Chapter 16. Wedding Blues

WHITNEY

Our work at the townhouse completed, Holden and Alyssa thanked everyone and escorted the group of volunteer movers to the door, along with the two not-so-helpful self-appointed supervisors whose main mission in life seemed to be critiquing the work of others and always finding it wanting.

The group disbanded outside. Collin, Ren, Buck, and Owen drove off in their vehicles, while the neighbors left on foot. A minute later, everyone had gone but me and Gideon. Although I'd nailed down the unlevel board on the porch that morning, I'd been in a hurry and done a quick and dirty job. I took a second look at the step now. It could use another nail or two, or maybe a screw, to better hold it in place for the long term.

Gideon remained and chatted with me while I examined the board. "It was awful nice of you and your cousins to help out here. Your fiancé, too. Y'all are good people." He paused for a beat before adding, "Not all folks are."

A frown claimed Gideon's face but, rather than an angry one, it seemed sad, wounded. I wondered what sorts of not-nice folks he had encountered over the years, what those people might have said or done to him. People can be unbearably cruel. Having come across several murder victims, I knew this fact from personal experience.

Gideon waited on the porch while I hustled over to the fire station to round up a screwdriver and a long screw. I was back in under two minutes, but during that time a tow truck had parked in front of Joanna's house. The cab was painted bright green. CA$H4CAR$ was printed across a backdrop of a wavy rectangle with dollar signs in each corner, purporting to represent a dollar bill. Underneath the logo in smaller letters were the words Auto Salvage and Towing.

On the porch stood a man who resembled Macy. He had her same blond hair and the same hazel eyes, but that's where their similarities ended. This man had a quiet, somber quality about him, and though he looked to be near her age, he seemed worn down, as if life had been tougher on him than it had been on her. He had to be Lane, Joanna's elusive son, the one who had stolen from Joanna, the one who'd parked his tow truck in the parking lot of the fire station shortly before the place had gone up in flames.

Gideon stood in front of the door chastising the man. "You expect to just show up here and leave with Joanna's valuables?"

"Her old record albums aren't valuable," Lane said. "There's plenty of copies of them still around."

Gideon cocked his head. "If they aren't valuable, then why do you want them?"

Lane shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as if to hide the fists they'd reflexively formed. "Why should I explain myself to you? I know you and Mom were friends, but Joanna was my mother."

"And you broke her heart!" Gideon's face was full of rage, but his breath hitched in grief.

"You think I don't know that?" Lane shouted back. He closed his eyes and inhaled a long breath. When he opened his eyes and spoke again, his voice was calmer. "I've been clean for six months now." He pulled his hand out of his pocket and held up a key chain. No keys hung from it. "See? I've been going to narcotics anonymous. I earned a key tag. I came by a few days back to show Mom, but she wasn't home."

He must have been referring to the day that Joanna and Gideon had come to the fire station to ask Buck and me to take a look at the Bottiglieris' townhouse.

Lane slid the key chain back into his pocket. "I've been trying to make amends for the past. I'm a new person now."

"Nobody becomes a new person so quickly." Gideon pointed at Lane's pocket. "That key tag proves nothing. You could've picked that up anywhere, or lied to the folks at your drug group so they'd give it to you. There's a reason your mother cut you out of her will."

Wow.Gideon's words seemed unnecessarily harsh. Lane had just lost his mother, for goodness' sake. He deserved a little sympathy.

Lane was quiet for a beat or two, his expression equal parts hurt and confusion. "Seriously? She cut me out?"

Gideon seemed to realize he'd taken things a little too far, and attempted to backpedal a bit. "She only did it because she didn't want to enable your drug habit. She was afraid you'd spend the money on pills." But while Gideon might have softened his rhetoric a bit, he still wouldn't move to allow Lane inside the townhouse.

"Come on, man!" Lane pleaded, shoving fisted hands into his pockets again. "Let me by!"

Gideon backed up against the door, spread his legs to make himself even wider, and put one hand on each side of the doorframe. "I'm not budging!"

I stood, ready to intervene in case things came to blows. Luckily for us all, it didn't.

Getting nowhere with Gideon, Lane looked past him to the closed door, cupped his hands around his mouth, and hollered, "Hey, Macy! Call off the guard dog!"

Behind Gideon, the door opened. Gideon swayed and, for an instant, I feared he might fall backward into the entryway. Fortunately, he'd leveraged himself fairly tightly in the doorframe with his arms, and they helped to hold him steady.

Holden raised up on his toes to peer over the man's shoulder. "Hey, Lane." Holden's tone and face held no animosity. Were he and his brother-in-law on good terms? What about Lane and Macy?

Lane said, "I came to see if it would be okay with Macy if I take Mom's albums." He gestured at Gideon. "But Gideon won't get out of my way."

Holden ducked under Gideon's arm and squeezed past him to step out onto the porch. Turning back to face him, he said, "It's okay, Gideon. I got this."

Gideon scoffed. "If you say so." He lumbered forward, checking Lane with his shoulder as he passed the younger man.

