The Wedding Caper (4 page)

Chapter Four

Ah, Saturday.
My favorite day of the week.

On the
morning after our steak dinner, about halfway into a lovely dream about
hauntingly beautiful willow trees in Savannah, Georgia, the piercing ring of
the telephone roused me from my slumber. I groped for it and knocked my alarm
clock off the bedside table in the process. It, too, rang out several times
before I finally managed to shut it down. Amazingly, Warren slept through the
whole thing.

That
settled, I answered the phone, doing all I could to hide the grogginess, as
morning phone-answerers often do. “H–Hello?”

“Mom?”

“Brandi,
is that you?”

“Yep.”
She dove headlong into a lengthy, animated conversation about a wedding dress
she’d seen in a bridal magazine, one she’d “have to have or die.” I leaned back
against my pillows and listened in rapt silence as I attempted to come awake.
Hearing her happy-go-lucky voice reminded me of the plans I’d made for my own
wedding, over twenty-seven years ago. Had I been this ecstatic,
this.
. . high-pitched?

“Sounds
great, honey.” I’m not sure how many times I spoke those words.
At least a dozen.
After Brandi finally wound down, she
informed me that Candy wanted to chat. I couldn’t help but grin. Even living on
their own, these girls still needed their mama—nearly as much as I needed
them.

True to
form, Candy approached our conversation from a quieter, less emotional stance.
And why not?
Two very different girls.
Two very different ways to handle a wedding.
Not that
I minded. Thankfully, this daughter would give my pocket book a bit of a rest.
She and her fiancé, Garrett, had settled on a date in June, giving us a little
breathing room between ceremonies. The two really seemed to suit one another.
Warren and I had secretly confided in one another that Garrett would probably
prove to be lower maintenance than Scott. And, of course, the fact that he
worked as a computer tech didn’t hurt. Might even come in handy one day.

I found
myself relaxing as
Candy
spoke. She told me about the
music she’d chosen for their first dance. My mind soared back to my own
wedding. Warren and I had danced to “At Last,” one of my personal favorites and
from that day on labeled “our song.” Ah, love. The melody floated through my
head and temporarily carried me off to a blissful state.

Until
my husband let out a snore from his spot in the bed next to me.

I glanced
his way, and found him twisted up in the covers with Sasha sleeping soundly at
his side. Nudging him with my elbow did the trick. He rolled over and the room
once again fell silent. The puppy whimpered then settled back down again, this
time lopped across his feet. Warren never suspected a thing.

Warren.
Suspect.

No, I
wouldn’t let my mind go there. Not this morning. I tried to focus on happier
things—like wedding plans.

Candy
continued on with her well thought-out discussion, laying out an organized plan
for the day, an hour-by-hour approach. I could hear Brandi arguing in the
background taking issue with this point or that, and found myself smiling. What
interesting roomies these two made.

At some
point, Candy’s words sent my antenna shooting straight up into the air. “We’ve
set up a 2:00 appointment at
Clarksborough
Catering.”

“
Clarksborough
Catering? Today?” I whispered the words
again, so as not to awaken Suspect #1. “
Clarksborough
Catering?”

“Yes.”

“Would
you like me to go with you?” I offered.

When
Candy answered in the affirmative, I knew the Lord must surely have special
plans for me on this lovely fall day.

With my
social graces firmly in place, I met the girls for lunch at the local diner. We
giggled our way through soup and sandwiches as they showed me wedding dress
photos. How many squeals of sheer delight could they possibly manage?

After the
meal, we drove to the tiny converted house that was
Clarksborough
Catering. The owner,
Janetta
Mullins, met us at the
door. Even after years of doing business amongst us, the woman remained
something of an oddity in
Clarksborough
—certainly
not typical small-town material and not the sort to join our
organizations—but what was it about her that intrigued me now? Perhaps
her spiked hair with tips of blue? Or maybe the tattoo of a weightlifter on her
upper arm, which she showed off by strategically rolling up the sleeve of her
Don’t
Mess with Mama t-shirt?

She might
look gruff on the outside, but
Janetta
had catered
nearly every big social event in Clark County over the past ten years—and
we knew better than to call on anyone else for our big to-dos.

I smiled
as I reflected on my current www.investigativeskills.com lesson. Standing
before me was a woman of social awareness, if I ever saw one.

Sheer
curiosity settled in as she seated us at a table to discuss our options.
Janetta
got us off on the right foot. “Girls, take a look
at this book while I go track down that daughter of mine to help out.”

As she
sprinted from the room, I couldn’t help but wonder which daughter she meant. I
understood her to have four or five.
And a couple of sons, to
boot.
Of course, most had grown up and moved on, like my own children.

Nearly
everyone in town knew
Janetta
had never married, and
certainly more than one fella had been seen coming and going from this place
through the years. Most of us never could quite put together which child went
with which father, but I guess we figured that was none of our business. The
family had managed not only to survive
but
to thrive.
Their business was known for miles around. Catering business, not personal
business.

A lovely
young woman with sandy colored hair and sparkling green eyes entered the room.

“Hi,
Kristina.” Brandi gave her a warm smile. “How’ve you been?”

Kristina
responded with “It’s so good to see you!” and joined my daughters at the table,
where they caught on all they’d missed since graduating from Clark County High
years prior.
That done, Kristina handed out catering
brochures and the work began.

“
Oooh
! This looks great!” Brandi pointed to a photo of an
elaborate serving table loaded with Italian goodies. “And look at that
chocolate fountain!”

