Eve’s Wedding Knight

by Kathleen Creighton

  “What?” Mirabella persisted, nudging up next to Summer.

  “I was just going to say, I think you may be right,” Summer urgently whispered back. “Because you know that flush on her face? When I saw it, the first thing that went through my mind was that if I didn’t know better…I’d say she had one hell of a whisker burn.”

  “Oh…God.”

  An hour later, Mirabella and Summer stood on the front porch watching Riley, Helen and David as they loaded up the Mercedes. Or rather, the children were doing the loading while Riley supervised, and that ridiculous little Chihuahua of theirs-Beatle-frisked and danced between their feet.

  Everyone else had gone home-Eve and Sonny were on their way back to Hilton Head in the limo, Troy and Charly to Atlanta with Bubba drooling in the back seat of the Jeep Cherokee. Jimmy Joe had driven his mom, Granny Calhoun, Jess and Sammi June home, and J.J. and Amy Jo had gone along for the ride. He’d probably stay an hour or so at least, visiting and talking business with his brothers.

  The sun was going down in a rosy-gold blaze behind the leafless woods. A chill was in the air-there would be frost, the weatherman said, by morning. Which meant no more fresh tomatoes, Mirabella thought, and felt a pang of sadness for the passing of the season and the coming of winter.

  “She’s probably not-” she started to say, just as Summer did the same. They both broke off, laughing. Summer recovered first and finished it quickly, “I’m sure she’s not…you know. Cheating on Sonny. That would be too much, even for Evie.”

  “Sonny does strike me as a dangerous person to cross,” Mirabella conceded. Then, suddenly angry, “But since when has Evie ever balked at danger? You know how reckless and impulsive she is. She just…does things. Sometimes I think she does things just because they’re dangerous.”

  “You know what Mom said.” Summer’s murmur was placating. A troubled frown puckered her forehead. “That Evie does those things because she is afraid.”

  Mirabella waved that impatiently aside. “I know, and I find it hard to believe. What’s she ever had to be afraid of? Everything’s always come so damned easy for her.”

  “Oh, well-I wouldn’t say that. Evie’s worked hard to get where she is. Filmmaking is a tough field.”

  “Okay, but the point is, she’s made it-how many people can say that? Don’t tell me it’s all hard work-a lot of it is pure luck. Even she will tell you that. And think back when we were kids. She always got good grades without even trying, won every contest she ever entered, always had boys crazy about her. Everything she wanted she got.”

  “How do you know? You don’t know what she wants. She hasn’t got what we’ve got.” Mirabella had no answer for that. After a moment, Summer said thoughtfully, “I don’t think it’s that things come easier for her. Things come to everybody. Evie knows how to grab on to them when they come her way.”

  “That’s it,” Mirabella said, still angry. “She grabs. Evie’s greedy, that’s what she is. Greedy for…I don’t know…”

  “Life,” said her sister, nodding. “Evie’s greedy for life. That’s what makes her so special. She is special, Bella.”

  Mirabella didn’t say anything for a moment or two, because she had a lump in her throat; she hadn’t the faintest idea why.

  Riley, the children and the Beatle-dog were coming toward them across the lawn. She cleared her throat. “Well, this time I think she’s bitten off more than she can chew.”

  “I’m worried about her, too,” Summer said in a catching voice, turning abruptly to hug her. “But until she’s ready to ask for our help, I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

  Mirabella sniffed and whispered miserably, “I know.”

  There was a flurry of leave-taking while everyone paid one last visit to the bathroom, traded hugs and goodbyes and promises to call, and then the Mercedes crunched away down the driveway and turned left onto the paved road. Mirabella watched, rubbing her arms against the chill, until she could no longer see the big car’s taillights in the dusk. Then she turned and went back inside.

  She walked through the house, turning on a light here, turning one off there, tidying… setting things to rights. It was always a relief to have her home back to normal again. As much as she loved her family, and had come to love Jimmy Joe’s, Mirabella did cherish her space and her privacy. And order. Yes, she did like things to be orderly-organized, planned, everything in its place.

