Tying the Knot (3 page)

Harper's eyes opened wide, remembering. “You mean the time we lost Miss Sissy? We gave up and kept calling for her to come out. But she wouldn't! She was determined to keep playing the game until we found her. We were starting to wonder if we should call the police and file a missing-person report.”

“That's what we
thought
,” said Wyatt. “But remember? She'd fallen asleep in her hiding place. She was curled up in a ball, snoring away, when we finally found her on the floor of her linen closet, under a comforter.”

Beatrice laughed and was about to comment on Miss Sissy's hide-and-seek expertise when she noticed that Daniel had grown tense and was staring at something across the restaurant.

“What's wrong, Dan?” asked Harper, noticing. Then she stiffened, too. “Oh no,” she muttered.

At the far end of the room, a man was stumbling
toward a table partially hidden by a column. He seemed as if he had once been a good-looking man, but his looks were starting to go to waste. His face was bloated and ruddy, and he looked a bit soft around the middle. Beatrice frowned. Although she could swear she didn't know the man, there was something familiar about him.

The biggest problem was that he was talking very loudly to his dinner companion, a shaggy-haired, middle-aged man with deep-set, concerned eyes. In fact, he appeared to be threatening him.

Beatrice gazed thoughtfully at the man, who was clearly intoxicated. In an instant, she realized he was the same man who'd argued with Lyla at the quilt shop: Daniel's best man, Trevor.

Trevor's belligerent voice now attracted the attention of the restaurant's manager, who hovered nervously nearby. “I know all about it!” said Trevor, staggering a bit as he clutched the back of his chair in an attempt to stand still.

His chair crashed to the floor, and Harper gave an embarrassed groan. Daniel's face turned nearly as ruddy as Trevor's.

“I know all about it, Patrick. And I'm going to tell everybody. You always thought you were so much smarter than me—made all the great grades in med school. I think everybody needs to know more about their favorite doctor.” Trevor's voice was slurred and angry.

The manager, gaze darting anxiously around at the other diners, moved quickly next to Trevor and murmured to him in a low voice the others couldn't hear. Trevor said, “What if I don't want to leave? What if I'm not done talking?”

Wyatt moved his chair back and said swiftly, “Daniel, let's talk with Trevor before this situation gets worse.”

Daniel, who'd been frozen in his chair, snapped to. “Of course,” he muttered, also pushing his chair back. The two men hurried across the restaurant. Wyatt spoke with the manager, while Daniel appeared to be quietly trying to persuade Trevor to let him drive him home.

Trevor's dinner companion decided to make his escape. He threw down some money, told the manager to keep the remainder, and rushed out, shooting worried glances at the other diners as he left.

Unfortunately, Daniel didn't appear to be making much headway with his approach. Trevor became even more combative. He shoved Daniel, but the shove turned into a bit of a stumble, with Trevor already so off-balance. Daniel quickly caught himself, but Trevor fell over the chair that he'd knocked to the floor.

The entire restaurant appeared captivated by the scene in front of them. Trevor lay on the floor, looking as if he might stay down there for a while to fully recuperate.

Wyatt squatted down next to Trevor and spoke gently to him. Although Beatrice couldn't hear what he said, the words seemed to be effective, and Trevor accepted the hand that Wyatt held out to him.

Since Trevor didn't seem inclined or able to pay his dinner bill, Daniel quickly paid it with his debit card, as Harper collected Trevor's reading glasses and windbreaker from the table and Beatrice helped Wyatt take Trevor outside.

Daniel caught up with them once they were out the door, which wasn't difficult, since they were moving slowly with Trevor weaving from side to side and occasionally stumbling. Daniel remotely unlocked his car. “I'll drive him home,” he said grimly. “Trevor and I have something to discuss.” He looked at Wyatt. “Do you mind giving Harper a lift home?”

“Of course not,” he said.

After Daniel and Trevor left, Beatrice, Harper, and Wyatt got into Wyatt's car. “Well,
that
was interesting,” said Harper. “I knew Trevor's behavior was getting worse, but I had no idea things had gotten quite this bad.”

“Who was that man he was with?” asked Beatrice.

“The guy he was threatening, you mean?” asked Harper dryly. “I've no idea. But he sure wasn't happy with him. It sounded, from their conversation, like maybe it was somebody he works with at the hospital.”

Wyatt said, “I'm sorry Trevor's behavior is getting to be such a worry for you. If there's anything I can do, I'd be happy to try to speak to him, if you think it would help.”

Harper gave a dark laugh. “I'm sure it would help, but I'm not sure he's in the right frame of mind to be looking for help. I'm hoping . . .” She bit her lip. “Well, I'm hoping that Daniel is telling Trevor that he's going to be using a different best man. I know that sounds really selfish of me. It's that it's a special day for us and
I'd hate for any . . . incidents—to happen. And it seems like Trevor's behavior is spiraling out of control.”

