you. Nothing is going to happen to us. I’m still going to come to you with problems, and I’m still going to waltz into that apartment like it’s mine. We could even set up a coffee date once a month and just talk!”
“Whoa, whoa,” Clay said, gesturing for me to slow down. “Watch it. Let’s not get too crazy.”
I laughed, then took my cousin’s hand and squeezed it. “You’re my family, and I love you. We’re still a team, and you can come by whenever you want. I’ll do the same.”
He hesitated, and then agreed. “I didn’t even wire a bomb into your dress today.”
I raised a hand to my heart. “I’m touched, really.”
The next moment, the music changed. I could hear the heads of the audience swiveling, the whispers intensifying. I couldn’t see the front of the church from our current location in the hallway, but I could imagine the priest and Anthony had taken their place at the front.
Nora began the procession down the aisle, followed by Marissa and Clarissa as junior bridesmaids. I watched as, one by one, my best friends, my family, made their way through the church.
With each pair—Vivian and Joey, Harold and Alessandra, Meg and Clay—my heart raced faster. One by one they kissed me on the cheek, smiled and waved, and then set off through the rows and rows of waiting guests.
Finally, the chords shifted to the familiar song we’d all been waiting for. The flower girl and ring bearer, children of one of the guard’s, were corralled into line as Here Comes the Bride pulsed through the room.
“I said I wouldn’t cry.” My father stepped next to me and gently laid a hand on my arm. “I hate crying.”
“Me too.”
“I wish—”
“It’s okay,” I told him. “We’re here now.”
Whatever his wish—maybe he wished that my mom could be here, or that he’d been a part of my life earlier. Maybe he wished that he’d never lost my mother in the first place—whatever it was, the wish didn’t matter today.
He nodded in understanding. “Those earrings?”
“They belonged to Nora. She saved them for her.”
My dad ran a hand up to my cheek, brushing a thumb over the tiny stones on my earlobes. “You’re stunning, Lacey. I’m so proud to be here next to you. Thank you.”
I leaned in to kiss his cheek just as the first notes of Here Comes the Bride began to play. We exchanged a final smile, and I pressed back all of the emotions threatening to spill everywhere.
Faces brimming with hope and happiness watched, waved, and greeted. One step after another, everything morphing into a blur as we passed one pew after the next. We passed Detective Rocha, who I ignored. Miss Lizabeth Harriet Morgan the Third, along with Poopsie. Horatio. So many others who’d become a part of my life so recently.
When we reached the halfway point, my father passed me to Carlos. The two men shared a brief handshake, a flicker of respect. Then Carlos folded his arm over mine, and we continued.
“I am happy,” Carlos declared. “You and Anthony will make a strong couple.”
For Carlos, that was as golden of a compliment as I could ask for. A smile split my face open as I leaned in, my arms outstretched, to give him a hug and a cheek kiss. We’d reached the end of the road.
When Carlos stepped back, let me go with a handshake to his new grandson-in-law, I hesitated one second longer. Then, I held the flowing edges of my dress as I pivoted to face him. Anthony. The man to whom I’d promise the rest of my life. The love of my life. The father of my baby. The man who...
“Is that a tear?” Meg hissed from behind me. “Holy crap. He’s crying.”
“You can’t say holy in here,” Marissa said. “It’s illegal.”
“It’s a sin,” Clarissa added. “This is church.”
“Amen,” Nora said, adding the sign of the cross.
I ignored all of them as my eyes locked on Anthony. Whatever was happening there could hardly be called crying; not a single tear had fully formed, but there was a definite mist to his gaze. Which surprised me entirely because we were already technically married. Also, unlike me, he didn’t have pregnancy hormones to blame for his emotions.
He reached for me, held my hands and brought me to stand with him before the priest. As the final bars of the song wound down, he leaned over and brushed a few words across my neck.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known or imagined,” he said. “Thank you for choosing me.”
I squeezed his hand because if I spoke, it would be Water World reincarnated. I’d be the biggest mess this church had ever seen. Swallowing, I watched Anthony’s reaction as I nodded, and thankfully, he smiled, just enough to let me know he understood.
“Friends, we are gathered here today...”
The ceremony launched, and the first half of it flew past in a mix of bright lights and heat, words and prayers, eyes watching, hearts beating, hands clapping.
The vows approached, quickly, and my palms dampened with sweat. I’d written my own, memorized them—even though I’d practiced them a million times over, I couldn’t stifle my nerves.
“If anyone has objections, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
The silence stretched on, a mere formality at this stage.
“Then we shall—”
“Actually, hold on a second,” a voice called from the back row. “I have an objection. Three million of them.”
At the very same moment, Anthony’s phone rang.
“Really?” Meg asked. “Your own wedding, Anthony?”
