Wedding Chimes, Assorted Crimes

by Christine Arness

  “I haven’t decided.” Max tried in vain to wipe the blissful smile from his face. For some reason, his heart had started doing jumping jacks in his chest. His skin felt hot and prickly, as though he’d just crawled out of a warming oven.

  “You should definitely go for something in tights.” Keely giggled unexpectedly, the sound sweet enough to eat. “You’ve got the legs for it.”

  Without words of intimacy spoken or physical contact, something indefinable had changed between them. Keely toyed with the lace edging the neckline of her gown. Max wanted to wave his arms and shout, “Hallelujah!” The two of them had crossed a vast emotional chasm and stepped onto solid ground.

  Instead, he asked, “Tights? Have you been talking to Anna Marie? She’s determined to see me humiliate myself.”

  Keely gazed at him with a new awareness and acceptance. “I’m sorry, Max,” she said simply. “I haven’t been fair to you and I apologize. Friends?”

  They were alone in an isolated hallway, the distant sounds of the reception barely audible. Max decided that now was as good a time as any to settle matters between them. “I don’t want just a platonic friendship, Keely.”

  Her smile faded. Snatching the camera from his hand, she tried to brush past him, but with an agile move, he blocked her path. Frowning, she reached for the strap of her equipment bag, tried in vain to tug it from his grasp.

  “Max, please! I’ve got work to do.”

  He said firmly, “I know people you’ve trusted have let you down, Keely, but you can’t let past betrayals spoil the present and your future. Our future.”

  “Our future?” Her creamy bosom, enchantingly framed by the low neckline, rose and fell with each quickened breath. “Max, this isn’t going to work—”

  “What isn’t going to work? Our relationship? How do you know, Keely? We haven’t even tried one yet.”

  Max lowered the equipment bag to the floor. “Don’t tell me you’re a coward, Keely. You proved your mettle when you rescued me at the limo yard. All I’m asking you to do is use some of that courage to transform your own life.”

  Keely made only a token protest as Max took her in his arms. “We can make this work, Keely.”

  “I don’t have anything to offer you,” she whispered, so low he could barely hear. “I don’t know how to share myself with another person. Or how to be part of a family.”

  Max tightened his grip, pulling her even closer. “I’ll teach you. What I don’t know, we’ll learn together.” She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Those are the rules, Keely.”

  “Rules?” She had one hand on his chest, pushing him away. “There are no rules—”

  “To love? Just one. Trust your heart. Your heart is saying, ‘Give this man and this relationship a chance!’”

  Keely gasped as his face swooped close to hers. The camera she clutched dug into Max’s rib cage as he crushed her to him, but he ignored the pain. Their lips met, Keely’s at first reluctant and then hungry. The camera slipped from her grasp and landed on Max’s foot, but he didn’t notice the impact.

  The fervid embrace lasted until passion’s dance activated the flash unit slung over Keely’s shoulder. The resulting burst of bright light sent the couple reeling apart.

  Blinking furiously, Max stooped to retrieve the fallen camera and handed it to her. “Were we just struck by lightning or has Cupid switched to flaming arrows?”

  Keely’s mouth twitched. “Max, you’re incorrigible!”

  He wished he could take her picture now and carry the image with him always. Cinnamon rich hair tumbling around her shoulders, eyes sparkling, skin still flushed from loving.

  She evaded him with elfin grace. “Whoa, knave! I’ve still got a reception to shoot.”

  Max cupped her chin, leaned forward to kiss the tip of her nose. “All I’m asking is one uninterrupted evening without this horror hanging over our heads. Be merciful, sweet lady.”

  He snatched the camera from Keely’s grasp. “You’re always fiddling with or hiding behind one of these things!”

  “It’s safer, okay?” The spirit Max admired glinted in her eyes and she held out her hand. “Maybe I like looking at life through a lens!”

  “Keely, no man would choose to kiss cold glass over a warm woman.” That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but Max plunged on. “Things were simpler in medieval times. Faint heart never won fair lady and all that. If you wanted to win her heart, you just donned armor and knocked some other poor sap off his horse. Relationships weren’t analyzed to death—you made them work because you wanted to!”

