Nice Girls Don't Date Dead Men (39 page)

And in a beautiful gesture of familial unity, Raylene managed to pull together a gorgeous ice-blue four-tier wedding cake with a little fondant Jolene and Zeb atop a fake iceberg topper. And nothing on the cake looked anything like a penis. It was Raylene’s cake masterpiece.

Even over the rather maudlin processional, my vampire superhearing picked up Zeb saying to Gabriel at the altar, “I feel the need to mention that, well, I love you guys. Even if you did vamp out my best friend, Gabriel, you’re a really good guy. And Dick, I really appreciate you hitting on that old lady to unscramble my brain. I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk lately.”

Gabriel slapped Zeb on the back. “I don’t have many friends, Zeb. But you’re certainly the best among them.”

The two men smiled at each other. A moment of silence passed.

Zeb cleared his throat. “And, uh, sorry about slapping Jane on the butt. That won’t happen again.”

Another silent, slightly more uncomfortable moment.

“Well, this is awkward,” Dick muttered.

Zeb nodded. “Yep.”

Gabriel grinned as I passed the end of the aisle and took my spot. True to his word, he was dashing in formal wear, a cutaway tux with old-fashioned four-in-hand tie. I would wonder how long he’d had it, but I think the answer would upset me.

The ceremony was short and to the point, which may have had something to do with werewolves’ generally short attention span and an upcoming meal. There was no mention of “If anyone here present knows of any lawful impediment,” which was in no way unintentional. There were no unity candles and, mercifully, no solos.

The happy couple marched out to “Raise the
Titanic,
” which was oddly dark considering the proceedings. Zeb and Jolene boarded the iceberg while one of Jolene’s teen cousins manned the tiller. They made a blessedly slow progression across the pond while Zeb stood behind Jolene, stretching out their arms and screaming, “I’m king of the world!”

“I really should have seen that coming,” I told Dick as we paired up at the altar and headed down the aisle.

“I don’t think anyone could have seen that coming,”
Dick told me. We were ushered straight to the reception tables as Zeb and Jolene de-berged.

Gabriel’s smile could not be contained as he bent over my hand and kissed it. “You’re a vision.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Like the kind you see after a healthy dose of peyote?”

“No, you know, it sort of looks like something some of the more promiscuous girls might have worn in my day,” Gabriel said.

“On what planet is that a compliment?” I demanded as Dick laughed.

After a completely unnecessary number of photos, I pulled the happy couple aside and pulled an envelope out of a pocket in my skirt. (Oh, yeah, the “Ruffles and Dreams” came with pockets.)

“I have something for you,” I said. “It’s not six hundred dollars’ worth of pots and pans, but I think you’ll like it.”

“You’ve already done enough, Janie,” Zeb assured me.

Nonetheless, I handed Jolene an envelope. She raised an eyebrow at the paper contained within. “It’s a deed.”

“To a piece of land about halfway between Gabriel’s place and mine, in the back fifty acres. There’s also a check in there to cover the construction costs of a brand-new house.”

And that, combined with estimated costs of renovating and restocking the shop, would still leave me with quite a bit of money, which was disconcerting. I now felt the need actually to do something for myself but had no idea what that might be. It was like being held hostage by a retirement plan.

“That’s really sweet,” Zeb said. “But we just got out of a situation where we felt obligated—”

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s a gift.”

“We would really like to make our own way,” he said.

“Fine. Give me a dollar,” I said.

“What?”

“Just give me a dollar,” I said.

“I didn’t really think of putting my wallet in these pants,” he said.

Dick rolled his eyes and fished out his own wallet, an exact replica of Jules Winnfield’s from
Pulp Fiction
.

“I’ve never seen you so eager to give away money,” Gabriel told Dick.

“I want in,” Dick said. “All I got them was one of those George Foreman grills.”

Dick handed the bill to Zeb, who handed it over to me. In return, I handed him the envelope. “There, you have just purchased a plot of my land for one dollar.”

“I can’t—”

“Zeb,” I said in a warning tone.

“Fine, but I can’t take the check.”

“Think of it as a gift certificate, a really big gift certificate,” I told him. He began the protest. “Think of it as a gift certificate, or I’ll kick your ass at your own wedding reception.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t take anything you say seriously when you’re dressed like that,” Zeb said.

