Wedding Day of Murder (16 page)

“You mean smitten? We’re already
smitten. Besides, they’re boxers, not a Speedo,” he said. “What is the big
deal?”

“I think maybe it’s smote. And the
big deal is that you’re in your underwear. In my bedroom. In my Grandma’s
house. It’s verboten.”

“’We’re going to be smote,’ doesn’t
sound right. Furthermore, I am not going to sleep in my jeans to placate your
grandmother’s Quaker sensibilities,” he said. “She knows we’re not doing
anything in here.
 
I promised. I’m
here as your protection.”

“My grandma is not a Quaker.
They’re far too progressive.”

He pinched the area between his
eyebrows. “Fine. Give me a pair of your pants.”

“If you fit in my pants, I’m going
to need a powerful psychotropic to forget it,” she said.

“Let me have a pair of pants from
your, uh, early years,” he said.

“I guess my fat pants might work,”
she said. She dug through a suitcase in the corner and handed him her favorite
pair of pants from her freshman year of college. They were hot pink and landed
mid-calf on him. He reached for a shirt.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” she
asked.

“Putting my shirt on,” he said.

“Let’s not get crazy here. No shirt
allowed,” she said. She snatched it away and hid it behind her back.

“Let me get this straight: I have
to cover my boxers but not my bare chest.”

“Look, I don’t make the rules, I
just dutifully observe them.”

“It’s your grandma’s rule that I
have to wear hot pink floods with writing on the butt but I’m not allowed to
wear a shirt?”

“I could quote you the
corresponding verse in Leviticus, but I’m very tired,” she said.
 

“What exactly does my butt say?” he
asked. “I didn’t read the pants before I put them on.”

“‘I Eat My Feelings; They Taste
Delicious,’” she said. “They were a Christmas present from Kimber.”

He put her in a headlock and pulled
her close. “That’s an awfully tiny bed, miss. I guess I’ll take the floor.”

“No way,” she said.

“Lacy, I’m not kicking you out of
your bed,” he said.

“No, you’re not. Stand back and be
amazed.” She bent and pulled out a trundle.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he
said.

“It’s not officially a sleepover
until someone’s in the trundle. Riley and I used to fight for it. Usually she
won. Then I won once and she closed me in it and broke my finger,” she said.

“Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m
going to sleep in that bed, and then let’s never discuss this again,” he said.
He kissed her before she could protest. “Am I allowed to kiss you?”

“I would check Leviticus, but my
bible’s in the other room. We’re going to have to go with my gut on this one.”

“What does your gut say?”

“My gut says you make fat pants
look good,” she said. She stood on her toes to kiss him again. A while later,
they were settled in bed, her on the top mattress and him in the trundle. They
were both tired but finding it hard to sleep. Instead they held hands and
talked.

“Is this what girl sleepovers are
like?” Jason asked.

“Yes, with less hand holding and
more cookie dough. Tell me about your case.”

“It’s not my case. It’s Arroyo’s case,”
he said. “I’m along for the ride, but it’s not going well. Michael was my only
lead.”

“Michael didn’t do it.”

“I’m still not convinced,” he said.

“It definitely wasn’t Michael in
here tonight. I would have recognized him.”

“Without your glasses?”

“Michael is tall, taller than
whoever was in my room. I guess that means whoever broke in was kind of short.
Add that to the description—short, dark blob wearing gloves and possibly
a head covering.”

“Great, that narrows it down to an
ewok,” he said. “You couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman?”

“No. Why would it be a woman?”

“The female protester. She’s
insane, and I think she has a thing for Michael.”

“He told me he had a date with her
and accidentally brought her here,” Lacy said. “But why would she want to hurt
me?”

“Maybe she thinks there’s something
between you and Michael and she’s jealous. Crazy people don’t really need a
reason. She’s a loose cannon. I had her in lockup for a while, but I couldn’t
hold her. She definitely had opportunity, and craziness was her motive. Same
goes for the murder, although I have a hard time seeing her be able to heft a
body into the dumpster. I guess it’s possible that he was killed in the
dumpster. There wasn’t a sign of struggle there, but if he was sleeping and she
jabbed him, then she wouldn’t have needed strength at all.”

