She turned back to the rest of her friends and waved them forward. There was a bit of a scramble as they grabbed their bags and sweaters out of the car, but within minutes they’d caught up to her and Logan.
“I should have worn my super sleuth shoes,” Sally whispered from behind Tess. “These heels are killing me.”
“But they’re so pretty. Where did you buy them?” Molly asked.
“Macy’s had a sale last month. I couldn’t leave them on the shelf.”
Annie reached into her bag. “I’ve got some Band-Aids if you’ve got blisters?”
Logan stopped. Annie ran into the back of him and bounced back. “Oops, sorry.”
He turned around and stared at Sally’s four inch, bright orange shoes. “We’ve arrived at the house.”
All four women turned to look at the houses around them.
“Over there.” Logan nodded at a house directly across the road from where they were standing.
The single story home had green painted wooden siding, a two-car garage, and a tiled roof. It was a simple family home. Nothing over the top or outrageously amazing.
Logan looked at Tess. “Are you ready?”
She glanced down the road and stepped off the curb. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” She heard the shutter on Molly’s camera click and watched Logan turn around.
“It’s a photo of you and Tess,” Molly said. She sounded annoyed and Logan didn’t look much better.
“What were you thinking?” Logan muttered as they crossed the road.
“We’re a team.”
“So were the Musketeers, but you didn’t see them wearing orange stilts or hiding in the back of cars.”
The strap of Tess’ bag fell off her shoulder and she hoisted it back up. “First off, there were only three musketeers and they were men. Secondly, the only transportation they had were horses and carts. And thirdly, any man who wears a fancy tunic and a big fluffy hat would appreciate the skill that went into creating Sally’s shoes.
“Only if he had a death wish and was color blind.” Logan’s mood didn’t seem to be getting any better.
Tess reached down to open the front gate. “Put your happy face on. After we’ve spoken with the bride-to-be, you won’t need to talk to any of us again.” She ignored the scowl he sent her and walked quickly toward the front door.
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Logan hadn’t disappeared, then knocked on the door.
No one answered, so she knocked again. “It doesn’t look as though anyone’s home.” She looked through a narrow window beside the door and frowned. “The hallway’s empty.”
“They lost everything in the burglary. They might not have replaced their furniture yet.”
Tess walked across the yard and looked inside the windows. “There’s nothing here.”
“What’s going on?” Sally asked from the sidewalk.
“I don’t think anyone’s living here,” Tess said as she looked in another window. She moved down the side of the house and heard the front gate squeak.
“Excuse me,” someone said from over the fence. “Yoo-hoo. I’m over here.”
Tess walked toward a brown fence and smiled at the elderly lady on the other side. “Hello.”
Twinkling blue eyes looked back at her. “If you’re here about the house, then I’m afraid you’re too late. They rented it last night to a couple from Iowa.”
“Oh, no. We’re not here to rent it. We’re looking for the previous tenants. Do you know where they’ve gone?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you. Who are you?”
“We’re…” Tess looked over her shoulder at Logan, Molly, Sally, and Annie. It looked like a mini army had invaded the front yard. “We’re with the newspaper.”
“All of you?”
“We’re working on a follow-up story about the burglary.” At least Molly’s camera gave them some credibility.
“It was such a terrible thing to happen. It scared all of the neighbors, I can tell you. The burglars took everything away in a truck in the middle of the day. We all thought Connie and Dave must have been moving somewhere else.”
“Did the police find the people who broke into their home?”
“Not that I know of. Who did you say you were again?”
“We’re with the Bozeman Chronicle.” Tess crossed her fingers below the fence. If Logan heard her less than truthful cover story he wouldn’t help her again. She pulled her trusty notebook and pen out of her bag and flipped the cover open. “Can you tell me what Connie and Dave’s last names are?”
“I’m sure the nice man that wrote the article in yesterday’s newspaper must have that information?”
Logan appeared beside Tess and held his hand out. “I’m Logan Allen. I interviewed Connie and Dave last week.” He passed the lady his business card. “They didn’t tell me their last names.”
Tess had a feeling they hadn’t told him their first names either, but she wasn’t going to split hairs. At least Logan was a real reporter.
The elderly neighbor peered at the card. “Mr. Allen? I remember Connie talking about you. They left not long after you interviewed them. The poor things didn’t have a lot to steal. I still can’t work out why someone would break into their home.”
“Did Connie say where they were moving to?” Logan asked.
The elderly neighbor frowned. “With Connie’s mom so sick they decided to go back home. It’s such a hard time for them. I’m Geraldine. Geraldine Kennedy. As in John F. Kennedy.”
Logan smiled. “Are you related to the President, Mrs. Kennedy?”
Tess could have sworn Geraldine blushed. Logan was such a smooth operator it was almost frightening.
“Kennedy is my husband’s last name. But I expect there’s some distant link to the Kennedy’s from Massachusetts. It’s such a small world, isn’t it?”
Logan took a step forward and almost flattened a bunch of daffodils growing in the garden. Tess didn’t think Mrs. Kennedy would have been impressed if she could have seen where his feet had landed.
