Wedding Bell Blues

by Meg Benjamin

  For a moment they stood staring at each other. Otto’s grip on her wrists was almost painful. Janie’s mouth slid into a grim line.

  “Do it anyway.” She pulled her hands away from him, then stepped back. After a moment, Otto turned on his heel and stomped off down Main.

  Janie stood for a moment longer, catching her breath. She hadn’t been afraid of him. Not really. She turned and looked back. The crowd in front of the Dew Drop had faded away. Horace and Bethany trudged off toward the clinic. Cal and Docia were already gone. Sighing, Janie started to head up Spicewood toward home. The sack of leftovers she’d grabbed from the bench banged against her leg as she walked. Oddly enough, she was suddenly hungry.

  “Ladies shouldn’t walk alone at night, even in Konigsburg.” Pete Toleffson fell into step beside her.

  Janie sighed again. “Is that a fact? Even if they’ve lived here all their lives? Even if they’re heading home?” She’d never felt less like being a gracious lady.

  “So they tell me.” Pete nodded toward her sack. “Did you get presents too?”

  “No.” Janie held it up. “It’s leftovers from the party.” The sack looked slightly crumpled. She must have been holding the top too tightly. Oh, well, the contents still probably tasted okay. “What about you. Did you get the burgers?”

  Pete shrugged. “Everybody else did. I had an order of fries Wonder missed.”

  Janie stared down at the sack in her hand. She really should be getting home. Where Mom would probably ask about Otto, if she was still up. Janie glanced up at Pete. “Want some tapas?”

  “Yep.” Pete smiled at her. “I can even offer you a beer, now that I’m off duty. Nobody needed me to drive them anyway. They all had women to guide them home.”

  “Yeah, well, those women weren’t in any better shape than they were.” Janie sighed one more time. “A beer would be great about now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sherice realized her mistake before she’d gone fifty feet from Brenner’s—three-inch heels were not made for walking. But god it had been so great to wear them in front of those losers, to show them what a real woman looked like.

  She had very little use for other women, for the most part. Most of them didn’t come close to her in looks, and they all resented her for it. She served on committees with lots of women like that. They kept her off the boards of the charities where she needed to be if she and Lars were going to move up in Des Moines society. Sometimes they managed to blackball her altogether when she tried to join.

  The minority of women who did come close to her in looks were her competitors. Hanging around with them had never occurred to her. She’d never understood why women thought they needed to be friends with people who might cause them trouble in the end.

  She managed to walk a block down Main before she turned onto a side street and pulled off her shoes. It wouldn’t do for anyone important to see her walking barefoot, but she figured nobody important would be living in these dinky little houses.

  They reminded her a lot of Urbandale. Which didn’t mean they made her homesick. She’d already been thoroughly sick of home when she’d left.

  Sherice tucked her shoes under her arm and began walking in the general direction of her motel. In reality, she wasn’t all that eager to get there. Lars would probably still be at the party for Cal, and then he’d probably be too drunk to do anything when he got back.

  He’d been too drunk to do anything for most of the week. Not that Sherice particularly wanted him to do anything, but she did like to remind him of her importance every once in a while.

  The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that this whole marriage thing wasn’t working out, but she hadn’t yet decided what to do about it. She’d wait until the wedding was over and then start making plans when she got back to Iowa—where there were some lawyers who weren’t related to Lars, and where she had a perfect bargaining chip in her eleven-month-old daughter. Caution also told her to hold off until she had a few prospects lined up before she jumped.

  She turned down another dark street lined with houses. She was pretty sure it ran in the same direction as Main. If she followed it, she could cut up to the motel when the time came.

  Sherice pushed the hair back from her forehead, feeling the dampness of sweat at the roots. Now she’d need to wash her hair again, and she hadn’t yet found a stylist in town that she’d trust to do a decent blow-out. She wasn’t sure how she was going to manage looking great at the wedding. No matter what she’d said to that Dupree woman, that dress wasn’t going to work for her. Too long, for one thing. Her legs were one of her best assets.

