Addicted to Love (18 page)

“Ha!” came Rex’s voice-over.

“Love stinks!” shouted the J. Geils Band.

A camera shot showed the packed church. On the front pew Rachael’s mother sat beside her father, both looking grim-faced, just moments before Rachael’s entire world fell in. She should have seen the signs that her parents’ marriage was on rocky ground. Why hadn’t she seen the signs?

“Rose-colored glasses hide a lot of flaws,” Rex’s voice-over said.

The camera swung back to Rachael coming up the aisle, her gaze fixed on Trace’s face. A rose-colored lens covered everything with a soft, dreamy filter. The shot dissolved with clueless Rachael stepping up to the altar.

“And then she was betrayed by the thing she held most dear,” Rex’s taped voice continued.

“Love stinks.”

The sound of a beating heart galloping faster and faster as she watched the painful scene again of Bob Boscoe jumping up to announce the deal with the Chicago Bears.

Trace had known all along Boscoe was working on the deal. He had to have known. She’d been his backup plan if the Chicago Bears hadn’t picked up his contract. It was only then that it occurred to Rachael that Trace might have been marrying her for her daddy’s money.

She didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her before. Maybe because money didn’t matter much to her. She’d been born and raised with it and she supposed she took it for granted. What she valued was love and romance.

“Dodged a bullet,” Rex said and turned down the volume on the video.

“Huh?” Rachael blinked.

“You’ve got that ‘woe-is-me’ look in your eyes,” he said. “Just imagine if the Chicago Bears hadn’t done you a huge favor and lured Trace away. How long would it have been before you realized what a huge mistake you’d made?”

“Twenty-seven years?” She posed the question thinking of her parents’ marriage.

The J. Geils Band kept right on singing.

On-screen, Trace was breaking her heart all over again, and then literally turning into a jackass compliments of Rex’s moviemaker program. He’d also spliced in a clip of Trace’s
Entertainment Tonight
interview, proving most everything he’d told the reporter about Rachael was a bald-faced lie.

Then came the pitch for Romanceaholics Anonymous.

“Single, lonely, looking for love in all the wrong places?” Rex asked on the audio. “Has an addiction to romance caused your life to spiral out of control? Don’t make the same mistakes Rachael did. Keep your heart safe. Stop spending your life on a roller coaster of expectation looking for Mr. or Ms. Right. Stay sane. Get help now. Join Romanceaholics Anonymous. For more information, call . . . ” And then Rachael’s cell phone number flashed across the screen.

Rex pushed back in his chair and slid her a look. “What do you think? You ready to upload it to YouTube?”

He was right. It was the perfect revenge.

“Upload it,” she said.

“There’s no going back.”

“I know. That’s the point. I need to seal the deal, because even after all he’s put me through, if Trace were to call up, apologize, and beg me to take him back, I can’t promise that I wouldn’t.”

“Stay strong,” Rex said. He did his magic with the keyboard and the next thing Rachael knew, it was too late to turn back. There her video was on the YouTube queue.
Trace Hoolihan Ditches Bride at the Altar.

“Wanna watch it again?”

“Sure.”

Rex clicked the button straight from YouTube.

As the video clip played out, and Rachael realized that hundreds, possibly thousands of people would see this and know the truth, something strange happened to her. She didn’t feel scared or nervous or as if she wanted to take it all back. Gone were any doubts or uncertainties she might have had about her inner motives.

She felt empowered. She felt as if she was finally taking charge of her life. She felt as if she owned the world.

Chapter Nine

J
uly melted into the dog days of August. With the increased heat came an increase in crime. The fistfights at Leroy’s grew more frequent. Brody’s dinner was interrupted twice to mediate domestic disputes at the Love Line trailer court. And three times, Enid and Astrid Pope had called him over to their house the next block over because someone kept peeling the red glitter hearts off their white picket fence.

Brody had to consider whether it was the same culprit who’d vandalized the parking meters, but then he found Maisy playing with the glitter hearts in question and he made her take them back to the elderly ladies and apologize.