“That’ll be his uber-emergency phone ringing,” The Zebra said, his voice all too familiar by now. He slipped out from the back row to stand in the aisle, a gun dangling from his fingertips. “Likely one of his lapdogs calling to warn him that you might have a surprise guest.”
Meg gawked next to me. “What in the world?”
“Surprise!” The Zebra raised his hands, then pointed the gun forward. “I would like to—”
A loud bang sounded, followed by a sea of people covering their ears with their hands, bending in half, searching the room with confused eyes. Only one person stood, and that was Mrs. Lizabeth Harriet Morgan the Third. She looked somewhat mystified at the gun in her hand that she’d fired vaguely in the same direction as The Zebra.
Before anyone got their bearings, Th
e Zebra had one arm around Lizabeth’s neck, and his other hand around a wicker basket used normally for collections and donations given during the offering.
“Well, that wasn’t close, but I can assure you I’m not taking any more risks.” The Zebra threw the basket to the back pew. “Drop your weapons in there, or the old lady gets it.”
Murmurs broke out throughout the church as the first few people passed it along.
“I don’t think everyone understands. Weapons. Guns. Knives. Nail files. It all goes into the basket. Move it, people.”
One member in the congregation inhaled sharply, but the rest seemed relatively unsurprised. I suppose that’s what happened when the Luzzi family got together—we were a hard bunch to shock.
“Give them up,” Carlos said, turning slowly and making eye contact with a few select members of the congregation. “Nobody’s getting hurt at my granddaughter’s wedding.”
“There we go, thank you, old man.” The Zebra focused his gaze on Detective Rocha. “Yes, even you, detective. Your gun, please.”
Detective Rocha, clearly fuming, dropped a gun into the collection basket.
“Great,” The Zebra said. “Now how about the rest of your weapons.”
“It’s a wedding,” the detective said. “I didn’t bring anything else.”
“Right.” The Zebra tapped his toe against the detective’s leg. Instead of the quiet thud of skin, a distinct thunk of shoe hitting metal rang out. “And either you have a peg leg, or you have something to put into my basket.”
The detective reached over, removed something from his leg, and let it drop into the basket. The look on his face was murderous, which was sort of ironic since he’s the one who’d insisted on showing up in the first place. If he’d stayed home like I’d suggested, he wouldn’t be staring down the nose of a gun.
A gun that quickly swung to point in my direction.
“Sorry, honey,” The Zebra said. “I know I said I’d kill your fiancé first, but I might have to reverse the order. It’s nothing personal, I’m sure you understand; it’s just business.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Nora said, stepping into the aisle. She’d been sitting in the front row as The Zebra made his way up the aisle. “This is a wedding. Have you no respect for love?”
“Love?” He laughed. The collection basket returned to The Zebra once more as he reached the front of the church. He glanced down, surveyed the basket, and raised an eyebrow. “I’d expected more pizazz from a Luzzi wedding.”
Not me, however. I eyed that basket skeptically. There were at least four guns, a few sets of pocket knives, and one taser. Not to mention a few things I couldn’t name, and a few I definitely never wanted to see again.
“I beg to differ with your assessment,” Meg said. “I’m impressed. Are those nunchucks? I want some of those. If nobody claims them after the ceremony, I will gladly provide a safe and welcoming home for them.”
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, step away from the bride.” The Zebra stood at the foot of the steps, his gun trained on me. “Let’s move it.”
Nobody budged an inch. Meg stepped closer. The intensity radiating off Anthony was palpable. But I could also see the hesitation in Anthony’s fingers as they clenched and unclenched. He might want to throttle the man, but he wouldn’t yet—not here, not now, not with a gun aimed at his wife and child.
“I’ve shot her once,” The Zebra said, narrowing his gaze. “Don’t make me finish the job.”
“Listen to him,” Anthony ordered. “Everyone back.”
The wedding party obeyed this time, the bridesmaids shrinking to one side, the groomsmen shuffling to the other. Even Anthony took a step back, and so did the priest.
“Clay.” Meg hissed behind me as The Zebra gave further instructions to the crowd. “Did you wire a bomb into Lacey’s dress?”
“Of course not,” Clay snapped. “Why would I do that?”
“Because it would be really convenient,” Meg said. “How come you never have a bomb when we need one, but you always have bombs when we don’t want them? It’s not a bad question.”
“I would have a bomb if Anthony hadn’t threatened to...” Clay halted, chanced a glance at the groom before continuing. “To do bad things if I brought bombs. I’m paraphrasing, here.”
“Shut up,” The Zebra said, climbing the stairs. He balanced the basket of weapons at his feet then raised, bringing the gun far too close to my head. “Now, let’s talk. Whose idea was it to put the money back in my bowling alley last night?”
“It wasn’t anybody’s idea,” I said, trying to step backward, but I couldn’t move. My arms felt glued to my sides, my feet cemented to the floor. “We didn’t move any money. We didn’t know where the money was located at all.”
