by Diane Kelly
The party bus pulled to a stop on the grass and the occupants disembarked one by one, beginning with Lu and Carl. They came over and Lu enveloped Nick and me in a group hug.
She stepped back, but held on to our hands. “I couldn’t be happier for you two.”
“Thanks!” We couldn’t be happier, either.
Josh and Kira stepped up a moment later. While Josh wore a standard navy suit, Kira’s wedding attire consisted of a pale pink minidress with black fishnet hose and black army boots. She’d changed her usual silver nose ring for a sparkly one for the event. The two made an odd but solid match.
I greeted them with a smile. “So glad you two could make it to the wedding!”
Kira shook her head. “So glad you made it. It would’ve sucked if the wedding had turned into a funeral.”
Indeed.
Anthony Giacomo sauntered up, a red and white polka-dot pocket square peeking out of the pocket of his black suit. “That was quite a wedding,” he said as he air-kissed both of my cheeks. “I’ve never been to one that involved a kidnapping, attempted murder, and shotguns before.”
“I’m glad you were a witness to us driving up with Marissa and Darryl in the van,” I teased. “That means you can’t represent them.” Thank goodness. The guy could get just about anyone off the hook.
He chuckled. “Oh, honey. I’d never represent anyone who tried to kill my all-time favorite client. Now where can I get my hands on that watermelon martini you promised me?”
Nick gestured to the bar. “Right over there, buddy.”
He wagged his fingers. “See you later on the dance floor.”
Bernice and Merle walked up next. Bernice, always elegant, had worn a shimmery golden dress that showed off her well-preserved curves. Merle beamed, proud to be seen with the woman he’d pined over and finally landed after decades of being hopelessly in love with her. “Your wedding gave us an idea,” Merle said. “We’re going to host a murder-mystery dinner at the theater.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Glad my near-death experience could be of some use.”
Our other guests swept by in a current of congratulations and best wishes and handshakes and hugs. Madame Magnolia was the last in line. She put a hand on my shoulder, her many bangle bracelets jingling. “I warned you that your wedding day would be chaos.”
I dipped my head in acknowledgment. “That you did.”
She waved a hand as if waving away any bad juju that might still be clinging to me. “Do you want to know what I see for the rest of your life?”
I glanced at Nick. With him by my side, I knew the rest of my life would be happy, no matter what. I turned back to the fortune-teller. “I think I’d rather be surprised.”
She smiled and nodded knowingly. “As you wish.”
The dinner was delicious. Afterward, we cut the cake. Each layer was a different flavor. Vanilla. Lemon. Strawberry. Italian cream. Hazelnut. Nick shoved a bite of hazelnut into my mouth, while I shoved a bite of Italian cream into his. We cut into the groom’s cake next. It was chocolate both inside and out, and shaped like a football with a blue and silver Dallas Cowboys star in the middle.
Once everyone had a slice of cake and a glass of champagne, the toasts began, each more heartfelt than the next.
Eddie went first. Of course he seized the opportunity to razz me a bit. “I’ve been partners with both Nick and Tara on various cases over the years. Tara always seems to get her partners into trouble. Now she’s dragged Nick into this mess.” He shook his head in jest before grinning. “But it’s a fine mess. A long and happy life to you two!”
We all clinked glasses and sipped our champagne in accord.
Alicia took the mic. “Tara and I have been best friends since our college days, and we’ve been through a lot together. When she first met Nick, she went on and on about how handsome he was, how ripped, how smart. She even said he was nearly as good a shot as she is. That’s when I knew he was ‘the one.’” Champagne flute in hand, she made air quotes with her fingers before turning to me and Nick. “Now you two have become one, no longer eligible for single filing status. I wish you many happy years of joint tax filing.”
Clink! We took another sip of our champagne.
