I sat at the desk I used to do work up on the third floor and rubbed my throbbing temples. Rachel had left for an early date, and I thought now would be a good time to turn to Alma’s theater reopening.
Make that the only time.
I was running out of minutes and hours and needed to shore up this latest event. No matter; Alma had assured me again today at Whitney’s shower that all I had to do was confirm with vendors and tie up some last-minute details with the contractor, Jesse Flowers, who I had worked with to renovate Thistle Park. I dialed the first vendor, PQ Catering.
“I’m sorry, but we heard that event was canceled. We’ve already rebooked the date. We won’t be able to make it.”
“What?” I toned down the incredulous and panicked tone from my voice and tried again. “The event is most definitely on. May I ask who called to cancel?” I willed myself to take some deep breaths and hoped the woman at the end of the line didn’t think I was hyperventilating.
“Why, Alma Cunningham herself called three days ago to tell us it was off.”
Call after call was met with the same response. Vendor after vendor claimed Alma had called them herself to cancel. I jabbed at my contacts list and called Alma in a panic.
“Of course I didn’t cancel the vendor contracts!” Alma practically wailed from her end of the phone.
“Stay calm, Alma. I’ll fix this.”
I thought of her heart-rate monitor clanging in the hospital, and hoped I hadn’t upset her too much. “I’ll let you know when it’s all straightened out.”
“I knew I could count on you.” The line went dead, and I stared at my cell phone.
Only one person in this town would have the gumption to try to ruin Alma’s resplendent theater reopening. A certain person who had earlier this week been unceremoniously tipped into a swimming pool.
I called Helene’s number again and again, but she wouldn’t answer.
How convenient.
* * *
I got some quizzical looks as I led Pickles up the grand front stairs of the Port Quincy Courthouse. My two cats never would have consented to walk on a leash, but Pickles was a pro. He bounded up the steps on his white-tufted paws, graceful and sinuous despite his large size. Soda had been having a blast with the big cat. She’d just outgrown kittenhood, and she played vigorously with Pickles despite the cat visitor outweighing my tiny, five-pound orange ball of fluff by a good fifteen pounds. Whiskey was still wary, consenting to give Pickles the briefest of sniffs. I took Pickles with me to get some air, because he didn’t seem used to being sequestered inside.
I unclipped Pickles’s leash and advanced through the metal detector once inside. I carefully shuffled my feet to help avoid setting the machine off. Pickles trailed behind me, staring warily at the metal doorway.
“C’mon, big buddy. It’s just a metal detector. It won’t hurt.” I crouched down and held out my hand. The pretty Maine Coon gained his confidence and jauntily walked through the detector, but he balked when the beep went off. A security guard inspected Pickles’s collar and gave the cat a cursory but gentle pat-down. Pickles seemed to enjoy the attention.
“He’s probably not packing heat,” the security guard joked as he waved us on.
“We’ll have to try harder to remove that collar, Mr. Pickles.” I resumed my walk with my new buddy, turning heads as we entered the central atrium of the building. I’d gamely tried to remove Pickles’s collar, because he’d mainly be an inside cat during his stay at Thistle Park, however long that would be. Becca and Eric seemed to be in no rush to decide his fate, and I was happy to keep the cat. I didn’t want his collar to get caught on any of the myriad antiques scattered around the mansion. Then again, because he was going to be sequestered to my and Rachel’s airy and bright, mostly open third-floor apartment, maybe I’d leave his collar on.
Pickles got more oohs and aahs than the interior of the courthouse, which was no small feat. It was designed and built at the turn-of-the-twentieth-century, a jewel of a building clad head to toe in bright, Pepto-Bismol pink marble. The open-center atrium spanned three floors, topped with a massive dome consisting of an intricate stained-glass mosaic. But Pickles stole the show, his fluffy plume of a tail held high and proud as he trotted beside me.
