One Hex of a Wedding Page 6

  I mumbled a quick good-bye and eyed the phone. So, Roy had no alibi for the morning other than a tousled bed. I wanted to believe that he hadn’t done it, that he hadn’t stooped that low. My gut warned me against jumping to conclusions, but my emotions were running wild. He’d threatened to make my life hell and as good as promised to ruin my wedding. Was this what he meant? Or were his threats merely a drunken stab to make me as miserable as he was?

  Either way, I pushed him out of my mind. I had a phone call to make. Joe’s brother, Nathan, was due in town tomorrow morning, but if it were me, I’d want to know as soon as possible. I debated ringing his parents, too, but then pushed that thought aside. Joe would have a fit if he found out I’d called them.

  He’d refused to invite either of them to the wedding, and I hadn’t pressured him. Dexter, his father, had abandoned the family when the boys were young, following the lure of the casinos. As for Terri, Joe’s mother, she’d been shacked up with one loser or another for most of Joe’s life. He’d long ago given up on expecting support from either his parents.

  I flipped through the address book, found Nathan’s number, and punched in the keys. After a few rings, Nate answered, sounding so much like Joe that it gave me chills. “Nathan? This is Emerald. Joe’s fiancée.”

  A pause, then an “Oh shit!”

  I frowned at the phone. “What?”

  “Sorry,” came the garbled reply. “Just a minute.” Nathan’s words were obviously aimed toward somebody in the room with him. After a few blurred syllables that might have been “hold on” or “hang on,” he cleared his throat. “Listen, I meant to call Joe tonight. I can’t make the wedding.”

  Great. Could this day get any better? “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, fine,” he said, and I could hear the strike of a match. So, he smoked. Well, not in my house he wouldn’t. “I’ve been offered the chance to go to Sweden for a couple of weeks but we have to leave tomorrow morning. I can’t pass this up, not when it fell right in my lap. Joe’ll understand. Put him on.”

  I counted to ten, my hackles rising. “I can’t put him on. He’s in the hospital. That’s why I called.”

  “Oh hell, what’d he go and do now? He been playing hero again? I told him to get out of that business—bad for the health.”

  “Don’t you even want to know how he is?” I said, exasperated.

  “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a wad, Sis. I figure if he was dead, you’d be bawling, so he must be okay. What happened?”

  Wanting nothing more than to get off the phone and out of this conversation, I forced myself to calm down. “It has nothing to do with his job. Your brother got winged by a bullet from a twenty-two this afternoon. He’s going to be fine, but I thought you might like to know before you arrived. Obviously, since you’re headed to Sweden, that’s no longer an issue. Tell me, were you planning on letting us know about your detour before we were standing at the airport, waiting for your plane?”

  “Uh, yeah. I just forgot. Chill, okay?”

  Chill my ass. “I’m not in a good mood,” I said, biting my tongue to prevent saying anything I’d later regret.

  “Okay, okay . . . sheesh.” Nathan coughed. “So, old Joe took one on the wing? Tell him to get better and watch his step next time. Was it some redneck yokel out hunting ducks or something?”

  I was starting to get a sense for why Joe hesitated when discussing his family. Nathan apparently didn’t fall far from Dexter’s tree.

  “We don’t know,” I said. “Since you aren’t going to make it, I’ll just tell Joe you said hello. I have to go now. Bye.” I hung up before he could say another word—and before I forever ruined any rapport I might have with my soon-to-be brother-in-law. I stared at the phone in my hand.

  Grandma M. might be a pain in the butt sometimes, and my mother and father were bland, if loving, parents. Rose could be a handful, but had somebody called any of them with word that I was shot, they’d be here in a flash. I’d deliberately kept some of my misadventures from them because I didn’t want them to worry. In contrast to Nathan, they were as loving and supportive as I could ask for. I glanced at the clock. Time to call Margaret, Joe’s aunt. At least she would be at the hospital first thing come visiting hours.

  My hand poised to dial, I stopped and put the phone down. Aunt Maggie deserved better than hearing the news over the phone. I grabbed my keys and let the kids know I’d be out for a little while. Hell, she might even have some idea as to why Joe had been shot.