My father rounded things out, his arm around the shoulders of my mother, who stood beside him. “When Tara told her mother and me early last year that she was leaving the CPA firm to become a criminal investigator for the IRS, we had some reservations. We were worried about her safety, what kind of elements she’d be dealing with. Little did we know that she’d find her purpose in life at the agency, as well as a man so well suited for her. She followed her heart and it led to Nick. We couldn’t ask for a better husband for our daughter, and we’re proud to call Nick our son-in-law.” He raised his glass. “To the happy couple!”
There were more clinks and more sips.
A few minutes later, when the champagne flutes were empty and the cake had been reduced to crumbs, we moved en masse to the nearby barn. A local band that played regularly at a honky-tonk down the road had set up and were ready to go. It was the very band that had been playing the night Nick and I stopped at the roadside bar, the band that played the first song we’d ever danced to. And now they’d be playing the first song we danced to as husband and wife.
But first was the father-daughter dance. My father had chosen to have the band play “I Loved Her First” by Heartland. He led me out onto the floor while our guests gathered around the perimeter. We both got misty at the lyrics, which spoke of a father’s love for his daughter, how even though he’d hoped she’d find a good man, it was still hard to give her away.
“Well, hell,” Dad muttered, looking down at me as a tear ran down his cheek. “I’m crying right here in front of God and all these witnesses.”
One ran down my cheek, too, and we reached out with our thumbs to sweep the other’s away.
At the end of the song, Dad twirled me over to where Nick stood and gently handed me over. Nick grabbed my father in one of those manly half hugs. “Thank you, Harlan.”
Dad made a choking sound and squeaked out, “I need a beer.”
Everyone poured onto the dance floor, including Jesse and the ring bearer, their earlier playful spat forgotten. The band played some fun, raucous country songs intermingled with line dances, the Cotton Eyed Joe, the schottische, and the Chicken Dance. Nick requested they play their rendition of Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl (Shake It for Me),” dedicating it to his bride, me. During the breaks, we played recorded pop hits. Everyone kicked up their heels and had a hell of a time. Nick and I had the time of our lives. I felt like a princess, twirling in his arms, and I never wanted tonight the end.
As midnight approached, the single women gathered around to see which of them would be next down the aisle, as predicted by my bouquet.
“Ready?” I called back over my shoulder.
“Ready!” they called back.
I tossed the flowers up and back, turning just in time to see Jesse leap into the air as high as her little pink boots would allow. Her tiny hand grabbed the stems and she pulled the bouquet out of the air.
My thirty-three-year-old cousin put her hands on her hips. “Darn it! When’s it going to be my turn?”
Jesse, meanwhile, ran after the ring bearer, who’d taken off in fear that Jesse might force him into marriage right there on the spot.
Nick brought me a chair and I sat down so that he could ease the garter off my leg. He reached up under my dress. “Is that your holster I’m feeling?”
I’d forgotten I was still wearing the thing. “Yep.”
His fingers felt around some more and he located the garter, pulling it down to my ankle. He slipped my foot out of my heel to remove it, then put my shoe back on my foot.
“Okay, fellas,” he called as he stood. “Let’s see which one of you bites the dust next.”
He turned to face me while the single men gathered behind him. He tossed the garter over his shoulder. Josh
snatched it out of the air and held up the prize, a big smile on his face as he turned to Kira. Would the two of them be the next couple down the aisle?
Later, Nick and I found our mothers at their table with their feet up. It was no wonder they were exhausted. They’d poured their hearts and souls and sweat and tears into this event, and it had come off without a hitch. Well, no hitches other than Marissa Fischer and her husband kidnapping me with the intent to end my life. But all’s well that ends well. And once I’d returned to the church, the wedding and reception had been beautiful and wonderful and everything I’d always dreamed they would be.
I wrapped my arms around my mother while Nick did the same with Bonnie. “Thanks for everything, you two. You really outdid yourselves.”
Mom patted my shoulder. “Glad to do it, honey, though we could use a vacation about now.”
“She’s right,” Bonnie agreed with a mischievous grin. “How about we go down to Mexico with you on your honeymoon?”
Nick stood bolt upright. “¡Dios mio!”
