Marriage and Mayhem (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 7)

by Jeanne Glidewell

  Wendy’s indignant voice and snippy attitude were obvious signs I should back off and let the subject drop. Unfortunately, my mouth failed to get the memo. “That doesn’t mean anything, honey. I was on the pill when I got pregnant with you.”

  “Oh, really? I was an accident? So you didn’t even want―”

  “Now, wait a darned minute, missy!” I was indignant now, too. “Just because your father and I weren’t planning to get pregnant at the time doesn’t mean that finding out we were going to be parents wasn’t the happiest day of our lives. I just wish Chester was still alive to see what a successful and beautiful woman his daughter’s become. He would’ve been so proud to walk you down the aisle.”

  “Yeah, I wish he was still here, too.” Wendy’s voice now sounded melancholy. I hadn’t intended to sadden her. I was relieved when her mood rebounded swiftly. “But Stone’s been like a father to me since the day I met him. I’m pleased to have him stand in for Daddy.”

  “Good. Stone’s looking forward to it, as well.”

  Stone Van Patten and I had married a year and a half ago, although I’d kept my maiden name, Alexandria Marie Starr, or more simply, Lexie. Stone and I own a bed and breakfast in Rockdale, Missouri, that he named the Alexandria Inn after me. Wendy and Stone’s nephew, Andy, were scheduled to be married on August twenty-fifth in the very gazebo Stone had built for our own wedding on the lodging facility’s back lawn.

  As much as I hate to admit it, I could hardly wait to see the taillights of Andy’s truck when they drove off to begin their honeymoon. Hours and hours of mind-numbing details and non-life-threatening decisions, like whether to serve butter mints or mixed nuts in the bowl next to the guest book, nearly bored the frigging life out of me. So why had I volunteered to help plan their wedding? Because that’s what loving mothers do―damn it!

  I might have enjoyed the process of spending quality time with my daughter while planning her wedding if not for three things: my daughter could be exceedingly melodramatic, my daughter was a perpetual nit-picking perfectionist, and my daughter was extremely moody when under pressure.

  I loved Wendy more than life itself, but planning the most important day of her life seemed to bring out all three of those innate traits in spades. If there was one tiny little glitch in the wedding ceremony, Wendy was sure to have a meltdown of epic proportions. I’d, no doubt, be the one held responsible for whatever caused the hiccup in her and Andy’s nuptials. Knowing this put great pressure on me to make sure every single detail was flawless.

  But there was no time to dwell on the tedious and drawn-out process ahead. I needed to keep my daughter focused so we could make progress on our lengthy list of tasks. To hurry things along, I decided to suggest we try out a bridal shop in Shawnee, Kansas, the town we’d both been living in when I’d first met Stone.

  “Wendy, let’s try this shop called the Hitching Post on Quivira Road. I’ve heard their prices are incredibly reasonable. I’d hate to see you two be one of those couples who are still making payments on a wedding dress after the ink on their divorce settlement has begun to fade.”

  Bad choice of words, and I regretted them even before my lips stopped flapping. I may have forgotten to mention that undue stress tends to make me engage my mouth before I’ve put my brain into gear, which in turn makes my good sense fly out the window like a trapped falcon.

  The first meltdown of what would undoubtedly be many, had officially begun when a blubbering Wendy started ranting loud enough for every shopper in the store to hear. “No wonder you want me to go cheap on my dress! You think our marriage is doomed to go down the toilet faster than a dead goldfish.”

  “Whoa! Calm down, dear. You’re making a scene. I wasn’t inferring I thought your marriage was destined to fail. You two were absolutely meant for each other. I just meant it’d be a shame to have a debt hanging over your heads when it’s not necessary.”

  I studied Wendy for a moment and could tell she was taking in every word, so I continued trying to talk some sense into her. In retrospect, my decision to keep talking was yet another ill-advised one.

  “I’m certain we can find a gown at the Hitching Post that doesn’t cost as much or make you look hippier than you actually are, like that dress you have on now.”