Lane turned and cast an incredulous look at Gideon's back. "That geezer's got some balls, trying to start something with a guy half his age. He's also got some screws loose."

I didn't want to think about Gideon's nether regions and I wasn't sure whether Gideon had any loose screws, but the porch still had the loose board and as soon as I fixed it, I'd get the heck out of here. I didn't want to get in the middle of a family squabble if one erupted.

Holden introduced me to Lane. "Whitney and her cousin are fixing up the fire station around the corner. They're turning it into a house."

Lane's brows rose and his head bobbed slowly. He pinned me with his gaze. "I hear y'all had a fire over there."

No sense being coy and evasive. "I know the deputy fire marshal spoke with you about it."

"Sorry I couldn't help. I didn't see anything." He sounded sincere. "Did they figure out who set the fire?"

"Not yet."

He jerked his shoulders in a shrug. "Probably some punk kids from the neighborhood."

"Could be." I pointed down at the board. "I'm just here to tack this board down, then I'll get out of your hair."

Holden thanked me again, allowed Lane into the townhouse, and closed the door behind them. The sound of muted conversation came through the door, but it was impossible to make out what the men were saying. A few turns of the screwdriver and I was on my way.

On Sunday, Collin rode with me out to Lynchburg to pick up the reclaimed wood. The drive took over an hour and a half, so we decided to make the most of it. The world-famous Jack Daniel's distillery made its home in Lynchburg's Cave Spring Hollow so, before getting the wood, we took a tour. The chemical process involved in the fermentation of the mash was intriguing. We also learned that the water used to make the whiskey came from Cave Spring, which produced eight hundred gallons of water a minute at a constant 56-degree temperature. We learned how the whiskey barrels were made, and that the barrel makers were called coopers. We discovered that they also sold the old whiskey barrels that were no longer suitable for use in their whiskey-making process.

"I'm going to buy a barrel," I said, making a detour into the shop.

Collin followed me in. "What do you want a barrel for? To plant flowers in?"

I slid him a grin. "You'll see."

After I paid for the barrel, we carried it out to my SUV and loaded it into the cargo bay. We climbed in and shut our doors to go.

"Whoa!" Collin blinked, his nose wiggling. "This car smells like a bar at closing time."

The wood had soaked up the acrid scent of the spirits. I jabbed the button to roll the windows down. With a long drive home ahead of us, we had declined the tasting offered at the end of the distillery tour and were completely sober. Still, I was concerned by the smell. "I hope we don't get pulled over by highway patrol on the drive home. We'd have a lot of explaining to do." I grabbed my ponytail and held it to my nose. "My hair has already absorbed the scent."

We left the distillery and made our way out into the countryside, where the outfit that ran the reclamation service stored the salvaged materials in a large barn. I presented the receipt I'd received when I'd paid for the wood online, and the attendant helped Collin and me load the flooring onto the flatbed trailer I'd borrowed from Buck. We drove back to Nashville and detached the loaded trailer, stashing it in the bay at the firehouse. After Collin and I parted ways with a warm kiss, I drove home and wrangled the whiskey barrel out of my SUV. I stored it in the garage where I could work on it during the evenings. I could hardly wait to start this new project!

Buck and I were nearly done installing the reclaimed wood flooring on Monday when my phone pinged with a text to let me know the wedding gown I'd ordered had been delivered.

"My wedding dress arrived! Mind if I head out early?" It was only a little past noon, but I was dying to try it on. I'd have a hard time focusing on my work knowing the dress was waiting for me at home.

"We've got a lot to do, but I know how you women are. You'll be of no use around here with that dress on your mind." Buck made a shooing motion with his hand. "Go on. Git!"

"Thanks, Buck!" I rushed out of the station, drove to my house, and rounded up the box. It seemed a shame to try it on alone. I wanted someone to exclaim over me, tell me what a beautiful bride I would be. My mother worked part-time in my father's medical practice, and would already be home for the day. I knew she would want to see the dress, too, so I put the box in my car and drove over to my parents' house.

As I carried the box in, my mother's black and white Boston terrier ran up and danced in circles around me, as if sensing my excitement. I bent down, ruffled the dog's ears, and gave her a kiss on the head. "Hello, Yin-Yang." The bug-eyed dog looked around, probably hoping I'd set Sawdust down somewhere. For years before moving to the cottage, I'd lived out back in my parents' converted pool house, and my sweet little fellow and Yin-Yang had enjoyed playtime together. The dog seemed to miss her old playmate. I'll have to bring Sawdust over for a visit real soon.

My mother stood from the couch, where she'd been curled up, reading a mystery novel. "What do you have there?"

"My wedding dress."

"Your what?!" she shrieked.

Uh-oh."Um… my wedding dress?"

"How can you have your wedding dress? We haven't finished shopping for it yet!"

"When we didn't find one before, I looked online. I saw one that I really liked so I went ahead and ordered it."