  Keely gazed up at him, her eyes filled with a sorrow Max suddenly understood.

  He sighed. “Big talk, huh? The truth is, I probably couldn’t have cut it back then. I’ve never ridden anything more spirited than a wooden carousel pony and iron gives me a rash. I’m no expert on making relationships work—my own marriage failed.”

  Max shrugged helplessly. “You’ve invaded my heart, Keely, conquered the territory. What are you going to do with me?”

  Her face and throat flushed. She glanced down the deserted hallway as if looking for deliverance.

  “Say something!” Max found it increasingly difficult to breathe. “Are you just going to let me walk out of your life?”

  He saw the answer in her eyes, a moment before she shook her head with a sheepish smile. “I’d be a fool if I did.”

  Keely put her hand on his arm. “Max, I have a confession. After you left my house, I received a phone call from Jackson.”

  She felt him stiffen as he shifted gears from amorous to business. “Jackson? What did he want?”

  “Five thousand dollars in exchange for the tape.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight. He’s the chauffeur for the bridal party. I saw him at the church but we didn’t have a chance to speak.”

  “I’ll go straighten that bird out right now—”

  “No!” Keely’s fingers closed imploringly on his sleeve. “He told me he’s leaving town. Give him a chance to come forward, Max. We can’t risk scaring him off again.”

  “I’ll put on a costume.” Max clearly wished Jackson was within arm’s length. “That way I might be able to get close to him.”

  “Max, please wait until he contacts me! I’d better get back to the festivities before Hugo Fairmont sends out the troops.” On impulse, Keely extracted the envelope of cash from her equipment bag. “You hang onto the ransom money. I’ll signal you if and when Jackson makes contact.”

  “I won’t let that scoundrel rob you,” Max vowed. “I’ll get the tape and turn him over to the police. Trust me, Keely.”

  Keely believed him. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Max.”

  He touched the spot where her lips had brushed his skin and gave her a Groucho Marx grin. “No, thank you!”

  Waving the envelope, Max ducked into the changing room. Almost immediately, he poked his head back out. “Trust me, Keely,” he said exultantly. “We’re in this together!”

  Despite the seriousness of the present situation, Keely felt almost buoyant with anticipation of the future. They were in this together!

  Cradling her camera like a newborn babe, she floated back to the feast.

  Chapter 28

  Baby spots bathed the glittering chalice in a golden glow. Humming, “I’m in the Mood for Love,” Keely photographed the chalice from several angles before signaling for Zach, her substitute videographer, to include the sculpture on the tape. He gave her a thumbs-up signal and zoomed in on the frozen roses embedded around the lip of the ice carving.

  At the head table, Courtney and Andrew took places of honor marked by the sheaf of pure white trumpet lilies which had served as the bridal bouquet. Keely no longer envied the couple. It was all she could do not to grab a microphone and announce her own happy news.

  The decision to yield to Max’s persistence hadn’t come like a bolt of lightning from the heavens, but had been shaped by the still, small voice i
nside her lonely heart. She wanted to dance, she wanted to sing, she wanted to be with Max. For the first time Keely could remember, her camera was a burden, not a comfort.

  Waiters circulated among the guests, pouring champagne for the opening toasts. Keely rechecked her flash synchronization by bouncing the light off the wall before moving forward.

  A jester in a pointed cap blocked her way. When she attempted to go around him, the mannequin came to life, hopping up and down and shaking his rattle in her face. “Ho, wench! Come to serve the honored guests?”

  At first, the concept of living statues seemed charming and highly original, but, as the evening wore on, contact with them had grown tiresome. Keely had already routed a dashing duke by slapping his face when he pinched her—“Just keeping in character,” she’d informed the indignant college student—and evaded a minstrel determined to render a ballad about her wine dark eyes.

  The behavior of the actor playing the jester, however, had gone from mildly irritating to downright annoying. She had first noticed him standing at the end of the hallway when she emerged from her blissful encounter with Max.

