Wedding Bell Blues (2 page)

Finally I was freed from the insanity when Maryanne and the
other
bridesmaids left to go shopping, never one of my favorite pastimes. Not
that I didn't feel a bit guilty for choosing not to go, but I really
did have a stack of papers to grade. With peace once more filling the
house, I helped Mom load the dishwasher before heading home.

"You were really good with your sister today, Jessie."

"Huh?" I know. I'm a brilliant conversationalist.

"Janie," she said simply.

"Mom, we both know that little bitch would like nothing more
than to
cause trouble. I won't give her the satisfaction." However, once the
wedding was over, I planned to have a little chat with Ms. Bickerstaff
about exactly what might happen if she tried any of her little tricks
where Maryanne and Brett were concerned. I'd seen her destroy too many
other relationships to sit still and let her have a go at Brett and
Maryanne.

Bitch.

"So, Jessie, when are you going to quit waiting for Mr.
Perfect?"

If I hadn't just swallowed the last of my iced tea, I'd have
sprayed
it across the kitchen. Talk about being blind-sided. Now Mom watched
me, a shrewd look in her light blue eyes. Crap. I'd expected the peace
to last at least a couple of weeks after the wedding.

"Mom - "

"Jessie, it's just that I worry about you." She turned to face
me,
wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "You haven't been serious about anyone
since Colton Dougherty, and that's been, what, nine years?" Crap! Had
she seen him on TV too? That would certainly explain this sudden change
of topic.

Ten years, three months and twelve days. But who's counting?
Not me. No, siree. He wasn't worth it.

"Mom, you don't have to worry. Really. One day, the right guy
will
come along and then I'll marry and give you a ton of grandkids to
spoil." I smiled, praying she'd take the hint and drop it.

"Jessica, you're thirty-three. It's time you quit waiting for
Prince Charming. He doesn't exist." She cocked her head to one side,
examining me as she might a patient just before opening him up on the
operating table. "Unless you don't like guys…."

For a moment, I stared at her, torn between the desire to
laugh and
the more perverse desire to confirm her greatest fear that her daughter
might be gay. It was so ludicrous. All she had to do was look at the
evidence and she'd see just how ridiculous it was. While I might not
have had any
serious
relationships these last ten
years, I'd certainly enjoyed my fair share of men, and I do mean
enjoy
.

Part of me wanted to say, "Yes, Mom, I'm gay," just to see
her
reaction. But I'm not into matricide, no matter how much she gets on my
nerves. And there was no question how she'd react to such an
announcement. She'd drop dead from shock and then, with my luck, she'd
come back to haunt me, making it the goal of her unnatural life to find
me a nice man to spend the rest of my so-called natural life with.

"Mama, I love you and I know you're worried. But you don't
have to
be. I promise I'm not gay. I like guys just fine. I simply haven't
found one I want to spend the rest of my life with." I reached over and
gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Now, I really do need to get home
and get those papers graded. See you tomorrow for mass."

"All right." She smiled and, to my surprise, gave me a quick
hug.
"Will you stop by Manny's on your way home and pick up the order for
Thursday's dinner? It should be ready."

I'd forgotten about dinner Thursday. Dinner with both
families and
Brett's best man, his college roommate. The frat boy I'd have to walk
down the aisle with after the wedding and who was, according to my
sister, a self-described lady's man. Wonderful. Oh well, if I could put
up with the bridesmaid dress from Hell, I could handle one overgrown
boy for an evening.

"Of course."

Ten minutes later, I sped away from my parents' house,
thinking of
little except how much I wanted a nice bottle of wine. Better yet, a
bottle of really good single malt. I deserved it after resisting the
impulse to strangle Maryanne with her veil for making me wear that
monstrosity of a dress. Not to mention wanting to lock Mom in the
basement, never to be heard from until she gave up on the notion of
trying to manage my life. And I didn't even want to think about what
I'd like to do with the oh-so-perfect Janie Bickerstaff.