The rise in crime was a yearly pattern, but even so, the normally quiet town had seemed edgier and more restless since Rachael had come home to Valentine and started Romanceaholics Anonymous. From the patrons at Higgy’s Diner to the customers at Audie’s Hardware to the old men who played checkers in Bristo Park, the town was buzzing with both gossip and opinions.

Kelvin’s “decision” to remove the parking meters around the courthouse went over big with his constituents, just as Brody had predicted. Brody had analyzed the tool markings and he’d been correct: A pipe cutter the same diameter as the one stolen from Audie’s Hardware had been used to behead the meters, but he wasn’t any closer to discovering who’d done the deed than he had been the day it happened. He was hoping the vandal was satisfied with beheading the parking meters and he or she was done with their crime spree.

Brody was sitting in his office ordering supplies when Jamie called to him from the dispatch desk.

“Sheriff, come here. You gotta see this.”

He got up and sauntered into the next room to find Jamie’s eyes glued to the computer screen, listening to the sound of the J. Geils Band singing “Love Stinks.”

“What are you looking at?”

Jamie crooked a finger at him. “YouTube.”

Curious, he moved behind the dispatcher to see what had so captivated her attention. What he saw simultaneously stirred his sympathy, amused him, and concerned him. There was Rachael getting dumped on her wedding day,

Damn it, Rachael, what are you thinking?

Here she was stirring up trouble again. While he couldn’t blame her for wanting to get even with the jerk who’d dumped her at the altar, she didn’t seem to realize the problems she was making for herself.
Put the woman in a cage with a sleeping lion and she’d poke it with a stick.

“I love it,” Jamie said. “Down with romance. I think I’m going to attend the next meeting of Romanceaholics Anonymous and show her my support.”

Brody groaned. Things were getting way out of hand. He had to go talk to her, ask her to take the video off YouTube before lookie-loos and reporters started showing up in Valentine.

He was halfway to the front door when the call came through.

“Sheriff’s office,” Jamie answered over the speaker phone. “How may I direct your call?”

“It’s Selina Henderson. Tell Sheriff Carlton someone’s vandalized my daughter’s car right in our driveway.”

Brody’s eyes met Jamie’s. “Tell her I’m on my way.”

Five minutes later, he pulled onto Market Street and caught sight of Rachael’s jaunty pink VW Bug, now savagely graffitied with militant slogans in angry black paint. valentine — love it or leave it. romance isn’t the problem, you are. But the one that chilled his blood was get out of town, bitch, or suffer the consequences.

Rachael stood there, arms wrapped around her chest, cradling herself. She looked so damned vulnerable. A feeling he’d never felt before and couldn’t identify pressed down on him. A strange sensation tingled his upper lip and a sudden heaviness pulled at the back of his spine.

He got out of the car, his hand riding near the gun at his hip. He realized with a start he’d willingly shoot anyone who tried to hurt her.

She took one look at him and relief flooded her face. “Brody,” she said simply, and the sound of his name on her tongue unraveled something inside him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. He was here on official business. His inappropriate impulses had no place in this conversation.

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

He fisted his hands to keep from touching her. God, how he wanted to touch her.

“Do you have any idea when this could have happened?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I came outside to get the newspaper and saw it. I suppose I should have expected something like this. A lot of people don’t want to see Valentine change. The nail that sticks up is the one that gets hit.”

Selina came over to wrap her arm around Rachael’s shoulders. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You have as many supporters as you do detractors. We’re not going to let some small-minded individual terrorize us. Brody will find out who did this.”

In order to hold his emotions in check, Brody kept his expression neutral and his mind on the job. He stepped closer to examine the VW Bug. He could have the paint analyzed to see if it matched the paint stolen from Audie’s Hardware. But it would take time and funds to confirm what he suspected. That the person or persons who had stolen the paint and the pipe cutter had cut the heads off the parking meters and graffitied Rachael’s car.

Except his theory didn’t parse. The person who’d beheaded the parking meters appeared to be sending an anti-romance message. Whoever had graffitied Rachael’s car seemed pro-romance.

Unless . . .

The intention wasn’t to take a stand on either side of the issue, but rather to pit the townsfolk against one another.

But who? And why?

It was something to consider. He had more investigating to do. And that included interviewing Kelvin again.