“I think we should do what she says,” Jolene whispered when I gave him the burning vampire stare of doom.

“Thanks, Jane,” Zeb said, hugging me fiercely.

“I love you guys. Go, mingle,” I told them after kissing Jolene’s cheek.

Andrea sidled up beside me to hand me a plastic champagne flute filled with frothy pink punch. “I think it’s safe. They wouldn’t put meat in here, would they?”

I sipped cautiously. “It appears not. How’s it going?” I asked, nodding toward Dick.

“Eh.” She gave the so-so hand sign. “He’s starting to pressure me, and I don’t appreciate it. Why do men always want the one thing they can’t have?”

“So you guys aren’t … ?”

“What, no, we’re at it like bunnies,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I won’t let him drink from me.”

“Dang it, I do not need those visuals in my head! And don’t think about it when you’re around me, I can tell. Why won’t you let him drink from you?”

“Because it’s too much like work,” she said.

“Kind of like a masseuse who doesn’t want to go home and give back rubs?” I asked.

“Yes, exactly like that
Seinfeld
episode.”

“I have a limited frame of reference,” I admitted as my cell phone rang from my dress pocket. The caller ID said it was my mother. Andrea was not the least bit offended when I answered it, since Dick had just approached with a tray of nibbles he’d managed to snag from the buffet line using his vampire wiles. I shook my head and giggled as I snapped open the phone. At this point, I was surprised that Dick wasn’t feeding them to her.

“I just wanted to see whether you’d called your sister yet,” Mama said, again dispensing with a greeting.

“No, but I have done an extensive inventory of the household contents at River Oaks and found an alarming number of items missing. The next time you’re over at Jenny’s, could you look for Depression glass, a silver coffee service, and some lace fans? I need to know what to put on the search warrant.”

Mama sighed on the other end of the line. “You aren’t really considering going to the police, are you? Jane, that would be so embarrassing to the family.”

I sighed. “I’m not going to call the cops, Mama. But Jenny and Grandma should consider whatever they’ve taken over the years to be their inheritance. That’s their share of the Early legacy. I don’t want to hear anything more about it. If Jenny wants to keep the lawsuit going, she can go ahead. I can afford a much better lawyer now.”

“Won’t you please—”

“No, I will not,” I said firmly as I stepped away from the circle of light and love and family. Because clearly, that was not the place for this conversation. Also, Mama was not aware that Zeb’s wedding was that night, and I could only imagine the tear storm that would ensue if she found out she hadn’t been invited. “Now, speaking of Grandma, have you heard from her in the last twenty-four hours, or should we assume that Wilbur has married and buried another wife?”

“Actually, Grandma Ruthie has canceled the wedding.”

“Because of something I said?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Mama laughed. “But when you started talking about how many wives Wilbur had,
it just turned her stomach. Then she realized that she’d been married almost as many times as he has.”

“So, she realized her reign of matrimonial terror must end?” I asked as Gabriel approached with Solo cups full of what might have been Boone’s Farm’s version of champagne.

Mama snorted. “Something like that.”

“Does this mean I should contact the authorities about Wilbur?” I asked. “Did he take the break-up well?”

“Oh, no, she didn’t break it off with him. She says she still wants to date him,” Mama said.

“Ew!” I cried. “He’s a dead guy.”

A hurt look flashed across Gabriel’s features. I mouthed, “Not you,” then pointed to the phone and added, “Wilbur.”

“You’re dead,” Mama pointed out.

“I’m a different kind of dead. I’m a cool kind of dead. Wilbur is all graveyard smells and feeding on the bottom rung of the food chain.”

“Jane, just let it go. Your grandma’s a grown woman. If she wants to date a dead man, she can date a dead man.”

“That’s not what you said when I started dating a dead man,” I grumbled.

“Well, I just want you to be nice to Wilbur when you see him at the Labor Day picnic.”

“I don’t have to be nice to people who try to stake me.”

“Jane, it’s bad enough that you aren’t speaking to Jenny. Don’t cause more problems with your grandmother.”

“Jenny stole knickknacks from me, and I stopped
talking to her. What makes you think I’ll respond any better to someone trying to stake me with a cane?”

