Death, Taxes, and a Satin Garter

by Kelly, Diane

  “That’s enough!” I hollered, pushing myself off the console and onto my feet. Oink-oink! Chirp-chirp! Boing! “This is over!”

  Flo glared up at me from the floor, her eyes ablaze. “I’ll tell you when it’s over!”

  Before I could free my gun from its holster she launched from the floor as if she had rocket boosters on her butt. I did the only thing I could at that point. Grab her mug from the console and swing it at her head.

  THUNK!!!

  Looked like the fortune cookie was right. An empty vessel does make the loudest sound.

  Flo hovered in front of me for a moment, as if in suspended animation. Then her eyes rolled back, her knees buckled, and she flopped in a heap to the floor.

  Knowing the staff standing frozen in the hall could hear the broadcast, I grabbed the microphone. “Can someone call an ambulance?”

  The guys just stood there with their mouths hanging open, but the receptionist scurried back through the door to make the call at her desk.

  Exhausted, I dropped into Flo’s chair and looked down at her. What a shame. She’d inherited a profitable business and turned it to shit. With any luck, someone else would buy KCSH, polish the turd, and turn the station back into the aboveboard, valuable enterprise it had once been.

  After checking to make sure Flo was still breathing and had a pulse—check and check—I glanced over at the console. As long as I was here, I might as well jump on the microphone and give the world that public service announcement it needed.

  I pulled the device toward me and spoke into it. “Hello, everyone out there in radioland. Yo-yo-yo! Special Agent Tara Holloway is in the house!” I jabbed the “applause” button. Clap-clap-clap!

  I continued my broadcast, though I ditched the hip-hop DJ voice. “You might be wondering why the Internal Revenue Service is here at KCSH. Well, I’ll explain it to you. Flo Cash has been engaging in something called barter. Barter is where two parties exchange goods or services rather than paying cash for them.” I hit the cash register sound-effect button. Cha-ching!

  “There’s nothing illegal about barter,” I said, “but the thing to remember is that all business transactions are subject to reporting and tax. And when a person receives an in-kind payment in exchange for work, that payment is taxable compensation. So be sure you report and pay tax on any exchanges you make, okay?”

  Hey, this radio thing is kind of fun!

  “While I’m here, let me give you a little what-what about online scams, help you protect yourself. Just yesterday I arrested a catfishing Casanova who’d found women and men on dating sites, gained their trust, and asked them to cash checks for him. He gave some sob story about a stepson who’d drained his bank account. Don’t fall for these scams, folks! If someone tells you that a bank can tell immediately whether a check is legit or bogus, they are lying to you. It takes several days for your bank to run a check through the network and discover that the account either is empty or doesn’t exist. Protect yourselves, people!”

  The three-line phone lit up, all lines flashing with incoming calls. I pushed the first button. “Hello, caller. You’re on the air.”

  “Hi,” came a man’s voice. “I was wondering whether my teenage daughter needs to report her babysitting earnings on a tax return.”

  I hit the sound-effect button labeled: Coo. I got lucky. It was the coo of a baby, not a dove. Goo-goo-ga-ga.

  “Good question, sir,” I replied. “If and how your daughter reports depends on whether her babysitting activities are regular enough to constitute a trade or business and how much she earns.”

  “She only watches kids on occasion,” he said. “She bring in about two or three hundred dollars a year.”

  “Does she have any other income?”

  “Just allowance.”

  “Then no need to report. She’s below the filing threshold.” I thanked him for his call and pushed the second button. “Hello, caller. What’s your question?”

  It was a woman this time. “I’m a stay-at-home mom,” she said. “Somebody said I could open an IRA to save for retirement, but I thought you could only have an IRA if you earned money at a job.”

  “Whoever that somebody was is right. A nonworking spouse can qualify to contribute to an IRA. For more details, check out the IRS Web site.”

  I pushed the third button. “Hello, caller. What’s your question?”

  Lu’s voice came over the airwaves. “My question is what the hell is going on over there?”