  Maybe, she thought with a rare flash of insight, that was what she found hard to take about her oldest sister. Eve-and her life-were so disorderly. Chaotic, tempestuous, impulsive, spontaneous, uninhibited-qualities many found charming, Mirabella knew, but she found them discomfiting. Even alarming.

  Feeling indefinably better, she was heading upstairs to check on the condition of the bathrooms when the doorbell rang. Back down the stairs she went, utterly mystified. Peepholes being all but unheard of in her part of the world, Mirabella called through the door, “Who is it?”

  There was a pause, and then… “FBI, ma‘am,” said a voice-a man’s voice, and strangely familiar. “Jake Red-Sold-we’ ve spoken on the phone.”

  Mirabella threw open the door and stared at the man who stood there on her front porch. She was unable to utter a single word, her heart was pounding so hard.

  The first thing she thought was that he didn’t look like an FBI agent. Not at all the way she’d pictured him. He was wearing casual clothes-didn’t all FBI agents wear suits and ties?-and his hair was unruly, with a tendency to stick out in spikes, as if he’d slept on it wrong. He had a long, melancholy face and grave, deep-set eyes and a bad case of five o‘clock shadow.

  But he was holding his ID up in front of his chest, holding it into the light where she could see it. She stared at it intently, then back at his face.

  “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Starr,” he said in his grave voice. “May I come inside? I’d like to talk to you. It’s about your sister.”

  Mirabella’s heart lurched. “Summer? But I thought that was over.”

  “No, ma‘am. This is about your other sister. Eve.”

  “Evie?” said Mirabella faintly. She thought, I was right I was right.

  “If you’ll let me come in,” said Agent Redfield, “I’ll explain everything.”

  “You want to do what?” Don Coffee shouted. “Are the two of you completely out of your minds?”

  Birdie raised his eyebrows in a look that said plainly, Hey, don’t look at me.

  Thanks, buddy, Jake thought as he shuffled gamely into the breech. “We believe there’d be a minimum of risk-”

  “Have you forgotten,” his supervisor interrupted in a derisive tone, “what happened the last time I authorized an operation involving the use of a private residence? This particular residence? The only thing that saved us from civilian casualties, as I recall, was some quick thinking on the part of a couple of household pets.”

  Jake threw up his hands and muttered, “Aw, for Pete’s sake-”

  But before he could say more and maybe get himself in real hot water, Birdie interceded, saying diplomatically, “Sir, the difficulties encountered on that operation involved a hurricane. The odds against that happening a second time have got to be…way up there.” Coffee snorted. Birdie glanced at Jake and cleared his throat. “If I’m not mistaken, sir, hurricane season officially ends on the thirtieth of November.”

  Coffee muttered something sarcastic about December and blizzards, and Birdie argued that Charleston, South Carolina, didn’t really have all that many blizzards, but by that time Jake had regained control of his temper.

  He said patiently, “The difference here is that we have a definite time frame, and we will be on the premises the whole time. We’ll go in there in advance, have the place wired before anybody else gets there. This is a surveillance operation, nothing more. Every move Cisneros makes will be on camera. If he finds what he’s looking for, we wait until he’s clear of the premises before we make a move. If he doesn’t find it, no harm, no
foul.” He glared at his supervisor, arms outstretched and eyebrows raised to add an unspoken “Well?”

  Coffee glared back at him. Then exhaled and growled, “Redfield, I can think of a dozen things that could go wrong.”

  So could Jake, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit it. “We’re going to be there to make sure it doesn’t.”

  “There will be children there.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve factored that in. We intend to make every possible provision to ensure their safety.”

  Coffee rose and disgustedly sailed a file folder onto his desk. “Ah, damn,” he muttered with a sigh, “I miss the old Mafia. At least they had rules about involving families-wives and kids. These newcomers-the Russians, Asians, Colombians, freelancers-they’re capable of anything. All bets are off.”