  After an audible gasp, Wendy screeched, “Now you’re saying I look like a fat-assed brideglobzilla?”

  “No, of course not, dear. Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I don’t think brideglobzilla is a real word.” I said in an attempt to change the subject. My bad decisions were stacking up faster than the discarded wedding gowns on the chair beside me.

  “‘Hippier’ is not a real word, either, Mother, but that’s beside the point. The point is I have less than a month to get ready for my wedding.” Wendy was flustered―madder than a hornet who’d just been drenched in Raid―and I knew she was overwhelmed with frustration. As if the fabric was searing her skin, she clawed at it in an effort to undress and I feared she was going to rip the expensive gown she’d been modeling.

  “Relax, sweetheart. You’re being overly sensitive. Your derriere is anything but fat. In fact, your figure is exquisite. We still have plenty of time to get all the details worked out. After all, I planned my wedding to Stone in no more than forty-five minutes.”

  “Maybe so, but you guys are old.”

  “Excuse me? I’m only fifty-one.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I apologize for being offensive, but this is my first marriage, and Andy’s too. Both you and Stone had previous marriages, so you weren’t expected to have a ceremony that’s, um, well…”

  “Insanely over-the-top?” I asked, rather than point out it was actually her second marriage too.

  Wendy shook her head and sighed loudly.

  At this point, I’d have welcomed having masked gunmen storm the building. A distraction, along with half a roll of duct tape over my mouth, would have benefited my cause. Unfortunately for me, no one on the Country Club Plaza was in the mood for terrorizing a bridal shop that afternoon. I could feel myself sinking another foot down into the swiftly deepening pit I’d been shoveling for myself for the last twenty minutes or so. I should have focused on the quicksand swallowing me up rather than adding another bad decision to the overflowing heap I’d already accumulated. Unable to contain my annoyance any longer, I asked, “What about your ill-fated marriage to Clayton Pitt?”

  “Are you really going to throw that in my face? I could have been killed in that fiasco. Besides, that marriage was annulled, so it doesn’t count.”

  It was true Wendy’s life had been put in danger just months following her and Clay’s wedding day. Fortunately for her, however, she had a mother who didn’t have the sense God gave a dandelion when it came to protecting her offspring. On the fateful day in question, I had thrown caution to the wind and saved her from a gun-wielding maniac.

  I certainly didn’t cast any blame on my daughter for the unraveling of her marriage. I was lucky she was still alive and such a vital part of my life. But my point is, despite the fact her marriage to Clay had dissolved quicker than a stick of butter in boiling water, the ceremony had been elaborate and pricey―and at my expense. I certainly hadn’t been issued a refund check for the wedding when the annulment was granted. However, with Wendy’s emotions in overdrive, I chose to take the high road and not rain on Wendy’s self-pity parade. “I know, darling.”

  “I heard Sally and Stephen Morgan’s wedding cost over forty grand, and he’d been married before,” Wendy said.

  “And do you know why you heard that?” I asked, not appreciating her huffy tone. “It’s because everyone was talking about it―for all the wrong reasons. The few people I chatted with all agreed it was a frivolous waste of money. Having all the guests raise a toast to the newly wedded couple with eight-hundred dollar bottles of rare champagne in solid-gold rimmed goblets as a dozen doves were released into the air was plum crazy if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you.”

  Ignori
ng Wendy’s rude retort, I continued. “The Morgans are hardly wealthy. They’ll be lucky to have paid off their wedding debt by the time they have their children’s college tuitions to worry about.”

  “Well, yeah. That’s probably true.”

  “What I’m trying to say―and so far making a real mess of―who cares how elaborate the ceremony is? The most important objective is to join you and Andy in holy matrimony, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” A hint of a smile appeared on Wendy’s face. “It would be a lot easier and cheaper to just fly to Vegas and elope.”

  “Now you’re talking. Stone and I will even spring for the ladder.” We both laughed at my quip. “It can be your wedding gift from us.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  I put my arm around Wendy’s shoulders as I spoke in a soft voice. “I wouldn’t actually want you two to elope, but the ceremony doesn’t have to be overly extravagant or ridiculously expensive. Not to mention, you seem to be putting way too much stress on yourself.” And me, as well, I thought.

