by Tina Reber
I could see the light dawning on her. It also became quite obvious to me that when Ryan and I did get married, keeping the date and the location secret would be the top priority.
“So now what?” Pete asked.
Ryan drew in an audible breath. “You know I want to be there for you, man, but the shit that surrounds me can get out of control. Your wedding date was posted in one of the replies to the original Twitter post.
It spread from there.”
Pete turned and glowered at Tammy. “You fucked up.”
Her face fell. So did my heart. “Pete, it’s not her fault.”
Tammy was on the verge of tears. “I didn’t do this!”
I clutched his arm, hoping to get his attention before this blew up, but it made no difference. His other fist hit the table. “No? Then who did?”
Tammy appeared indignant, holding it in. “I don’t know why you’re so mad at me.”
Ryan cautioned them both. “Listen. What’s done is done. I’m just worried about your day being ruined because of this, that’s all. Taryn and I are huge media targets right now.”
Tammy swiped a tear away. “Ruined? Like how? Do I have to cancel everything now?”
I could see the panic welling up in her. “No, sweetie, you don’t. It’s your wedding day—it’s your day to shine. We just don’t want to do anything to detract from that.”
Pete was obviously fuming. “Amy couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut, could she? I warned you about her, time and time again, and now look what she’s done. I do not want that bitch in our wedding.”
Tammy fell back and cowered in her chair. “She’s my maid of honor, Pete. You wanted Gary as your best man.”
“Yeah, well I also didn’t know that he was nailing your friend behind Marie’s back. Not only is she a loud-mouthed whore, she’s also a home-wrecker. I don’t want you hanging around her anymore. She’s no longer welcome in my house.”
Tammy stood up abruptly; her chair scraped the floor. If looks could kill, he was a dead man. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“What? That your girlfriend is a whore or that’s she’s a home-wrecker?”
“Go to hell,” she growled.
Pete relaxed back into his chair. “Babe, sometimes I feel as though I’m already there.”
Tammy let out a frustrated groan, chucked her middle finger at Pete, then stormed out of the pub and back into the kitchen.
Ryan was scratching the back of his head, appearing just as dumbfounded about the last ten minutes as I was. “Dude, I’m sorry. We never meant to cause problems for you.”
Pete waved his hand, casting that off, and then rubbed his face. “It’s not your problem, Ryan. This wedding is creating so much stress, she’s driving me crazy.” He glanced back and forth and then held his gaze on me. “I didn’t know Gary was messing with that girl. I swear. Amy was over at our place one time when Gary came over. They sort of hit it off right away, but I didn’t think anything of it. I just thought
they were being friendly. I told Tammy to tell Amy to back off because Gary was married but apparently that message never made it through.”
I believed him. Through all these years, Pete had never lied to me. He told me everything straight up, whether good news or bad.
“What are we going to do?” I asked him.
Pete shrugged. “I just banned my best man’s date, Marie and Tammy aren’t speaking, the paparazzi are going to hound you if you show up, and I just pissed off my bride. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”
Four days later, Ryan caught a flight out to L.A. to start rehearsals for the third Seaside film while I stayed in Rhode Island. Pete had an appointment at the physical therapist, so Marie and I were back behind the bar together, mixing drinks and tapping beer, just like old times.
I saw Tammy walk out of the kitchen, her eyes totally focused on the paper in her hand. “Taryn, I have the first draft of the lunch menu.” She stopped abruptly when she almost plowed into Marie.
Like two magnets repelling each other, I watched as they quickly sidestepped, avoiding even the smallest of acknowledgments. Marie turned her back, swiftly moving to the opposite end of the bar.
Tammy’s lips curled down into a frown.
She still held the paper in her hand, but her attention was focused on Marie’s cold rejection. I couldn’t say I blamed Marie; after all, betraying a friend is enough to get you permanently kicked out of the sisterhood. But for the sake of my own sanity, I had to remain neutral, even though I knew my relationship with Tammy was forever altered as well.