  She was sweaty, her make-up was running, her hair was beginning to frizz, and her feet hurt. Goddamn Texas anyway! Sherice was one very unhappy woman.

  And then she was a nervous one. A man stood under the street light just ahead of her. A very big man.

  He was leaning against his truck, drinking a beer. He wasn’t aware of her yet, but he would be soon. Sherice studied his shoulders for a moment. They looked vaguely familiar.

  Ah, yes, the barbeque. And then in the street afterward. She knew who the man was now. The guy with the abs. “Evening,” she called. “Got another one of those?”

  Olive lay curled on the living room rug when Pete and Janie entered the apartment, but she got up and followed them as soon as Pete closed the door. He walked into the kitchen, trying to keep that light tone he’d managed to come up with in the street.

  He didn’t know who he blamed more for the generally stupid situation he’d found himself in—Otto or himself. Before Janie had stepped up, Pete had been ready to punch Otto’s lights out just for the hell of it. And then she’d settled things, simply, politely, firmly.

  Pete watched her lift Styrofoam containers out of her paper sack and place them on the kitchen table, giving a great imitation of someone who wasn’t thoroughly pissed.

  Yeah, right.

  He studied her stiff shoulders, the way her arms moved. Alcohol was definitely called for. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of beer, setting them on the table next to the food.

  He lifted one of the Styrofoam boxes and looked inside. “What’s this?”

  Janie glanced at the box. “Pita chips with goat cheese and chives.”

  Pete pulled a chair back from the table for Janie and then settled himself across from her, munching on a chip. He took a deep breath. “You know they were all drunk, right?”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded. “I thought that was the idea of the party. I didn’t know Otto had been invited, though.”

  “He wasn’t.” He pulled over another box—flatbread with something that looked and tasted like steak and blue cheese. “He joined us later.”

  “And you played darts.”

  Pete nodded, chewing. He wondered if he could come up with a way to detour around this part of the conversation. Probably not.

  “Who won?”

  He shrugged. “We each won one. We were working on the final match when things sort of deteriorated.”

  She reached into a box and pulled out some cheese. “What did you do to him?”

  “Well, I sort of took my inspiration from you—I mean you and that guy who was giving you trouble that one night when you were in the darts match.”

  “Oh my god, you darted him in the butt!” Janie stared at him, the corners of her mouth trembling.

  He shrugged. “What can I say? It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  She shook her head. “You could have hurt him, you know. Those darts are sharp.”

  “Nah.” Pete crunched into another pita chip. “I aimed for his ass. I figured he had enough muscle there to protect anything vital.”

  Janie’s trembling lips finally resolved themselves into a grin. And then she threw her head back and guffawed. “I wish I’d been there.”

  He shrugged. “If you had been, it probably wouldn’t have happened.”

  Her
grin disappeared, and she reached into another box, then pulled out something green.

  “What’s that?” Pete started to reach into the box himself, but Janie snapped the lid down.

  “Mussels with cilantro mayonnaise, and they’re all mine.”

  He settled back in his chair, peering at the other boxes. “So how did your soiree go?”

  She sighed. “I ended up ordering Sherice out of Brenner’s, but otherwise it went fine.” She opened the box again, reaching inside.

  The corners of his mouth edged up. “And you did this because… Not that you really need a reason for ordering Sherice out of your life.”

  “She insulted Lee and Ken. They weren’t in the room at the time, but they’re my friends. She called them ‘queers’. I couldn’t let that go.”

  Pete blew out a breath. “Interesting. I didn’t realize Sherice was also homophobic, among all her other sterling character traits.”

  Janie raised her eyes to his, dark brown, the color of bittersweet chocolate. “Like I said, they’re my friends. It just…I got fed up with everything, I guess. Docia’s ready to kick her out of the wedding again.”

