One Fool At Least (The Madeline Mann Mysteries)

by Julia Buckley

  “Really?” I said. “Because you look like a chicken in a tuxedo.” He grabbed me, perhaps with the intention of strangling me, but ended up kissing me instead. Half the time I think Jack is at a loss for what to do with me. I can be a frustrating person.

  We kissed all through the rest of the chicken dance, which earned us more applause. I was ready for the honeymoon phase to begin.

  Later I spoke with Jack’s parents, who seemed thrilled to have me in the family. That might have been the whiskey sours talking, but I thought they liked me. His brothers, too, had been very welcoming. “We’re so glad you’re coming back to Montana,” his mother said. “We’ll get to see a little more of you.”

  His niece Molly Shea approached me at one point, staring with a certain fascination. “Hi, Madeline,” she said shyly. We’d only met the day before, at the rehearsal dinner.

  “Hi, Molly.” I saw a face over her shoulder, someone I didn’t recognize, but it was just a glimpse, and then I focused back on the girl in front of me.

  “You look really pretty,” she said.

  “Well, thank you. So do you. I always wanted curly hair like yours.” Molly was blessed with an abundance of auburn curls and lovely green eyes. At sixteen I’d had zits and lots of complexes. This girl was lovely enough to be a fashion model and confident enough to be the president.

  “Oh, thanks. I hate my hair,” she said absently, proving herself true to the code of womanhood. No woman on earth, as far as I knew, was happy with the hair God had given her. “Listen, I wanted to ask you—” she started.

  Someone pulled me away and I never heard the rest of it. I waved to her, indicating that I’d be back, but she didn’t get a chance to finish.

  Later I burst through a crowd to see Mike Shea sitting in his wheelchair and gamely clapping to “Shout” while the people on the dance floor made fools of themselves. Without any thought, I ran to his chair, put my hands on both hand rests, and sang the song while I pushed him backward, then ran backwards myself to return to our original position. It made both of us laugh, and when I finally paused, exhausted, and squatted in front of him, his freckled face was creased by a huge grin.

  “Hasn’t anyone else danced with you?” I asked over the crowd noise. “You’re the handsomest guy here, after my husband.”

  “It’s the wheelchair,” he said, pointing at his lap. “It freaks people out.”

  “Not me,” I said. This was true and not true. I’m often intimidated by people in wheelchairs. Mike didn’t make me feel uncomfortable, but I think it was because he was that rarest of things, a pleasant teenager, and I’d realized at the rehearsal dinner that I liked being around him.

  “You’re cool,” he said. “Jack has good taste.”

  “Thanks for coming to my wedding,” I told him. “I’m so glad I finally got to meet you.” At that point his mother, Libby, came to get him. She was a pretty brunette with librarian glasses and a slim figure. She certainly didn’t look old enough to have sixteen-year-old twins. She and I exchanged a few pleasantries, and then she said she was taking the children back to the hotel. Molly came to join us.

  “You’ll be on our plane tomorrow, right, Aunt Maddy?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I wished she hadn’t reminded me.

  Molly and Mike exchanged a furtive glance, to which I might have paid more attention if I weren’t feeling suddenly claustrophobic.

  I took a moment to breathe in the foyer, then Jack and I eventually met at the door. “We’ll be busy when we get back from the honeymoon,” I said loudly over the music that could still be heard in the hall. “I’ve filled our social calendar for the month of July. Mr. and Mrs. Shea, out on the town.”

  “Say that again,” Jack said.

  I knew what he meant. I moved closer, cuddling against him. “Mr. and Mrs. Shea.”

  His eyes darkened with a look I knew well, and my knees turned to jelly. “It’s time for Mrs. Shea to join Mr. Shea in bed,” he said close against my ear, so he’d be heard over the strains of “Simply Irresistible.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  The car seemed silent after the crazy volume of the reception. Jack drove to our little escape for the evening, the bridal suite of the Webley Arms. We didn’t talk much on the way there. I stared out the window at the trees that blew in a cool summer wind, green leaves clinging thickly to their branches.

  Jack pulled into the parking lot and looked at me. “You still look beautiful. Even after all the dancing and craziness. You look fresh.”