Mrs. Kennedy moved closer to the fence. “If you’re writing a story about what’s happened since the burglary, there isn’t a lot to say. Connie and Dave didn’t have insurance. They left so soon afterward that no one had a chance to find out if they were all right.”
“Can you tell us their last names, Mrs. Kennedy? We’ll try and find them and see if the police have found their property.”
“It’s Thompson and Brown. Connie Thompson and Dave Brown. Connie works in a stationery store and Dave is a mechanic. They’re such a nice couple.”
Tess moved beside Logan. “Do you know where they’re getting married, Mrs. Kennedy?”
“Bogert Park. That’s where they met.”
Tess made some notes in her book, then looked at Logan.
“You’ve been very helpful, Mrs. Kennedy. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“It was very nice meeting you, too, Mr. Allen. Please send my regards to Mr. Dougherty. I worked with your editor-in-chief for a number of years myself.”
Tess blushed like a beet when Geraldine Kennedy’s sharp gaze landed on her.
“I like your walnut, cinnamon, and cherry scones. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get ready for my ballet class.” With a sunny smile, Mrs. Kennedy said goodbye and left them standing in silence at the fence.
“Do you think she wears a leotard?” Tess asked.
Logan blinked a few times. “Being a Kennedy I’d say anything is possible. I’m more worried about the fact that she knows my boss.”
Molly, Sally, and Annie came and stood behind them.
“Where to now?” Sally wobbled as one heel disappeared into the ground. She yanked the offending shoe out of the grass and stood on tippy toes.
Tess looked down at her notepad. “My place to go over the information we’ve got and make a plan.”
“And have coffee,” Annie said. “I didn’t know detective work could be so exhausting.”
Molly snapped another photo and grinned. “I could do a photo essay on the life and times of Bozeman’s latest girl detective agency.”
Logan cleared his throat.
“Present company excluded, of course,” Molly said. “Let’s go.”
Tess took her car keys out of her pocket as they walked across the road. “Did you know the engaged couple’s real names?” she asked Logan.
His mouth tilted into a smile as he unlocked his truck. “No. Enjoy your coffee.”
“You’re not coming with us?”
“I’ve got to be somewhere else. If you need more help, let me know.” He got into his truck, closed the driver’s door and drove down the street.
Tess wondered what was so urgent that he couldn’t have at least had coffee with them. And then she realized it shouldn’t matter. She didn’t like reporters.
Not much, anyway.
Chapter Three
Logan walked into Pastor Steven’s dining room and nodded at the other guys in the house. He’d never been particularly religious and some days, like today, he felt like a fraud even being here.
“Hi, Logan. Long time no see.” Dylan Bailey stood up and shook his hand.
Logan had met Dylan at his first counseling session in Bozeman. Both of them had been in Afghanistan. Both of them had come home with memories they’d sooner forget.
Dylan had been in combat. Logan had been reporting on the conflict. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was the last thing either of them had expected to get. But it had hit them both, made them different people to the men that had left America.
They walked into the kitchen and Dylan grabbed a can of Cola for Logan. “Where were you last month?”
“It was my mom’s birthday. I flew out to Seattle and stayed for a few days. How’s your job?” When Dylan had been discharged from the Army, he didn’t know what he was going to do. An Army buddy had started his own security company and called Dylan when he heard he was looking for work.
“Busy. I’m heading to Los Angeles next week to bring an eight-year-old here for a vacation with his dad.”
“Rich family.”
Dylan shrugged. “It’s more common than you’d think. Some parents have high paying jobs and need someone more than a nanny to travel with their kids. What about you? Found any good stories lately?”
Logan popped the tab on his can. “Mayor Jarvis sacked her Executive Assistant.”
“Riveting stuff.”
“It is when there’s an internal investigation going on for fraud. The story will be in tomorrow’s paper.”
Pastor Steven came into the kitchen with an empty plate. “If you guys want lunch I’d suggest you move fast. Jeremy and Todd are hungry. Good to see you, Logan.”
Logan shook Pastor Steven’s hand. “You need help with anything?”
“Never thought you’d ask. Grab one of the dish towels out of the cupboard beside the fridge. There’s a plate of mini quiches in the oven that need to go on the table.”
Logan opened the oven and stared at the pile of quiches. “Your wife’s been busy.”
“My daughter’s responsible for lunch today. She’s here for a few days and decided to try her culinary school recipes on us.”
Dylan took one of the quiches off the top of the plate and ate it. “I’d say her college fees are worth every cent. These taste great.”
Pastor Steven followed them into the living room. “Remember that when they go on the table. Jeremy and Todd have already tried some and they’re waiting for more.”
Logan laughed and eyeballed Dylan. “Sounds like I need a bodyguard to keep this food safe.”
“You want my advice? Take the plate back into the kitchen and we’ll have lunch without them.”
“The old avoidance and run tactic. Works every time.” Logan put the plate on the table and growled at the hand passing in front of his chest. “Get those fingers away from the quiches, Jeremy.”
Jeremy laughed and snatched a quiche out from under Logan’s nose. “You got to be quicker than that, old man.”