The band played one final song, Willie Nelson’s “The Party’s Over.” Alicia, Christina, and various others who’d been recruited by my bridesmaids passed out confetti poppers to the guests and instructed them to line up outside. Once everyone was in place, Nick and I proceeded out of the tent and down the row, smiling and bidding good-bye to everyone who had helped make our wedding day so special. As we headed along, we were sent off by the pop-pop-pop of the strings being pulled on the poppers and a shower of confetti raining down on us.
Finally, we reached Nick’s truck. Hearts had been drawn on both the driver’s and passenger side windows, and the words JUST HITCHED! were scrawled across the back window in white shoe polish. Tied to the back bumper were a dozen empty Lone Star beer cans. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say my two brothers had volunteered for the job of emptying those cans.
Nick opened my door and held out a hand to help me in. “Your chariot, Mrs. Pratt.”
Once I was in, he closed my door and circled around to the driver’s side, sliding into his seat. He started the truck and rolled down the windows. He beeped the horn and we waved out the windows while our guests hollered good-byes and final good wishes after us.
We spent the night at a romantic, secluded cabin just outside of town. Nick scooped me up and carried me over the threshold, not wasting a second before taking me to the bedroom to consummate our marriage.
The following morning we returned to my parents’ house, where we opened our gifts. Many were things from our registry. Place settings. Silverware. Stem glasses. But a few of the gifts were more unusual.
Miss Cecily had given us the latest edition of the Emily Post primer on etiquette. Miss Cecily refused to give up on me, even though I repeatedly broke every rule of decorum she’d taught me in her charm school.
Big Bob had given us a gift certificate to the Bait Bucket. Nick threw a fist in the air. “Woo-hoo!” I would’ve preferred a picture frame or candlesticks, but the gift certificate was preferable to the bucket of worms I’d half expected my former boss to show up with.
Christina and Ajay had given us a fancy poker set, complete with chips and a green felt table cover. It was the perfect gift from the two of them. Christina and I had played Texas hold ’em with Ajay and the drug-dealing ice-cream man we’d been after on our first case together. I felt a tug at my heart. They remembered. Their card wished us well, the handwritten note appointing me and Nick as the official hosts of a monthly couples poker game.
Alicia and Daniel’s gift was an elegant Waterford crystal clock that was sure to become a family heirloom. I made a mental note to put it someplace where Henry couldn’t knock it down.
The gift from Bonnie and my mother brought tears to my eyes. They’d taken old clothes from my childhood and Nick’s, cut pieces from them, and patched them together to make a quilt that represented the joining of our lives.
I ran my hand over a square. “This was my volleyball uniform in high school.”
Nick pointed to another. “My peewee football jersey.” And another. “High school football jersey.”
We identified the other squares. The dress I’d worn to my graduation from Miss Cecily’s charm school, complete with the grass stain from my wrangling with one of the barn dogs when we returned home afterward. A square from the curtains that hung in my bedroom back home. Pieces from our high school and college graduation gowns. A piece from the necktie Nick had worn on his first day of work after college. In the center was a small circle, a piece that had been trimmed from my wedding gown.
My throat was tight with emotion. “Mom must’ve made arrangements to get this from the seamstress at Neiman’s.”
Nick misted up a little, too, though he’d never admit it. He coughed to clear the lump in his throat and merely said, “Cool.” But I knew better. He was as touched by this special gift as I was.
That afternoon we drove back to Dallas, where we said quick good-byes to the cats and Daffodil, reminded them to behave for Bonnie, who’d be babysitting them while we were gone, and grabbed our packed suitcases to head for the airport.
As we waited for our flight, I received a call from the marshals who’d arrested Marissa and Darryl yesterday. “An SUV had been left overnight in the parking lot of a women’s boutique located only half a block away from the floral shop. The boutique’s owner thought it was odd and phoned the local police. They discovered the license plates had been swapped out. They were able to identify the car by the VIN number. It belonged to a car rental agency in Dallas and had been rented by Darryl on Tuesday morning.”