  Since then, he had persisted in shadowing Keely as she photographed the reception. His annoying smoker’s cough was at odds with the light-hearted image presented by his colorful costume and his tight-clad legs resembled red tree trunks. The expression visible under the red and yellow half mask was anything but merry.

  A recorded trumpet call sent stragglers hurrying to their chairs. Hugo Fairmont, even more bearlike in his tuxedo, rose and bent his shaggy gray head. In a booming voice, he read from a scroll the king’s proclamation announcing a recision of taxes in honor of the royal marriage. Glasses were raised; toasts couched in formal language were given and answered.

  Boys and girls dressed as pages scattered among the guests to hand out net bags. Each bag contained a pair of uncirculated golden American Eagle coins, Papa Bear’s way of ensuring his Goldilocks had a wedding that would be remembered.

  Listening to the excited whispers as the contents of the bags were revealed, Keely wondered what Flo would have written about this reception. The columnist had been such an integral part of the social scene that her absence left an almost visible gap.

  A page brushing by Keely paused to press a folded piece of paper into her hand. While the first course was being served to appreciative murmurs, she retreated to a corner and read the note. “Lake Pavilion. 20 min. J.”

  A trio of musicians began to play softly on a lute, flute and harp. The lights gradually dimmed until the guests were dining by the light of votive candles floating in crystal bowls.

  Keely’s heart raced in anticipation as she gazed around the darkened room. Her mind was already outside, in the small pavilion built on the lake. A gorgeous setting for outdoor weddings, the structure would be an isolated and lonely rendezvous.

  She had no intention of going alone. She hadn’t seen Max in costume yet. He must be hiding his splendid self in the kitchen. With a final survey of the banquet hall, Keely slipped away in search of her life partner.

  “Mind you be careful. It’s darker than a lawyer’s heart out there.” Anna Marie addressed the waiters filing by to pick up trays. “I don’t want guests showered with May sallat or any of you falling and getting hurt.”

  Beaming at the dutiful chorus of acknowledgement, she turned to Max and her smile vanished. “What are you doing?”

  His face grim, her nephew placed the domed lid on an enormous silver salver.

  “Max, I’m talking to you!” Anna Marie wheeled the chair over to his side.

  Max had returned to the kitchen clad in a garment resembling a full-length russet velour bathrobe. Fur circled the collar and hem; gold and green braid bordered the sleeves. A gold tassel drapery cord emphasized his trim waist. The female staff, prepared to issue a chorus of wolf whistles, had instead made sounds of disappointment.

  The costume emerald set in the front of Max’s floppy beret glittered as he looked down at Anna Marie. After a deliberate pause, he said, “I’m taking the chauffeur some supper.”

  “You’re up to something, Maxwell. You’ve got that same sneaky expression you had when you and Tony, Jr. were six and the two of you decided to paint your room peanut butter brown—using Skippy as an artistic medium. Let me see what’s under that lid!”

  Max muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but dutifully raised the lid.

  Anna Marie blinked. “But there’s nothing on the tray! Just what are you planning to serve the poor man?”

  “If he doesn’t cooperate, a knuckle sandwich.” Max slammed the lid down and pushed past the wheelchair.

  A knuckle sandwich? Anna Marie watched him disappear out the back door leading to the parking lot. She knew she’d been pushing Max hard tonight, but the boy definitely had his mind on something other than food.

  Max breathed in cooler air. No sense in getting his robe in a twist. In Anna Marie’s eyes, he would always be a mischievous six year old. Besides, Keely loved him. He had no intention of letting her down.

  He quickened his pace when he saw the stretch limo parked at the far end of the lot, pale moonlight silvering its polished exterior. Ron Franklin might have the ethics of a gangster and a thug for a son, but his vehicles were all thoroughbreds.

