Eve’s Wedding Knight

by Kathleen Creighton

  “Yeah, right.” Mirabella ground her teeth together as she glared at her reflection in the mirror. “I hate…this…dress.”

  “Really? Gosh,” said Summer, “I didn’t think they were so bad. I actually kinda like it.”

  “Why shouldn’t you? It makes you look like a Greek goddess. I look like a mailbox.”

  “Oh, Bella, you do not. You look like a gorgeous pregnant woman. With stunning red hair. Who’s gonna notice anything else?” Summer leaned over Mirabella’s shoulder to examine her own face for nonexistent flaws. “Mom and Pop here yet?”

  Mirabella shook her head and moved aside to give her sister the mirror. “Troy and Charly are bringing them. Do you think it’s too early to get the flowers?”

  “Probably,” Summer murmured absently as she tweaked futilely at strands of sun-streaked blond hair that had already come loose from her French twist hairdo. “Where on earth is Evie? She go to the bathroom or something?”

  “Not… exactly.”

  That was all it took; Summer knew their older sibling’s penchant for mischief as well as she knew the not-too-subtle nuances of Mirabella’s voice. She straightened up like a shot. “Oh no-don’t tell me. Oh God, what’s Evie up to now?”

  Mirabella said darkly, “You do not want to know.”

  “Bella-”

  Mirabella sighed. “All I can tell you is, she left here carrying an open bottle of champagne and two glasses.”

  Eve held the champagne bottle up in front of her face and squinted at it with one eye closed, trying without much success, in the meager light seeping under the lid of the trash bin, to gauge how much was left. And a damn fine wine it was, too, she thought regretfully. Meant for better things. But at least she hadn’t wasted any of it on that sonofabitch Sonny Cisneros.

  To her dismay, the thought was punctuated by a loud hiccup.

  Hiccups! That was all she needed. Sonny’s thugs were due back any minute. With that racket, even those two dimwits could hardly fail to find her. She sucked in a breath as deeply as the gown’s tight, corsetlike bodice would allow, held it until she saw spots before her eyes, then released it in a rush.

  Satisfied that the dangerous impulse had been vanquished, at least for the moment, she slid the wine bottle down along one hip and deliberately shifted her skirts to cover it. No more wine for you, Evie, she said to herself. Not until you’ve thought this mess through.

  She had to think. Up until now she’d been operating on instinct, but now that the adrenaline was ebbing, it was occurring to her that, since her instincts apparently hadn’t been all that reliable lately, especially where men were concerned, maybe she should try using reason and intelligence.

  Okay. So she’d overheard some shocking, extraordinary things. What she had to do now was try and make sense of them.

  First, the fact that seemed as incontrovertible as it was unbelievable: Sonny’s goons-her Sonny!-were the very ones responsible for threatening Summer and her children and setting fire to their mobile home last June, apparently in an effort to flush Summer’s ex-husband, Hal Robey, out of hiding. Why? Because Hal had stolen some files from Sonny, files containing something so incriminating they could send Sonny to jail.

  Sonny? Jail? But according to Summer, the FBI was certain it was some big crime syndicate that had been looking for Hal. Syndicate… as in The Mob. So, if that was true, it had to mean Sonny-her Sonny-must be the mobster in question.

  No! Impossible! Sure, Sonny owned a casino in Vegas, among other things; good grief, he owned resort hotels and businesses all over the world. But he was supposed to represent the new Las Vegas-a strictly legitimate businessman, good clean family entertainment, civic leadership, philanthropy. Sonny, her fiancé…a member of organized crime? No way-impossible!

  “… Shoulda just done ‘em both… ”

  She felt cold and clammy all over. Her stomach churned with nausea. Tossing aside her recent vow of temperance, she dragged the champagne bottle out from under her skirts and raised it to her lips with shaking hands. After several deep gulps she felt better-as well as could be expected, considering it had just become abundantly clear to her that the person in big, big trouble right now was Summer’s big sister Evie.

  The first thing on her agenda, she decided as she wiped wine from her mouth and chin with the back of her hand, was to get out of the trash bin. Yes, sir. She was a sitting duck in here. They wouldn’t even have to dispose of the body. What she needed to do was get with some people, get to a phone, tell somebody. Like the police.

