I walked up to the pub with lagging but defiant steps, went through the empty tavern and down the hall to the kitchen where I was ready to fling my bag of greens at Big John and damn his eyes if he complained. I made it to the kitchen door and there I stopped.
Have you ever seen photos of the aftermath of a hurricane? The kitchen very much looked like an after disaster photo.
Bowls by the dozen, or maybe hundreds, were stacked on the counter and floor. There were piles of mutilated cake and dozens of boxes of pudding filling up the sink. And everywhere there was flour.
I whimpered. Was it too late to bake my own cake? Could I somehow get this cleaned up before the Flowers saw it? Or had she seen it already and gone out to drown herself in the lake?
Max also whined. I think because he was hungry, deer-deprived, and the cake smelled surprisingly good.
But if I stayed and started cleaning, then Big John would know that I had seen his pastry Waterloo and it might embarrass him. Sometimes retreat is the better part of valor or at least friendship. I put the greens into the fridge and skedaddled, filching only the smallest bit of cake for Max.
* * *
Anatoli joined the Mountie and handed him a bottle of orange soda. They were in some town that looked an awful lot like Soda Springs.
“It’s all they had,” Anatoli explained when he stared at the bottle.
“And no jeep?”
“It is being repaired. The good news is that they will take the bikes in trade.”
“That’s good,” the Mountie agreed mechanically.
Anatoli nodded. He watched the Mountie warily.
“No phone?” Chuck asked, still calm.
“No. And the radio is broken.”
Obviously the gods were against him. Chuck would have cried but he was beyond mere tears. He had passed despair and was ready to kill someone. Maybe the next person who told him that the town radio was broken.
“Anatoli, I’m not going to make it back for my wedding, am I?”
“Don’t despair yet. We still have almost a whole day.”
* * *
The Wings and Misha pulled up to the warehouse in a black, chauffeur-driven Mercedes Benz. It was the smoothest ride Danny had ever experienced. The whole adventure began when they landed at the airport in Winnipeg to find the car waiting for them. Misha was handed a gray pinstriped suit still in its dry cleaning bag. He changed in the backseat of the car. The chauffeur then held out several suits for the Wings to select from. Via a dialog in Russian, Misha selected the suit while standing to button his pressed white shirt.
“Is this really necessary?” the Wings asked.
“We may no longer be Russian mafia, but we still know how to look like Russian mafia.”
“Me in the Russian mafia?” The idea was intriguing.
Misha considered him.
“Perhaps you are more like you are rich customer.”
“Oh.” Danny felt a little crushed.
By the time Misha had slicked back his hair, trimmed his beard and mustache, and donned the sky blue tie he looked like an aggressive business man. When he added the sunglasses, which were hardly necessary on such a cloudy day, he looked like a member of the Russian mafia.
Danny was dressed in a little bit more modern style—a black Hugo Boss suit, black shirt, and red tie. Misha had even supplied the black dress shoes. And everything fit. The Wings dressed standing behind the open back door of the luxury automobile. He even borrowed a toiletry kit with which to freshen his shave and slick back his long hair. When he was done, he looked like a spoiled rich kid.
The two men climbed into the back of the Mercedes and left the airport. In under an hour, they arrived at a large building in the warehouse district. During the drive the Wings admired the leather interior of the car and even sampled briefly of the minibar before Misha could caution him about the need for sobriety.
“Sobriety in all things so close to death,” the Russian said.
“What does that mean?” asked the Wings with concern in his voice.
“I will show you presently,” Misha replied, closing the lid on the minibar.
Misha waited for the chauffeur to open the door. He then stepped out and surveyed the scene. There were cardboard boxes being moved from inside the warehouse to a waiting black Mercedes Benz van. At the same time, an argument was raging between a stout man in blue overalls and a man wearing an impeccably tailored suit. The man in the suit had his hair slicked back and was wearing sunglasses. It wasn’t hard to decide which of the two men was Misha’s connection. Misha walked up the steps to the loading platform and straight up to the two arguing men. The chauffeur followed close behind.
“Oh, now who is this?” the man in the blue overalls asked as Misha approached. “Did you call for your hoodlum boss to come down and help you?”
Misha ignored the slight.
“Sergei, end argument,” was all he said.
There was a flower delivery vehicle not ten meters away. The back gate was open showing clearly that it was empty. The Wings reasoned that the truck must belong to the man in blue overalls. Probably that was the man who was supposed to be delivering orchids to the swank wedding in Winnipeg between the politician’s daughter and a rich son. Sergei grabbed the man by the neck and lifted him off the ground. He carried him to his delivery truck and threw him in the back. He slammed down the rolling door, threw the latch, and secured it with a lock. Kicking and swearing immediately commenced from the locked back of the truck.
“Sergei, end fussing and noise.”