Beatrice asked, “Do you have any idea what might have happened to trigger this? It sounds like it's a pretty dramatic change from the way he used to act.”

Harper sighed. “I sure don't. I know he's been drinking heavily lately, and he's clearly someone who doesn't handle alcohol well. He's had other personal issues, too, I think.”

Beatrice hesitated. “And do you know what his relationship with Lyla Wales is?”

Harper said slowly, “No, that's a mystery to me. Lyla's mother and ours were great friends, and Lyla has always been a friend to me. But there are definitely parts of her life that she keeps private. I did wonder, though, when Trevor interrupted us at the Patchwork Cottage, if there was something going on between the two of them.”

From what Beatrice had heard, maybe whatever relationship there had been had ended. Lyla certainly didn't seem interested in talking with Trevor Garber.

*   *   *

The following weeks passed quickly, and the May morning of Harper and Daniel's wedding was bright and sunny. Beatrice was up early and was just feeding Noo-noo when there was a knock at her door. She peered out the side window and saw Meadow there, waving at her. Meadow had Boris with her, which meant that Beatrice needed to quickly put her kitchen on lockdown. Boris was big enough and hungry enough to take food right off Beatrice's counters.

She perked a large pot of coffee and got both Boris
and Noo-Noo some treats, in the hopes that Boris would settle down and not go on a kitchen expedition. Meadow poured them both coffee, and they sat in Beatrice's tiny living room on her overstuffed sofa. It had taken Beatrice a while to adjust to the cottage after her home in Atlanta, but this one room had helped her do it. She'd hung folk art on the walls, scattered colorful throw rugs over the hardwood, and proudly displayed the quilts in warm reds and bright yellows. Quilts she still couldn't believe she'd made with her own hands.

Meadow, sadly, had a talent for zooming in on the one thing that didn't feel completely perfect about the room. She squinted at the back wall. “You have a real houseplant cemetery going there, Beatrice. I mean, I know you usually do, but isn't there a new resident?”

Beatrice sighed. “The peace lily? It's not dead yet, although it seems to be giving up hope. I don't know what it is about houseplants. I never have this problem with any of the plants out in the yard. But as soon as something comes inside, it immediately gives up the ghost.”

“I'm going to have to invest in some mother-in-law's tongue for you. Or ivy. You wouldn't be able to kill that stuff with a stick,” muttered Meadow, still staring in wonder at the houseplant graveyard.

Beatrice laid down her coffee and walked over to the plants. She pointed to one of the pots that held a plant with tall and spiky upright green leaves. “This one
is
mother-in-law's tongue. I thought those plants were supposed to be indestructible.” She gave Meadow a reproachful look.

“Ah. That's right—we did have a very similar conversation to this one about six months ago,” mused Meadow. “Sorry it didn't work out.” She squinted across to the plant. “Although I'll admit I've never seen a dead one. You must have really worked hard to kill it.” She paused. “Perhaps some kudzu, then. I doubt you'd be able to kill that.”

Beatrice plopped back down on the sofa, picked up her coffee again, and took a long drink. She was ninety-eight percent sure that Meadow hadn't come here at the crack of dawn to discuss her gardening deficiencies. But it took her forever to get to the point, and she absolutely couldn't be rushed. Beatrice drew in a deep breath. This was going to be a great day—Harper's wedding day—and she wasn't going to start out with being irritated. She simply drank her coffee and waited, willing herself to be patient.

Meadow absently spewed some ideas for potential hardy, long-living, stubborn houseplants for Beatrice to try out, and Beatrice nodded along at her. Then Meadow abruptly broke off, took a deep breath as if suddenly remembering the point of why she'd dropped by, and said, “The wedding.”

Beatrice said encouragingly, “Yes. The wedding. Today.”

Meadow knit her brows. “You didn't tell me about the best man.”

“What about the best man?”

Meadow said indignantly, “That he's been replaced!”

Ah. Beatrice said slowly, “Actually, I didn't
know
he was being replaced. But I'm not very surprised.”

“So you
do
know about it.” Meadow clucked, giving Beatrice a reproachful look.

“All I really know is there was a scene in a restaurant a couple of weeks ago. Trevor was drinking too much—was incredibly intoxicated—and had some sort of altercation with the man he was eating supper with. The restaurant was on the verge of kicking him out when we managed to get Trevor outside and drive him home. Daniel did say that he wanted to discuss something with Trevor. He must have told him that he couldn't have him as best man any longer,” said Beatrice.