  Yeah, and then what? Jeez, Louise, she had the Mob after her. Her future suddenly seemed very short. What was next for her-the Witness Protection Program?

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Hoping to forestall them, she guzzled more wine. Then all at once she burped-loudly. Oops. Damn… she must be getting tipsy. Couldn’t have that-had to keep her wits about her.

  It seemed pretty quiet out there in the alley. Okeydokey, Eve thought, this is it. Now or never.

  She floundered around for a few moments as she searched for solid footing amid the bags of garbage, but managed to achieve a more or less upright, if crouching position. Then cautiously pushed upward, lifting the lid with one hand while she peeked under the edge. Aha-the coast was clear. She lifted one leg, clad in a lacy white stocking, over the edge of the bin.

  It had seemed a whole lot easier getting into the bin than it did getting out. Something to do with adrenaline, probably. And possibly gravity…

  That was her last thought before gravity took control of her exit from the Dumpster, as well. The next thing she knew she was flat on her back on the filthy cobblestones with half of her face on fire and her skirts hiked up in a bunch around her hips.

  No doubt, she acknowledged as she groaned her way into a sitting position, it would have gone easier on her if she hadn’t been holding on to the bottle of champagne. But no way was she letting anything happen to that bottle, nosiree. Not when it had cost her… she’d forgotten how many bucks. But lots. And she didn’t intend to waste a drop of it just because she’d been stupid enough to marry a mobster. Almost marry a mobster.

  Marry! Oh, Lord, she’d forgotten about that. Right this very minute there was a whole bunch of people sitting in there, in that church, who’d come to see her get married! Her family, her film crew, her friends. Sonny’s friends and business associates, and-good heavens, were they all mobsters, too?

  What was she going to do? She had to tell them something.

  She had to find her sisters, that’s what. Summer and Mirabella. They’d know what to do.

  Yes. Get to the church, Evie. You’ll be safe there.

  Holding on to the side of the Dumpster, she managed to haul herself painfully to her feet. Oh, Jeez-her hands were scraped, too-and filthy. And she was bleeding! Tiny red polka dots spangled the sleeve and bodice of her wedding dress. Where had that come from? She touched her face and winced. She thought, What must I look like? Like I’ve been mugged, at least.

  Never had she felt more stupid, more humiliated or more frightened. Please God, she thought, just let me get to my sisters before anybody sees me. Before Sonny finds me.

  She’d almost forgotten about Sonny.

  Back down the alley she crept, making almost no sound in her stockinged feet. Just before she reached the arched breezeway, she froze in a comical, teetering half crouch. Voices! Yes, definitely Sonny’s voice. And Sergei and Rick’s, too. Mumbling, so she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  But then suddenly, and very distinctly, Sonny was saying, “Where’s she gonna go? She’s wearin’ a wedding dress, for God’s sake!” There was some more mumbling from one of the two stooges, then Sonny again. “I’m tellin’ you, she’s got no keys, no purse, nothin‘. Her whole family’s in there. I’m tellin’ you, that’s where she’s gonna go. You two get those entrances covered. If any of her family even looks like they wanna leave, you tell me, and then you tail ‘em, you got me? Now go!”

  “What’re yo
u gonna do, boss?”

  “Whadaya mean, what am I gonna do? I’m gonna go find the damn preacher, that’s what. Hey-I don’t know a thing, right? I’m here to get married, so I’m gonna go get married. What do I know?” He muttered angrily to himself under his breath, then said in a bitter tone, “My bride doesn’t show up, I’m gonna look like a chump. In front of the whole world I’m gonna look like a blinkin’ chump…” His voice faded, still mumbling, into the distance.

  Eve slumped against the stone wall of the rectory and let out her breath. Boy, was Sonny ticked off. His ego was bruised. What could be worse for a man like Sonny than looking like a fool? He was never going to forgive her for this-never.

  What was she saying? Forgive her? At the very least, it seemed to her, he was going to have to kill her. Or have her killed, more likely; murder didn’t seem like the sort of thing Sonny Cisneros would actually indulge in himself.