  “Yeah. Sherice has been known to do that to people. I’ll talk to Docia tomorrow. Maybe we can work something out.” He pulled something else out of one of the boxes and bit down. And felt as if his mouth had exploded. “Holy shit, what was that?”

  “Wasabi sauce.” Her grin returned. She handed him his bottle of Modelo Negro. “Here. Drink.”

  Pete let the cold liquid slide down his throat, counteracting the small brush fire occurring in his sinuses. “Okay,” he gasped, “that constitutes revenge, right?”

  “No, that constitutes carelessness.” Janie snapped two of the now-empty boxes shut and tossed them into the sack again. “You should look before you put something into your mouth. Besides, why would I want revenge on you?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “For having a Y chromosome? For darting your boyfriend?”

  Three boxes were left on the table. She reached into one and pulled out a spring roll. “That assumes I consider him my boyfriend. After the past few days, I’m not sure I do. Do you want to tell me what he said about me at the Dew Drop that made you so mad?”

  “Nope.” He got up and headed for the refrigerator, pulling out a couple more bottles. He twisted the top off one as he sank back into his chair. Time to bite the bullet. “Otto probably wouldn’t have said anything about you if he hadn’t been drunk, and if I hadn’t been needling him. Don’t take it seriously.” Olive pushed her nose against his hand and he scratched her ears.

  “I’ve known Otto for a long time,” Janie mused, sipping her own beer. “We went to high school together. By now, I know what to take seriously and what to ignore.”

  She ran her fingers up the neck of her beer bottle, absently rubbing around the ridges at the top. Pete worked on convincing the unruly parts of his body that no particular subtext was involved.

  Olive whimpered slightly, pushing her nose against his hand again.

  “Ah hell.” He sighed. “I forgot. I need to take her for a walk.”

  “It’s time for me to go home anyway.” Janie smiled at him. “Thanks for the conversation.”

  “We’ll walk with you.” He reached for Olive’s leash.

  As usual, Olive had her own ideas about walking. She tugged Pete in the opposite direction he’d intended on going, but Janie didn’t object. She walked along beside him, moving through the pools of light along the street. After a couple of blocks, he unfastened the leash and let Olive amble along at her own pace.

  Janie looked up at him as Olive trotted across the street in front of them. “How do you like living in the apartment?”

  “Docia’s apartment?” He shrugged. “It’s good. A little bare, but good.”

  “I was thinking…” she began, then stopped.

  Olive sniffed at an oleander bush. She’d already marked a succession of live oaks and a couple of pecan trees.

  “Thinking about what?”

  “I’d like to find a place of my own. Maybe something like that. After you head back, I mean.”

  Pete felt an odd pang in his gut. After you head back. “It’s comfortable. You’d like it.”

  Janie nodded. “I think I would. And I’d be right upstairs over the store, so I could open up in the morning, the way Docia used to.” She looked up at him, eyes dancing.

  Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and feeling the warmth of her palm pressed against his as they walked up Spicewood.

  Just an illusion, this feeling of rightness. He didn’t really belong here.

  “I’ve got this case I’m worried about,” Pete blurted. Where the hell had that come from? He hadn’t been going to talk about the Amundson case. “I mean, not worried, exactly, just…concerned, sort of.”

  She stared up at him. “What is it?”

  He shrugged. “This guy who hurt his wife, hurt her bad. I thought I had it locked up tight when I left, but now they’ve given the case to a new prosecutor. I’m not sure she’s up to it.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?” She raised a questioning eyebrow. “Is there something unusual about it?”

  “No,” He said slowly. “It’s just…I don’t want anything to go bad. That woman’s suffered enough.”

  “Maybe the new prosecutor will do a good job. If it’s her first big case, she’ll probably put a lot into it.”

  “Maybe. She didn’t sound like it when I talked to her, though.” Ahead of them, Olive was suddenly fascinated by a sunflower. She paused to sniff. Somewhere nearby he could hear a car alarm bleeping.

  Janie turned toward the sound. “Gosh, that’s really loud.”