“What about the other protesters?”
Lacy asked.

“Between them, they seem to share a
brain and a pervasive sense of sleepiness. A few have priors for vagrancy.
Mostly I think Rain rounded up a handful of homeless people and brought them
along. Or it’s possible that our victim was the one who rounded everyone up and
brought them along as cover for his story. I haven’t been able to get a clear
answer on who brought the protesters here.”

“If it was the victim and not the
woman, then that clears Michael.”

“I suppose,” Jason said.

“Jason, you’ve got to let it go.
Michael had nothing to do with this. He’s a good guy.”

He wasn’t a good guy, Jason knew.
At least not in the legal sense of things. But Lacy saw the good in everyone,
and he liked that about her. He had no desire to dampen her rose-colored
glasses with reality. Someday maybe she would learn the truth about Michael’s
checkered past, but it wouldn’t be from him, not unless it became absolutely
necessary. “He may not be first on my list of suspects anymore, but he’s not
gone completely.”

“Who’s at the top of your suspect
list?” she asked.

“Technically, you,” he said.

“Me? What did I do?”

“Nothing. But I found your pictures
at the victim’s trailer. He was doing a story on you. Your mom talked to him.
Objectively, he could have dug up something from your past, something you
wanted kept quiet.”

“You’ve got me. He discovered my
secret ‘N Sync phase. All these years, I’ve tried to keep it quiet. I couldn’t
take the humiliation.”

“I’m not saying I think you killed
him; I’m saying that someone else could make it look that way.”

“Someone else being Detective
Arroyo,” she guessed.

“And the mayor. I don’t like how
chummy they’ve become lately.”

“They tried to incite a lynch mob
the night of the council meeting. Travis broke it up,” Lacy said.

“I don’t understand that,” Jason
said. “What do they have against you?”

“They just don’t like me,” Lacy
said. She had never told him what happened when he was unconscious, nor about
the secret club or how Detective Arroyo had threatened her. She didn’t want to
make him choose between her and the job he loved. She edited it down to say
that she and the detective had a disagreement. If he had any idea of the depth
or scope of that disagreement, he would be forced to act. The best way to
protect him was to keep silent. But now she was in a pickle. She wouldn’t put
it past the detective and mayor to frame her for murder. Did Jason understand
how low they were willing to go to exact revenge? If he didn’t, then she was in
even greater danger than he realized.

“How would they explain someone
breaking in here tonight?” she asked.

“They could say you made it up.
You’re the only person who saw the intruder. You could have jimmied the lock
earlier and called me in a fake panic.”

“I’m extremely nefarious,” she
said.

“You covered all your bases by
kidnapping yourself twice,” he said.

“I’m a criminal mastermind,” she
agreed. “Except that I never said I was kidnapped.”

“Even better. By allowing me to
come to my own deduction, you made your story more believable.”

“When I get out of prison, I’m
going to start a crime syndicate,” she said.

“You’ll go to prison over my dead
body. I’m going to figure this out before anyone gets any brilliant ideas about
pinning it on you,” he said. “First I need a suspect.”

Lacy wondered if he already had two
of them and just didn’t realize. If Arroyo and the mayor were plotting against
her, was it enough to wait for a murder and try to frame her? Would they set
out to murder someone with the intent of framing her? What if they killed Carl
Whethers and dumped him at the Stakely Building, Lacy’s place of business? She
felt paranoid and ill at ease.

“Cold, baby?” Jason asked and she
realized she had shuddered.

“No, I’m fine. How are you? Are you
comfortable?”

He shook his head. “Something is
missing.”

“What?” she asked, smiling.

He tugged hard on her hand. She
rolled off her bed and onto his. “There we go,” he said, wrapping his arms
around her and holding her tight.

“We’re going to be smote for sure,”
she said.

“We’re already smitten,” he said. A
few minutes later, they fell asleep.