“So, Daniel found someone else to step in as best man,” said Meadow, “after Trevor got fired. I guess Trevor can't come to the wedding now?”

“Oh, I don't know about that. They're still friends, right? Trevor might be fine as a guest. He just doesn't need to be in the spotlight—that's all. And, besides, I think his wife, Eleanor Garber, is also friends with Daniel and Harper. It would be hard to
un-invite
them. I'm sure his wife will be keeping an eye on him.” Beatrice took a sip of her coffee.

“It sounds as if it could be a real mess,” said Meadow, unconvinced. “And I'm wondering what the deal between Trevor and Lyla is. Did you see them together at the Patchwork Cottage?”

“Whatever the deal is, it looked like Lyla didn't want anything to do with it,” said Beatrice. Changing course a little, she asked, “What time are you going to the church? Are you on the church setup team or the reception team?”

“Definitely the reception. I think the church is going
to be decked out as usual, with maybe a nice arrangement and some white bows on the ends of the aisles. But the reception . . . that's something else,” said Meadow.

They reflected on this a minute. Then Meadow stood up and walked to the kitchen to rinse out her coffee cup. “Better get to it,” she said briskly.

*   *   *

The Forces that Be did not appear to be working in Beatrice's favor that afternoon. After Meadow left, she did have a relaxing morning, which included taking Noo-noo on a walk. She'd had a healthy lunch with fresh tomatoes, black beans, and feta cheese on spinach leaves. And Beatrice gave herself plenty of time to get ready. This was a good thing, because she ripped the sleeve of the dress she was planning on wearing to the wedding. She quickly found a replacement in the closet, but realized it had some sort of mysterious stain on the hem. Finally, she found a midnight blue, lacy sheath dress with short sleeves and a scalloped hem. Beatrice carefully slipped it on, feeling as if whatever curse she was under might fell yet another garment. The third time was the charm, though.

The phone rang, and Beatrice—one heel on and one heel off—stumbled to answer it. Wyatt was on the phone. “Would you like me to pick you up? I know I'm going early, but . . .”

Wyatt sounded as if he might want the company. It
was
his little sister getting married, after all. Beatrice gave herself a look in the mirror next to the back door and grimaced. “Sure, Wyatt. Thanks. What time do you think you'll be coming by?”

“Actually . . . I'm in your driveway. I'm sorry. It didn't occur to me to offer you a ride until I came upon your house.”

“Be right there,” said Beatrice. She hurried to the bathroom, where she put half of her makeup on. At least she'd done her eyes. She crammed a powder and a couple of lipsticks in her dressy purse (which was a little too small for all the things she was stuffing into it), and quickly left.

Despite Beatrice's mad scramble before getting to Dappled Hills Presbyterian, everything for both the ceremony and the reception was lovely. The sun shone through the stained-glass windows, illuminating the sanctuary with light. “Double Wedding Ring”–pattern quilts made by Harper and Wyatt's mother hung on the double doors leading into the church. Miss Sissy was courteously escorted into the sanctuary by an usher with as much ceremony as if she were the mother of the bride. She had a fierce pride in her eyes, and Beatrice was relieved to see that she had dressed up for the occasion and had even managed to tame her wiry gray hair into a semblance of obedience. Wyatt choked up a bit during the vows, but cleared his throat and quickly recovered. His choking up made everyone else misty-eyed, too. Beatrice loved seeing these two people, who obviously cared about each other so much, joined together.

The reception, under large tents on the church grounds, was a treat both visually and gastronomically. Colorful quilt squares in bright colors hung like pennants around the white-tablecloth-covered tables full of
hors d'oeuvres. Lyla Wales oversaw the guest-book table, where guests signed a wedding quilt with their warm wishes inscribed in each square. Tables were stacked with jars of Posy's blackberry preserves, covered with quilt squares, as favors for the guests.

There was a variety of different foods served, all finger foods and heavy hors d'oeuvres with a Southern flavor. There were two delicious spreads—one a cucumber spread that was a light, refreshing topping served chilled on toast points; and the other a warm mushroom spread that melted in Beatrice's mouth. There was also an amazing asparagus casserole with hard-boiled eggs and a sharp cheddar cheese that kept being replenished by the catering staff.

But the best part, decided Beatrice, was June Bug's cake. The little woman, always so bashful, had carefully dressed up in what were clearly new clothes. Her creation resulted in an amazing display: fondant-covered square cakes that resembled quilt blocks with piped icing for stitches. It really was a work of art, and Beatrice felt an unusual reluctance to eat it. Miss Sissy, however, apparently felt no such compunction. Beatrice walked up to the old woman, hair now not nearly as tamed as it had been in the church, as she was greedily chowing down on a square of wedding cake. June Bug shyly walked over to join them.