“Is she ever going to talk to me?” I could see the hurt, the longing for reconciliation, in Tammy’s expression.
I wiped my hands off on my bar rag and tucked it back into my pocket before reaching for Tammy’s printout. “I don’t know. I suppose you’ll have to work on earning her forgiveness if you want to be on speaking terms again.”
I felt my cell vibrate in my front pocket. I hated answering numbers that I didn’t recognize but I decided to answer anyway. “Hello?”
A deep, husky male voice responded. “Yes, good afternoon. May I speak to a Miss Taryn Mitchell, please?”
Reporter? Stalker? Crazed fan? Hacker? My mind ran through the possibilities. “Who’s calling?”
“My name is Todd Brandwell. I’m calling from the chief medical examiner’s office in New York City and I’m trying to reach a next of kin by the name of Taryn Mitchell. Your number was listed as a contact.”
Dread sank heavy into my gut. “Next of kin? I’m sorry, you say I’m listed?”
“Yes, if you’re Taryn Mitchell.”
My throat constricted and panic swept through me. I started mentally listing the current locations of everyone that mattered in order of importance, beginning with Ryan. He was in L.A. He called me when he’d landed and I had just received a naughty text from him not more than twenty minutes ago. Other possible names started to scroll. “I am. What’s this about?”
“Miss Mitchell, I’m sorry to inform you that James Pantelanio passed away last night. If you could write down our office number—”
Suddenly I was able to breathe again, not recognizing the name. “I’m sorry. Who?”
“James Pantelanio,” he repeated, enunciating slowly. The Los Angeles address he recited wasn’t familiar, either.
“I’m afraid I don’t know him. I wish I could help.”
“He had another emergency number, which is registered to a Mitchell’s Pub. I’ve tried to contact that number as well but I am only receiving an answering service.”
My heart lodged back up in my throat. This person had both of my numbers listed. The lengths some stalkers go to—“Mr. Pantelanio is a seventy-two-year-old male, approximately five foot, seven inches, one hundred and forty pounds, dark peppered-hair.”
None of these descriptions—
“He was a heavy smoker. We believe he was also employed as a photographer, but we cannot seem to locate any employment—”
“Wait. You said ‘James,’ correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My heart sank. Could it be? “I think I do know him. Can you please send me a photo?”
Ten minutes later I was looking at the driver’s license of the man who had once saved my life, who’d dropped to his knees in the slush and snow, and had given me CPR after I’d been hit by a car. I couldn’t stop the tears from pouring, knowing that the sweet Italian celebrity photographer known to all as Jimmy Pop was dead.
Chapter 23
Wedding and Ashes
“He’s in a small, mahogany box. It’s actually quite lovely.”
Ryan sighed. He wasn’t overly thrilled about me going to New York to claim the remains of a deceased celebrity photographer, especially one who’d been chasing him for the last three years, but I was the only one who had come forth to even say they knew the guy so I’d felt obligated. But Marie had gone with me on the two-day trip, which made Ryan relax. “And what are you
going to do with it?”
“I’m thinking about putting Jimmy Pop on the top shelf between Jim Beam and Johnnie Walker.”
That got him to laugh. “Perfect place for him.”
I leaned against the back bar. “I thought so. I figured he can keep an eye on the place. I have three of his Nikon cameras, too. The coroner gave me everything that was on his person. I even have three copies of his death certificate. Why would he list me as his ‘in case of emergency person,’ Ryan? It makes no sense. We barely knew each other.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he just didn’t have anyone he could trust?”
I drifted my finger over the pewter cross that adorned the lid, feeling the anguish looming in my chest that you feel when people you care about die. It resembled the cross that was given to me before they closed my father’s casket. I drew in a deep breath. “Maybe. But why me?”
“He knew you were smart and savvy; I wouldn’t be surprised if there is a small fortune with your name on it.”