The chauffeur stepped to the side of the delivery vehicle and began alternately lifting and pushing down on it. Soon he had a rocking rhythm going that was quite impressive. The truck rocked up onto its side wheels and fell back to the ground to be lifted off the ground by the relentless alternating forces of Sergei and gravity. The contents of the driver’s compartment—pens, notebooks, computers, cell phones—went flying around the cab and out the open windows. The only thing in the back, the man in the blue overalls, could be heard hurtling against the two side walls of the delivery compartment. After no more than a minute spent rocking, Sergei stopped and the truck crashed to a halt.
No more fussing and noise came from inside the truck.
Misha began a lengthy conversation with his warehouse district counterpart. He gestured toward the Wings who smiled foolishly. The warehouse man sneered at Danny. There was an argument during which Misha most likely had to explain that the Wings was the hopeless idiot member of a rich family who failed to make plans for something important. The argument ended with a handshake and a curt head bob.
Misha led the way back to the Mercedes. He waited for the chauffeur at the door, eyeing the Wings with an expression of indifference which Danny hoped was feigned. The chauffeur opened the door and the two men got in. When they pulled away it was at the lead of a Mercedes Benz van containing all the flowers that would fit in the Wings’ plane.
The warehouse district man stood at the edge of the loading dock and watched the pair of Mercedes roll away forming a very short convoy. He lit a cigarette and took a heavy drag. All around him, his men were racing to clean up and pack in preparation for leaving in their own cars and vans.
Some days were like that.
* * *
The Flowers and Ricky joined Madge and the Braids at the town hall. They had begun decorating. Though all three women were uneasy, they said nothing about the Mountie still being away.
The Flowers said nothing about the state of the inn’s kitchen either. This was a day for happy thoughts. She just hoped Butterscotch didn’t ask how the cake was coming because she honestly didn’t know if Big John was going to be able to carry it off.
“The tablecloths look great,” the Flowers said. “Kind of like purple peonies.”
“Thanks,” the Braids said. “It was Davey’s idea to do tie-dye. I just hope the flowers get here soon. It could take a while to make the arrangements.”
“I�
�m sure the Wings will get here soon. Misha is helping him.”
* * *
The Bones looked at his wife and shook his head.
“Best we wait another day, eh. We can leave in the morning and still make it back for the wedding.”
Linda nodded, relieved. They had thought that there were only two injuries, but when they arrived they discovered that there were several minor wounds that needed treating and a baby with whooping cough.
Doc had been too busy to drink since they arrived, and Linda recalled why she had fallen in love with the Bones. When he was sober, he was a great healer. She wanted another day with her husband clear-headed and purposeful.
* * *
I watched the silhouettes in the window for a few minutes and then turned away. My friends were over at the hall, decorating for the wedding. A part of me wanted to join them, but it would have ruined the surprise and also weakened the gift they wanted to give Chuck and me.
Instead I looked at the night sky where the moon rode high, just as it had for millions of years before I was born and as it would for millions of years after I was gone, and I wished with all my heart and soul that Chuck was there with me.
But he wasn’t, and worrying wouldn’t help, so I went back inside, turned up the lamp, and sewed the last of the appliques onto the dress I would wear at our wedding. Tomorrow.
* * *
Misha explained it all to the Wings after they’d arrived back at the airport and the van was being unloaded into his airplane. It turned out that the Mercedes van came complete with two movers. They worked with efficiency. It was obvious that any help from the Wings, Misha, or even Sergei would have only gotten in the way. During the time spent loading, Misha and the Wings changed back into their street clothes and Misha enlightened his ignorance.
Misha had called someone in Winnipeg the moment he’d gotten off the phone with the Flowers. His contact in the warehouse district was asked to find the location of the orchids being delivered to the Sanderson-Downy wedding. He called that same person again when the Wings arrived in Seven Forks. The person he called was a young up-and-comer in the city’s underworld. He had been trying unsuccessfully to win an in with the Russian mafia to provide them with certain services. This was a touchy subject since the mob preferred using its own services for most important jobs. Misha had convinced the kid that it was worth his while to perform this one little service for one of Misha’s rich clients.
Realizing that he could not afford to pay for the flowers, let alone fund an operation to steal those flowers, Misha had opted to pay the least amount of money required, five thousand dollars, to rent the trappings of a Russian Mafioso and his rich client. The deal came complete with wardrobe, car, and a driver who could also serve as a bodyguard. All Misha and Danny had to do was perform their parts.
“You mean that young hoodlum at the warehouse was convinced that you were a high-level Russian mafia crime lord?”
“Da, something seemed to have given him that impression.”
“But isn’t it dangerous impersonating a member of the Russian mafia?”
“Da, but remember that I was a member of the Russian mafia.”
Misha paid Sergei five thousand dollars before he left with the suits, the shoes, and the car. By that time the Mercedes van had already left. Misha and the Wings were left alone on the tarmac beside the Beech 18. It was only then that the Wings noticed there was no room in the passenger seat for Misha, the plane had been packed so solid with boxes of flowers.
“Wait, they’ve made a mistake,” Danny observed.
“No mistake,” Misha assured him.
“But aren’t you coming to the wedding?”
“There is more room for flowers if I don’t. Is my gift to bride.”
“Wow, that’s really big of you, Misha,” the Wings said, grasping his hand in a shake.