  MARGARET FILES WAS one of those timeless women. I knew she was in her early seventies, and she looked it, but her spirit was as bright as a one-hundred-watt bulb in a small room. She loved life, and life loved her. A good twenty years older than her brother—Joe’s father—she’d been more of a parent to Joe than either Dexter or Terri.

  Maggie had worked for the county clerk’s office until she retired and now she was always out and about, volunteering at the local hospital, organizing food drives, playing cutthroat pinochle with her friends, and generally keeping herself busy, productive, and happy.

  She was also dating Lanford Willis, a retired doctor, and was the scandal of the town’s matronly set on two accounts: Lanford was black, and they’d been caught in their robes at the breakfast table by one of Maggie’s friends. The race issue would die away quickly. The sex scandal was more problematic.

  When she opened the door, I could tell she’d already heard the news. She bustled me in and settled me in the rocking chair with a glass of lemonade before I knew what had happened.

  “I know he was shot, I know he’s okay, so don’t you fret,” she said.

  I relaxed, thinking again about Nathan and how cavalier he’d been over his brother’s injury. With a shake of my head, I launched into what had happened, filling in the missing details for her. As I finished my story, I asked, “Can you think of anybody who might have a grudge against Joe?”

  Maggie glanced over at me from the window, where she was studying the last of the evening light that filtered through the lace curtains, casting delicately woven patterns on the walls. After a moment, she turned, a thoughtful look on her face.

  “What about that man you were dating before you met Joe? I recall he was pestering you to get back together with him.”

  “Andrew?” The thought had never occurred to me. To be honest, I’d pretty much pushed Andrew’s existence out of my mind. I thought we could be friends but he wouldn’t leave me alone. He’d been the one who dumped me, but he couldn’t stand the thought I’d moved on. So, I dropped contact with him. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if he still lives in Chiqetaw.”

  “You might want to have your detective friend check him out for you,” Maggie said, refilling my glass and adding a splash of cherry juice.

  As I sipped the concoction, wincing at the tangy combination of sour and sweet tart on my tongue, I thought about what she’d said. Could Andrew possibly still think we had a chance? Was he even aware that I was getting married? The notice had been in the paper, of course, and being a quasi celebrity in Chiqetaw assured me a write-up in Ingrid Lindstrom’s column. But even if he knew, would Andrew stoop to shooting Joe? I’d have to call Murray, it was that simple. If there was even a chance it was Andrew, she had to check it out.

  The thought crossed my mind that if Joe was in danger, Randa and Kip might be next in line . . . or me. I pulled out my cell phone, excused myself, and punched in Murray’s number.

  Four

  MURRAY DIDN’T ANSWER so I left a message, asking her to call me the next morning. I glanced at the clock. Almost eleven, and I was exhausted. “I’d better be getting home,” I said, “but before I go, do you think I should drop by the hospital to tell Joe about Nathan? After all, Joe will expect him to be there when he gets home. I promised to pick up Nate from the airport.”

  Margaret nixed the idea. “Let him rest.” The look on her face spoke volumes. Her brow furrowed, she let out a loud sigh. “Nathan is a carbon copy of
Dexter. Dex always has been, and always will be, an irresponsible boy in a man’s body. I had hoped that both sons would escape their heritage, but it seems it was too much to ask.” She brightened. “At least Joe didn’t succumb to the family pattern of addiction. Tell him about Nathan tomorrow, on your way home from the hospital.”

  She fussed with her tea. “I have to say, Emerald, I consider Joe lucky to have you. You’ve given him the stability and sense of family he’s always craved. And I know he’s head over heels in love with you.”

  “When I asked Joe if he wanted to invite his parents to the wedding, I thought he was going to raise the roof,” I said. “That’s the only time I’ve seen him get angry. He’s got a lot of pent-up resentment toward them.” I hadn’t been afraid of his outburst, but I learned quickly that his family was a subject better left untouched. Apparently, I wouldn’t be meeting my in-laws, other than Maggie.

