Boo Who (25 page)

“I probably wouldn’t be able to help you anyway,” Alfred shrugged.

“Not unless you can pull a caterer out of your hat.”

Wolfe was barely over the shock that his beloved fiancée had cut eight inches off her hair when he was struck with the news that they were going to therapy. It had all happened so fast.

After an intensely long day, he’d arrived at her house before she got home, so he spent an hour listening to his future father-in-law explain how Thief was making progress.

“By moving his food and water bowl from his usual spot in the kitchen to a different location, like the laundry room, I’ve found him starting to improve.”

“No kidding.”

“But the doctor was very precise … He said the food and water must be kept in that same location for three days without being moved an inch.” The sheriff’s eyes were as wide as Butch’s when he told those covert operation stories.

“Fascinating.”

“There are four other things,” the sheriff whispered, twisting his head to see if Thief was anywhere in sight. “But I tell you, Wolfe, I’m encouraged. This is the first sign of hope I’ve had. I swear, this doc knows what he’s talking about.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Hass.”

“Does he dress kind of flashy?”

“Yeah, I think so. Brightly colored shirts.”

“So what’s the next step?” Wolfe said, nodding toward the paper in the sheriff’s hand.

“This one,” the sheriff admitted, “is a little strange. It says here that under no circumstances shall I stroke his fur.”

“Really?”

“Very strange, but I guess it has to do with something concerning nerve endings. You know, this new-age sort of touchy-feely medicine.”

Wolfe nodded, trying to be agreeable, but in the back of his mind, he had to admit this was one of the weirdest things he’d ever heard.

And that was exactly what he was thinking when Ainsley walked through the door. Between his jumbled thoughts on Thief’s strange medical regimen to his first glimpse of what Ainsley had decided to do to her hair, he knew a somewhat questionable expression likely flickered across his face.

But whatever his expression, he thought her reaction—hysterical tears—was a bit extreme. Then she yelled at him, something about finally being a woman, and marched upstairs. He was just unwinding from that whole scenario when she proceeded back down the stairs.

“You don’t understand!” she wailed.

That was an understatement.

“I’ve had long hair my whole life. My
whole life
.”

He was nodding. “Ainsley, it’s just that—”

“You hate it! I can see it in your eyes!”

“No … no … It’s just a surprise.”

“Please,” she nearly sneered, “I know disappointment when I see it.”

“You have to admit, you would be shocked.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If what, you cut your hair above your ears?”

“Why are you so mad at me?” Wolfe asked, which was when the sheriff decided it was time to go upstairs and not stroke his cat. “I’m sorry I had a shocked look on my face! It’s shocking! You’ve cut your beautiful long hair. Your new haircut is fine, but your hair has been your pride and joy forever.”

Ainsley sniffled and turned away from him, shaking her head. “I love it. I think it makes me look sophisticated.”

Wolfe took her shoulders and gently turned her around. “Ainsley, you will always be beautiful to me. It has nothing to do with that. It was just shocking, okay? Just surprising.”

Teary eyes stared into his. “I should’ve told you.”

“It’s your hair,” he smiled. “You don’t have to ask or tell me anything. And besides, you’re right … you do look sophisticated.” Then, without thinking first, he continued, “Wait a minute. You said sophisticated.”

She nodded.

“Wait just a minute. Did … Alfred put you up to this?”

She didn’t agree, but she didn’t deny it either. By the way her eyes grew wide with hesitation, he didn’t need her to say it. He
let
go of her shoulders. “He did! Alfred told you to cut your hair, didn’t he?”

“He may have.”

“Alfred Tennison!” he fumed.

“It was just a suggestion, Wolfe! He didn’t handcuff me and take me to cut my hair, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

His face flushed with anger. “Not with literal handcuffs anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that ever since Alfred began whispering his little plan to you about making you the world’s next great homemaker, all you can see is the stars in your own eyes.”

“I knew it! You are jealous!”

“I’m worried, Ainsley. You are supposed to be planning our wedding, yet everything is getting shoved aside for Alfred and his big dreams.”

She teared up. “They’re my dreams too.”

“You are my dream, Ainsley. And I won’t throw away my dream.”

And with that, they were now on their way to therapy. Ainsley had recalled her father’s mention of Dr. Hass and the wonders he’d performed for Thief. So she declared them in crisis and struck out for Dr. Hass’s home. But to Wolfe’s everlasting thankfulness, the good doctor was apparently not in his office on this Saturday evening. Relief didn’t begin to describe his emotions, though. Not only did he not want to see a therapist, but he also did not want to see
this
therapist. Any therapist who practiced on cats couldn’t possibly have a talent for counseling couples.

They stood on the sidewalk in front of the doctor’s home, trying to avoid each other’s eyes while clearly each wanted desperately for the
other one to signal all was well. But instead, Ainsley offered folded arms, and all Wolfe could do was sigh.