The Zebra spoke in my ear, his voice a low rumble. “Admit you put it there.”
A whiff of stale coffee wafted over me, and it was everything I could do not to vomit. This morning sickness was turning into an all-day sickness. Very inconvenient. “When would I have put it there? After you shot me?”
The Zebra ran his free hand down my arm. His thumb brushed lightly over the bandage. “I would apologize, but you started it.”
“She didn’t. I suggest you drop the gun now,” Anthony said. “Or you will regret it.”
“Will I?” The Zebra raised an eyebrow as he inched the weapon closer to my skull. “Or will you regret it?”
Hatred—unbridled rage— flashed through Anthony’s eyes, but he smartly chose to stand still. First, he watched me, then The Zebra, calculating his options before settling on a question. “What do you want from us?”
“For your fiancé to admit she had the money and planted it back in my lanes.”
“What does it matter?” I interrupted. “The money is the least of your problems.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I haven’t done anything wrong. Except for that little bit of skin missing on your arm, maybe. I repeat, however, you started that tussle.”
“How do you figure you’re getting away with this?” I asked, more to keep him talking than anything else. “You admitted to murdering Beckett.”
The Zebra stepped closer, the coffee scent growing stronger. “When did you move my money?”
“This is seriously enough,” Nora said, marching up the stairs and planting herself next to The Zebra. “How much cash are you looking for? If I pay you off, will you stop yammering and let us get on with the ceremony?”
“Get back in your seat,” The Zebra growled, putting one arm around my neck and pressing the gun to my temple. Sweat stunk on him, and his heart thudded against my back. He was losing his cool. “What do you think you’re doing, old woman?”
“I’m not old, you gonad. Now relax, will you?” Nora issued such a piercing stare that even The Zebra paused to listen. “You manhandled my granddaughter, and she’s bleeding. I’m just tidying it up so the mess doesn’t get on her dress. If you haven’t noticed, her dress is white. And it’s expensive, mister.”
Sure enough, the wound on my arm had re-opened just enough to let a thin stream of blood trail down my arm. Nora moved to mop it up with a handkerchief, and this time, nobody warned her away.
“Well, go on,” Nora said, gesturing with her hand for The Zebra to continue. “Ignore me, I’m just here on dress duty.”
The Zebra, bewildered, stumbled for his next words. I could practically hear the gears in his brain ticking through his options. Not that there was much he could do, seeing as the woman before him was nearing ninety, fragile-looking, with a tongue as sharp as a sword. If he did anything to hurt her, he’d just look weak.
“Leave her alone,” Anthony said. “And get to the point.”
The Zebra glanced once more at Nora, then decided to let it go and promptly ignored her. “When did—”
“I told you,” I blurted. “It’s always been there.”
“You expect me to believe that it’s been in my own damn house this entire time?” The Zebra
roared. “Beckett stole three million dollars from me, and there’s no way he’d be audacious enough to hide it in plain sight.”
“I wouldn’t?”
Time crawled to a stop. The room halted, as if on the verge of disaster—not unlike the threat of a snowstorm hovering on the horizon, bits of rain gathering at the edges of clouds and pressing onward. Always onward.
The voice came from behind The Zebra. From the sacristy behind the altar.
The voice came closer, louder, more clear. “I’d be careful what you assume, Mr. Zebra.” Beckett stood behind us on the spacious altar grinning wildly in my direction. “Seeing as I had the audacity to die when you attempted to murder me.”
Alessandra reacted to his presence first by slumping into a dead faint.
Meg leapt to attention at the last possible second, catching Alessandra just before she hit the floor. “You’re welcome,” she murmured to the sleeping bridesmaid. “Good thing I’m the bomb dot com.”
“Beckett,” I gaped. “You’re...”
“Alive?” he smiled, appearing far better than just alive. He looked radiant, his eyes twinkling with mischief, the light in his dark irises dancing with delight. “Yes, I’m most certainly alive.”
“But. You—”
“I’m sorry for the late RSVP to your big day, Lacey.” Beckett straightened a bright purple tie—violet, actually—and adjusted his suit. “Hope I’m dressed okay.”
“Yeah, uh, that’s okay,” I said dumbly. My brain hadn’t caught up to the fact that a dead man had miraculously risen almost before my eyes. “What are you?”
Beckett laughed. “Perfectly human. Not a hair harmed on my head.”
“But—”
“That’s what happens when one attempts to murder a magician.” He lifted playfully onto his tiptoes, smiled at the crowd as if performing. “Let me demonstrate.”
The Zebra must have been just as frozen as I was, watching as Beckett removed a pill from his front pocket. He held the large, red oval up for the crowd to see, and then popped it in his mouth.
“Poison,” he announced loudly, his words slightly slurred due to the large object on his tongue. “Once I swallow, it’ll kill me in three seconds flat. Same pill that my friend here, The Zebra, so kindly forced on me the day I died.”
