Down & Dead In Dixie (Down & Dead, Inc. Series)

by Vicki Hinze

Emily and I listened intently, and pretended not to be listening. I don’t know about Emily, but Mark and Lester’s conversation would have made a lot more sense to me if we weren’t going to die soon. Actually, it would have been insanely touching.

  Instead it confused me. Oh, it was still touching and insanely sweet, but all things considered, wasn’t it also certifiably nuts? I gave up the pretense and looked at Emily, whispering so only she could hear. “Why are they talking about this like it’s a normal wedding?”

  “Situations can be normal or not, but men are always men,” Emily whispered back. She caught my blank-expression response and added, “It’s the peacock strut, pet.”

  I looked back at her, standing there holding the dress, and stepped into it. “The what?”

  Lifting the diaphanous dress, she motioned for me to slip my arms through the straps. “The peacock strut. Ain’t you ever heard of it?”

  I seated the strap on the left shoulder, then on the right and smoothed the bodice. The fabric clung then draped, soft and beautiful. Layers of crinkling chiffon and delicate lace in a traditionally cut gown I would have chosen for myself. “Never.”

  “It happens before every wedding where there’s two men in a woman’s life.” She zipped me up. “The father tells the groom he loves his daughter and the groom better be good to her or else, and the groom says he will be good to her and the dad’s got nothing to worry about.” She stepped back and lifted both hands, palms up. “The peacock strut.”

  It fit. The magnificent dress actually fit. “I didn’t hear any of that.”

  “Course not.” She fluffed the skirt, waist to hem. The rustle helped cover their whispers. “The men don't warn and reassure each other straight out—it ain’t civil on the day of a union—but it’s clear as day to both of them if the groom ain’t good to the bride, there’ll be steep consequences.”

  “It’s like a turf war.” I met Emily’s eyes but the dress had stolen the lion’s share of my attention. Never in my life had I put on a dress that felt like this.

  “Exactly.” Emily bent deep and straightened the hem, then reached for the veil. “I always looked at it like a transfer of power in a political coup.”

  I groaned. “Politics bore me to tears, Emily. Too little substance and way too much theater.”

  She giggled. “Brings out the best and worst in people, and that’s what I meant. A lot of truth beyond the surface clutter, too. They talk nice, silver tongues and all, but cross ’em and they’ll rip your throat out.”

  “I guess I see your point.” I stood overwhelmed. Me, a woman who thought she had no peacock to strut or transfer power and no man who wanted it, had both, and I didn’t even know it until now. My heart hitched in my chest. Lester and Mark cared for me and about how I would be treated. Both would fight for me. Me, an orphan nobody wanted.

  That was kind of hard to take in. A rush of raw emotion coursed through me, left me feeling as if my nerves were on the outside of my skin and ragged and raw. I’d never had anyone willing to fight for me before, and truly, I didn’t know what to do with all it made me feel. But since I’m now bound to this honesty streak, I have to admit, it feels awesome to know you’re special to someone. Alien, but awesome, and humbling. Double that and add breathless for two someones. “The peacock strut.”

  “Yep.” Emily seated the veil on the crown of my head and then straightened it. Our eyes met through the fine netting. “Do you love him, pet?”

  I could lie. I probably should lie. But I couldn’t make myself do it. Aside from the honesty bit, love is too special a gift. And nobody better than someone whose never had it knows it. “You know, Emily, I don’t know a lot about love, but I think I do. I guess that sounds weird. We haven’t known each other long, but Mark is all Jackson and Craig said he was, and more.” I smiled, bittersweet that Jackson wasn’t here for the wedding. Even if it was a sham, it was the only wedding I was going to get, and it would have been nice if he had been here for it.

  “Is the smile because you love him, or because you love him and didn’t know it until I asked?”

