Four Weddings and a Fiasco: The Wedding Caper (13 page)

K.D. had her hand on the door to the bridal room when it started to swing open. She retreated, turning her foot slightly. Eric clasped her hand, drawing her back from the door and steadying her at the same time.

Rose emerged with a young woman who could only be a bride. Sure, the dress and veil gave it away. But so did the glow. And a smile that wouldn’t quit.

A smile that wouldn’t quit. Like her own smile on that video.

The video of her wedding to Eric.

K.D. felt an ache under her ribs.

No. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. She’d never wanted it to be real. Never wanted to be a bride. To be a
wife
.

“I’ll be right with you. In my office,” Rose said, as she shepherded the bride and the bride’s father.

Anne gave them a distracted smile as she settled the wedding dress’ train into perfect form.

A string quartet struck a sequence of familiar notes.

The Wedding March.

She met Eric’s eyes for an instant.

K.D. turned away, and headed for the office.

“K.D.?”

S
he was spared whatever Eric would have asked by the arrival of Ken.

“Hope this ceremony isn’t too long. Might get some of the goodies from the reception.”

“Are you here for the food or the information, Yount,” Eric asked.

“Both. Before I forget, here’s a note for you from Myrna. It’ll be worth my life if I can’t swear I delivered it. You’re my witness, K.D. So, here’s my update. My office is continuing to gather information on Gail Bledsoe’s cases and running the numbers. Her batting average has climbed way too high for anyone to believe her selection of Marriage-Save alums is accidental. By the way, child custody has not been an issue for any of the Marriage-Save alums whom Bledsoe represented. What made you think about that?”

“Melody, one of the counselors, mentioned it.”

“That could fit the mole,” Ken said.

K.D. nodded. “To make sure she’s got prospects who are likely to break up, she’d want information from the counseling files. That would give Bledsoe a lead on which couples were most vulnerable to her tactics. But those records are kept separate from the financials, and vice versa. We need to figure out who has access to both.”

“The business manager has access to the couples’ finances,” Eric said.

“But knows nothing about their relationships,” she objected.

“And the opposite applies to Melody and the other counselors.”

“Yes,” she said slowly.

“I hear a
but
on the horizon behind that yes.”

“We’ve been focusing on people’s direct access. But in a small place like this, is that entirely necessary? Would Bledsoe need firm financial information or to see the exact counseling reports? Or would it be enough for someone to hand over names and addresses, saying this couple could crack and has money, and off you go.”

“But that could be anyone who worked there,” Ken said.

“Not anyone. They need to have close ties to both the business and the counseling sides.” She turned to Eric. “I forgot to ask you, was Harvey the business manager wearing a yellow and pink shirt yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“He was in the hall, talking with Melody, another counselor, and Lily. Might be nothing or it might indicate the sort of close ties we’re looking for.”

“And you forgot to tell me? Guess you got busy.”

“Yes. I—” She swallowed as she remembered exactly how she’d gotten busy. With him. In a closet. From his expression, that had been his goal. “Anyway, those sorts of ties would take more time to look into.”

Ken spread his hands. “There’s only so much time. We still have an ace up our sleeve, though. If Gail Bledsoe contacts you after you leave Marriage-Save, K.D., and wants you to take Eric to the cleaners, that’ll give us proof and great leverage.”

“True. If I make a big show of leaving Eric, word will get around the neighborhood.”

“Good plan,” Ken said, then shifted his focus as Phoebe entered with a tray of food.

Eric leaned over and said in a low voice to her, “Before you leave me, you have to come home with me.”

L
ily buzzed them in the front door again. “I see your schedule calls for free time before your next session. May I suggest a massage?”

“That sounds lovely. We’ll go right there.”

“Oh, no. You want the robes from your room. They feel heavenly, and there’s no good place to put your clothes in the massage rooms.”

Under her expectant smile, there was no choice but to head up to their room and change, one at a time in the bathroom.

“I look like a polar bear on stilts,” she muttered to her image.

At least the fluffy white robes had pockets, so K.D. slipped in gloves and other tools she might need.

Lily rewarded them by upping the wattage on her beam as they went past the reception desk in the direction of the massage room.

“You go get a massage,” K.D. said in a low voice.

“Nope. I’m going with you.”

“It’s better cover if one of us goes for a massage.”

“Then you go.”

She glared at him.

He winked, then took her arm, hurrying her past the massage room, and around another corner to the business office.

He pulled a plastic card out of his robe pocket and fiddled with the door knob. She stood beside him, masking what he was doing with all the fluffy whiteness that encased her.

“Got it.”

“How do you know—?”

“The proverbial misspent youth.”

He eased the door open and they both slipped in — as much as polar bears could slip. They were probably leaving a trail of white fluffy fibers a mile wide.

He went right to the computer. She pulled on gloves, locked the door, then started on filing cabinets that flanked a loveseat on the far side of the room.

“In.” Eric said quietly from the desk.

She went to his side. “Good. Files must all be in the computer. Drawers are mostly empty.”

He was dealing with the fingerprint issue by using a tissue to cover his right index finger as he scrolled and clicked.

He opened a couple financial files, showing account numbers, payment status, and credit rating.

“Nothing from the counselors,” he murmured.

“Try his email.”

“Good idea.”

He’d closed the financial program and was opening email when a rattle came at the hall door.

Their eyes met for an instant. Eric started closing down the computer, while she looked around. The only other door — bathroom? closet? If it was locked . . . .

It wasn’t. And it was a closet. Good sized, thank heavens, with shelves for office supplies down one side.

With the computer in its shut-down routine, Eric stepped into the closet ahead of her, she pulled the door closed, releasing the knob one silent fraction of an inch at a time.