  “Hello, Lu!” I called. “Listeners, this caller is my boss, Lu. She’s one hell of a woman and a cancer survivor.” I hit the “applause” button. Clap-clap-clap! “As for what’s going on over here, I bested Flo Cash and now I’m dropping some knowledge on the good folks of Dallas.”

  “Once the medics arrive,” Lu said, “get back to the office.”

  “Will do. Thanks for your call.”

  I answered a couple more questions, one about treasury bonds and another about tax-preferred ways to fund college education expenses, before the EMTs showed up. Two loaded a groaning Flo onto a stretcher and wheeled her out the door while another dabbed ointment on my blistered face.

  “That ought to do ya’,” he said, screwing the cap back on the tube.

  Once the medics were gone, I picked up the microphone and stood. “This has been fun, y’all! Remember to file on time and file accurately. Special Agent Tara Holloway out!”

  I lifted the mic over my head and dropped it, cool-style. Unfortunately, I wasn’t as cool as I’d thought. The mic hit the steel toe of my Doc Martens and gave the listeners an earsplitting KUNK before softly thudding to the floor. Oops.

  chapter thirty-one

  The Big Day

  Alicia’s big day had finally arrived. I woke Sunday morning to the sound of her thundering footsteps as she ran from my guest room across the hall and jumped onto my bed, scattering my cats and nearly bouncing me off in her excitement.

  She jumped up and down like a kid in a bounce house. “I’m getting married today!”

  “Not if you bash your head on my ceiling and break your neck!” Before she could suffer such a fate I grabbed her arm and yanked her down onto the bed. The number-one duty of a maid of honor was to make sure the bride arrived at the wedding alive.

  She flopped onto her back next to me. “Can you believe it? Sometimes I thought this day would never come.”

  Daniel hadn’t exactly been in a rush to seal the deal, but once he’d come around and proposed he hadn’t once looked back. He’d be a good husband and, with any luck, would get a chance to be a good father one day, too.

  “I’m so happy for you, Alicia.”

  “I’m happy for me, too.” She sat up and looked at me. “Thanks for letting me stay here these past few months. It’s been fun.”

  “It has. I’ve gotten used to having you around, too. It’s going to be awfully quiet without you here.”

  Anne jumped back onto the bed and strode across the patchwork quilt, settling beside me.

  Alicia reached over and scratched her under the chin. “You could always get another cat to replace me.”

  “There’s a thought.” I glanced at the clock. “I suppose we should get moving. It’s going to be a busy day.”

  We ate a light breakfast and showered before packing our shoes, jewelry, makeup, and hair products in my car. When Alicia’s mother arrived, we carefully carried Alicia’s dress out to the driveway and hung it draped across the backseat.

  “Be good, you two.” I gave Henry and Anne good-bye kisses on the top of their heads and headed out to the wedding chapel.

  The afternoon was a whirlwind of activity as we prepared for the event. The ceremony would begin at four, with dinner and dancing to follow in the ballroom. We bridesmaids flitted about the dressing room, fixing our hair and applying our makeup. I had to dab on extra concealer to cover the pink, tea bag–shaped burn mark on my forehead but managed to cover it well enough. Hair and faces ready, we slipped into our
shoes and dresses. I paired mine with a beautiful pair of ruby drop earrings that Nick had given me months before.

  “The flowers are here!” Alicia’s mother called.

  The florist entered the room carrying a gorgeous bouquet of red and white roses for Alicia, lilies for us bridesmaids.

  Once the flowers had been distributed, the photographer, who’d captured some candid shots inside, ordered us outside for formal group shots. “This way, ladies!”

  She posed us on the stone steps, issuing a variety of orders: “Chins up! Tummies in! Smile!”

  Between shots, we fanned ourselves with the wedding service bulletins, trying not to sweat in the June Texas heat.

  Nick came up the steps on his way into the chapel. Hell if he didn’t look even more handsome today in the black tux and red vest than he had when he’d tried them on. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said.

  I sent him a wink. “Right back at ya.”

  He gave me a peck on the cheek. “Your parents here yet?”

  “They’re on their way,” I told him. They’d texted me a couple minutes earlier to let me know they’d be arriving shortly.