  “It’s a little chilly this evening,” she said, reaching for a lace shawl draped over the arm of the sofa. She wrapped it around her shoulders. “After Dexter left, Terri had no idea what to do. She was young, with two young boys, and her husband abandoned her, taking every cent that he hadn’t already gambled away. Terri and the boys’ lives became very chaotic after that.”

  “Did she work?”

  “Oh, she managed to land a job in a wineshop and she was good at it. She learned about the business inside out. I gave her a little extra money when I could, and when I came into my part of the inheritance from my father, I set up a small trust fund for each boy. Dex certainly didn’t help out. He always said he would, but it never happened. And he worked odd jobs to avoid having his wages garnished. I’ll give Terri this—even without child support, she kept food on the table and a roof over their heads.”

  “It’s never easy—even with child support,” I said, thinking about the first year I’d struggled to rebuild my family after my divorce. And I’d had a settlement to start my business with and to buy a new house. Most divorced women didn’t get a head start. Of course, I’d been angry enough to go after Roy, instead of slinking away meekly to nurse my grievances.

  “No, it’s not. Unfortunately, the struggle to survive took a toll. Terri ended up resenting the boys for the extra work they caused her. I don’t think she ever showed it overtly, but kids are smart. Joe and Nathan knew she wasn’t happy. They had a string of ‘daddies’ who never stuck around. When the boys left home, she moved to California and opened up her own shop, but the steady stream of men and booze never ended.”

  I gave Margaret a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re right. Joe is a lucky man. He’s got you. You’re one special lady, Aunt Maggie.” As I headed out into the night, I felt a flash of gratitude that Margaret Files had become such an integral part of my life. She was a champion supporter, and I adored her.

  SUNDAY DAWNED PARTLY cloudy. We weren’t due for rain, but the sky was overcast and the temperature mild. So much for sunshine. I just hoped it wouldn’t be raining on the solstice. We’d planned to hold the wedding in our garden lot next door, with White Deer acting as our officiate. She had registered at one of those online ordination sites so that she could marry us.

  Joe and Jimbo were supposed to build arches over which we would drape ivy and grapevines, and tuck roses into the lattice work. I sighed, making a note to ask Jimbo what kind of help he would need now that Joe wouldn’t be able to lift a hammer. Maybe my father could help him slap them together. Or maybe we’d have to buy them ready-made.

  Randa came racing down the stairs. In an hour, she was due at the house belonging to the president of her astronomy club. The club was making a field trip to Bellingham to visit the new astronomy museum that had opened up. More of a gallery than a real museum, it was sponsored by the Skies & Scopes shop.

  She screeched to a halt in front of the fridge. “Mom, do you know where my backpack is?”

  At least some things were running on track. “Try the laundry room. You left it there yesterday. Have you had breakfast yet? And did Kip feed the cats?”

  “I’m not hungry, and yeah, Kip fed them,” she said, peeking into the pantry where the washer and dryer were located.

  “Hold on there, chickie. Make time for breakfast. I want to see something going into your stomach and it better not just be sugar.” The light blinked on my espresso machine, indicating that it was ready. I flipped the switch and watched as four shots of pure black gold poured into the glass decanter. I stirred it into a tall glass, along with raspberry and chocolate syrups, milk, and ice. Randa leaned against the counter, a snarky grin on her face.

  “And what is that, if not pure sugar?” She pointed to my glass. “Face it, Mom, you’re a junkie. You couldn’t go a day without caffeine if you tried.” A smile tweaked the corner of her lip and I knew she was teasing.

  “All right, all right, I’ll eat something, too. Let’s see, what do we have?” I opened the refrigerator and peered at the food-laden shelves. Since Joe had moved in, we never were without plenty of groceries. He kept the larder stocked a lot better than I had. Feeling just a tinge inadequate, I glanced at the clock. “I have to call the hospital in a few minutes to find out when I can pick up Joe.”

  “Do you know who shot him yet?” Kip asked, entering the kitchen. “He’s gonna be okay, isn’t he?”