I slipped into courtroom three and took a seat on one of the wooden benches in the back. Pickles settled on my lap, and I was happy I’d chosen to don a cat-hair-hiding gray skirt for this outing. I pet Pickles’s soft coat and focused on Garrett, who was arguing a petition. He was skillful and calm, with a steady, confident courtroom manner. He finished his motion and moved to sit down. He scanned the back of the courthouse and caught my eye. The corners of his mouth flickered up in the beginnings of a smile, and he sat down.
I loved watching Garrett argue motions and petitions. It reminded me of my days as an attorney, but I didn’t miss it. I was having more fun as a wedding planner, putting to good use the negotiation skills and persuasion I’d used as a lawyer. I still liked to see Garrett in action, and discuss his cases with him. I was proud of his successes and how he was continually building his practice.
Pickles stretched and yawned, then let out a satisfied little meow. The other attorney stopped talking and turned around to see where the kitty-cat noise had originated.
“You’ve done it now, Pickles,” I whispered. He blinked up at me with impassive citrine eyes and curled up to sleep in my lap. The other attorney resumed his counter-petition, but the judge sent me a glowering look. I slid down further in the wooden bench and hoped I wouldn’t be called out.
“Petition granted.” The judge, Ursula Frank, was an imposing woman with a crown of gray braids wound around her head. She gave Garrett a smile, then, with a smart tap of her gavel, started to exit the room. Her tipstaff had to jog to keep up. I caught a flash of Judge Frank’s Birkenstocks peeking out from her black robe as she nearly exited the courtroom.
“Judge, if I could have a word?” Garrett stood, and his voice rang out through the now-empty courtroom.
The judge wheeled around, nearly knocking into the clerks hurrying to keep up with her. “Yes, Garrett?” Her terse tone softened. I knew the judge taught a class one afternoon a week at Pitt, and that Garrett had once been her star pupil.
Garrett took a deep breath, suddenly seeming more nervous than when he’d argued his petition for his client. “Let me cut to the chase. I have a friend.” Garrett stumbled over the last word, his face twisting into a momentary frown, belying the label. “A friend who needs a quick divorce. I have all the files and orders drawn up. Would you be willing to look this over and grant the divorce quickly?” Garrett stood with a sheaf of papers, an expectant and hopeful look now dressing up his handsome features.
Judge Frank let out a rollicking laugh. “I hear gossip too, Garrett. This is about Keith Pierce and his fiancée, isn’t it? And I know he’s no friend of yours. But, if you want to help him, you must have your reasons.” She held out her hand for the small stack of papers, which Garrett deposited with a look of relief.
“I’m extremely busy, as you well know.” Judge Frank now sent Garrett a stern look over her tortoiseshell reading glasses, which she’d donned to quickly scan the documents. “But since it’s you asking the favor, I’ll make time for this. When does this divorce need to be expedited by?”
Garrett cleared his throat. “Keith is scheduled to wed next Friday.”
The judge raised her eyebrows and let out a slow whistle. “I’ll see if I can get to this before then.” She finally left the courtroom. I felt myself exhale a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.
Garrett made his way back to me, a look of relief flooding his face.
“Keith owes me big.” He shook his head.
“And I owe you big. Who would have thought some of my services as wedding planner would include facilitating the bride’s quickie divorce so she could remarry in time?” I stood, and Garrett graced my lips with a quick, fleeting kiss. It deepened into quite a
scorcher, until I felt Pickles brush by. Garrett pulled away and gave a laugh.
“So, this is the famous Pickles.” The big cat pawed at Garrett’s legs, and broke into a roaring purr when Garrett knelt to give him some pats. Garrett had once had a no-pets policy of his own, but he’d softened when his daughter had adopted my cat Whiskey’s other kitten, Jeeves.
Garrett stood, suddenly all business. “If Judge Frank grants this divorce, which I expect she will, this’ll be a quick end to an even quicker marriage.” Garrett’s eyes trailed up in the empty, vaulted space, deep in thought. “I wonder how long Keith and Becca will last.”
