Death, Taxes, and a Shotgun Wedding

by Diane Kelly

  Nick had worked the investigation at Guys & Dolls with me, taking a job as a bouncer at the strip club. It hadn’t been easy for me to play the role of squirrelly bookkeeper amidst all the exposed, curvy flesh Nick had a front-row seat for, but we’d managed to get through it. Nick and I stood to greet Merle and Bernice.

  “So wonderful to see you two!” Bernice exclaimed, her hands on my bare shoulders. She ran her gaze over me. “Tara, you look absolutely gorgeous!” She’d only seen me in my boring business suits before. She probably hadn’t realized I had it in me to be girlie, too.

  “Thanks, Bernice. So do you.”

  Merle turned to Nick and shook his hand. “Congratulations. You’ve got yourself one hell of a lady.” He should know. He’d been my supervisor at the club and gotten to know me better than any of them. He’d even figured out I was a member of law enforcement working undercover, but instead of blowing our case he’d kept that fact to himself. He was a good guy at heart. He’d been the one to summon me back to the club when the poop had hit the fan inside, posing risks to Nick and my friend Christina Marquez from the DEA, who’d been working the sting with us.

  Bernice draped her hand over Merle’s shoulder. “Merle and I were so pleased to receive the invitation to your wedding. Y’all brought us together and we’d love to see you get married, too.”

  Aww …

  She went on. “I’m surprised the invitation made it to us. The envelope looked like it had been put through the wringer.”

  “We had a little trouble when I went to mail them,” I explained. “Someone in a pickup tried to run down me and Nick’s dog, instead hit the mailbox I’d just put the invitations in, and sent it flying into the road. The invitations ended up all over the place. By the time we could collect them, some of them had been run over.”

  She put a hand to her chest. “My goodness! I’m glad you and the dog are okay!”

  “It gets better,” I told her, though the story getting better meant things had gotten worse for me. “I’ve since received death threats.”

  Merle eyed me, fury flaring in his eyes. “You think Don Geils could be behind all of it?”

  “It’s possible,” I acknowledged. “But I went to see him in prison. Both the detective from Dallas PD and I sensed he wasn’t involved.”

  Bernice offered a soft, but concerned, smile. “Well, I hope you figure it out and make an arrest soon. The last thing a bride needs is more to worry about.”

  She could say that again.

  Merle spotted the time on the clock over the bar and turned to his wife. “Time to get the show on the road.”

  They said good-bye for now, telling us they’d see us again at the private afterparty I’d arranged in the club for those of us from the IRS.

  Our drinks and food arrived, and we dug in, chatting while we ate. The show began right as they brought dessert, a lemon sorbet adorned with fresh strawberries and blueberries.

  Tonight’s performance was a variety show, including everything from a stand-up comedian who did a ten-minute shtick about local politicians, shticking it to the mayor, but all relatively benign and in good fun. He was followed by a team of male tap dancers who nearly stomped the stage into splinters. The next act involved a young woman dressed in a hayseed cowgirl costume. She sang lonesome love ballads, accented at just the right moments by the mournful howl of her bandana-wearing hound dog, who sat at her feet. What a riot! With the variety of talent, the show was a huge hit with the audience, earning the performers a well deserved standing ovation and shouts of “Bravo!”

  When the last bow had been taken, the performers left the stage, and the house lights were brought up, the other customers filed out, leaving only those of us with the IRS to end the evening with a more intimate gathering.

  Angelique brought three bottles of champagne to the table and popped the corks. Pop! Pop! Pop! She and Maddie proceeded to fill glass flutes for each of us.

  “I’m so jealous,” Maddie said as she filled Lu’s glass with the bubbling beverage. “I’d give anything to be able to sleep in every day and relax.”

  “It certainly will be nice,” Lu agreed. “After forty-plus years at the IRS, I suppose I’ve earned it. Of course it’ll probably take me a week or two to remember that I don’t have to get up and go to work in the mornings.”

  Once Maddie left the table, I stood and raised my glass. “To the one and only Lu,” I said, turning to her. “When I interviewed with you, you mentioned your plans to retire, and I told you that if you hired me, you’d be sitting around in your bathrobe watching soap operas and sucking down bonbons before you knew it.” I reached down, retrieved the large gift bag I’d brought, and handed it to her. “Here’s everything you need to make that happen.”

  She took the bag and pulled out the contents, a plush robe in the same pinkish-orange shade as her hair, a pair of matching slippers, and an extra-large box of assorted bonbons.

  She laughed, exclaimed how soft the robe and slippers were, then looked up at me, her eyes growing wet and her lip quivering with emotion.

  My eyes became misty, too. Lu’s departure from Criminal Investigations marked the end of a long and successful era.

  I waved my hand at her in a futile attempt to stop her tears. “Don’t cry or it’ll make me cry, too!”

  But it was too late. As tears ran down her cheeks, a drop escaped my eye and ran down mine, also. One glance around the table told me everyone else was likewise feeling woeful and wistful. I grabbed a napkin and fanned my eyes to dry them. Once I had my tear ducts under control, I raised my glass even higher. “Cheers!”