Of
course, the main reason Janie was being such a bitch, besides that
being her natural state, was that she was supremely pissed Maryanne had
the audacity to have a sister. Worse, that sister was me and Maryanne
had asked me to be her maid of honor. I really should have drowned
Janie when I'd had the chance. No one would have minded. After all, it
would have strengthened the gene pool, and several marriages would have
been saved.

The neon sign over Manny's Fine Wine and Spirits called to me
like
a beacon as I pulled off the freeway. Seemingly on its own, my battered
Mustang turned into the parking lot. Not that I objected. Manny's is on
the way home and it's cheap. Besides, I intended to treat myself this
once.

Or, better yet, I might just let him put the bottle on my
parents' account.

I parked the Mustang near the door and got out. Looking
around, I
frowned slightly. Usually by this late on a Saturday, the parking lot
is full to overflowing. But not today. Besides my Mustang, there were
only four other cars visible.

My frown deepened. The red "CLOSED" sign hung from the top of
the
door. That most definitely wasn't right. Was possible the insanity of
the fitting had carried over for a full day and it was now Sunday? It
could have driven me into a short catatonic state. No. A quick check of
my watch confirmed not only that it was almost five thirty but also
that it was still Saturday. So why wasn't Manny open?

I ignored the warning bells going off in my head - heck,
they'd
been going full force during the fitting as Maryanne's friends became
more and more excited over our harlequin dresses. Somehow, the insanity
of the wedding plans had either rendered them colorblind or
fashion-sense deprived or both. This was just the residual warning.
Besides, it was possible Manny had simply forgotten to flip the sign
when he opened up this afternoon.

The door swung open under my touch. The bell hanging from the
top
of the door jangled loudly. I paused. Why hadn't Manny or one of his
sons called out a greeting?

"Manny?" The bell jangled again as the door closed behind me.

Sound exploded. I smelled cordite. Shit. Someone had just
shot a
gun. At me. I dove for cover, hitting my elbow on the corner of a
display shelf. What the hell?

Glass shattered and I slid on my belly farther down the aisle,
looking for cover. Why was someone shooting at me?

It's a dream. That's it. I'll wake up soon and none of this
will have happened. No harlequin dress, no one shooting at me.

Another shot rang out and I did my best
infantryman-crawling-through-the-trenches impression as I slithered
even farther from the door. Part of me wanted to close my eyes and
make-believe I wasn't there. No, when someone's shooting at you,
closing your eyes tends to have a very permanent result, and I'd be
damned if I didn't look the bastard in the eyes before he killed me.

Footsteps raced toward the front of the store. At least I
thought
they did. Of course, the way my heart pounded made it hard to tell. I
hunkered down behind a stack of boxes. Surely at any moment, I'd hear
the bell at the front door. The fact my ears were still ringing from
the gunshots wouldn't prevent that, would it?

I climbed to my knees. One corner of my mind registered that I
was
hiding behind boxes of my favorite single malt. Well, at least I
wouldn't have far to go to pick up a bottle. Hell, at this point, I
might just make it a case.

Lungs straining for air, I forced myself to take a quick look.
. . . .

Great, just great. Bad enough I have to put up with
the
bridesmaid dress from Hell, now the Devil himself has decided to pay me
a visit.

I backpedaled in fear as a red-faced monster stared back at me.

I didn't move fast enough. The devil cursed and lashed out.

There was pain. Of course there was pain. The devil's not the
sort to ask you to tea or speak nicely.

Everything went dark.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit
.

It kept repeating in my head like mantra. No matter what I
did, the
day just kept getting worse. Wasn't it enough that I'd sat through the
fitting without killing anyone? What had I done to deserve getting shot
at and then smashed across the face? What had I done to deserve this?

This
was all six feet one
inch of solid muscle and soul-piercing brown eyes that belonged to one
Detective Colton Dougherty. In his rumpled gray suit with its lighter
gray shirt, he looked about as happy to see me as I was to see him.

Not that it surprised me. After all, we'd spent most of the
last
ten years doing our best to avoid one another. Even now, he had to feel
a little guilty, or at least ashamed, to have been caught by yours
truly banging my then-best friend on the kitchen table. Me, I'd stayed
as far away from him as possible to keep from killing him, or at least
to keep from surgically removing his favorite part of his anatomy.