  “I know. I just want our wedding to be a day we’ll never forget.”

  I gave my daughter a warm hug. “No matter how elaborate or how simple it is, I promise your wedding day will be one you’ll never, ever forget.”

  I didn’t know it at the time, but my words of encouragement could not have been more prophetic. As it would turn out, it’d be a day no one who attended the ceremony would ever forget―no matter how hard they tried.

  Three

  Even though Wendy, who served as the county’s chief medical examiner, could be moody and emotional at times, she was usually a fairly laid-back, level-headed woman. After she became engaged to Andy Van Patten, she had gradually taken on a “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” kind of demeanor. I sensed that my words to her in the bridal shop were falling on deaf ears, and I was correct. As if I hadn’t spoken, Wendy continued to whine.

  “You were right. I do look like a snowman. A lumpy one.”

  “I never said lumpy―”

  “I look absolutely atrocious.” As Wendy spoke, she did a complete 360. She stared at the elongated mirror as she rotated. Finally she stopped and gazed at her backside in the mirror’s reflection. “Actually, I’d look more like an ugly duckling than a snowman, waddling from side to side as I walked down the aisle. Get a good look at all this extra junk in my trunk, Mom, because it’s not going to be around for much longer. I need to shed twenty pounds in the next month. How long do you reckon a person can fast before becoming critically ill?”

  “Don’t be silly. You don’t need to lose a single pound. You’re a very attractive woman and at the perfect weight for your height.”

  “Yeah, right.” Wendy’s tone was sarcastic. We’d driven to the Hitching Post in western Shawnee. Wendy had been rambling on incessantly, upset about her appearance, since we’d walked out of the upscale bridal shop on the Plaza. Continuously assuring her she had a beautiful face and figure was beginning to get tiresome.

  “Relax, Wendy. As I said before, you’re a stunning woman and would look better in a gunny sack than most people would in an Oscar de la Renta gown. Your physique is quite enviable, and I think you should show it off with the perfect dress. There is not one spare ounce of junk in your trunk, as you put it. In fact, you needed to put on a few pounds and I’m glad Andy has helped you accomplish that. So let’s put that little ugly-duckling monster torturing you to bed once and for all. All right?”

  “Okay. You’re right. You must think I’m beginning to act like a drama queen. Don’t you?”

  Beginning to? That was an understatement if I’d ever heard one. I merely shook my head in response.

  “Am I starting to drive you crazy, Mom?”

  “No, of course not, sweetheart.” That bat-crap-crazy ship sailed three hours ago with my bone-weary body aboard it, is what I really wanted to say. But the maternal instinct in me—the one that had been in hibernation since about two seconds after I’d volunteered to assist in planning the wedding—came back into the picture just seconds before I made some edgy comment that would have only upset my daughter further. “You are understandably anxious about your upcoming wedding. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “That’s true.” I could see the tension fade from Wendy’s face. Then she turned to scrutinize her backside in the mirror once more. After the tension faded from her face, a disgusted grimace emerged. “Yikes!”

  “I’m no fashion expert, by any means,” I said, before I had to assure Wendy about her looks for the fortieth time. “But my advice is to buy the gown that makes you feel the most beautiful, the most comfortable and the happiest. If you feel beautiful, you will look even more stunning.”

  “Yeah. You’re probably right.” Wendy studied herself in the mirror with a pensive expression. “You’re also correct that this gown doesn’t do a thing for me.”

  Oh, thank God! Uncomfortably warm, I dabbed at the sweat on my cheek with a Kleenex. I couldn’t tell if I was having a hot flash or the store was trying to lower their electric bill. I watched silently as Wendy hung up the white wedding dress with the short lacy hoop skirt that made her look like a life-sized ballerina who was ready to spin like a top when some little girl raised the lid of the jewelry box her grandmother had gifted her with at Christmas. I was relieved to hear Wendy’s next comment.