  Hurrying forward, Max tripped on the hem of his robe and stumbled, barely managing to save the salver from clattering to the cement. This ludicrous costume might prove to be a godsend if it allowed him to get close enough to Jackson to catch him off guard. Max grinned. He couldn’t wait to see the awed look on Keely’s face when he strolled in and handed her both the tape and the money. The policemen guarding the gift room could take charge of Jackson once Max had squeezed a confession out of him. Like toothpaste out of a tube, he told himself.

  Drawing closer to his objective, Max saw that the vehicle’s hood had been raised. A man was visible beside the front fender, the upper half of his body concealed in the shadows under the hood.

  Max raised his voice. “Engine trouble?”

  “Checking the fan belt.” The response was muffled.

  “Thought you might appreciate something to eat.”

  Max had planned his strategy while crossing the parking lot. Thrust the serving platter into Jackson’s hands and follow up with a quick punch to the jaw while the man was off-balance. Then it was simply a matter of wringing the location of the tape from Jackson and escorting him into the waiting arms of the law.

  “Thanks.” Jackson began to withdraw his head and shoulders.

  Max frowned. The chauffeur’s build was blockier than he remembered—

  The man turned and Max found himself looking into a mirror. “What—”

  He only got that one word out before a fist exploded against his jaw, sending him reeling back and the silver salver clanging to the ground. Another blow caught him just behind the ear and Max’s knees buckled. He pitched forward, the parking lot rushing up to smack him in the face.

  Against the cloudy veil which coated his brain, an indignant thought flashed in neon letters: That creep stole my plan! His head whirling like a pinwheel, Max felt the scrape of concrete against his cheek as someone tugged at his clothing. He felt no fear or anger, only a mild curiosity.

  A distant, gruff voice. “Help me strip off the robe.”

  “What do we do with him?”

  “Dump him in the trunk. I want both of you out of sight in five minutes. If he’s here, she won’t be far behind.”

  Cold air pricked Max’s limbs. Someone rolled him over; pain crashed down on his defenseless head until it throbbed. Unable to even twitch a muscle, he felt himself roughly lifted and dropped onto a cushioned surface. Then came a slamming thud which set echoes dancing in his skull like ripples in a pond. No—he was in the pond, his body caressed by wavelets as he sank through the watery layers.

  Max didn’t fight the pressure, allowing his body to settle into the muddy bottom of the pond. He needed rest, sleep to heal his hu
rting head. Relaxed and drowsy, Max tugged the darkness over him like a cuddly quilt and heard a familiar voice, silvery as a trumpet call, which pierced his lethargy. Keely!

  Anna Marie was directing her troops with a drill sergeant’s bark when Keely located her.

  The caterer’s face darkened when she recognized the intruder in her kitchen. “Keely! So you’re the reason he’s been burning capon instead of browning it. The water to my Max’s oil, eh?”

  Keely blinked at this unexpected verbal assault. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t apologize!” Anna Marie flapped her hand in dismissal. “A woman can’t help her fascination to the opposite sex—especially when the man’s a hard headed Italian lad who’s made it his religion to ignore sound advice.” She tossed her glossy page boy and said darkly, “As a woman, I know these things.”

  Keely suspected this conversation could get very interesting if she let it. Unfortunately, she lacked the time to probe for further insights into Max’s character. “Anna Marie, I’m looking for Max. Is he here?”

  Anna Marie pursed her lips as if debating whether to answer the question.

  Keely swallowed her exasperation. “I need to talk to him. Urgently.”

  An eloquent sniff. “I suppose hormones can make it seem that way. Oh, to be young again!”

  Keely heard stifled chuckles from the workers surrounding her. Her face flamed in response, but she kept her voice level. “I need to talk to Max right away.”

  Anna Marie relented. The girl had spirit, which would go a long way to make up for the taint of her Irish blood. “He claimed to be carrying supper to the chauffeur, but took an empty tray. A kind heart that boy has—no one can deny it—but business sense? I’d rather send Jack-in-the-Beanstalk than entrust a commission to Max—”

  But Keely was already out the door, the flash pack bobbing against her hip. She’d asked Max to let her handle this, but instead he had to act on a scheme of his own and if he lost the tape through sheer machismo, she’d never let him forget it…