  “I feel pretty,” I joked.

  “I love you so much—” He looked away, out the windshield, as if searching for a way to express all that he felt.

  My heart throbbed in response. I crawled toward him, climbed right into his lap. “Come upstairs and show me how much,” I said.

  We were holding hands when we entered the lobby, and some people hanging around the reception desk saw our wedding attire and started clapping. I blushed, enjoying myself in an embarrassed way. When Jack went to the registration desk, a tall man came toward me, unfolding himself from the wall where he’d been standing, chewing on a toothpick. “Congratulations, Madeline,” he said, holding out a hand that had 402 written on it in ink.

  “Thank you,” I told him, shaking it automatically, feeling slightly confused. Did I know him? I didn’t think so. Yet I thought I might have seen him at the reception—that face in the crowd I’d noted when I was talking to Molly. Was he from Montana, with the rest of Jack’s family? “How—” I said, and Jack called me, holding out his hand. I excused myself and went to my husband.

  Jack led me to the door of our suite; true to tradition, he carried me across the threshold, only swaying a bit as he maneuvered my dress through the door.

  The room was beautiful. I sat on the bed, fluffed my hair, and sighed. “This dress is so magical, I really hate to take it off.”

  Jack came to stand in front of me, handing me a glass of champagne, which I sipped. I stared at his white cummerbund and he laced his fingers through my hair. “I can help you with that,” he said in a tone that made me feel hollow of everything but desire. He pulled my hair so that my head tilted back, and he kissed my lips possessively. “What are husbands for?”

  I took another gulp of champagne and then reached down to set the glass on the floor. I laughed as Jack pushed me backward, rubbed the red rose across my cheek before he threw it aside, unzipped my wedding dress and pulled it gently over my head.

  “Jack,” I said.

  I moaned softly as his lips met mine, then moved to my throat. Jack knew a special spot there that quickly turned me from a solid to a liquid. “Oooh,” I said as his tongue found that very place.

  “Maddy,” he said brokenly as his clever hands released my bra and found my breasts. I arched my back, suddenly dizzy from desire and champagne.

  “My lover,” I said softly. Jack’s mouth toured my body while his hands pushed my white hose and frilly undies downward. I grabbed a handful of his wonderful hair and pressed him against me. “Jack,” I said. “Remember the first time? It feels like that again, our first time.”

  His face appeared above mine, but his hands were still busy, and I was getting foggy, having trouble focusing on him as he brought me into a place of pleasure. “I love you even more now,” he said, as I pulled at his buttons and stroked the chest beneath his shirt. “We’ve been through so much together, haven’t we, babe?”

  “Mmmm,” I said, removing his belt with great concentration. Soon I had done away with the hindrance of Jack’s clothes, and I felt the relief of his warm skin on mine. A few more minutes of kissing and touching, and I was saying, “Now, Jack, now.”

  He protested. “Maddy, I’m trying to make this last. I want to make you feel—”

  I wrapped my legs around him. “That’s what the second time is for. And the third. And the fourth,” I whispered.

  With a groan, he gave in; I smiled against his jaw as he moved above me, within me. Jack had been
my only lover, and I had never wished for another. I cried out as he moved more swiftly; I sank my teeth gently into his neck and clutched him tightly, suddenly believing I could fly away, lightened by champagne bubbles and pleasure. When Jack stiffened above me I was already soaring. We fell limply backward together, and I opened my eyes long enough to smile at him. “You’re beautiful,” Jack whispered. One minute later he was asleep.

  I smiled at him. “Poor baby,” I whispered, stroking his hair. He hadn’t slept much, I knew, in the days before the wedding. So much going on, so many visitors, so much to talk about. I, though, having delegated so many of the preparations for this day, had stocked up on my beauty sleep. Now I was wide awake.

  I lay next to Jack, appreciating his warmth, reliving our lovemaking and our wedding. I put my face against his skin, liking the male smell of him. I stroked his hair and he murmured in his sleep, turning toward me.