  Jake and his partner looked at each other. Jake cleared his throat. “Does that mean-”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’ve got your authorization. But Redfield, hear this-” and he leaned forward on his hands and drilled him with his patented cold-steel stare “-you’d better make damn sure nothing happens to make me regret it. I don’t intend for my career in federal law enforcement to end with this operation. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jake and Birdie chorused.

  “Okay. You’ve got…what is it, three weeks? I’ll expect the full details of the operation on my desk by tomorrow morning. I assume you’ve talked to all the parties involved? You have their full cooperation?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jake staunchly, “full and wholehearted.” Which was an understatement-the Waskowitz sisters had expressed delight and enthusiasm for the plan.

  With one notable exception. Jake wasn’t afraid of very many things, but when he thought about how Eve was going to take to the idea of using her family’s Christmas gathering to set a trap for her fiancé, he got a bad case of the cold-and-clammies…

  Chapter 14

  If Eve had found the pace of her days monotonous before the Thanksgiving holiday, afterward they seemed to crawl by with a soul-sapping tedium she imagined must be akin to doing hard time in a maximum-security prison.

  Sonny left the Saturday after Thanksgiving to go back to Las Vegas to tend to business, which was an immense relief to her for more reasons than one. He’d been in a mood ever since the blowup in the Jacuzzi, still sulking over his enforced celibacy, so being around him was already a strain. Add to that her feelings of guilt over what had happened between her and Jake in the sleeper of Jimmy Joe’s eighteen-wheeler…

  No, not guilt, exactly. It wasn’t guilt she felt when she thought of that. Longing… hunger… craving… desire-yes, all of those. But not guilt. She felt certain that if ever in her life she had done something right, making love with Jake was it. It was regret at not being able to repeat the occasion that was hard to abide and to hide from those around her, and a sense of impatience at time being wasted, a deep and constant yearning to be with someone, and to be someplace, other than where she was.

  To make matters worse, the lovely autumn days had finally come to an end. Although winter would not officially arrive for weeks, the weather had already declared its intent. Chilly drizzle alternated with a dreary overcast. Everything was wet, a cold dampness that penetrated clear to the bone, and stayed that way for days on end. California desert-raised, Eve longed for even a glimpse of the sun.

  Somehow the days did pass. She went, trembling inside, to her first scheduled physical therapy session after the holiday, but Jake didn’t show, and she was too proud to ask the FBI’s therapist about him. After that she called and made excuses not to go, claiming she had a cold and didn’t feel up to it.

  Then, after stubbornly refusing to give up her daily walks along the fog-shrouded marshes, she actually did come down with a cold, her first in years and one of the worst she’d ever suffered. She spent her days in front of the television, sniffling into soggy tissues over the likes of Casablanca and An Affair To Remember, as the pounds that had slipped away unnoticed a few weeks before came gleefully home, and brought friends. The calendar rolled over into December, and she still had not given a thought to Christmas.

  On Saturday morning, the week after Thanksgiving, Sergei interrupted the death scene in A Farewell To Arms to inform her, with sneering deference, that she had a telephone call.

  “Who is it?” Eve asked soggily and without much interest, blowing her nose. Surely not Sonny; it wasn’t even seven o‘clock in the morning in Las Vegas-practically the middle of the night to a night owl like him.

  “She said she is your sister,” said Sergei stiffly. He handed her a cordless phone and went out.

  Eve sniffed and punched the button. “H‘lo? Bella…?”

  “It’s me, Summer. Evie? Are you crying?”

  “What? Oh, doh-well, yeah, but…dot really. I was watching this ridiculous movie. Plus I have a cold. What’s up? You sound upset. Is everything-”

  “Oh, Evie. It’s Bella. She’s gone into early labor! She might lose the baby. I’m going up there now-can you come?”

  It was afternoon when Eve pushed through the Augusta hospital’s slow-to-open automatic doors with two beefy and edgy-looking men close on her heels. A lavender-haired lady in a pink smock at the information desk in the main lobby directed her to Maternity on the fourth floor.

  “You could wait for me in the car,” she suggested to Sergei and Ricky with mild sarcasm when the elevator arrived. The door opened; they followed her on in stony silence, one on each side.