  “Isn’t that Cal’s clinic building over there?”

  She nodded. “That’s the parking lot.”

  Pete paused to snap the leash on Olive’s collar again, then headed up the street, Janie at his heels.

  The sound got louder the closer they came, but he was no longer sure they were hearing a car alarm. He squinted at the parking lot.

  A large pickup was parked at the far side under a live oak. The horn blared at irregular intervals, while the light bar on the top flashed occasionally.

  “What the hell?” Pete muttered.

  Janie’s hand flexed on his arm. “That’s Otto’s truck. How can it do that on its own?”

  “It can’t, unless it’s haunted.” Now that he looked at it, he noticed the truck was also rocking back and forth gently.

  “Should we go up and see what’s going on?” she asked. She didn’t seem particularly eager to do that.

  Neither was he. He handed her Olive’s leash. “Here, hang onto Olive for a minute, okay?”

  He thought the rocking had diminished slightly. The horn still blared every few seconds, but not as often as it had before. In between the horn blats, Pete thought he heard voices.

  The headlights of a car turning into the parking lot swept across him, and a Konigsburg police cruiser pulled up beside Janie. Pete stepped back from the truck with a feeling of intense gratitude.

  “Hey, Nando.” Janie nodded. “Pete Toleffson, this is Nando Avrogado. He’s one of our town cops.”

  A large man in a tan uniform had stepped out of the cruiser, pushing his Stetson back on his head. “Evening. So what’s happening here?”

  “We don’t know exactly.” She frowned. “We heard the truck horn over on Navarro. I guess it’s been going for a while.”

  “Yeah, neighbors called the station to complain.” Avrogado squinted at the truck, then turned to Pete. “You check inside?”

  Pete put his hand on Janie’s elbow. “Nope. I guess we can leave you to it.”

  “Wait.” She dug in her heels. “Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

  He had a fair idea of what was going on, which was why he wanted to be back walking Olive in the opposite direction when Avrogado opened the truck door. “We’ll probably find out
later.”

  “I want to find out now.” She gave him a level look.

  “Okay.” Protecting her suddenly didn’t strike him as necessary.

  Avrogado pulled his baton from his belt and rapped on the driver’s window. “Anybody in there?”

  The rocking stopped abruptly, as did the horn and the lights. The night became very quiet all of a sudden.

  “What?” The voice from inside the truck was muffled but masculine.

  “Konigsburg police,” Avrogado snapped. “Open up.” He stepped back so that he was behind the door, holding the baton in front of him.

  After a moment, the truck door swung open and a man’s head emerged. “Nando?”

  Avrogado grimaced, sliding his baton back in his belt. “Otto, you moron. You woke up the whole neighborhood.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  Otto turned toward the front and caught sight of Janie. Pete found himself staring at a lot more of Otto Friedrich than he wanted to see.

  “Shit,” Otto gasped. He pulled back inside the truck abruptly.

  Avrogado cocked his head around the side of the door. “You okay in there, ma’am?”

  “Of course,” a woman’s voice snapped.

  Pete stood very still. Shit. Goddamn. “Sherice?”

  The silence was deafening. “Yeah?” Sherice replied finally.

  Beside him, Pete heard Janie suck in a hissing breath.

  Otto cleared his throat. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, Otto,” Janie snapped. “Of course it is!”

  The door on the passenger’s side of the truck opened and Sherice stepped down onto the asphalt. Her hair was a mass of tangles and her eye make-up gave her the look of a marauding raccoon. But she was dressed. She braced one hand against the truck as she pulled on her shoes.

  Her gaze fixed on Pete. “I assume you’ll be talking to Lars.”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know what to say to him.”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Sherice straightened, glancing behind them. “Or you may not have to.”

  Pete turned to see a small crowd gathering beside the clinic. Apparently, he and Janie weren’t the only ones who’d heard the horn. Some people he figured were neighbors stood at the side of the building, along with Cal and Docia.