“Tell me about it. I’m not so sure I believe in the institution of marriage.” I nearly clapped a hand over my mouth as I gave voice to some inner thought I hadn’t realized I’d had.
Garrett let out a hearty laugh. “A wedding planner who doesn’t believe in the institution of marriage?” His laugh died out when he realized I wasn’t kidding. His deep hazel eyes took on an edge of alarm.
“I guess I haven’t had the greatest experiences with marriage in the long run,” I mumbled, digging my hole even deeper. “I think marriage is wonderful, and it works well for some. I love starting couples out on their journey together with a happy celebration. But my parents had such an acrimonious divorce, and you saw how it worked out with my engagement to Keith . . .” I trailed off into an uneasy silence, Pickles’s purr working to fill the dead air.
“You’re not with Keith now. And that’s a good thing.” Garrett stepped in closer, peering into my eyes with a burning intensity. I blinked and felt my heart go all aflutter in his heady proximity. We joined for another deep kiss, then finally exited the empty courtroom. I linked arms with my beau, feeling content. But my comments in the courtroom had cast a sneaking slip of doubt.
I wondered where Garrett and I were headed. I reflected on the real alarm that had gathered in his eyes like storm clouds when I’d blurted out my misgivings about marriage. Garrett and I had been together for almost a year. But my heart accelerated when I thought of the word marriage as it pertained to me personally, and not necessarily in a good way.
What are you waiting for?
I’d gotten engaged to Keith with no qualms, but look at how that had ended up. All of the goodness of our relationship had started to sour as soon as he’d slipped the too-big ring over my finger. But what I had with Garrett was different. I was happier than I’d ever been in a relationship. I didn’t know if I wanted to change things; they seemed so perfect just the way they were.
We exited the courthouse into the bright May day. Pickles sniffed at the air and ignored passersby’s comments about him walking on a leash.
“Look who it is.” Garrett paused on the courthouse steps as Keith and Becca approached us.
“I trust the matter has been taken care of?” Keith nearly whispered his question when he met us on the steps. Becca knelt to pet and coo over Pickles, who seemed to be happy to reunite once more with his former mistress.
Garrett was barely able to suppress a smile and hide his mirth. “Yes. Judge Frank has the documents for Becca’s divorce, and I’m sure she’ll attend to them as soon as possible.”
Keith winced at the mention of Becca’s name, and crossed his arms. “That’s not good enough. I need a guarantee that this will all be taken care of by next Friday.”
“Um, Keith—” I began.
Garrett shook his head, and chose to address Becca instead of Keith. “The judge is extraordinarily busy. She said she’d get to your divorce, but I’m not about to ask her for a literal guarantee.”
Keith rolled his eyes and let out a challenging sigh. I couldn’t believe how testy and ungracious he was being. Just kidding; I totally believed it.
Becca seemed to realize how delicate the situation was and made haste to repair Keith’s damage. “I’m eternally grateful, Garrett, and Mallory. Thank you for your help in this trying . . . situation.”
“Oh, great,” I muttered under my breath as Eric Dempsey approached. He quickly reached our perch on the stairs and graced us with a megawatt smile of perfect, even white teeth. Piper joined his side, her arm possessively twined around his. They could have stepped off a movie set with their camera-ready good looks.
“Thank you, Garrett, for attending to this mess.” Eric was far more grateful for Garrett’s help than Keith had been. “I know the judge is busy, and that you went out on a limb to ask for my divorce to be granted so quickly.” Eric wore his sincerity on his face, and Piper nodded vigorously in agreement.
The tense set of Garrett’s jaw softened by a few degrees. “It’s understandable in this situation. You genuinely thought your annulment had gone through, and came back early to Port Quincy to try to rectify things.” He bestowed a gentle smile on me. “And I was happy to help when Mallory asked.”
Keith narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to Eric. “How long have you known you were still married to Becca?”
Becca flinched beside Keith, and her left eye began to twitch.