“Well, he’s not here,” she said. “But I still think we should get counseling.”

He tried to steady his expression, which apparently could set off fireworks this night. “Why not see the reverend? We don’t know anything about this Dr. Hass.”

“He’s helped everyone who has come to him! Thief. The mayor is slowly coming around. And … and … Melb!”

Wolfe rolled his eyes. “Is this why you want to come? Because all your friends are in therapy?”

“Look, I think there are going to be issues about being married to a celebrity that we’re going to have to address.”

“I’m not a celebrity anymore, Ainsley.”

She scowled. “Not
you.
Me.”

Wolfe realized he had not yet told her he’d been fired by Oliver. He looked up at her to say something, but she was stomping back to the car, her shoes nearly striking sparks against the concrete.

CHAPTER 21

R
EVEREND
P
ECK HAD
never in his career dreaded a Sunday. While there had been disappointments and such, every week always brought new hope that maybe this time a life would be changed.

But this Sunday morning, as he ironed his shirt and picked out a tie, dismay was his breakfast companion instead of his usual bowl of Cream of Wheat. He couldn’t describe last week as either disastrous or successful.

And he’d had enough preaching on the kind of topic he’d preached last week. For crying out loud, God had created it from the beginning of time, and nobody needed a preacher to tell them what it meant or how to do it right.

Yet all week he’d been having trouble coming up with something to rival last week’s shock factor. So he’d prepared three sermons and was trying to decipher his mood about them when a knock came at his front door. It surprised him enough that at first he thought he was hearing things. In all his days at this church, he couldn’t recall ever having a visitor
before
church. But when the knock came again, he went to answer it.

Standing in his doorway, dressed snazzier than a Pete’s Steakhouse sirloin topped with grilled onions and peppers, was a man trying to smile and swallow and blink all at once. “May I help you?”

“You’re the reverend of this town?”

“Yes, Reverend Peck.”

The man looked distraught and couldn’t seem to find the words he was looking for. So the reverend invited him in. It was cold as the North Pole outside anyway.

“Tell me your name.”

“Dr. Hass,” he said softly. “I’m new in town.”

They sat at the breakfast table. Dr. Hass declined coffee. “Thinking of coming to church this morning?”

“Not really,” he sighed. “I should, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not the kind of person who belongs in church. I just needed someone to talk to this morning.”

“Everyone is welcome in our church, Doctor. Incidentally, what kind of doctor are you?”

Dr. Hass smiled a little. “The successful kind.”

“I see. Well, then, what can I help you with?”

“I had this grand life out west. I was rich, respected. I lost it all. And I thought I could use a change of pace. So I moved here. You know, everyone assumes life in a small town is better, simpler. But I have to say, from what I can see, you all are as messed up as any of the rest of us.”

The reverend laughed. “Oh yes. You could certainly say that.”

Dr. Hass leaned forward on the table. “There are things I fear, and it’s those things that I suppose corrupt my heart.”

Fear! He could preach on fear! He’d never preached on fear before because he was afraid it was too heavy of a topic for a congregation that thought “Jingle Bells” had a lot of spiritual significance and should be added to the Christmas hymnal. But he suspected, in fact he knew that many people struggled with fear and that fear drove numerous actions that caused trouble in their life.

But one thing Reverend Peck knew about himself: He had to be prepared. He’d always known that he was not one for speaking on the fly. Many years ago, he had a friend who would not select a topic until the morning he was to preach. And without a single note, he could get up there and talk until he was blue in the face. Reverend Peck had always envied him and his church a little bit. There were only twenty members, but they were always very excited come Sunday morning. They’d dance in the aisle to the organ, shout out amens, and wave white hankies. Nobody had ever shouted amen in his church, and almost everyone here thought dancing was wrong, though these same people
could be found in the county dance hall from time to time. And hankies were for blowing noses.

“I know what fear can do to a person,” Dr. Hass said. “And it’s not pretty.”

“You seem like a guy who enjoys helping people,” the reverend observed.

Dr. Hass nodded humbly. “I suppose I do, though maybe I didn’t know that about myself all along. But I happen to think if you face your fears, you can conquer them.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes. I’ve actually tested this theory scientifically.”

Reverend Peck engaged his guest’s eyes. “I want you to be at my church this morning. God loves you. And He has a purpose for you.”

Dr. Hass smiled. “My grandmother used to tell me that.”

“No, I mean, He has a purpose for you this morning.”

“Excuse me?”

“How would you like to be a guest speaker?”

Melb marveled at how quickly some problems could be solved. Of course, sometimes solving one problem created another problem, which was the case this morning. But she was trying not to think about that as she sat next to Oliver, waiting for Sunday morning’s service to begin.