  But first he’d have to catch her.

  Except… like Sonny had just said, where was she gonna go? Cut off from her family, with no purse, no car keys, no shoes, wearing a filthy dirty wedding dress, battered, bleeding and reeking of garbage?

  For once in her life, Eve had no idea what to do.

  This time, when, after a discreet knock, the parlor door opened a crack, it was the minister who poked his head through. Reverend Booker was a brisk, balding man with a no-nonsense manner more typical of a CEO than a man of God. Mirabella wholeheartedly approved of him.

  “How’re you ladies doin‘?” he inquired now in his soft Savannah accent, after a quick, sweeping glance around the room.

  “Fine!” stated Mirabella, before Summer could open her mouth and blurt out the obvious.

  The obvious had not escaped Reverend Booker, who raised his eyebrows and said mildly, “It appears we are missin’ a bride.”

  Again Mirabella jumped in and rolled right over her sister’s stammering attempt at an explanation. “She just stepped out for a minute. She’ll be right back.”

  “Well, okay, then.” The minister looked at his watch, then double-checked it against the clock on the mantelpiece. “We’re gonna want to have the bride and her party out front in the narthex at about ten minutes till. Miz Phillips is gonna meet you out there, get you all lined up and squared away, just like we did at rehearsal.” Mrs. Phillips was the wedding coordinator, an almost frighteningly efficient woman of whom Mirabella also approved. “That’s about it,” said Reverend Booker cheerfully as he backed out of the room. “Now, I guess I’d bettah go and round up my groom.”

  Mirabella’s stomach did a flip-flop and she threw Summer a look of appeal. How unbelievably embarrassing it would be if the minister, of all people, were to walk in on… whatever it was Evie was doing with her fiancé over there in the rectory!

  But she was saved from having to think of an excuse to detain the man longer. No sooner had he finished his statement than his face brightened and he said, “I guess I don’t have to.”

  And there was the groom himself, coming up behind Reverend Booker in the parlor doorway, smiling and showing every one of his pearly whites-caps, in Mirabella’s opinion; like everything else about her sister’s fiancé, those teeth were just too perfect to be real.

  Swallowing whatever it was she was going to say, she instead gasped, “Sonny!” And dammit, she was going to blush; she could feel it coming on. How could she not? He could smile all he wanted to, like butter wouldn’t melt m his mouth, as Granny Calhoun would say, but anybody could see the man was a lot more flushed and sweaty and disheveled than any decent groom ought to be-at least before the ceremony. He looked, in fact, like a man who’d just been doing… whatever he’d been doing with Evie over there m that rectory room. Mirabella gave a mental shudder and drew a curtain across the picture in her mind.

  Sonny stuck his head past the minister’s shoulder, looked around the room and then asked, “Where’s my bride? Oh-” he snapped his fingers “-the groom’s not supposed to see the bride in her wedding dress, right? So-she hiding, or something?”

  Mirabella and Summer looked at each other. Summer opened her mouth, then closed it again. Mirabella moved a little closer to Sonny and muttered in a voice low enough she hoped the reverend wouldn’t be able to hear, “Uh…you haven’t seen her?”

  Sonny laughed and held up both hands. “Hey-even I know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony.” As the reverend was hustling him out of the room he made a pretend pistol out of his hand and “fired” it at them.

  After the door had closed behind the two men, Mirabella and Summer looked at each other again. Summer collapsed onto the sofa, unmindful of the piles of clothing and other debris, closed her eyes and groaned, “Oh, Evie…”

  “He’s lying,” said Mirabella huffily. “Of course he is.”

  “Yeah…” After a moment Summer opened her eyes and met Mirabella’s. “Then why isn’t she back yet? Where is she?”

  Mirabella snorted. “This is Evie, remember. God only knows. And doing what, I shudder to think!”

  Eve had come up with a plan. There was only one way out of the mess she was in. She was going to have to hot-wire a car.