  Kip was lugging a book almost as big as he was. He’d maintained his love of computers from the school year and had progressed to the intermediate class at computer camp, which made me both proud and a little worried. Considering Kip’s predilection for getting in trouble, I still had concerns that I might be raising a hacker, but at least he’d found a passion other than the folk magic that Nanna had taught me. I had no problem passing on my magical training, but more than once, Kip had proved himself too emotionally immature to cope with the responsibility. I had told him that we were going to wait until he was thirteen before starting training again.

  “Joe’s going to be fine, and no, we don’t know who shot him,” I said. “Okay, I’m making breakfast, and everybody’s eating. Got that, Randa?” She nodded. “Good. How about ham and cheese sandwiches? Quick, nutritious, and they won’t dirty up any pans.” Anything for freedom from dirty dishes.

  As I opened the bread, Randa handed me a knife and three plates, while Kip foraged through the fridge for ham, cheese, mayonnaise, mustard, tomatoes, and lettuce. I spread the bread with the mayo and mustard while Randa sliced cheese and tomatoes, then Kip layered ham and lettuce on the bread.

  We worked in silent unison, immersed in the rhythm that ran through our family. Joe had managed to slip into that rhythm, never breaking it. He flowed right into the stream that had become our lives since we first moved to Chiqetaw. The kids accepted him, edging over gently to allow him space next to me. And I’d grown comfortable with sharing my life with another adult. I finally knew what it meant to be partners with someone, rather than just “the wife.”

  When we finished, the kids carried the food over to the table, along with glasses of milk and what was left of my mocha. I picked up the phone. Not quite time to call about Joe, but I needed to touch base with the shop.

  It felt odd—being away from the Chintz ’n China for so long. I wouldn’t be returning until July—another two weeks—and I was already fussing about how things were going. But I tried to rein in my fretting. My finances would show a crunch, but I wanted to enjoy every moment of my wedding and honeymoon.

  “Chintz ’n China Tea Room, how may I help you?” Cinnamon answered. She’d just graduated with her Associate of Arts degree in accounting. I had the feeling she would be moving on soon; she was a smart girl with children to feed, and I couldn’t pay her what she deserved. I was reluctantly awaiting the day when she handed me her resignation and had already informed her that if she needed time off for an interview, she should just ask.

  “It’s me, Cinnamon. How’s it going?”

  “Almost ready to open the doors. Lana’s going to be a little late, but since it’s Sunday, th
e rush won’t come until later. If you have the time, though, you need to sign off on a few checks. Several invoices came in yesterday.”

  Since Cinnamon had her accounting degree, I figured she might as well learn the back end of the business and had handed her some of the easier paperwork to deal with. “I’ll try to drop by this afternoon. This weekend’s been insane—”

  “I saw the paper,” she said, her voice tentative. “I wasn’t sure whether or not you wanted to talk about it, so I wasn’t going to bring it up until you did.”

  A chill ran up my back. Paper? What paper? “Bring what up? What are you talking about?” I asked, knowing full well I wasn’t going to want to hear the answer.

  She hesitated. I was known for throwing tantrums over the local media, with whom I had tenuous and stressful connections, but I never directed my anger toward the messengers unless they were directly involved.

  “Go on. I’m not going to bite you, you know.”

  “Okay. Ingrid ran a huge article in the Chiqetaw Town Crier about Roy being thrown out of the party the other night. She followed it up with an expose on Joe being shot and is linking the two stories by inference. Since the paper said Joe’s going to be all right, I decided to wait until you mentioned it.”

  “Holy hell. If something like this happens again, tell me right away. I haven’t been out to pick up the paper—it’s still in the yard. So, the shop’s fine?”

  “Yeah, everything’s okay here.” I could hear relief in her voice.

  “Okay, then. I’m going to go look at that article. I’ll drop by a little later today to sign the checks and glance over the invoices.”

  I dropped the receiver back in the cradle and made a dash out to the front yard. For once, the boy had gotten the newspaper near the porch. Joe was meticulous about keeping the lawn in order, and Kip had taken on a new diligence in his chores, wanting to impress his older buddy. A light film of dew still shimmered on the blades, but a glimpse of sunlight through the clouds promised to burn off the moisture before noon.