  I closed my eyes, ready to go to sleep beside my new husband, and an image assaulted me: the number 402. It had been written on the hand of that man who had known my name. Why had he known my name? If he had known Jack, why hadn’t Jack come over to greet him? And why had that number been written there, as if to trigger memory? What was it about that number? Why did it sound familiar?

  And then I sat bolt upright. Because it was a room number. Maybe a room number that I knew.

  I got out of bed and dug into our pile of bags until I located my purse; inside was our itinerary, as well as a list of the room arrangements we’d made for Jack’s family. I moved my finger down the list and felt a sudden chill of recognition: room 402 was assigned to Molly. She had begged to have a room of her own and her parents had given in, thinking that it was a once in a lifetime event. Mike and his parents were sharing a room with two double beds.

  I rifled through my suitcase until I found a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I slipped them on, as well as a pair of sandals. On a whim I grabbed my cell phone as well and left the room. I was following one of those instincts that Jack always wished I wouldn’t follow. It was two o’ clock in the morning.

  I walked unsteadily down the hall, squinting in the light, and went to the elevator. Someone in one of the rooms was playing “Tequila Sunrise,” and it made me feel wistful. I pushed the elevator button and yawned while it whooshed open. Then I took it two flights down to Molly’s floor, making my way down the hallway until I reached 402. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting—I think I was actually going to wake Molly up to make sure she was all right.

  But I happened to look left, into a shadowy room that held an ice maker and some vending machines, and I saw, first of all, the glowing tip of a cigarette; an instant later the smell of smoke assaulted me. The person stepped closer: it was him, the mystery man, looking rather disheveled and tired. His cigarette was just a stub; he put it out in an ashtray he had obviously stolen from the reception and then set it down on a little round table by the ice machine.

  “You!” I said. “Who are you? And why are you following me? Do I know you?”

  I held up my cell phone as though it were a gun.

  “Where are you going at this time of night, little bride?” he asked me in a rather oily tone. He took a cigarette pack out of his pocket and shook out another smoke. He was tall, gray-haired, and gangly, with a wrinkled but pleasant enough face. He wore blue jeans and cowboy boots and a gray T-shirt that said “I hate your cat” with a logo of legs and a tail sticking out from under a truck tire. He lit up his cigarette; his lighter briefly illuminated the No Smoking sign on the wall.

  “It says No Smoking,” I said. “That’s a fire hazard.”

  “It’s a hazardous world, Madeline. People need to be careful.” He sucked on the cigarette, and his face became suddenly gaunt and deathlike.

  “You’ll get emphysema,” I said automatically. “And that sounds like a threat. I have a phone here, and I can call my husband or the police. Or I can pull that fire alarm there on the wall.” I didn’t like his mysterious attitude, and I didn’t like his proximity to Molly’s room. “I think you need to leave this hallway before I do call someone,” I said.

  “Not yet, Baby. I wanted to talk to your little niece in there, but her dad was hanging around till a little while ago. So I guess I’ll talk to you.” He blew smoke out of his nose and coughed a little, like an unhealthy dragon.

  I suppose I should have been afraid, but I felt protected with my phone and my proximity to the alarm. This man’s only weapon was a cigarette, as far as I could tell, and he looked too old and tired to be particularly frightening. “What about? I don’t know you. You’re a stranger.”

  “Not any more, hon. You’ve gone and married into some complications.”

  I stared at him, open-mouthed. Was he telling me that Jack had secrets? I had always seen myself as the one who muddled Jack’s life with my investigations and sometimes furtive behavior. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about. And I need to get back to my husband.”

  “You do that.” He sucked again, dependent on his cigarette as the rest of us are on air. “And you pass on this message: give up Slider, or face the consequences.”

  He gestured grandly toward the hall, as if to allow me to leave, grinning in a mockery of politeness. He had oil stains under his fingernails.

  “I don’t know what that message means,” I said, not leaving. “And who should I say it’s from?”

  “Well, that I’m not at liberty to tell you. I’m just a messenger like you. But they can bring Slider in—not to the police, mind you, but to a place we’ll specify—and that will protect the Sheas from any further trouble. You hear what I’m sayin’?”