  On the fourth floor Eve found a nurses’ station manned-and that was the word-by a very large woman who looked like a cross between somebody’s mama and an M.P. “Family only in the patient’s room,” she announced, sizing up Eve’s companions with an implacable eye. “You two can wait in the waiting room, if you want to-down there to your left.” She pointed the way. Neither Sergei nor Ricky were stupid enough to give her any lip.

  To Eve, she said kindly, “Miz Starr’s room’s right down there-number 412.” She pointed in a direction opposite the one to which she’d dispatched Sergei and Ricky. “Her sister and her husband are with her, but you can go on in.”

  Eve said, “Thank you,” and hurried down the corridor, past doors standing open to reveal weary but happy-looking women propped up and surrounded by clusters of relatives. Some of them cradled tiny pink- or blue-wrapped bundles in their arms. All of them wore ecstatically happy, bemused or besotted expressions on their faces.

  Oh, God. Eve prayed as she glanced enviously at them, please let Bella and her baby be all light… Her own troubles suddenly seemed ridiculously small.

  The door to 412 was closed. She paused in front of it to blow her nose and take a deep breath, then, resolutely smiling, heart pounding, she turned the knob and went in.

  The first thing she saw was Mirabella, cranked up in the hospital bed almost to a sitting position, obviously still pregnant, also rosy-cheeked and smiling-no, laughing-at something Summer had said. Summer stood beside the bed, and the two of them had turned their heads to look at her, both bright-eyed and breathless, as if they shared some delicious joke.

  Eve halted. What was wrong with this picture? Suddenly wary and suspicious-the exact same feeling she’d occasionally had right before someone jumped out at her and yelled, “Surprise!”-she ventured a cautious “Hi, what’s going on?”

  “False alarm,” sang Mirabella gaily. “They think it must have been muscle spasms. Guess I overdid it, raking leaves yesterday.” She and Summer exchanged that secretive look. “Anyway, the baby-John William-and I both check out fine.”

  “Thank-” Eve did a double take. “John-does that mean…?”

  Mirabella looked ready to burst with delight. “Ultrasound confirms it-we’re having a boy.”

  “You know that child is going to wind up being called John Willie,” said Summer in mock disgust. “Or worse.”

  “Over my dead body,” promised Mirabella blithely. “Anyway, they gave me some stuff for muscle pain, and now
I feel just peachy. Sorry you had to come all this way for nothing.”

  “That’s okay…” Weak in the knees, Eve sat on the edge of the hospital bed. She looked around. “Where’s Jimmy Joe?”

  “Who? Oh-” Mirabella waved a hand “-somewhere between here and Houston, I imagine. Why?”

  “I just assumed… The nurse said your husband was here.” Eve looked at Summer. “Riley came with you?”

  Summer shook her head; she seemed to be holding her breath. But before she could say anything, the curtain surrounding the bed next to Mirabella’s was drawn back. A voice, gravelly and solemn, said, “I believe she meant me.”

  To Eve it felt as if her heart exploded. A powerful electrical surge shot through her body; her scalp prickled, her hair lifted and her hands and feet tingled with it. “Jake…”

  “Evie, are you all right?” That was Summer.

  “Don’t faint,” said Mirabella tartly. “And don’t get mad. This was my idea. We had to think of some way to get you away from You-Know-Who so we could make our plans.”

  “P-p-plans?” Eve sputtered, recovering fast. “Our plans?” She rounded on Jake, who was watching her from under lowered brows, a look of appeal in his eyes. Which she ignored. She felt cold; her scalp prickled now with fury. “You told them?”

  “Yes, he did,” Mirabella answered for him, “and I’m sure glad he did. I knew something was wrong about that guy-I knew it.” She glared at them all in happy triumph; there was nothing Bella enjoyed more than being right.

  “I wanted them kept out of it. You knew how I felt.” Eve’s voice was pitched low and for Jake alone. She was trembling with shock, stunned by what she saw then only as a terrible betrayal. “You knew. You had no right. Not without-”