Brody turned, not realizing Rachael had come to stand directly behind him, and his arm collided with her shoulder. The protective instinct rushed over him again.

“Sorry,” she mumbled and stepped back.

“Hold still.”

“What for?”

“I said hold still,” he said more gruffly than he intended. He was still upset over the crude messages on her car. “You’ve got black paint on your cheek.”

She seemed so tiny next to his bulk and he could feel heat emanating off her compact body. She stood stock- still, staring at the buttons of his uniform as if she were afraid to meet his gaze. He reached over with a thumb and tried to smear the paint away but it wouldn’t budge. Just as he suspected. Oil-based.

Then he had an arresting thought. Rachael had bought black oil-based paint to use on the billboard. How did he know she hadn’t vandalized her own car to stir up sympathy?

He hated that his cop’s mind even went there. Hated to think she would do such a thing and the minute the thought was in his head he knew it couldn’t be true. She was trembling, for Pete’s sake. She was truly scared.

“Are they . . . do you think they’ll . . . ” She swallowed. “Could this turn violent?”

“Don’t worry,” he promised, knowing he was starting down a slippery slope but sliding headfirst anyway. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

B
Y THE FOURTH
meeting of Rachael’s Romanceaholics Anonymous group, Selina was surprised to find attendance had quadrupled. And even more surprised to find many had driven in from neighboring counties. Word had gotten out.

The pleased expression on her daughter’s face did Selina a world of good. She’d been down in the dumps ever since she’d wrecked the Caddy.

And she was tired of being idealistic. She needed an intervention herself.

Selina was here to support Rachael’s cause, but deep inside she feared she would never stop loving Michael, no matter how hard she tried.

And he’d been making her life miserable by sending flowers and chocolates over every day, along with cute little cards declaring his abiding love for her. The delivery boy seemed to enjoy it when she thrust the roses and Godiva truffles at him and said, “Give them to your girlfriend.”

Then she would methodically shred the cards, gritting her teeth against the tears. She stuck the pieces in an envelope and mailed them back to him.

He wrote her more love letters, begging her forgiveness.

She sent him the bill for the Caddy’s repair.

He paid it.

She ran up his charge card, buying hip, stylish clothes for her slender new figure. She’d dropped twelve pounds since she’d left him. Misery had some small benefits.

Without a whimper, he’d paid that, too.

Who was she kidding? Selina wasn’t just there for Rachael. She was here for moral support. She needed help to keep from forgiving Michael, packing her bags, and moving back home.

Because she missed him something terrible. Twenty-seven years she’d lain next to him, bore his children, cooked his meals, been his constant companion.

And all this time, he’d carried a torch for Vivian Cole.

Pain and resentment crowded out nostalgia and longing. She deserved better than finishing second place in her husband’s heart. Knotting her hands into fists, Selina determinedly held on tightly to her resolve.

People kept piling into the room, looking for places to sit. Her face flushed with pride, Rachael had the librarian bring in more chairs. The sound of metal folding chairs being dragged across the linoleum floor mingled with the buzz of voices as they made room for the newcomers. The air smelled of books and strong coffee.

Audie Gaston winked at Selina. “You can scoot over next to me.”

She knew Audie was halfway sweet on her. He gave her a ten percent discount at his hardware store. His wife had died years earlier and he’d grieved for a long time. He wasn’t a particularly good-looking man, but neither was he ugly. He was tall, thin, balding, and wore owlish Harry Potter glasses. But he had a nice smile.

And a nice butt.

Selina smiled back and scooted her chair closer to him.

Take that, Michael.

Rachael was at the podium. She looked so brave, standing up there in her simple floral-print sleeveless cotton blouse, wheat-colored Capri slacks, and beaded summer sandals. Her daughter hadn’t worn a hint of her signature pink since she’d come back home. Pink, she’d told Selina, was for romantic fools and little girls and she was no longer either one. While Selina was proud of her for facing her character flaw and putting a plan into action for overcoming it, she couldn’t help feeling a little sad that she was giving up on romance entirely. Selina couldn’t help wishing something would develop between her eldest daughter and Sheriff Brody. Hypocritical, maybe, but ultimately all she wanted was for Rachael to be happy.