  Others called out, “Hear, hear!” We clinked our glasses and sipped our champagne.

  Nick followed me, standing with his glass raised. “Lu, you’re leaving me and Eddie with some big shoes to fill. Of course in your case those shoes are fringed go-go boots. But you’ve taught us well, and if the two of us can do half the job you did, we’ll be proud. Enjoy your retirement.”

  His words were followed by more clinks and more sips.

  Each of the other agents made toasts in turn. Eddie took the opportunity to tell Lu that when he’d first met me he’d thought she’d been crazy to hire the scrawny country girl. “But you had an uncanny ability to see diamonds in the rough.”

  “Hey!” I dipped my fingers in my champagne and flicked it at him in revenge.

  He ducked to avoid the spray and laughed, raising his glass. “To Lu!”

  Josh noted that Lu knew how to use the unique abilities of her agents to the fullest. “You always let me go into full-on geek mode when it would help with a case. You’ve helped each of us grow into the best agents we can be.”

  It was true. She’d assigned me to some of the more violent cases, knowing my superior gun skills might be needed. But she’d also made sure we each received a variety of assignments so that we wouldn’t become bored and so our skills and knowledge could continue to grow.

  Hana stood next, turning to our boss. “Lu, you opened the doors for female agents like me and Tara by proving that women are smart, strong, and capable.”

  It was true. Lu and the other ballsy women who’d come before us had broken down barriers, blazed a trail, and shattered glass ceilings. Lu had managed to do it in her own fashion, too, both literally and figuratively. Nope, there’d never be another Lu.

  “To Lu!” Hana cried, and we all drank again.

  Will, who’d been the last to join the division, was also the last to toast Lu. “Thank you for taking a bored collections officer and giving him a chance to see how exciting tax evasion could be.”

  When we finished toasting Lu, she stood and raised her glass, gazing around at her former employees. She wagged an accusing finger at us. “Y’all challenged me at every turn, often didn’t do as you were told, and caused me all sorts of grief with the big boys up the chain.” She stopped wagging her finger. “Yet somehow I love every one of you for it.”

  She smiled for a brief instant before dissol
ving into sobs. Carl stood to finish the toast for her. He raised his near-empty glass. “To all of you agents!”

  We drank together one last time. By that point, Lu was crying so hard one of her false eyelashes broke free and ran down her cheek, dropping to her ample bosom. I was sniffling and sobbing, too. I was going to miss the heck out of her. But we all knew it was time. Time for her to relax and turn the reins over to the next generation of directors.

  We thanked Merle, Bernice, and the Guys & Dolls staff, and moved out to the parking lot. We exchanged final hugs there, we agents waving as Lu and Carl drove off. “Bye!” “Enjoy your retirement!” “We’ll miss you!”

  I turned to Nick and Eddie. “Looks like you two are officially the bosses now.”

  Nick stood tall. “That’s right. And none of you better forget it.”

  Eddie said, “We want all of you at your desks by eight o’clock Monday morning.”

  Hana waved a dismissive hand as she headed to her car. “I’ll get there when I get there.”

  Josh said, “Expect a big budget request from me. There are some new surveillance tools I want to buy.”

  “My G-ride needs a new transmission,” Will added. “Put that in the budget, too.”

  As the other agents walked off, leaving just me, Nick, Eddie, and Sandra, Eddie put a hand to his head. “I’ve already got a headache.”

  Nick chuckled. “You and me both, buddy.”

  chapter twenty-one

  A Fitting End

  Early Sunday afternoon, as I waited in the grocery-store parking lot, my phone came alive with a ride request from a Michael S who needed a pickup at a café nearby and a drop-off in Plano. Though I was hesitant to accept another job given the catfight I’d had to break up on Friday, I remembered my resolution to keep working on this rental-scam investigation until the job was done. Ugh. I hated myself about then. Why do I have to be so darn dedicated? But a quick check told me no Backseat Drivers had posted negative reviews of the guy. In fact, they’d posted no reviews at all. But maybe that was to be expected. The account had only been opened three days prior.

  Nick didn’t seem all that thrilled to be spending his Sunday on a wild-goose chase, either, but he wanted me hurt or dead even less. He followed me to the restaurant, the two of us in touch by speakerphone. I could tell immediately when the rider raised his hand to flag me that he wasn’t the criminal we were after. This guy stood only around five feet nine inches and, though not thin, he wasn’t what anyone could rightfully call beefy. Besides, he wasn’t wearing a suit and tie. He was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a Dallas Mavericks tee. “It’s not him,” I told Nick.

  “Damn!”

  I punched the button to end our call and unlocked the doors.

  The rider had his phone pressed to his ear when he climbed into my backseat and continued the conversation the entire way, staring out the window with his head down, his uncovered cheek facing away from me, only the back of his hand and small swaths of chin and forehead visible to me. Though he spoke quietly, I listened in. Call me nosy, but what else did I have to do at the moment? With him on his phone, I couldn’t even turn on the radio.

  It seemed to be a very one-sided conversation, Michael S offering only the occasional mm-hm, yeah, okay, all right, or that’ll work. To entertain myself, I mentally filled in what the other party might be saying, my imagination identifying the person on the other end of the phone as myself.