  What exactly is love, anyway? I looked at Emily, tempted to ask. But she looked so sweet in her pink tulle suit with her soft silver hair—and so incredibly shrewd! She was a true romantic, and I couldn’t pop her bubble by admitting that I didn’t know about love. I liked and respected and felt connected to Mark. The twinkle in his eye drew me, dozens of things about him drew me. I wanted to be with him. Missed him when we were apart. I looked ahead and without him with me, the days seemed duller, longer, less bright. But was that love? I couldn’t say. I didn't really know. “Probably a little of both,” I told her, compromising. “And because, if I’d listened to Jackson and Craig—they tried to hook us up on blind dates dozens of times but I always refused—we probably would have been together a lot sooner.” Would we, I wonder, have ended up in this same place?

  “Mmm, or been dead a lot sooner.” Emily straightened and looked me right in the eye. “Mark lost everyone in the storm. If you’d been there, he well might have lost you, too.” She gave my veil one last tug. “Trust God’s timing, pet. It’s perfect. Ours ain’t.” She exhaled a content sigh. “You can turn and look in the mirror now.”

  I pivoted to face the free-standing glass and my gaze collided with the woman reflected in it. She looked like me—well, me with red hair—but she couldn’t be. That woman was beautiful and the dress—oh, the dress. “I look . . . like a real bride.” Breathless.

  “You are a real bride.”

  “You know what I mean, Em.”

  “And you know what I mean.” Emily smiled. “You’re stunning, Daisy. Always have been.” She cocked her head. “The red hair suits you but your temperament is blond to the bone, hon.”

  It was. “Thank you for the dress. It’s the prettiest one I’ve ever seen.”

  “A woman’s wedding gown should be special, and so it is.”

  Emily’s eyes. She needed money for cataract surgery. “It is amazing—and from the feel of this fabric, expensive. I have to pay for it.”

  “No, it’s a gift. Don’t fret, hon. I didn’t buy it.” She shrugged. “Lester bought it.”

  Poor guy wouldn’t be eating for months. “You have to tell me how much it was so I can pay him back.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “It was,” I insisted. “I saw the Vera Wang label, Emily.” How many times had I fronted bail money for Lester because he was broke? “His heart is huge, but he can’t afford this.”

  “Can’t afford it?” Emily looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “Daisy, Lester could buy half the state, if he was of a mind to do it. Maybe all of it.”

  “He couldn’t. Emily, trust me. Lester’s a wonderful man, but he has no money.” Had he told her some tall tale?

  “Hogwash.” She laughed. “Don’t look at me like that. I know what I’m talking about. Lester comes from a long, long line of money.”

  If Lester had money, Emily would have eyes. I had to make her see the truth. “Then why hasn’t he helped you get your cataract surgery? He’s your friend.”

  “I won’t let him. I ain’t ready to see again just yet.”

  That answer I hadn’t expected. “He’s offered?”

  “Least once a week for years.” She sniffed. “I ain’t like the others, nuzzling up to him for what he can give me. I actually like him. We have a lot to talk about. Good conversation ain’t nothing to sneeze at, pet.”

  Now I understood, but the shock hadn’t yet settled. Lester was wealthy. “But I’ve paid him out of jail a half dozen times—”

  “He wanted to know if you would.”

  That fit. “Testing me.”

  She nodded, and I asked, “Okay, so he’s got money. Why does he live . . .” How did I say it without insulting Emily and myself?

  “Why does he live like us?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s real. Lester likes real.” She dropped her voice and wiggled a come closer finger a
t me. “And you might not have noticed, but he does bend a little on the eccentric side, hon.”

  Understatement of the year, right there. “Just a little.”

  “Ladies.” Mr. Perini tapped on the door. “It’s time.”

  Emily opened the door and we stepped out and then across the hallway to the doorway into the funeral parlor.

  “Barry, move that!” Mark’s voice carried from within. “She’s not marrying me next to a corpse. I don’t need fifty years of that kind of grief. We need an altar, man, not a casket.”

  I tried not to laugh. I really did. Could this situation—this whole situation—get any more bizarre? Fifty years? My spirit soared and I checked to make sure I wasn’t floating. He really did want to marry me—and he wanted to stay married to me. He had to love me, then. Didn’t he? I dared to hope he did, because he’d been loved his whole life and he knew exactly what it meant.

  “I’m sorry, Mark,” Barry grumbled. “I forgot it was there, okay? Been a little busy arranging the wreck.”