“You’re five years younger than me,” Logan scoffed. “And living on dangerous ground if you come back for more food before Dylan and I get our lunch.”
“Let them eat,” Todd said generously from one of the big armchairs in the room. “They’re grumpy without food.”
Dylan flicked him the finger, then remembered where he was. “Sorry, Pastor.”
“Think nothing of it. I’ve been known to want to express myself more creatively at times, too. Once you’ve got something to eat, shall we start?”
Logan and Dylan grabbed some lunch then sat in one of Pastor Steven’s sofas.
The meeting started with a prayer. Over the last year, Logan had learned that prayers came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Just like the message in them. Some of the shortest ones could mean the most, especially if they were sent straight from the heart.
Pastor Steven nodded at Logan and Dylan when he’d finished. “Better eat your lunch before it gets cold. William sent his apologies. He’s in Tucson with his wife and kids. Who wants to tell everyone what they’ve been doing?”
Jeremy started the ball rolling, making them all laugh with the latest disaster story from his dating calendar. “Laugh all you want,” he said. “But you didn’t have to fend off her hands for an hour and then figure out how you were going to leave.”
As he kept telling them about his week from hell, Logan thought this must be one of the strangest support networks around. They ate food and talked about everything that didn’t involve what was really on their minds.
But sometimes, when they least expected it, something happened to make them glad they were here. A triggered memory, a time when each of them hadn’t been able to see past the blackness surrounding them. They’d built their trust in each other and themselves and figured out the rest along the way.
Logan waited for his turn, listened to the words that weren’t being said. Jeremy missed his ex-wife. She’d left him not long after he’d returned from his tour of duty, and for three years he hadn’t dated anyone. Now he was, and his courage was tested each time he went on a date.
Then it was Todd’s turn. Out of all of them, he suffered the most from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. For a while, he’d been totally lost. Pastor Steven had found him a volunteer job at the local animal shelter. That had led to a part-time job at the veterinary clinic. The animals he worked with gave him some kind of comfort. But for all of the stories he told, the one that mattered the most was how well he was doing. Todd had found somewhere that helped heal the scars he’d hidden for years.
Dylan didn’t have a lot to say. He told them about what he’d been doing, where he’d be going next week. “That’s it. Nothing much to report.”
“You sleeping?” Pastor Steven asked.
“Getting there,” was the evasive answer they got.
Logan planned on talking to Dylan after the meeting. They were friends. If Dylan wasn’t doing too well, he’d do anything he could to make sure he was okay.
Pastor Steven let Dylan off the hook and moved his focus onto Logan. “What have you been doing?”
“Looking for a missing bride-to-be,” he said dryly.
That made Dylan sit taller in his seat. “What are you talking about?”
“I did a story last week about a couple who had everything stolen out of their home. They’re getting married in two weeks and the bridesmaids’ dresses left with the burglars.”
“What happened to the bride?” Jeremy asked.
“Nothing, I hope. We can’t find her.”
“We?” Even Todd was getting into the swing of Logan’s not so exciting life.
“Tess started it. She owns Angel Wings Café on Main Street. Then her friends joined in. They want to donate four dresses to the bride for her bridesmaids.”
Pastor Steven steepled his fingers in front of his chin. He was either contemplating the implications of Logan and four women hunting for a b
ride, or trying not to laugh. “Why can’t you find the bride?”
“She’s gone ‘back home’, whatever that means.”
Dylan reached for his Cola. “Who told you she’d gone home?”
Logan didn’t want to go into too much detail about Connie’s helpful neighbor. The fact that she knew his boss wasn’t sitting too comfortably on his shoulders. “A neighbor told us this morning.”
“You went out with four women and you didn’t invite me?” This startling insight came from Jeremy. “Are any of them single?”
“You hate going on dates,” Logan said.
“It’s not a date when you’re looking for something. If you tell me all four are hot single women, I may rethink our friendship.”
“I don’t want to give you sleepless nights or ruin our friendship.”
“I knew it,” Jeremy muttered. “Next time take me with you. I can find someone faster than most people can blink.
“Are you still looking for the bride?” Dylan asked.
“Tess and her friends are. They’re working on finding her at the moment.”
“You’re kidding?” Jeremy asked. “You think they’d like a masculine touch to their search?”
“Even if your touch stays on the bride and not on them, I’d say they’ve got it covered.”
Pastor Steven pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “I got this in the mail the other day.”
Logan glanced at the envelope. “If it’s a hot tip on where the bride has gone, you can deliver it to Tess.”
“It’s from the orphanage in Afghanistan.”
And just like that, Logan’s walls came tumbling down.
Pastor Steven gave him the envelope. “I haven’t opened it.”
No one said a word as Logan held it in his hands. They knew he’d asked Pastor Steven to use his contacts to locate the children he’d left behind in Afghanistan. The chance of finding any of them alive had been so low that Logan never thought he’d hear anything.
He stared at the brown envelope, turned it over and read the return address. “Nau Deh?”
“It’s a small town about a hundred and fifty miles from where the bombing took place. UNICEF set up an orphanage there two years ago.”
All of Me (The Bridesmaids Club Book 1) Page 5