  “I’ll wait for them here so we can sit together.”

  We bridesmaids greeted guests as they arrived and took seats inside the chapel. My parents, who’d driven in from my hometown of Nacogdoches in East Texas, arrived just a few minutes after Nick. I gave them both a hug.

  My mother put a hand on each of my shoulders and stepped back to look at me. “Aren’t you a beautiful sight?”

  “Thanks, Mom. You look great, too.”

  She turned side to side, her lips spread in a smile. “I do, don’t I?”

  Dad stuck out his hand to shake Nick’s. “Good to see you, Nick. We’ve got some baseball and basketball scores to discuss.”

  Nick jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s get in there and get down to it.”

  With that, my parents and Nick headed into the chapel.

  At five minutes before four, we bridesmaids returned to the bridal suite to prepare for our procession.

  Alicia appeared radiant in her dress, beaming with happiness. No nervous bride here. Her mother, on the other hand, couldn’t stop weeping, both of her hands clutching fistfuls of tissue as dark mascara ran down her cheeks.

  “Here, Mom.” Alicia thrust a cardboard box of tissue at her mother. “You better take the whole box with you.”

  Her mother tossed her old tissues in a wastebasket, grabbed the box from Alicia, and dabbed her eyes with a fresh tissue. “I keep thinking back to when you were a little girl and you’d play wedding. You wore a white pillowcase for a veil, remember? You forced that boy next door to marry you at least a dozen times.”

  “You should look him up,” I teased. “He probably owes you alimony.”

  Alicia pulled my pearl bracelet out of the box and held it up. “Help me with this, Tara?”

  “Of course.” I stepped over, laid my bouquet on the dressing table, and fastened the clasp around her wrist. Noting the garter lying on the tabletop, I picked it up. “Don’t forget this.”

  “Oh, my gosh! I almost forgot my something blue!” Alicia slid her foot out of her shoe, slipped the garter over her foot, and slid it up to a spot a few inches above her knee.

  A moment later, we made our way out into the now-empty foyer and met up with the groomsmen. We formed a line along the wall where we’d be out of sight of the guests until each of us stepped into the doorway to enter the chapel.

  The flower girl and ring bearer, Daniel’s niece and nephew, fidgeted with impatience and excitement. The ring bearer decided a pillow fight might be a fun way to pass the time while we waited, and hit his sister on the shoulder with his miniature pillow.

  “Hey! No hitting!” Having no pillow of her own put the flower girl at a distinct disadvantage, forcing her to make do with the only weapon she had, her basket of red rose petals. She swung it at her brother, sending up a shower of red petals, covering the ring bearer and the floor. This looked like a job for the maid of honor, huh?

  “Settle down, you two!” I called softly, giving them a smile to let them know they weren’t in trouble. It was hard to expect too much from a four- and five-year-old, after all. “Let’s get those petals back in the basket.”

  We scooped the petals up from the floor, though the boy tossed them into the air several times before getting them into the basket, giggling all the while. Little goofball.

  When the time came, the groomsmen took their spots at the front of the chapel. Flanked by his parents, Daniel made his way to the front as well. Beautiful harp music beckoned, and the bridesmaids floated down the aisle accompanied by the soft, sweet sound of the strings. Finally, it was time for the maid of honor to make her entrance.

  My heart pitter-pattered in my chest when I stepped into the chapel. So many faces turned my way, so many eyes on me. I began the walk down the aisle, smiling at those I passed. As I approached my mother she grinned up at me, virtually glowing with pride. If she was this excited about me being a maid of honor, I could only imagine how thrilled she’d be when I finally got married. My father gave me a stoic nod, already looking bored and probably counting the minutes until the reception and dinner. Nick shot me a wink. I shot him one in return and proceeded to my place beside the chuppah, where Daniel waited for his bride. Daniel and I exchanged smiles. Though today was his and Alicia’s day, as her closest friend I was so glad to be a part of it.

  Everyone stood as Alicia came up the aisle, escorted by both her mother and father. She looked absolutely radiant, as if she’d stepped right off the cover of a bridal magazine. Her parents left her next to Daniel under the wedding tent, took their seats on the front row, and the ceremony began.