  “I know. You’ve been hustling non-stop. I’m the one who’s sorry.” Mark grabbed his face with his hands. “I’m a little tense.”

  That was the one. The remark that made not marrying Mark for real—at least in my heart—impossible. After everything that had happened and all he’d lost, he was a little tense and not about marrying me but at marrying me next to a casket rather than at an altar. That and him fearing fifty years of me harping on him just did it for me. Oh yes, I love him. I think I knew it before, but now I know I knew it. And every cliché I’d ever heard about love being fickle and unpredictable raced through my mind.

  I lifted my chin, not caring one whit.

  Mr. Perini shuffled past Emily and me at the doorway and entered the room. He helped Barry and Mark rearrange the furnishings. “The team is ready and Dexter will be here in ten minutes,” he told Mark and Barry. “We need to hustle. Where’s Lester?”

  “He’ll be here in a second, he said.” Mark set an arrangement of lilies on a curved-legged table next to the altar. “Dexter Devlin is coming here?”

  “Has to.” Paul pushed a button on the wall. Long royal blue drapes slid across the width of the room, hiding the casket. “I’m not a notary.”

  Now that shocked me. I mean, Paul Perini seemed to be everything else in Dixie. Why not a notary? I would have asked but I felt more than heard the urgency in his voice.

  Apparently, so did Mark. He asked, “What is it, Mr. Perini? What’s wrong?”

  “They’re on the way here.”

  “Here?” Mark’s voice turned tinny. “As in Dixie?”

  “As in here,” Paul said. “We’ve got four hours and then they’ll all be here, standing where you’re standing.”

  “Marcello and Adriano?” Lester entered the parlor asking, looking dapper in a black tux.

  “Yes,” Paul answered. “And Detective Keller and the FBI.”

  Even Special Agent Ted Johnson was coming? I groaned. “Perfect.”

  Emily patted my shoulder. “Don’t you worry, pet. We’ll have you wed and dead long before then.”

  What did I say to that? Failing to find anything that sounded even halfway logical, I squeezed my Grant half-dollar hard and settled for the obvious and trite. “Thanks.”

  A knock sounded at the front door. My heart kicked into overdrive.

  “It’s all right,” Emily whispered. “It’s not them.”

  It had to be. “Who else would be here at four in the morning?”

  “The lawyer, Daisy.” She rolled her eyes. “Dexter Devlin.”

  Chapter 11

  DEXTER DEVLIN STOOD an imposing six-seven. His face was lean, his shoulders wide, and his neck thicker than my thigh. I knew from Mark he was a successful lawyer, but I have to tell you, I wondered if the reason wasn’t his oratory skills but because the sight of him scared people half to death. His hands were the size of hams and his don’t-even-think-about-messing-with-me look seemed to be a permanent feature on his face.

  Mark sat at the desk next to him, reading and reviewing papers, then scribbled his signature. “The revocation of the power of attorney on Rachel,” he said, passing that one over to Dexter, then scanned the next and signed it. “A power of attorney for Jackson.” Mark then read and signed the third legal document. “My new will leaving all assets to Daisy Grant Jensen with Jackson Grant as secondary.”

  Dexter accepted the last of the batch. “You’re certain these are your final wishes?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay, then.” Dexter notarized and sealed the documents. “When I leave here, I’ll head straight to New Orleans.”

  “What about Daisy?” Mark frowned up at Dexter. “If she becomes my wife—“

  “After the wedding, both of you will sign again. Powers of attorney and wills. They’ll read exactly the same so that who died first creates no issue.”

  “Why is that significant?”

  “You can’t disinherit family in one of these states. Chris and Rachel could challenge the will on that. This will preclude them from it since it makes the order of death a moot point.”

  “Okay.” Mark stood up, extended his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Devlin. It’s a privilege to meet you.”

  “Dexter. Paul told me about you and your dad following my cases. I hope the real man hasn’t disappointed you.”

  “Not at all. I can’t thank you enough for doing all this.” Mark frowned. “I just worry that if Chris turned on me, he’ll keep giving Jackson fits.”

  Dexter smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you and Jackson covered.”