To the Wings’ surprise, Misha pulled him close until their faces almost touched and their eyes met. Danny could feel the Russian’s breath on his face when he spoke.
“Just remember you owe me five thousand dollars. Or perhaps you can pay with transport of little blue pills loved by Americans. We make plan.”
The Wings froze in response. Meanwhile, Misha pulled away with a broad smile back on his face and slapped his other hand over the top of Danny’s right hand.
Misha’s words echoed in his mind as the Wings climbed behind the wheel of his plane and pressed the ignition button.
Good Lord! This was what chivalrous impulse led to. No more knight-errantry for him. He couldn’t afford it. Unless, the Gulch still had a fund left over from fencing the Russian jewels. Maybe Big John could help him out….
* * *
Big John was exhausted and the stitch in his side made him feel like he’d been running from a grizzly, but the cake was done. The frosting was a little runny at first and he had had to give it two coats, but after it had dried it looked like an orange pearl, and with all those orange and yellow flowers his daughter said were safe to use stuck on it, no one would notice the puddles of icing around the bottom. And the top two layers were butterscotch flavored—but that was okay. He should have thought of that before.
The slight list to the left was a concern. He’d driven a dowel through the cake but it was still leaning. He’d have to be very careful when he moved it. Actually the cake kind of reminded him of something. A building maybe … that one in Italy. The Tower of Pisa! That was the one. Only prettier and oranger, of course.
Chapter 7
My wedding day dawned bright and clear with no sign of rain and no sign of the groom. Panic rolled over once in my stomach and I felt a bit ill, but I quelled the nerve’s mutiny immediately and got up to make tea.
Max whined.
“He’ll be here,” I insisted. “It’s more dramatic this way.”
And Chuck would be there. He would crawl through hell if need be to keep this appointment. Only death would keep him from his wedding and I refused to even consider the idea that something had gone wrong on his assignment. Anatoli was with him and if anyone on the face of the planet was able to look after himself, it was Anatoli. Chuck was fine, just a little late.
And the Flowers would be there shortly to help me with my hair and to dress, so I needed to eat breakfast, have a bath, and find a happy place in my brain to wait until Chuck came.
* * *
“Doc! Doc! Wake up!” The voice was frantic and underlined the urgent beats on the door.
The Bones opened his eyes and saw Linda already opening the door to their summoner. It was just after dawn and the man was little more than a silhouette.
“Come quick! Billy’s gone and fallen down the ravine and his leg’s broke bad. You can see bone showing through.”
Doc threw back his covers and stepped into his pants, not bothering to remove his pajama bottoms. He stuffed his feet into his boots and grabbed his bag.
“Linda, bring the stretcher. Then radio the Braids and tell her we won’t be able to make the wedding after all. Damn it.”
* * *
I looked beautiful in my dress. I did. My hair and makeup were perfect. I had never looked so lovely or elegant. But I felt hollow inside.
Madge tapped on the door and then cracked it open. She stuck the upper half of her body inside and shook her head at the Flowers.
“Any sign?” I asked, knowing there wasn’t.
“Not yet. But it’s only a little after ten.”
A little after ten? The battery clock on the wall said it was eight minutes to eleven.
“Maybe you should serve some punch and coffee,” I suggested. “And ask Fiddling Thomas to start playing.”
“But—”
“And spike the punch. It will keep people happy. Just don’t give any to Reverend McNab. Or Father White. Especially Father White.”
“Okay. By the way, you look beautiful,” she said and then disappeared.
“That’s a good idea,” the Flowers said encouragingly. “If we have to,
we can have the party first and the wedding at the end. There’s no reason we can’t do it that way—save the best for last.”
I nodded and forced a smile.
“We’ll give him until eleven thirty and then we’ll serve the cake. Sugar and booze will buy us another hour.”
* * *
Horace debated what he should do. On the one hand, he wanted to reassure Butterscotch that all would be well. But, truthfully, he was beginning to feel panic. He knew that his son wouldn’t miss this day unless something dire had happened.
“Big John,” he said quietly, accepting a glass of spiked punch that he wasn’t sure he wanted.
“I know. I’m worried too.” The big man looked worried. In fact, he looked ill.
“I don’t know what to say to Butterscotch,” Horace confessed. “I’m just no good at this kind of thing.”
“Me either. I wish my wife was here.”
“Yeah.”
Madge joined them.
“If Chuck’s not here by eleven thirty Butterscotch wants to cut the cake and start serving the dinner. I hate to do it when things look so pretty but we may have to.”
“You and the Braids and the Flowers did a great job,” Horace said, recalling his wife’s sermons about remembering to express gratitude to the ladies for the invisible work they did and were rarely thanked for doing.
Madge’s smile trembled.
“I just hope the Mountie gets here to see it.”
* * *
“It’s eleven thirty,” I said, getting to my feet. “Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?” the Flowers asked.
“Yes. It doesn’t seem right if neither the bride or the groom are at the wedding. I know people will try to be polite, but I think we should go ahead and eat. They’ll be hungry by now.”
6 The Wedding Page 7