This information confirmed the story the delivery guy had told me.
“The church secretary identified Marissa and Darryl as the couple who’d toured the church on Wednesday. They’d scoped the place out under the guise of wanting to hold their wedding there. They both talked after they were arrested. Each tried to lay all of the blame on the other. Marissa claims the idea of commandeering the florist van and using it as a ruse to kidnap you was all Darryl’s idea. He’s saying the idea was hers. Either way, they’re both guilty of kidnapping and conspiracy to murder a federal agent.”
In other words, Darryl would soon be joining Marissa’s ex-husband in prison while Marissa took a nice vacation at the women’s correctional facility.
The marshal went on. “Beyond that, it looked like they were making things up as they went along. They were prepared to kill you any way they could. There were all kinds of things in the car. Binoculars. Rope. Rat poison. A pickaxe and a sledgehammer.”
The two had evaded capture all this time through an odd mix of dumb luck and creative genius. Still, none of this told me their motive. “My investigation into Noah Fischer ended Marissa’s marriage to the pastor, but she went right on to find another rich husband. By all accounts the two have been living high on the hog. Why come after me?”
“Because she had a good thing going until you came along. That ‘other rich husband’? He filed for bankruptcy last month.”
“Really?”
“Really. Marissa spent every cent he had and then some. He couldn’t seem to tell her no. He had to borrow money from his family to hire a defense attorney.”
“Sheesh.” She had some nerve blaming me for her and her husbands’ bad decisions. But I supposed it beat blaming herself. The profiler from Dallas PD had been right. My pending nuptials must have set Marissa off. Her marriages had been rocky, her life troubled, and the thought of me enjoying a happily-ever-after was too much for her. As far as her new husband was concerned, while he might not have been able to tell her no when it came to luxuries, he should have drawn the line at committing murder for her. That took devotion to a whole new level.
“With all this evidence,” the marshal added, “those two won’t be getting out of jail any time soon. You and Nick enjoy your honeymoon.”
“We will. Thanks.”
Soon my husband—my husband!—and I were in the skies over the Gulf of Mexico
, plastic cups of wine in our hands as we soared toward Cancún.
Our honeymoon was both fun and romantic. We spent most of our time on the beautiful beaches, where we romped in the waves, snorkeled, and took a boat tour. We visited both Coba and Tulum, archaeological sites featuring ancient Mayan ruins. We ate muy deliciosa Mexican food and drank our body weight in margaritas. Nick showed me where he’d lived when he’d been in forced exile. It was a nice building in a gorgeous place, but knowing he was under constant surveillance by Marcos Mendoza’s henchman—or henchhombres—Nick had essentially been imprisoned in paradise.
He looked wistfully up at the windows of his place. “I never knew when I woke in the mornings whether that day might be my last.”
I encircled his waist with my arm. “I know the feeling.”
He looked down at me. “We’re crazy to do what we do, aren’t we?”
There was no denying it. “Little bit. Yeah.”
On our third night there, a hostess led us to a nice table on a patio overlooking the water. A moment later, a gorgeous Mexican woman with shiny black hair and doelike eyes approached our table with the menus. She handed one to me.
“Thanks,” I said as I took it from her.
When she turned to hand one to Nick, she gasped in surprise. “Nicolás?”
He looked up and smiled. “Hola, Violeta.” He stood and gave her a hug before gesturing to me. “Esta es mi esposa, Tara.”
The woman smiled at me and said something rápido in Spanish, extending her hand.
I gave it a friendly shake. “Nice to meet you, Violeta.”
When she left the table, I cut Nick a look over my menu. “Just when you had me feeling sorry for you, stuck down here in Mexico all alone.”
He fought a grin. “Maybe it wasn’t all bad.”
“What did you tell her about me?”
“That you’re my wife. Mi esposa.”
“Hmm. Well, you’re not esposa hug women you used to date right in front of me.”
Nick shrugged. “It’s a friendly culture. It would have been rude not to.”