  But not to steal it-oh, heavens no. She was only going to borrow it, just long enough to get away and get help. She planned to give it back to its owner as soon as she possibly could, she really did-along with a nice letter of apology and a check. Well, maybe not a check-cash would probably be more prudent, under the circumstances. So that would make it all right, wouldn’t it? Sure it would. She didn’t see how anybody could put her in jail for that, especially once they knew she’d really had no other choice.

  But first she had to find a car to hot-wire.

  Didn’t anybody leave their cars unlocked anymore? She’d already been up and down the side street without success-and don’t think it was easy, creeping around in broad daylight wearing a filthy wedding dress and lugging around a bottle of vintage champagne. Most of which, admittedly, was inside Evie.

  What now? Did she dare venture out into the square? There was a no-parking zone directly in front of the church, she knew, but from where she lurked, well-camouflaged behind some sort of sports utility vehicle and a large magnolia tree, she could see cars parked along the square itself, including a van with an official-looking logo on the door. Some sort of utility company, probably; it had orange cones set out fore and aft. Working on the lines somewhere in the area, she assumed, although she’d been standing here for several minutes now, and hadn’t seen any signs of work activity.

  As she stood contemplating the van and its implications, her attention was diverted by a car-a late-model Jeep Cherokee-as it cruised slowly past the side street and her hiding place and eased to a stop in the passenger-loading zone at the foot of the church steps. Her heart gave a leap of hope as the driver’s side door opened and a man got out. She knew him at once, both by his unmistakable military bearing and the way the late-afternoon sun glinted on his all-American-boy handsome dark blond head. It was Troy, Mirabella’s exnavy SEAL brother-in-law, and if anybody could help Eve out of the jam she was in, it seemed to her, an ex-SEAL looked like a good bet.

  She moved cautiously toward the corner, still keeping under cover behind the parked cars, while Troy hurried around to open both passenger doors and bent solicitously to assist his very pregnant wife, Charly, from the car. Charly had practically become a fourth Waskowitz sister since she’d come out from California to be maid of honor at Mirabella’s wedding and wound up falling in love and marrying Jimmy Joe’s brother and best man.

  Meanwhile, an older but still slim and youthful-looking woman was climbing out of the back seat unassisted, followed closely by a barrel-chested man with rusty gray hair-hair that had once been as red as Mirabella’s. It was-oh God, it was her mom and dad, Pop and Ginger Waskowitz, come all the way from Pensacola to see their oldest daughter finally married, after they’d all but given up hope.

  And seeing them, Eve gave a sharp little cry, which sh
e quickly smothered with her hand. Her emotions had sneaked up on her, taken her by surprise. It had been a very long time since she’d felt that particular relief and gladness-the unadulterated joy a lost child knows when she spots her parents in the crowd.

  But even as she surged forward to greet them, forgetting caution, a furtive movement caught at the fringes of her vision and sent her shrinking back behind one of the ubiquitous magnolia trees that line the sidewalks all over Savannah. Up at the top of the steps near the arched main doors of the church, a man dressed in a tuxedo had stepped forward out of the shadows.

  Sergei! And he was looking intently up and down the street, obviously looking for someone. Looking for her!

  With a little whimper, Eve slumped to the ground and leaned her back against the door of a Volvo station wagon. So near, and yet so far… A weepy lump of self-pity began to swell at the back of her throat, so she hurriedly swallowed it down with champagne. And winced-evidently on top of everything else, she’d bumped her lip during her ungraceful exit from the Dumpster. It had been numb before, but now it was beginning to throb.

  What was she going to do now? That van had been her best hope for a hiding place, it seemed to her, but with old eagle-eye Sergei up there watching the street, she’d never make it across to the square without being spotted. She’d have to wait until he went inside for the ceremony.

  But wait… what ceremony? There wasn’t going to be a ceremony. At some point that fact was going to be acknowledged and announced. As soon as that happened, Sonny and every single one of his “business associates” were going to come swarming out of that church with but one goal in mind-to find Evie!

  She was running out of time. If she was ever going to make her escape, it had better be now.

  It took some effort, but she managed to push herself into a crouching position from which to peer around the Volvo’s front fender. And what she saw taking place now up on the church steps once again sent the roller coaster of her emotions rocketing into the stratosphere.