In a maneuver that would make a NASCAR driver proud, Mama switched conversational lanes on me. “Oh, honey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, have you seen Adam Morrow lately? His mama was at the beauty shop today. She hasn’t heard from Adam in the last day or so.”

“No, I haven’t seen him since he stopped by the shop the other night,” I said. “He seemed …” Creepy. Perverse. In need of medication and negative-reinforcement therapy.

“Fine.”

“Well, if you see him, tell him to call his mama,” she said. “It’s not right to make a mother worry like that.”

“I will. Look, I’ve really got to go, Mama,” I said as the DJ asked the crowd to clear the floor for Jolene and Zeb to have their first dance as husband and wife. I played the only excuse that I knew would get Mama off the phone. “I’ve got a date tonight. With Gabriel.”

“Good night!” Mama squeaked, then promptly hung up.

Gabriel and I watched with interest as Zeb led his new bride onto the dance floor and the painfully familiar flute intro lilted.

“Oh, please tell me she didn’t.”

“What?” Gabriel asked as Celine Dion’s breathy soprano warbled, “Every night in my dreams …”

I groaned. “Who picks ‘My Heart Will Go On’ for their first dance song?”

“It’s a nice song.”

“It’s a song about people dying. Frozen people dying. Not exactly the sentiment I would want to start my married life on. Then again, why am I surprised?” I shrugged. “She has a
Titanic
chip boat.”

“What would you prefer?” He snorted. “ ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’?”

“It would be either brilliant or brilliantly tacky,” I agreed.

“She’s very happy,” Gabriel observed.

“Ah, don’t do that,” I said. “Don’t make me petty.”

I watched as Zeb twirled his wife across the clearing with surprising grace. Jolene was happy. She had all of the things I wanted for myself. A man whose love couldn’t be questioned, or, if she could question it, she didn’t. A firm handle on her special condition. Professional contentment. Parents who adored and accepted her, even if other members of the family didn’t.

I would watch Jolene, learn from her. I’d ask myself, “What would Jolene do?” the way most people ask, “What would Oprah do?” Even if that meant not asking my boyfriend about the mysterious and apparently unhinged Jeanine until he was ready to talk about her. I would not look for trouble in my relationship and create problems where there was none. I would trust that Gabriel loved me. Even if it came back and bit me on the ass in a major way.

Turning to my undead date, I poked him in the side and asked, “Are you going to dance with me or what?”

“Why can’t you wait to be asked?” he muttered.

“Have you met me?” I asked. “Surely you must have
figured out some of this by now. I’m contrary … and you love it.”

He shrugged.

“So, really, which one of us is the sick one?” I asked.

“Will the best maid, the man of honor, and their escorts please join the happy couple?” the DJ asked.

“Now you have no choice,” I told him.

Dick yanked Andrea onto the middle of the dance floor and offered a courtly bow. Andrea looked vaguely embarrassed but laughed as he drew her into his arms. Gabriel and I made a less dramatic entrance.

“I’m a terrible dancer,” I told him.

“I don’t care.” He pulled me into a box step, which my vampire grace still didn’t help me master. “So, I’ve been thinking.”

I smirked. “That can be dangerous.”

“You haven’t quite used your triumph settlement the way you wanted to.”

“Not true. Look at how happy they are.” I nodded toward Jolene and Zeb.

“I know it took quite a bit of money to do that. And it will take quite a bit more money to get the shop going.”

“Which is your clever way of saying that Ophelia told you exactly how much I got.” I gave him a wry smile.

“I cannot comment,” he said. “Because Ophelia’s scarier than you are.”

“Not going to argue there. But I am going to have a nice healthy nest egg. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Well, we both know that’s not true. The point, which
we rarely get to painlessly, is that I know that you wanted to spend some of your ill-gotten wealth on travel.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “What did you do?”

“Nothing yet, but you say the word, and we will be on a plane. I’ll keep my schedule open. I figured we could start in London and work our way east. I want to be with you when you see the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, harass some poor gondolier in Venice with questions. I’ll even go to the Eiffel Tower if you want to be prosaic. Anywhere you want to go we’ll go.”

“Travel?” I asked. “For how long?”

“Until you get tired of me.”

“When can we leave?” I asked.