  I squinted at him, feeling befuddled in the fog of smoke. “Why did you have to come all the way to Illinois to pass on that message? We’ll be in Montana tomorrow.”

  “I had to check for Slider, didn’t I? This would be a great place to stash him, seeing as they were coming out here anyway. But I’ve been watching, and I’m guessing he’s not here.”

  “I certainly don’t know anyone named Slider,” I agreed. “And I didn’t send wedding invitations to anyone by that name. So maybe you’ve got the wrong family.”

  “Not hardly,” he said.

  “Why can’t you tell this to Jack, or Pat?”

  “They said to tell Molly. She was not available, so I told you. See you in Montana.” He made his way down the hall and around the corner. I continued to stand there, my mind racing.

  I went back to the room. Jack was just stirring in the bed. He squinted at me. “What?” he said, disoriented. “Why are you dressed? Where did you go?”

  “Fourth floor,” I murmured, peering out the window. I couldn’t see the parking lot from our room. I had no idea if Nicotenus had left the hotel.

  “Maddy. Come back to bed, for Pete’s sake. I’m sorry I fell asleep. Let’s try for number two. You said four, right? Well, I’m ready.”

  I looked at Jack and started laughing. His eyes were still puffy with sleep, and he was smothering a yawn. I dove into bed, gave him a chaste kiss on his head, and said, “Go back to sleep, sweetie. I won’t leave again. I’ll be right here. I love you.”

  “Kiss me,” he said, his eyes closed. He was still clinging to the belief that he could be virile and slumberous at the same time. “You smell like smoke,” he said, his brows furrowed in surprise.

  “Someone was smoking in the hall.” I kissed his mouth lightly and stroked his hair until he fell back asleep. He was tired. I could pass on the bizarre message in the morning. Besides, it seemed more like it was a message for Jack’s family in Montana.

  Now my family, too. I lay contemplating this as I looked at the ceiling, waiting for the Sandman, who didn’t come for another hour.

  Chapter Three

  In the morning Jack was much more willing to try for a second attempt, and it did take longer, as promised, because he devoted himself to a minute inspection of my body, and it was I, this time, who was half asleep, having been up until at
least three wondering what was going on. “Mmmm,” I moaned, as Jack’s warm mouth traveled here and there. “That’s a nice way to wake up.”

  Jack said something into my stomach, and I suddenly tensed. “Jack. I forgot. We need to talk. There’s something I have to tell you.”

  My tone must have told him that I wasn’t kidding, and he looked at me in disbelief. I wondered if he actually thought I was going to ask for a divorce on the first day of our marriage, immediately after lovemaking. “Come up here,” I said softly. “I have to tell you what happened. It’s not about us, it’s about your family.”

  Jack’s brows drew together as he crawled back up my torso. “What about them?”

  “Last night I remembered this man. I was talking to him when we got here, do you remember? And he had 402 written on his hand.”

  “What?”

  “And after you fell asleep I realized that 402 was Molly’s room number. So I went down there, because I was worried, and he was there, outside her room.”

  “What?” Jack yelled.

  “I confronted him. It was two in the morning; there was no one around. And he said he was a messenger, and he was supposed to find Molly and give a message to the Sheas.”

  “What?” Jack asked a third time, sitting up straight.

  “He said he would give the message to me instead. That I was supposed to tell your family to give up Slider, or face the consequences. Or something like that. Who’s Slider, Jack?”

  Jack looked stunned. “I have no idea. You’re sure he said the Sheas?”

  “Yes. And I asked him why he didn’t deliver that message in Montana—because Jack, I think this guy followed your family out here, I think he might have been at our reception—and he said he had to make sure they weren’t hiding this Slider somewhere while they were out here.”

  “This is weird. You didn’t dream this?”

  “There’s one way to prove it.”

  Jack nodded and jumped off the bed and went to the room phone. “Pat? Listen, we need to talk. No, maybe we should do this in person. Can we meet for breakfast before the airport? Yeah. There’s a little coffee shop in the lobby. Yeah, something is up. Something happened to Madeline, and—no, she’s okay, but apparently—never mind, just meet us at about nine o’clock, okay?”