Swinging on a Star (12 page)
I called everyone to order. “Folks, we’re going to start out front, walking through the ceremony from start to finish. Follow me, and I’ll talk you through the processional part.”
We went to the front of the wedding facility, where I spent some time telling everyone how the carriages would arrive and what would happen once they did. That done, we went around the side of the building to the front of the castle.
As we stood there facing it, I noticed tears in Marian’s eyes. “You okay, hon?” I whispered.
“Mm-hmm.” She turned to me, brushing away a tear. “Bella, I can’t believe this is happening, especially after all we just went through. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I don’t control the weather!” I laughed, then pointed upward. “So I can’t take credit for the storm passing.”
Marian smiled. “I know. I didn’t mean that. I’m just so excited! I’ve dreamed of this day since I was a little girl. And you’ve done it. You’ve given me what I asked for . . . and more!”
I had a few tears as well. Marian and I had come a long way together. She’d put her trust in me, and I’d done my best to give her the moon. The very thought of how much we’d accomplished together made me misty.
But no time for that—we still had a rehearsal to pull off!
I stepped inside the castle, marveling at how authentic it looked. Apparently the bridal party found it pretty impressive too. I’d have to send Larry a thank-you note. Or name my firstborn child after him. He’d pulled a rabbit out of a hat, no doubt about it.
As the others gawked over the facility, I found myself distracted by some familiar voices.
“Yoo-hoo!”
I turned to find the trio of sisters standing behind me with grins on their faces.
“Ladies! You made it. How did the search for dresses go?”
“Oh, Bella!” Jolene took my hand with a grin. “I’m going to look like a princess!” Her smile faded a wee bit as she added, “Well, a plus-sized princess, but a princess nonetheless.”
“Your mama is a miracle worker,” Twila said with a wave of her hand. “She found the perfect dresses for all of us. And she was right! They carried our size!”
“Just a few minor alterations,” Bonnie Sue added, “and we’ll be ready for tomorrow night.”
“Oh, and that vocal coach!” Twila giggled. “He gave us some awesome pointers.” Her cheeks flushed. “And he said some very flattering things. In fact . . .” She leaned in to whisper. “He asked us to audition for the Gershwin review they’re doing in February. Can you believe it?”
“Actually, I can.” Reaching over to embrace Twila, I realized just how many talents she and the other ladies possessed. My initial reaction to both their size and the way they dressed had almost prevented me from seeing them as the shining stars they really were. But no more! The Splendora trio would shine on the stage tomorrow night, and I would shout their praises from the rooftop.
“We’re here not just to sing, honey,” Twila said, tucking her arm through mine. “We’re here to support you—in prayer, and by doing whatever else you need.”
“Really?” I looked at her, relief sweeping over me. “That’s so awesome.”
“Well, what is the body of Christ for, anyway?” She gave me a tender kiss on the cheek. “Now, let’s get this show on the road, girlie!”
I turned to look at the castle filled with people ready to celebrate. Yep. We’d better get this show on the road.
The evening flew by at warp speed, and—short of me worrying about paparazzi appearing at every turn—everything came off without a hitch. Strange in light of the chaos in the days prior. And the funniest thing—I never once thought about the Food Network trucks. Were they still in front of my house? Had they destroyed the ambience of the evening for anyone in attendance? If so, no one had complained. No, they were too busy congratulating the bride- and groom-to-be and celebrating the upcoming nuptials. Why had I even worried?
As we left the castle, ready to load everyone up into limos to head to Moody Gardens for the rehearsal dinner, I glanced at my house. Through the open curtains in the dining room windows, I could see a mob of people gathered around the table. Likely Rosa and Laz were still entertaining their guests with cameras rolling. I could almost envision it now. Rosa was probably having the time of her life. And Laz had probably been offered an exclusive. Maybe even his own show.
Lunch
at Lazarro’s
. Something like that. I got carried away thinking about the possibilities. In fact, I could barely wait to sneak inside for a couple of minutes before leaving for the rehearsal dinner. And I needed to get in one last kiss with D.J. before heading out to face the rest of my evening.