I groaned. Not another estate to deal with.
“He probably figured you’d do good things with his money, Tar. He didn’t have any children or family; who else could he leave it to?” I heard someone speaking to Ryan in the background. “Listen, hon, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”
Marie carried our little stepstool behind the bar. “I heard you say you wanted to put Jimmy Pop up there. We can move the Patrón and Cabo Wabo over and then you’ll have room.”
She handed down a bottle just as another flower delivery was being made. Mike had sent flowers to Marie only two days ago; I wondered if he was kissing up for a specific reason.
This batch of flowers, however, was less than impressive. It looked like the kind you buy at the grocery store.
The deliveryman was tall and young, maybe mid-thirties, but with severely thinning brown hair that did that eight-strand greased comb-over on the bald head thing. He wore tinted glasses that were too large for his face. He might have had those same glasses since they were popular in the eighties. What was even creepier was that he was completely focused on me.
I was glad there was a thick bar separating us. “Can I help you?”
He was nervous; I could see his jitters physically shaking him. “I have flowers a . . . a delivery, Tah . . .” He seemed slightly confused as his eyes locked on mine. “For you.”
Marie came down off the ladder, immediately putting him under her scrutiny. We had just opened the bar for business and there were no customers.
I nodded at the bouquet. “Thank you. You can leave them at the end of the bar there, okay?”
The deliveryman didn’t move, just continued to oddly stare at me with a deer-caught-in-headlights look.
Marie’s gaze was guarded as she scanned him with trepidation. “What flower shop do you work for?
There is never a store name on the ones you deliver.”
He took a step backward, appearing ready to flee, as she took a step forward, reaching her hand in the two-and-a-half-inch gap between the top of the new front-load cooler and the underside of the bar.
“I, um . . . they’re for Ms. Mitchell. I’m . . . I just wanted to give her . . . flowers.”
I watched Marie out of the corner of my eye, hesitant to take my eyes off the stranger.
Marie’s hand obviously found what she was looking for; her hand started to withdraw.
He was wearing a short-sleeved, blue button-down shirt and what looked like uniform pants, but nothing about what he wore indicated he was a deliveryman. “They’re just flowers,” he continued to explain. “Women like men who bring them flowers. It’s customary. It’s part of the whole wooing process.”
Marie’s questioning glare was agitating him. I wanted him to drop off his stupid flowers and leave. He was creeping me out. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely.” I tried to smile, hoping that would be enough to let him know I was appreciative. “But, sorry, I can’t accept them. I’m engaged and not—”
“Taryn,” Marie snapped in a hushed whisper.
“I’ve been trying different ones,” he continued to mutter, talking to the flowers this time.
What?
“I know you hate daisies and carnations. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson with those. They always end up in the Dumpster in the alley. You tend to keep the roses longer—like a week until they wilt. I check to see which ones you don’t like all the time. Do you press them in books?”
Press them? He’d lost me. I’d never seen any roses or any other flowers for that matter. “Pardon?”
“The ones you keep?” His mouth turned up into a quirky smile. “The red ones? There were a dozen but only ten were thrown away. I counted them. It upset me at first that you’d just toss them away, but then I realized that it was the flowers you didn’t like. I know you can’t keep them all, even though I hoped you would. If you put them in wax paper they keep longer. I’ll only get you roses from now on.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what—”
“They remind me of your lips—soft and red. You kept the red ones the longest.”
Marie waved her hand low and urgently at me. “I’ll handle this, Taryn,” she growled out, never taking her eyes off the guy.
He frowned at Marie, glaring at her. “Don’t speak to her like that,” the weirdo reprimanded.
“Listen carefully, sir. Do not deliver any more flowers to Ms. Mitchell. You are no longer welcome in this establishment. Do not attempt to contact her in any way. Please take your flowers and leave—immediately. I will contact the police if you refuse to leave or if you attempt to return. Do you understand?”