  Admittedly, while the bride and groom went through the rituals my mind and emotions ventured in a million different directions. They went first to my best friend, who was moving into a new phase of life. I was happy for her, yet couldn’t help but engage in some melancholy reverie, thinking back to our crazy days in college, our first jobs together at Martin & McGee. My gaze moved to the chuppah, draped with a prayer shawl that had been in Daniel’s family for generations, and my mind considered the cycle of life, the continuity of family and love. Last, my eyes and thoughts went to Nick, watching me intently from his seat. What was he thinking about? Probably the prime rib being readied in the reception hall. The smell had wafted over, mingling with the scent of the flowers.

  I had little time to ponder the last question before Alicia and Daniel broke the glass and the guests sent up good wishes in unison. “Mazel tov!”

  Grinning ear to ear, Alicia and Daniel returned down the aisle. The best man stepped over and offered me his arm. I took it and we followed in the bride’s and groom’s footsteps, heading out of the chapel and over to the reception hall.

  While Alicia, Daniel, and their parents formed a receiving line, I waited for Nick and my parents at their table, waving them over when they entered. I gestured to three of the chairs. “These are your seats.”

  “Thanks, hon,” Mom said, dropping into her chair. “These shoes may be pretty, but they are hurting my feet like all get-out.”

  “Wine?” Nick asked her, angling his head to indicate the bar.

  “White, please.”

  He turned to me. “And a red with a cherry for you.”

  “You know it.”

  He pulled out a chair for my dad. “Have a seat, Harlan. I’ll get you a beer.”

  Dad sat and tossed me a glance as Nick headed to the bar. “That one’s a keeper.”

  “He is, isn’t he?”

  A moment later Nick returned with our drinks. By then the hall had filled and it was time for me to take my place at the main table nearby with the rest of the wedding party. Christina and Ajay joined Nick and my parents at their table, along with a couple of assorted cousins and Daniel’s uncle Joe, who, as Alicia had promised, regaled those at his table with tales of his gallbladder surgery.

  �
�Want to see my scar?” he asked.

  Though all the others declined, Ajay said, “Sure.”

  Uncle Joe pulled out his waistband and Ajay took a peek down the man’s pants. “That’s some good work. Hardly left a mark.”

  Once the dinner was served, the toasts began. Each time a toast was made, I clinked glasses with those at my table, then raised my glass in Nick’s direction. He did the same.

  Finally, it was the maid of honor’s turn to make a toast. I stood, holding my glass of champagne before me. “Alicia and I met back in our first accounting class at the University of Texas in Austin,” I told the crowd. “We bonded over general ledgers, balance sheets, and profit and loss statements.” I put a hand to my heart. “I was the debit to her credit.”

  A smattering of chuckles ensued, mostly from the accountants in the audience.

  “The two of us moved to Dallas,” I continued, “leased an apartment together, and took jobs at the same accounting firm. It was there that Alicia and Daniel met, when his law firm hired Martin and McGee for a consulting project. Being the smart CPA she is, Alicia realized that Daniel came with some impressive assets. Meanwhile, Daniel had his eye on Alicia’s bottom line.”

  More laughter filled the room. Even the nonfinancial types got that joke.

  “Now,” I said, smiling down at the couple, “they’ve officially entered into a joint venture.” I raised my glass over my head. “To Alicia and Daniel. May your love always earn a one hundred percent return on investment.”

  There was a clinking of many glasses and cries of, “Hear! Hear!”

  I touched glasses with those at my table, sat, and tossed back a slug of champagne. Alicia’s parents had sprung for the good stuff. I wouldn’t mind if these toasts went on all night.

  When the meal was finished, the DJ cued the music. While the rest of us gathered around the dance floor, Alicia and Daniel had their first dance as husband and wife, swaying to a sappy but appropriate Michael Bublé song. Once they’d finished, the DJ announced a father-daughter dance. Alicia’s father stepped onto the dance floor and began leading her in a classic waltz. When they twirled past me and my dad, Alicia called, “Come on, Tara! Grab your dad and join us!”