My mother was beside herself. Apparently, I had deprived her of a rite of passage that belonged to every mother of the bride, the experience of helping their daughter find her wedding dress. She looked ready to throttle me. "I can't believe you got your dress from the internet!"

"It's a new world, Mom," I said, though the internet could hardly be called new anymore. "We spent an entire day earlier with no luck. It's easier and faster to shop online than drive around to a bunch of stores. Besides, there's a bigger selection."

"But I wanted to be part of it!"

Ugh.She'd already expressed disappointment when I'd informed her about the party favors Collin and I had decided on, a handy all-in-one tool that would fit in a pocket, purse, or glove compartment, along with a small personal alarm that could be attached to a key fob. Though I'd received some lovely party favors at weddings—candles, koozies, hand-painted wineglasses, and the like—the unusual gifts we'd chosen best reflected a carpenter and a cop. The gadgets would be both useful and memorable.

Even though my mother was making things more stressful for me, I felt guilt nipping at my gut. I figured the least I could do was bring her along when I went to try on shoes. A dress could be altered to fit perfectly, but the same didn't hold for shoes. I didn't trust ordering a pair of shoes online. I wanted to make sure they fit well and were comfortable. Collin and I were in the process of making our playlist for the reception. It was the biggest party we'd ever thrown, and we planned to dance all night. I could hardly wait! "You can go with me to pick out shoes and flowers. Okay?"

The offer appeased her a little, thank goodness. She gestured at the box. "Well, you might as well put it on and let me see it."

Sheesh."That's the spirit."

We carried the dress into my childhood bedroom, which had a full-length mirror. My mother helped me into the dress, though it was relatively easy. When I turned to look in the mirror, I gasped in delight. My mother put her hands over her mouth for a moment, then clasped them at her chest. "Oh, Whitney!" she cried. "It's perfect!"

The dress was, indeed, perfect. The fit was exact, as if the gown had been custom-tailored just for me. The fabric was high quality. The blue sash brought out the color of my eyes, which were now getting misty.

My mother's eyes were misty, too. She ran her hand over the shoulders and tugged here and there on the sides. "I hate to say it, but I don't see how we could have done any better."

I exhaled in relief.

After taking several photos with her phone, her eyes went suddenly wide. "Wait here! I'll be right back."

As she ran out the bedroom door, I called after her. "Where would I go in this dress, anyway?"

She returned a moment later, clutching something in her closed hand. She opened her fingers to reveal a pair of earrings and a pendant. The earrings were simple, pale blue stones in a silver setting. The same went for the necklace. The blue was identical to the color of the sash on my dress. "The stones are aquamarine," said my mother. "This set belonged to my grandmother."

"Why have I never seen them before?"

Her eyes became mistier. "I was saving them for a special occasion. I just didn't know which one until now."

Emotion threatened to overwhelm me, and I fanned my hands in front of my face. "Stop! You're going to make me cry!"

My mother laughed, took one of my hands, and pressed the jewelry into them. "They're yours now."

"Oh, Mom!" I burst into tears, something that was very unlike me. Though this tender moment with my mother had instigated things, I knew deep down that this cry was also a release of the pent-up feelings I'd been trying to tamper down—the horror over Joanna's death, the tension surrounding the competition for the townhouse, the frustration with the vandalism and the fire. It felt good to cry, so I just went with it. Lest I leave tear stains on my dress, my mother quickly handed me a tissue and whisked me out of the gown. We sat on my bed and had a good cry together, my mother in her lounging clothes and me in my underwear.

After a few minutes, we were able to gather our wits. "Shoes and flowers?" I asked.

"Shoes and flowers," she agreed.

Lest we have to drag the dress with us on our quest for shoes, my mother rounded up her sewing scissors and snipped a tiny piece of fabric from the hem inside the dress, where it wouldn't be noticeable. We took the small swatch with us to the bridal shop to ensure the shoes would be the right color. I tried on several pairs, walking around to test them out, even performing some moves from the line dances the deejay would play at the reception. I finally decided on a pair of low-heeled pumps with a strap around the ankle.

Next, we hit up a florist. My mother showed the woman the photos she'd taken of me in the dress. "Any ideas?"

"I know just what you need." The florist went over to a refrigerator in which a multitude of flowers sat in plastic buckets, patiently awaiting their time to be incorporated into an arrangement, spray, or bouquet. She pulled out a single stalk, a beautiful blue hydrangea. "We could intersperse hydrangeas with white roses in your bouquet, and use a white rose and a sprig of hydrangea for the groom's boutonniere."

My mother and I both loved the idea, and placed the order. I bought a flowering peace lily as well, which I'd take to Macy at Joanna's service tomorrow.

With Colette handling the food and drinks, the officiant procured, and the playlist provided to the deejay, there was little left to do to prepare for the wedding, other than choose a flavor for the wedding cake and finish the fire station remodel. I was glad Joanna's autopsy had been completed today. Once the pathologist gave Macy the results, we'd know what, exactly, had killed the poor woman, and where things would go from here. With any luck, we could put her death behind us and focus on the future.