“When I became aware that I was still married is none of your concern.” Eric was cool and dismissive. Then a cunning look stole over his face. “But my fiancée, Piper, has always known I was married to Becca. What I don’t understand is how you’ve just come to learn that Becca was married before.”
I was no mind reader, but the look on Becca’s face telegraphed that she wished the earth would open up at that moment and swallow her whole.
“You little—” Keith took a step toward Eric, his fists balled up next to his sides.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Truman advanced up the courthouse steps with an air of disapproval. Keith unclenched his fists and put some space between himself and Eric. Becca and Piper sported similarly appalled expressions. Truman’s warning glare was brief as he continued up the steps to enter the courthouse.
“Let’s go, Becca.” Keith held out his hand to his fiancée, who had knelt to say goodbye to Pickles. The furry guy stared at Becca and sent up a plaintive meow. Two beads of moisture collected in the corners of Becca’s eyes and threatened to spill.
“I just need a moment to say goodbye to Pickles again.” Becca buried her face in the Maine Coon’s fur and stifled a sniffle. My heart melted a degree toward her, seeing how much she missed the big cat.
“Oh, Keith, can’t we take Pickles home?” Becca’s voice was as pleading as Pickles’s meow had been. Keith stared at the cat with disdain. I recalled my efforts to adopt a pet when we’d been together, and guessed the answer would still be a resounding no.
“Pickles is better off with Mallory,” Eric smoothly interjected. A barely perceptible strain of worry graced his handsome brow.
Excuse me?
I wondered if I had just inadvertently become Pickles’s new owner. I was growing attached to the big fellow, but if Eric’s plans had been to rehome the kitty at Thistle Park, it was news to me.
Keith toggled a glare between Eric and Becca. “Fine. You can keep the cat.” He appeared to change his mind based on what he thought would irk Eric more, rather than what would please his fiancée.
“Keith! You won’t regret it!” Becca bounded up and showered Keith with a rain of kisses.
Eric frowned and knelt to pet Pickles. He scratched the kitty under his chin, simultaneously working to remove the cat’s collar. The thick strip of leather wouldn’t budge, and Eric finally gave up.
“Farewell, Pickles.” Eric stared after the cat as Becca and Keith trailed away, Pickles firmly ensconced in Becca’s arms. Becca wore an irrepressible grin on her face. It was a full one-eighty from the despair she’d been in when Eric reminded her that she’d never told Keith about her marriage. Keith didn’t look nearly as happy. He stared at Pickles with open disdain. I hoped he’d warm to the cat, who would no doubt attempt to curl up on Keith’s lap at the first opportunity.
“I’ll miss that kitty,” I mused to Eric and Piper. “Whiskey and Soda will wonder where their new friend went.”
I bade them goodbye and set off to see Truman, who must have finished his business and was returning to the administrative police building across the street.
“Truman, wait up!” I gamely ran across the street in my low-heeled sandals, and caught up with the police chief right before he entered the building.
“This’d better be good.” He glanced at his watch, all official business.
“Um, I have some information that may be of some interest to you.”
Truman’s face changed in an instant, the annoyed look replaced with frank curiosity. “Go on.”
“All the vendors for Alma’s theater reopening have pulled out. They claim she called them to cancel the event due to her attack. But Alma swears she made no such calls.”
Truman cocked his head and considered the information. “It could be relevant to the attempted murder on Alma. Or it could be a relatively harmless prank.”
Yeah right.
It wasn’t truly harmless, as yours truly had to scramble to find new arrangements for Alma’s theater unveiling.
“So you’ll investigate who called to cancel each vendor contract? You could trace the number that called each vendor.” I bit my lip, wondering if I’d gone too far. “I made you a list.”
Truman shook his head, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. “I can always count on you to insert yourself into my investigations.”
I bristled and straightened up. “I beg your pardon, but Alma has tasked me with taking over the planning of her theater reopening. I’m not just meddling,” I lamely added.
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