The next morning, Jason stayed for
breakfast. Lacy’s grandmother made a feast before leaving to go to her
follow-up doctor’s appointment. Lacy tried to convey to Jason what a pivotal
point of acceptance that was. “You’re not truly loved by Grandma until you’re
clutching your stomach in pain from the onslaught of food,” she said, taking
stock of his miserable expression. “One more muffin ought to do it,” she said,
adding one to his already crowded plate. He stifled a groan and plowed
dutifully through his food.

As for her, she gummed her way
through a muffin and a small pile of eggs. She was ravenous, but her aching
mouth didn’t allow for eating.

“This is all very Jack Sprat and
his wife,” Jason muttered after his second helping of bacon.

“That bacon looks so good. Is it
good? Tell me about it,” she said.

“Are you really asking me to
describe my eating experience for you?” he asked.

“Think of it as closed captioning
for the eating impaired,” she said. “Start with the bacon and work clockwise.”

“I keep thinking there’s got to be
a limit to your weirdness, but it’s an abyss, isn’t it?” he said.

“Deeper than the ocean,” she
agreed. “Let’s get back to the bacon.”

“Finding your quirkiness cute and
enabling your quirkiness are two different things. This is my red line,” Jason
said. “You’re going to have to use your imagination about my bacon. And that is
officially the strangest thing I have ever said.”

“You say that often enough and it’s
going to begin to lose its meaning,” Lacy said.

“It’s just that sometimes I hear
myself saying the words, and I think, ‘How did I get here?’ What scares me more
is the thought of what’s going to happen after the shellshock wears off. Am I
someday going to be that man who describes his bacon without even thinking
about it?”

“One can only hope,” Lacy said.

“Did Robert do that for you?” Jason
asked. He didn’t mention Robert often, but sometimes he was curious about the
differences in their relationship.

“Grandma never cooked like this for
Robert,” Lacy said.

“Really?” Jason said and added
another piece of bacon and a muffin to his plate.

Lacy took his muffin. “I appreciate
the enthusiasm, but you’re going to have to pace yourself. Your pancreas isn’t
ready for this.” She mashed the muffin with her fork and gummed it for a while,
enjoying the quiet.

“What’s on your agenda for today?”
Jason asked after a few minutes of silent eating. He pressed a hand to his
diaphragm. “I think I’m aspirating bacon.”

“I have to plan Riley’s
bachelorette party, apparently. It’s tonight, and I sort of forgot. Then I’m
going to Riley’s before the party starts. Tosh’s sisters are coming into town,
and I’m the buffer. How about you?”

“Research. I need to delve into the
victim’s past along with that of some more of the protesters. Maybe I’ll
magically find a connection somewhere and this whole thing will make sense.
Right now it feels random. Random crime is the hardest to solve, and it doesn’t
bode well for the town.” There was something else he needed to do, but he saw
no need to tell Lacy about it, not yet, anyway.

“I have a good feeling about today.
You’re going to solve this thing in no time, Detective,” she said.

Somehow when she said it, he
believed her. He kissed her goodbye. She pulled him back and kissed him again.
“Did you do that because I smell like bacon?” he asked.

“You’ll never know for sure,” she
said. “Goodbye. I…I…I hope you have a good day.” After a stuttering start, the
remaining words came out in a rush.

He chuckled. “Thank you. You too.
I’ll call when I get a chance. Let me know if anything strange happens.” He
interrupted himself, holding up a hand. “Let me amend that. Call me if anything
suspicious
happens.”

She waited until he was out of the
house to drop her forehead onto the table. Why couldn’t she say the words? She
loved him. She was comfortable and secure in their relationship. She had
nothing to lose and everything to gain by saying it. The problem, she realized,
was that there was a disconnect between what her brain knew and what her heart
felt. In her mind, she knew there was no chance of rejection by telling Jason
she loved him. In her heart, there was still the secret fear that it was too
much too soon and she would drive him away. But that was crazy because he had
already said it. Now the danger was in hurting him by putting it off. All in
all, it was too much pressure. The internal pressure not to say it combined
with the external pressure to say it waged war and paralyzed her. Her problem
was always overthinking things. Why couldn’t she turn off her brain whenever it
was convenient?