  Looking at him, I believed him. I even bet myself that Victor Marcello and Adriano didn’t mess with Dexter Devlin. Probably the FBI didn’t either. If it did, it’d better bring it's A-game. He’d see to it, it needed it.

  “I appreciate it.” Mark sobered. “Oh, be sure to get Daisy’s Grant half-dollar and give it to Jackson.”

  “Why?”

  “He’ll understand.”

  My throat thickened. Jackson would understand that they were okay. Thoughtful of Mark to think of it. It shamed me that I hadn’t.

  Mr. Perini joined me at the doorway. “Ready, Daisy?”

  I nodded and started to walk in.

  “Wait!” Emily stopped me with an outstretched hand. “Mark can’t see the bride before the wedding, Paul. What are you thinking? Get him out of there.”

  Mr. Perini escorted Mark out of the reception area, and I walked in. Dexter Devlin sat at the desk and he smiled. Amazing, how it softened his face. “Hi.”

  “Hello, Daisy.” His eyes gentled. “You make a lovely bride.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Devlin.” I smiled back, wondering how I ever thought him intimidating. The man was a teddy bear. “You have some papers for me to sign?”

  “Yes, I do. These will transfer everything you own to Jackson.” He pulled the documents from a file and spread them out on the desk. “And I’m supposed to get a Grant half-dollar from you for Jackson. Mark said he’d know what it meant.”

  “He will.” I lifted the pen and signed the papers, then took a last look at the Grant. Thanks for being there for me all these years. You carry my love to Jackson, okay? I passed the coin to Dexter Devlin.

  “You didn’t read them.”

  “Mark signed duplicates, right?”

  “He did.”

  “Then they’re fine.”

  “You trust him.”

  “With my life,” I said, then thought, And my death.

  “Now,” Dexter said. “Let’s get you two married so we can do this all over again.”

  “What?” Do what all over again?

  “You’re not married now. We’re covered,” Dexter explained. “You’re marrying Mark in minutes. That changes everything. You’ll both sign again as married people, and then we’ll be totally covered—before and after.”

  Two minutes later, Lester walked me through the parlor to the altar. I stood before it beside Mark, facing Mr. P
erini who held a well-worn Bible in his hands and began speaking the familiar words heard at thousands of weddings, “Dearly beloved…”

  In a blur, the ceremony progressed, and then Mr. Perini lifted his voice and said, “I now pronounce you man and wife. Mark, you may kiss your bride.”

  He bent low, his breath warm on my face. “Thank you for marrying me, Daisy,” he whispered, then kissed me long and deep, letting me feel his emotional turmoil, sharing my emotional gauntlet. Tender and passionate, both untamed and in control, and by the time his lips left mine, I’d forgotten everything except the feel and taste and scent of him. “Thank you for marrying me, Mark.”

  He smiled.

  I smiled back. Strange but, at that moment, I couldn’t imagine any other bride and groom feeling their marriage was more real or more treasured than ours was to us. It was, in every way that most matters, perfect.

  A teary-eyed Lester and fluttering Emily enveloped us in hugs, and Mr. Perini and Barry and Dexter added their congratulations and well wishes. Everyone smiling, happy, thrilled—it was a beautiful moment. One I’d hold dear the rest of my life.

  All forty-five minutes of it.

  Chapter 12

  MARK AND I signed the marriage license and then the duplicate legal documents.

  Dexter Devlin tucked them into his file, and then the file into his briefcase. Its locks clicked closed. “I’m on my way to New Orleans.”

  “You’re absolutely sure you have everything you need?” Mark’s fear that Dexter had forgotten something rippled in his voice. “I don’t know how we’ll pay you, but we will.”

  “I have everything,” Dexter assured him. “On the bill, forget it. It’s paid in full.”

  “Why?” Mark asked the question burning on my lips.

  He winked. “Good luck to you,” he said, then headed for the door.

  “The Grant,” Mark lifted a hand.

  I clasped it and lowered our hands. “He has everything. The before-and-after papers and the Grant, Mark.” I nodded, feeling tender. “Thanks for thinking of it. It’ll do so much to ease Jackson’s mind.”