  Me: “Hey, dude. You’re wearing Superman underwear, aren’t you?”

  Rider: “Mm-hm.”

  Me: “I bet you suck in your stomach and flex your muscles in front of the mirror, too.”

  Rider: “Yeah.”

  Me: “Will you give me a big tip when this ride is over?”

  Rider: “All right.”

  Fighting a smile, I eyed him in the rearview mirror. Hmm. The more I looked at what little I could see of him, the more something about him seemed oddly familiar. Maybe we’d had a class together back in college. Some of the lower-level business courses had hundreds of students. He could have been among the throng and my mind might have subconsciously filed away the memory. Or maybe he worked somewhere I frequented. A coffee place or a sushi restaurant or one of the firing ranges where I practiced. Or maybe he just had one of those everyday faces that everyone kept mistaking for someone else. If he hadn’t been on the phone, I would’ve asked him whether I looked familiar, too. If he’d answered in the affirmative, I’d have tried to figure out the connection. But as it was, with him fully engaged in a phone conversation, all I could do was speculate.

  Oddly, I couldn’t hear the other half of the conversation. While I wouldn’t necessarily expect to make out every word, it seemed I’d hear something, an especially loud word here or there, an unintelligible stream of sound, maybe a laugh or cough. But when he paused after speaking, there was no audible response. The person on the other end of the call must be speaking very softly, maybe even whispering. Given this fact, my imagination took me in another direction now.

  Other person: When we meet with the Russian spies, bring a duffel bag full of cash.

  Rider: Okay.

  Other person: Don’t forget to ask for their piroshki recipe.

  Rider: All right.

  As I exited onto the service road in Plano, a Dart rail train zipped up along the tracks behind the businesses. Though this line was identified as the Red Line, the train was nonetheless painted the DART system’s signature bright yellow, the colors sometimes causing confusion to those not familiar with the system. Flashes of yellow came between the restaurants and shops as I drove along, inadvertently racing the train. When we reached our destination, I pulled into the restaurant while the train continued on to the downtown Plano station a quarter mile north.

  The guy opened the back door of my car, swiveled his phone upward to mumble a quick thanks to me, and walked off, still with the phone at his ear. If nothing else, I had to give the guy credit for being a good listener. That wasn’t a trait too many men could claim. But though he seemed willing to lend an ear, that’s evidently where his generosity ended. One look at the rider service app told me he hadn’t tipped.

  Cheapskate.

  * * *

  On Wednesday evening, I had my final dress fitting at the Neiman Marcus flagship store downtown. It was the last time I’d try the dress on before my wedding day. Weeeee!

  I kept a close eye on my rearview mirror as we drove over, but saw no one tailing us. I found a parking spot on the street, only half a block from the store. It was my lucky day!

  Eddie was on backup duty for me again, so he had been forced to come along. He let me know he was none too happy about it, either.

  “It’s bad enough my wife and girls make me go shopping with them,” he griped as we entered the store. “Now I’ve got to go shopping with you, too.”

  “Suck it up, buttercup.”

  He scowled. “If you talk to me like that when I’m officially your boss, I’m going to write you up.”

  “No you won’t.”

  He grunted. He knew I was right, and I knew he knew it. We’d grown close during our investigations. Neither of us would do anything to hurt the other in any way.

  “Besides,” I continued, “this isn’t really shopping. I’m just going to try on my dress really quick and then we’ll go.”

  He grunted again. “There’s no such thing as ‘really quick’ when it comes to a wedding dress. It took three people half an hour to get Sandra out of hers after our wedding.”

  He had a point. Most wedding dresses were complicated contraptions, with lace-up backs and bustles and tiny buttons by the billions. Mine, however, was relatively simple.

  We made our way through the shoes and purses and passed through cosmetics, where small bottles of foundation and nail polish were lined up inside the glass shelves. On top of the counters were samples of blush and eye shadow in every shade imaginable for customers to try. Padded chrome stools with low back supports sat sideways nex
t to the counters, where makeup artists could work their magic while the customer could check out the progress in the lighted oval mirrors. A woman in her fifties sat on one of the stools, a saleswoman applying powdered blush to her cheeks.

  Eddie and I circled around the displays and climbed onto the escalator, which carried us up and above the first-floor cosmetics counter, the scent of competing brands of perfumes and lotions hanging in the air like an invisible, cloying cloud.

  Eddie waved his hand. “I hope this smell doesn’t stick to my clothes. If I go home smelling like some other woman’s perfume, Sandra might take a rolling pin to me.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll vouch for you.”

  Once we’d reached the top, I wound my way to the bridal salon, Eddie following in my wake.

  He stopped to check the tags on a couple of dresses. “Good God, these things cost a fortune!” Eddie had twin girls and some very expensive days ahead of him.

  “Better start saving now, buddy.”

  “Maybe I’ll get lucky and my girls will elope.” When we reached the fitting area, he flopped down in a chair positioned outside. “I’ll wait here.” He stretched his long legs out in front of him. If anyone came for me, they might find Eddie asleep in the chair. But with any luck, they’d trip over his feet.