“Is he gone?” Frannie asked. Lacy
looked up to see her lurking in the doorway.

“Mom, were you hiding from Jason?”

“Not hiding. Just avoiding a
confrontation. I’m not sure how I feel about him, Lacy. He’s much crankier than
Robert.”

“That’s because Robert was a
schmuck, Mom,” Lacy said.

“Lacy, that’s not nice. He was
engaged to both you and Riley. You could show him a little more consideration.”

“There were so many things wrong in
that sentence; I don’t know what to choose first,” Lacy said.

“What I’m trying to say is that
Robert had some faults, but he was always nice,” Frannie said.

“You mean he was always nice to
you,” Lacy said.

“And what’s so bad about that? I’m
your mother. I think that deserves a little respect from the men you date.”

“You and Jason may not always
agree, but I fail to see how he’s been disrespectful,” Lacy said.

“He…it’s his whole attitude. He’s
very superior. I don’t like it. And he’s proprietary of you. That’s not
healthy. In fact, I think he meets several criteria for domestic abuse.”

“Mom, what are you talking about?
Jason is a police officer. I can’t tell you how many men he’s arrested for
domestic violence. He
hates
domestic
violence. He would never hurt me, ever.”

“Maybe not physically,” Frannie
said.

“What are you talking about?” Lacy
repeated.

Frannie raised a hand and began to
list on her fingers. “He’s jealous. He’s possessive. He’s proprietary. He has a
bad temper. He’s trying to alienate you from your family.”

“He’s occasionally jealous and
occasionally grumpy, but so am I. It’s not a state of being,” Lacy said. “And he
has never once tried to alienate me from my family. If anything, he goes above
and beyond the call of duty to spend time with my family.”

“He doesn’t want you around me,”
Frannie said.

That’s
because you’re mean and you hurt my feelings,
Lacy thought, but there was
no way to say that to her mother because she wouldn’t understand. She didn’t
see herself clearly and had never realized that she favored Riley or picked on
Lacy. “He’s protective, Mom. That’s a good thing.”

“And now you’re making excuses for
him,” Frannie said, shaking her head.

“Mother, I am not making excuses
for Jason. He is an amazing boyfriend. He’s loving, kind, giving, attentive,
and supportive. I feel better about myself and life in general than I have in
years.”

“Then you’re too dependent on him,”
Frannie said. “Your happiness needs to come from inside. Look at Riley; she’s
always been self-confident and bubbly.”

There was no winning an argument
with Frannie, but Lacy was determined to have the last word. “Speaking of
Riley, I need to go plan her party. But, Mom, this is the last I want to hear
of this topic. Jason is not abusive in any way. We have a normal and healthy
relationship, and I’m genuinely happy. Please, let it go.”

Frannie sniffed and turned
petulant. Lacy left her to eat a sullen breakfast. She stepped outside and
tried to prioritize in her head what needed to be done. It had been a long time
since she planned a party, and she was rusty. Now that it was down to brass
tacks, she felt pressured to make it good. Riley was a party planner by trade;
her parties were legendary and spectacular. Lacy wouldn’t be able to live up to
her standards, but Tosh’s family was coming, so she needed to make it good, and
she only had a few hours. The first thing she needed to do was invite people.
She pulled out her phone and sent a mass text. If Emily Post were alive, she
would keel over and die at the gross breach of etiquette. Lacy hoped the last
few disastrous days bought her a pass on the impingement of manners.

As she walked to work, she thought.
What the party needed was a surprise, something spectacular and memorable. What
the party needed was a little entertainment. As soon as she arrived at work,
she sequestered herself in her office and searched the internet for just the
right thing. She found it, booked it, and sent out another text.

“As an added bonus, there’s going
to be entertainment, if you know what I mean.”

She sent the message and sat back,
smiling with a little smug satisfaction. Who said you couldn’t pull off a party
in a few hours? This shindig was going to be spectacular. For about thirty-five
seconds, she reflected happily on her brilliance. Then she remembered that
there was no food, drinks, furniture, or decorations yet. She sprinted down the
stairs and to the bakery, throwing herself on their mercy. Since she was a good
customer, they were willing to waive their usual twenty-four hour ordering
rule. She only needed a dozen cupcakes, but she wanted them to be pretty. They
offered to make cupcakes and cut-out cookies, both decorated to look like
hydrangeas to match Riley’s wedding flowers. Lacy was elated. Cupcakes
and
cookies; this party was going to be
amazing.