He looked wounded; his lips were moving but no words came out, which alarmed me even more.
Adrenaline was pumping through my blood. I started mentally assessing escape routes and defense maneuvers—the pub telephone was behind me to dial 911, but that would be too obvious and not stealthy enough. My cell was in my pocket, but I’d have to unlock the screen first. The security panel for the upstairs hallway was too far away. Our trusty baseball bat was in the corner but I’d have to step around Marie and the small stepladder to reach it.
“Do you see the cameras up there in the corner?” Marie pointed.
Cameras? When the hell did we get cameras? We’d talked about them but that was just talk as the system was expensive. Someone is going to get their ass chewed out for failing to inform me that I now have a surveillance system installed inside my pub.
My unwelcomed suitor gazed up at them, appearing just as puzzled as I was.
Marie was assured and composed. “Now the security company has your picture.”
This definitely pissed him off. He paid no attention to Marie. He was mad at me. “All I wanted was to finally take you on a date and you make me feel like some, some common criminal? Who do you think you are? You think you’re better than me? I’ll have you know that I have my master’s degree in chemical engineering! Perhaps you would have found that out prior to wanting to call the cops on me, hmm?”
Marie cautioned him with a new, soothing voice. “Sir, calm down.”
“No! I will not calm down! After all of the money I’ve spent to get you to like me? You women are all the same. You flaunt your bodies, enticing men to be attracted to you, and then what do you do? You cut them off at the knees as if they were helpless soldiers wandering the desert, just begging for a sip of water.”
Soldiers in the desert? My God, this guy is beyond cuckoo and now he’s becoming enraged.
I suddenly noticed what Marie slid out from the top of the cooler—a very intimidating black handgun that she seemed to have no problem holding.
Dear God . . . cameras? Guns? What’s this place turning into? A Twilight War Zone? Surely Mike will be beamed into the middle of the room in Doctor Who’s Tardis ship at any moment.
“Sir, I’m asking you for the last time to leave the premises or else I will call the local authorities.”
Marie’s voice left no room
for debate.
Completely dejected, the guy huffed, scowled at both of us, called me a heartless bitch, and then scared the hell out of me when he whipped the flower bouquet at us.
It all happened so quickly, I didn’t react fast enough. The flowers caught my arm and then ricocheted off the back bar countertop.
My heart rate went into overdrive. This guy was completely mental. While distracted by tangles of baby’s breath and palm fronds, I noticed that Marie had taken a shooter’s stance, her badass black gun pointing right at him.
“Freeze!” she shouted. “Taryn, call nine-one-one, now!” Her command didn’t seem to matter to him; one view of her gun and he was taking wide backward steps toward the door.
Pete walking into the pub from the kitchen, whistling and completely oblivious to the standoff. He stuttered to a halt. “What the?”
While we were distracted by Pete, the crazed guy seized the opportunity to run.
Pete stood gaping in shock at both of us while Marie lowered her weapon. “Jesus! What the hell did I just walk into?” He rushed over and locked the front door.
Marie fiddled with the gun before placing it back inside a black holster. She snapped the holder thing on it and pushed it back into its hiding spot in the gap above the cooler. I knew she was aware of me watching her, but she was doing a fine job of ignoring me.
I felt almost out of breath. “You have a gun behind my bar?”
She gave me a casual glance and then shrugged. My blood heated up another notch. Like hell it was no big deal! “I had it hidden.”
I leaned onto the bar for stability. “Whose gun is it?”
Her face was stoic but she was breathing just as heavily from the incident as I was. “Mine.”
“Since when the hell do you own a gun?”
Marie grabbed a beer glass and filled it halfway with water. “I got it after I graduated from the course.
It’s a Glock nine-millimeter. Want to see it?”
People holding guns kill people. My answer was quick. “No.”
“I should take you to the range and teach you to fire it. It’s so much fun!”
“Marie, why the hell do you have a gun?”