I glanced at the road, noticing the Food Network trucks had been moved. A couple of cars sat in their place. Unfamiliar cars. Still, nothing glaring. Likely Mama had asked the crew members to pull their trucks around the corner to the side street so as not to interfere with my plans. God bless her. All of that worrying for nothing.
I thought about that for a moment. I had spent a lot of time worrying over the past few weeks, hadn’t I? And for what? A strange calm settled over me, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Another couple hours and the rehearsal dinner would be behind us. Then I could focus on one thing—the bride’s big day.
The first limo arrived, and Marian climbed in with her ladies-in-waiting. I could see the second limo arriving from off in the distance and knew the guys would soon load up and head out. Funny. I hadn’t thought about Brock all evening, but in that moment I wondered how he was feeling about all of this. His best friend was about to get married, after all. And his stay on Galveston Island would soon come to an end.
I didn’t have much time to ponder the question of how he was feeling. At that moment, the bride’s father pulled me aside and handed me an envelope.
“Just a little tip,” he whispered in my ear. “I know it took a miracle to pull this one off, Bella, and I want to thank you for making my little girl’s day possible. This really has been a dream come true . . . for all of us.” He gave me a big teddybear sort of hug, which brought tears to my eyes. Oh, what a wonderful confirmation. All of my work had been worth it. His wife—a beautiful woman with sparkling green eyes— grabbed me and whispered a thousand thank-yous in my ear. I couldn’t recall ever feeling better about things.
They headed off to their car, a fabulous black Porsche, and I called out, “See you at the restaurant.” Just one thing left to do—head inside and let my family know I was leaving for a couple of hours. Then on to the restaurant I would go to spend a much-needed and much-deserved evening relaxing.
As I crossed the lawn, I watched a fellow get out of a white Crown Victoria and head my way. He nodded in a somewhat cavalier sort of way, and my skin began to crawl. Another reporter. Hadn’t they caused enough trouble already? How in the world did Brock live like this? These guys were such a nuisance!
The limo that held the groom and groomsmen started to pull away from the curb. I waved, which seemed to draw the attention of the man approaching me with a notebook in his hand. Great. Just what I needed.
Just act like you don’t see him, Bella
.
I kept walking, though my nerves suddenly got the better of me. I noticed the limo pausing. Thank goodness. Likely Brock saw what was happening. But what could he do about it from inside?
The man with the notepad drew close and nodded. My heart leaped into my throat. How could I handle him on my own? It would be foolish to try. He was a professional, after all. And I was never very good at these sorts of things.
“Looks like you’ve got a lot of action going on around here tonight.” The man nodded in the direction of the wedding facility, then pointed to my house. “You live here, right?”
“Mm-hmm.” That was all he was getting from me.
Keep walking, Bella. Keep walking
.
“I saw the Food Network trucks. What’s going on? Some sort of TV shoot?”
“No comment.” I continued walking across the lawn, but I was very aware of the fact that one of the windows in the limo was inching its way down.
“I just wanted to ask you a few questions so I can do a better job of serving you.”
“Serving me?” Oh, that was priceless.
“I’m an undercover officer.” The fellow gave a brusque nod. “We’ve been keeping an eye on your place ever since we heard Brock Benson was staying here. We started by circling the block and just observing, but when we saw the Food Network trucks, we doubled our efforts.”
“Brock Benson?” I tried to play innocent. He wasn’t getting any information out of me. Not this time. I’d messed up plenty of things in the past, but not today.
“Sure. Of course.” The guy looked a little perturbed at my response. “We’ve known he was staying here since yesterday when the Coast Guard informed us. To protect him, of course.”
“Right. The Coast Guard called you to protect him. Great story.” He might be able to fool a less savvy person, but I wasn’t buying his twisted tale. Like the others from earlier in the day, this guy was with the media, no doubt about it. He’d sniffed out a story. Well, I wasn’t having any of it. “You’re really funny.” I laughed. “But I’m not in the mood for humor right now. So if you don’t mind, I think you need to get out of my yard.” I turned away.