She was halfway back to her office
when she realized that she needed to serve something other than sugar. “Drat,”
she whispered, spinning on her heel to head the other direction. The protesters
spotted her and thought she was running from them. They gave chase, headed by
Rain, but Lacy outmaneuvered them. She arrived at the deli, sweaty and unable
to breathe. They called an ambulance before she could convince them that she
wasn’t having a heart attack. When she could breathe well enough to talk again,
she ordered a few trays of meat, cheese, veggies, and bread. She left,
remembered drinks, went back in and paid them an outrageous fee to put together
some punch, something that wasn’t on their menu.

“Food, drinks, entertainment,” she
muttered as she walked back out the door. “What else?” Chairs, tables, and
decorations. Back at her office, she called a rental place and paid an
exorbitant fee to have chairs, tables, and linens delivered in less than an
hour. Next she called Kimber.

“Are you busy?”

“Not really,” Kimber said. “It’s a
slow day, although I do have a possible buyer lined up for that Grecian urn.”

“I like that one.”

“You can’t have it unless you’re
willing to pay more than they are. A girl’s gotta eat. What do you need?”

“I need you to help me shop for
Riley’s party and then set up.”

“Sure,” Kimber said. They
disconnected and met in Kimber’s shop. She was the first artist to join the
Stakely building, and she was drawing a hip, funky crowd. Lacy had paid to
advertise the shop, both for Kimber’s sake and for her own. She wanted to draw
a diverse crowd to the Stakely building. A lot of older people came for the food,
and especially the produce at the Farmer’s Market on Saturdays. Families loved
the ice cream shop. Lacy was hoping that Kimber and others like her would help
draw professional twenty-somethings, as well as the occasional tourist or art
lover.

“How’s the mouth?” Kimber asked.

“Better,” Lacy said. “Someone broke
into my room last night.”

“Is that the start of a joke?
Because I don’t get it.”

“No, that’s a true story. Someone
broke into my room, touched my leg, and ran back out again. Jason came over and
spent the night.”

“Hold up,” Kimber said. “Jason
spent the night? At your grandma’s house? Is the sky purple now?”

“It’s a sign of how well you know
my family that Jason spending the night is more shocking than a leg-touching
burglar,” Lacy said.

“I’m assuming they didn’t find the
leg-toucher,” Kimber said.

“No. Jason thinks maybe it’s the
same person who kidnapped me when I was medicated.”

“Someone kidnapped you?” Kimber
said. “I thought you wandered. I’m so behind. Start at the beginning. I haven’t
seen you in days. Well, I haven’t seen you lucid in days.”

“How bad was I?” Lacy asked.

“It’s in the vault,” Kimber said.

Lacy groaned. She could only
imagine how bad it was if Kimber was saving it in the vault to use against her at
some future time. “I had water the first time Jason found me. I told him
someone gave it to me, and I know it didn’t come from my house. That combined
with the murder of the reporter and the burglary last night has made him
wonder.”

“What reporter?” Kimber asked.

“It was in the paper,” Lacy said.

“Girl, that paper is about five
paragraphs long. I don’t read it.”

“The protester who was murdered was
a reporter. Jason thinks he was doing a story on me.”

“Uh-oh,” Kimber said.

“What?” Lacy asked.

“I think he might have left a
couple of messages on my phone,” Kimber said. “When Jason talked about the
murder, I had no idea he was a reporter. I didn’t make the connection.”

“Really? What did the guy say?”

“He called a few days ago, said he
was a reporter doing a story on you and could he ask me a few questions about
your past. I never called him back because I knew how much you would hate that.
I was going to tell you, but then Andy came to town, and I sort of forgot.”

She had a goofy smile when she
mentioned Andy. “Kimber, is there something you want to tell me?”