  “This won’t work. It just isn’t the look I’m going for.”

  “I agree. I know anything goes in this day and age, but the shorter dress just doesn’t do your figure justice, or have the proper look to it.” Unless you’re going for the ballerina look, I wanted to add. “Keep looking at the full-length gowns. You’ll find the perfect one, I’m sure.”

  “I did kind of like the way that last one I tried on looked on me.”

  “I did too. You looked drop-dead gorgeous in it. It’s my number-one choice, by far. And the price is reasonable. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, very reasonable,” Wendy replied. She went back to the dressing room to put the straight-line silk dress with the spaghetti straps back on. She turned slowly, scrutinizing the dress in the mirror from every angle before exclaiming, “This is the one. I think Andy will love the way it looks on me.”

  “He’ll love it. It’s exquisite on you and flatters your figure beautifully.” I was so exhausted from dress shopping, I might have said the same thing had she been wearing the aforementioned gunny sack. But, in all honesty, I had to agree it was the perfect dress for Wendy.

  “I’m going to buy it right now so it doesn’t get snatched up by some other bride-to-be. Besides, I can’t waste much more time selecting a wedding gown because there are a zillion other details we need to get worked out.”

  “Good idea, dear. Do you need help paying for the dress?”

  “No, but thanks for the offer. We’re in good shape financially, and we’ve set aside enough to pay for the entire wedding if, as you cautioned earlier, we don’t go overboard. Besides, you paid for my first wedding to Clay. It wouldn’t be right to ask you to chip in on my second one, too. Helping me to plan the rest of the ceremony and reception is more than enough assistance from you.”

  Wendy’s remark gave me an inspiration, and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it earlier. “Why don’t you let me hire an expert to assist you? Instead of a ladder to elope, an experienced wedding planner would be an ideal wedding present. Stone has something else in mind he’d like to give you guys, so I’ll let him do his own thing independent of me. I think a wedding planner would take a lot more responsibility and pressure off of your shoulders than I ever could.”

  “Hmm…” Wendy murmured as she mused over the suggestion.

  “I will help out as much as possible, too, of course, but it’d be nice to have an expert to guide us as we make plans. Business at the inn has doubled in the last couple of weeks, and I know you’ve been busier than normal at work, too.” This wasn’t a fabrication just to appease my daughter. Although it wasn’t unusual for us to have all seven of our suites full at
the same time, we only had two suites rented out this week. But that’s twice what we’d had the first half of July, with only one suite occupied each week. That’s double the business, any way you look at it.

  Wendy’s agreement came in the form of a nod. “I’ve been buried in work too. I don’t know why so many people had to pick this spring and summer to drop dead.”

  “Other than that unfortunate Vietnam veteran who committed suicide last week, I don’t think people necessarily pick when they’re going to ‘drop dead’, as you put it.” I was a bit taken aback by Wendy’s insensitivity. I’d yet to get used to the idea that she made a living off of other people dying. I doubted I ever would. The very thought of it made me nauseous. The fact she appeared to take great pleasure in discussing the ins and outs of every autopsy had a tendency to make me want to upchuck my latest meal.

  My daughter was not typically thoughtless or dispassionate, but she was acting like a spoiled brat that day. It reminded me of when she was ten and refused to share her dolls with two less fortunate young girls she’d invited over for a play date.

  Following a reprimand from me for being selfish, she’d responded, “I’m not being selfish. I just don’t think it’s wise to let my dolls, Grace and Patience, associate with people like that.” After being told she was being rude, behaving discourteously, and showing an appalling lack of both “grace” and “patience”, she’d finally relented. I realized Wendy had learned a valuable lesson that day when I saw the two sisters walking out to their foster mother’s car about an hour later. They each wore a bright smile and carried one of Wendy’s dolls in their arms. I could have sworn I saw Patience wink at me as her new owner hugged the doll to her tiny chest.

  I could not have been any prouder of my daughter at that moment. And, yet, somehow my pride in her had grown tenfold in all the years that followed. My watery eyes studied her now as she studied the chosen wedding gown in the mirror.