Candy’s
nose wrinkled in disagreement. “I was thinking of something much simpler than
that. Hors d’oeuvres. Finger sandwiches. That kind of thing.”

The three
began a lengthy discussion as they flipped through the pages of the brochure
and I turned my attentions to the caterer herself. Perhaps, in getting to know
Janetta
better, I could learn some things about the
burglary.

“If you
don’t mind my asking,” I shifted my gaze, so as not to make her uncomfortable,
“How are you faring since the—”

“The
unfortunate event at the bank, you mean?”
Janetta
let
out a lingering sigh and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. But would she
open up and share her heart with someone she scarcely knew? I hoped so, and not
just because the “need to know” stirred the opening question. I wanted her to
know that she had been on my mind and in my prayers.

“I’ve
thought about you so many times,” I started. “And so many of us have been
praying, of course.”

Her eyes
locked
into mine and, much to my surprise
, I realized I’d
stumbled upon another kindred spirit.

“Thank
you for that. It’s been tough, I’ll tell you.” She sighed and a certain sadness
set in. “We worked our tails off for that money—catered a three-day
conference just outside of Lancaster with two hundred fifty attendees. In a
little town called Paradise.”

“Oh? Do
you cater a lot of big events like that?”

“Quite a
few,” she explained. “But none like this. See, a lot of the Pennsylvania Dutch
merchants from the area come together every fall to talk about new ways to
promote their products. They called it the All Things Dutch conference. Very
interesting. I met a lot of new people, too.”

I tried
to picture
Janetta
in the Amish country, but my mind
just wouldn’t take me there.

She
continued, oblivious to my thoughts. “I knew it was risky to make such a large
cash deposit at night, but what choice did I have?”

Mental
note: Why would a group of professionals, Amish or not, pay a caterer in cash?
Something about all of this just felt fishy.

“If I had
it all to do over again, I’d change everything,”
Janetta
buried her head in her hands. “I feel like such a fool. But, to have it just
disappear like that—”

My heart
thumped madly as guilt settled in. Don’t worry, honey. You’ll get some of it
back as soon as we pay you.

She lifted
her head then brushed away what appeared to be a tear. “There’s nothing I can
do about it now. It’s in the hands of the police. I feel confident we’ll get it
back.”

“The bank
won’t cover the loss?” I asked.

“Well,”
she shook her head as she explained, “Since I made the deposit in cash, it’s
really a matter of our word against theirs. In other words, they didn’t even
view it as a missing deposit until I contacted them. They simply didn’t know
I’d made a deposit at all. And with the power being out, well, that just
complicated things even further.”

“Wow.” I
felt my cheeks heat up as I asked the dreaded question. “A–any word about
a suspect?”

For a
moment, I thought the conversation had ended. She used the back of her hand to
brush away another lingering tear as she opened up and shared more personal
information. Her words surprised me. “They arrested my son a few days ago.”

“Y–Your
son?” This certainly raised my antennae. The infamous drifter was her son? This
information felt a little too personal, and almost gave me cause to think I had
no right probing any further.

I was
just in the process of shifting our conversation to the wedding when Kristina
interjected her thoughts on the matter. I couldn’t help but notice the sarcasm
in her voice.

“These
small-town cops don’t have a clue what they’re doing.” She shook her head in
disgust. “They caught my brother hanging around the bank at some odd hours, so
I guess they put two and two together and came up with five.”

“I’m not
sure I understand.” I fiddled with the catering brochure to busy my hands.
Otherwise, the vibration might give me away.

Janetta
cast a woeful glance my direction. “This
is my youngest we’re talking about here,” she said, emphasis on youngest. “I
guess you could say it’s my fault. His daddy took off when he was little and I
was worn out from raising all the others, so I probably let him get away with
too much.”

“You did
a fine job, Mama.” Kristina gave a reassuring nod and my heart warmed toward
her right away. In many ways, she reminded me of my own girls.

“My son
is—”
Janetta’s
gaze shifted downward, “He’s
pretty messed up. I mean, he’s mentally capable and all that, but he’s had some
serious drug-related problems. He’s been away for years. In fact, I hardly
recognized him when the police brought him in for questioning. He’s
so.
. .changed. The drugs and alcohol really took a toll on
him physically.” Here, her voice broke.

I joined
her in her pain. Oh Father, help her. Help them all. My hand instinctively
reached out to grab hers. “Oh,
Janetta
, I’m so
sorry.”

She
closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to drive the whole thing from her
memory. “It’s water under the bridge. But apparently Jake—we call him
Jakey
—was hanging out at the bank late at night a
couple of nights in a row, hoping Kristina would come by to make a deposit. He
wanted to see if I’d take him back, since he’d sobered up and all. Least,
that’s what he says.”

“It’s the
truth, Mama, and you know it.” Kristina’s eyes reflected her pain.

I didn’t
dare ask
Janetta
if she would have taken him back.
None of my business, though the ache in my heart grew by the moment.

Her face
tightened. “I just don’t see how they can continue to hold him. There’s no
proof he took the money. In fact, they never found a penny on him.”

“Doesn’t
make sense then.” Did I just say that out loud? Do I really want to narrow down
the list of suspects this quickly, especially with my husband still at the top
of the list?

A look of
frustration set in. “They’re saying he probably rigged the night deposit box
somehow, and then got to the money before the bank opened the next morning. But
how could someone so—messed up—manage such a thing?”