He'd left me alone so far. While the paramedics treated the
cut
across my cheek and kept flashing their little lights in my eyes,
muttering direly about possible concussion, he'd been working the
scene. There was a grimness to him I'd never seen before, so I knew it
was bad. Of course, the fact I hadn't seen them bring anyone else out
of the store was enough to convince me I really, really didn't want to
know just how bad.

Damn. I wished I'd wake up from this nightmare already.

All around me, cops and evidence technicians worked. It was
like
some surreal ballet of motion and sound. At least I was on the
outskirts of it. If I kept my head down and my eyes closed, I could
ignore most of it.

But not Colton. I didn't need to see him to know he was
there. But,
as long as he stayed away, I was happy. I couldn't deal with him, not
after everything else. Surely he'd realize that and have another
detective take my statement.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel of the parking lot. Someone
was
coming. Not wanting to look, but also not really having any choice, I
lifted my head slightly and opened my eyes.

Damn, damn, and damn again. Of course it was Colton. He was
either
too stubborn or too thick-headed to realize neither of us needed this
right now.

Idiot.

But then I knew that. He'd proved it ten years ago and just
reconfirmed it. Great.

I shifted the ice pack against my injured cheek, gritting my
teeth
against the pain. There was no way I'd let him see how much I hurt, how
scared I was, or how badly his nearness shook me. After all, it was
only reaction to what happened making me feel this way. That's all.
Just reaction.

Right. And I hadn't reacted at all when I saw him on TV
earlier.

"Jess, do you feel up to telling me what happened?"

I wanted to say no. The very last thing I wanted was to
remember
the gunshots, or the fear. I'd been lucky and I knew it. But what about
Manny? What about any others who'd been inside?

I
could. It might help identify the bastard who'd shot at me and then hit
me. Besides, the sooner I told Colton all I could, the sooner he'd
leave me alone.

"Sure." Once more I shifted the ice pack and looked up,
instantly regretting it as pain lanced through my face and neck. Crap!

"What time did you get here?" He crouched in front of me, so
close our knees almost touched.

For a moment, I thought, trying to remember. I had to be
sure.
"Five thirty. I checked my watch because the closed sign was up."

"Out on a liquor run, I take it."

Maybe he didn't mean to be an idiot and simply couldn't help
it. But that judgmental tone was the last thing I needed.

"Not really. At least not the way you mean. My mother asked
me to
pick up what she needed for the dinner she's hosting for Brett's
parents and best man later this week. If you think I'd tell her no,
you've forgotten what Mom can be like." I spoke slowly, doing my best
to move my jaw as little as possible. The fact I was gritting my teeth
to keep from calling him every name in the book helped.

"Whoa." He held up a hand to ward off the flash of anger he
surely
recognized. Wise man. "Let's start over. Did you notice anything out of
the ordinary when you got here?"

"Other than the fact there were only a few cars here and the
closed sign was in place?"

"No need to get bitchy, Jess. I'm just doing my job."

"Cuts both ways, Colton." You'd think after all this time, he
wouldn't be able to punch my buttons so easily. "But you're right. The
two of us snapping at each other won't help you figure out what
happened."

"And what did happen?"

"Like I said, the closed sign was up. I figured Manny had
forgotten
to turn it over when he got here. He does that sometimes. So I tried
the door. It was unlocked and I went inside.

"I remember being surprised I didn't see anyone. You know how
Manny
and the others are. There's always someone at the counter and they
always call out a greeting. But not this time. Then, almost before the
door closed behind me, all hell broke loose."

"How?"

I told him. His pen scratched across the page of the small
notepad
he'd produced from the inside pocket of his suit jacket as he took down
what I said. From time to time, he'd ask a question or have me repeat
something. I could see he was disappointed I couldn't tell him more. To
be honest, so was I. Now that the fear was ebbing some, anger was
replacing it. I wanted to know who'd taken that potshot at me and who'd
tried to rearrange my face. Then, maybe, I'd be able to find a way to
return the favor.