“Excuse me?”
“Look, I know who you are. You’re a reporter. Paparazzi.” I shook my finger in his face. “You think you’re so smart, pulling a fast one over on me. Well, listen to this and listen good. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean you can take advantage of me.” My courage rose with each word. Maybe I had more chutzpah than I knew. It was starting to feel good.
Mighty good.
The reporter shook his head. “Ma’am, you’ve got the wrong idea. As I said, I’m an undercover officer. That’s my car over there.” He pointed at the Crown Victoria, then flashed a badge.
I shrugged. “Where did you get that? At the costume shop? Look . . . what’s your name again?”
“Warren James.”
“Warren. You look like a great guy. And I know you’ve probably got a family to support, so you could really use the story. Whatever news rag you’re working for will probably pay you a pretty penny if I cooperate with you. I know that. They might even pay me a little something for my time. But I’m not playing your game. You’re not getting any information out of me.”
“Information?”
“Yes, information. And furthermore, if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to call the police and report you for impersonating an officer. That’s a felony, you know.”
“Well, yes, but ma’am, I—”
I got right up in his face, the frustrations of the day giving me more courage than usual. “I have a lot on my plate right now, and I don’t want to have to deal with this. You understand? Now get off my property right now.” I jammed my index finger against his chest, giving him a little shove.
What happened next will be forever seared in my memory. I saw the silver glint of handcuffs as he whipped them out from under his coat. Heard the click as he opened them. Felt the sting of pain as he grabbed my wrists. Everything after that began to move in slow motion. Why was this crazy reporter going to such lengths for a story? And how could I stop him?
Just then, Brock’s voice rang out. “Unhand her, you infidel, or I’ll take your head off!”
Interesting. Sounded a lot like a line from one of his movies. Or was I just imagining that?
The reporter turned, a stunned look on his face. He reached to his side to grab something.
Brock continued, his voice ringing out. “What are you staring at? Are you just going to stand there or get out of here like I told you to?” He took a few aggressive steps toward the guy. I watched in what seemed like slow motion as Brock doubled up his fist, pulled it back, and let it fly. He caught the guy squarely in the jaw. The first time. The second punch was a belly whop. I could see the look of pain on Brock’s face as he withdrew his hand from the fellow’s midsection.
The reporter shouted a few obscenities, then reached to his side and came up with . . . what was that? A toy gun?
Nope. At second glance, I realized it was anything but.
Next thing I knew, the man was shoving me into the back of what really turned out to be an unmarked patrol car. I could see Dakota Burton taking pictures up on the roof across the street. Great. He’d probably sell them to the
National
Enquirer
before midnight.
My mother came running from the house with a trail of people behind her. Rosa approached with a ladle in hand and raced in Brock’s direction, hollering in Italian about saving him from the evil that surrounded him. Then D.J. came flying across the yard, headed right for the officer. I knew my hunky cowboy could take him down in a minute but prayed he wouldn’t attempt it.
The officer looked his way and shouted, “Stand back, or I’ll have to call for backup.”
That stopped D.J. in his tracks. By now the veranda was filled with people, including the cameraman from the Food Network. I could see the camera hoisted on his shoulder but didn’t have time to process it just yet. No, my mind was on other things.
The officer clucked his tongue at me. “It didn’t have to go down this way, ma’am. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the crowd inside your house. I was assigned to watch over your family today, that’s all. And Mr. Benson. But now . . .” He turned back to Brock, who stood on the lawn frozen like a statue. A handsome statue, but a statue nonetheless.
At this point, the wail of a siren pierced the air. A Galveston County sheriff’s car pulled into our family’s driveway. Before I could say “paparazzi,” the police swarmed Brock. In that instant, I decided it would probably be easier just to faint. The wooziness swept over me in nauseating waves.
Then everything went black.
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Funny how the sun looked so much brighter when you saw it for the first time on the outside of a jail cell. It almost overpowered me with its goodness. Its radiance. Its warmth. Made me want to sing, to dance, to clap my hands for joy. Instead, I knelt down and kissed the sidewalk.