Outside, they heard whispers. Too low to identify gender, much less individuals.

Then something that sounded oddly like a giggle.

While K.D. was trying to decide if she’d heard that correctly, another sound came.

A lock sliding into place.

Another giggle.

Then more whispers, becoming increasingly muffled.

S
he turned the handle and pushed.

Nothing.

She tried again. Then again, pushing harder.

“It’s locked,” she said.

“Locked?”

“From the outside. The handle still turns, but the door won’t open. There must be a—” Her fingers found the flat disk above the knob. “Yes. Deadbolt. Needs a key.”

She waited. Every guy she’d ever worked with would now reach over her, try the knob, and search for the deadbolt himself.

Eric said, “Someone locked us in, then left?”

“Maybe they went to get someone. Albert, or someone else in security.”

He was silent a moment. “Did you hear one of them . . . laugh?”

“Giggle.”

“Okay, giggle. Does that make sense if they’re going for security?”

“No.”

“Good. I thought I was missing something. But if there’s nothing to miss . . . .” His hands on her shoulders turned her so her back was against the side wall and he was against her front.

“We have to get out of here.”

He kissed her temple. Then the corner of her eye. “Let me know when you figure out how.” Her cheek. Lower. The corner of her top lip. Her mouth. “Ah, there you are,” he said against her lips.

Their mouths opened to each other like they knew what they wanted.

Her tongue stroked against his, picking up a rhythm they were making together.

At last, and far, far too soon, the kiss ended.

For oxygen and sanity, she pulled back a fraction.

“We have to . . .”

One of his hands cradled the side of her head. The other spread at the base of her throat.

“. . . get out of here.”

“Someday.”

His hand slowly drew down her body, the robe opening before it, even the tie giving way as if it had been greased.

She was glad she’d kept her underwear on. Or maybe not.

He stepped in, one leg between her legs. His robe was gone. Hers tangled her arms as she wrapped them around him.

His lips were on her throat, dropping lower.

“Eric.” Was she warning or begging?

“There is no frigid personality. There are only frigid circumstances,” he quoted between kisses. “And these aren’t frigid circumstances.”

No, they weren’t. They definitely weren’t. More like melting circumstances.

Melting the skin where his lips touched just above the line of her bra. Melting her spine. Melting her knees . . . .

Until all that held her up was him. Her arms around his neck. His arms around her shoulders. Her breasts molding to his chest. His hips pressed against her.

Oh, yes, his hips. They definitely held her up. Because if she melted to the floor, she’d lose that contact. So no melting.

A sound.

What was that
?

Beeping.

Ignore it. Because Eric was kissing lower. Over the fabric of her bra. Over her nipple. In another breath he would—

The beeping sounded familiar. But so far away. Inconsequential. Easily ignored against the dazzling, melting sensations.

“Oh, dear, Stan. They’re beeping.”

“Think we should open it?”

“I’m afraid we have to.”

The voices outside the closet were not as easily ignored as the beeping.

Neither was the fumbling at the lock.

They both stilled.

Eric swore softly and steadily as the fumbling stopped.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Sorry, dears,” said Jean. “It’s open when you’re ready.”

“W
hy do you keep asking me about my mother,” K.D. snapped a few minutes into her final solo session. She’d made it on time, but only by arriving at the counseling room in the robe, once more securely fastened. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping my marriage to Eric?”

“There appears to be a connection,” Melody said evenly. “You and Eric have a bond. Oh, sometimes you try to subvert it with shows of anger or indifference, but it’s still there. You use the same tools to fight your desire for each other, but that’s still there as well. The wall you’ve built between the two of you concerns children and family. And your feelings about those come back to your mother. Tell me, how does your mother feel about your marriage to Eric?”

For a second she went blank. This was not something they’d ever covered.

Then she recalled her conversation with the women of the Rose Chalet the day before their wedding – their sham wedding. The conversation about mothers with Phoebe, Julie, Anne, and Rose. They’d seemed to understand so much . . . and urged her to understand as well.

“She can’t understand why I don’t think being a
wife
is the highest achievement possible when I have her great marriage to my step-father Mark as a shining example.” She pulled the robe so the sides overlapped more from throat to knee, then retightened the belt. No doubt that statement fell well short of the understanding those other women had urged, but at least it filled the silence.

“Is there abuse?”

“Not physical.”

“Emotional?”

She considered that. “Do you mean does he berate her? No. He’s got them on a rigid budget, and counts pennies. But it’s more that she won’t think or act for herself.”

“Does she want to?”

“She used to. She raised me on her own, and she did just fine.”

“Maybe she was tired of making all the decisions. Maybe this feels safe and comfortable to her after struggling to raise you?”

What if your mother loves him? What if your mother’s not bothered by the strict budget or the dowdy clothes? What if that’s a relief to her?

It gives them both what they want. Isn’t that what a marriage should be?

She wasn’t aware she was crying until Melody pressed a tissue in her hand.

S
he was subdued through dinner and the rest of the routine. What he didn’t know was if she was beating herself up over not having all the answers about Marriage-Save or for nearly making love with him.

In bed, he reached back again with his lower arm so it wouldn’t be obvious on the recording.

It seemed like a long time before she reached back, too.

This time he took her hand and held on, his fingers tracing the pattern of the rings on her left hand.

“Talked to Jean and Stan after you left.” Interesting to talk without moving your lips. He’d never be a ventriloquist, but he could make it understandable.

She made a listening sound.

“Locked us in, because they thought we needed a nudge. Felt bad for interrupting us before. They were canoodling on the loveseat in the office when they heard your timer. Said that’s their favorite closet. More room for creativity.”

This sound was more choked.

She put her face into her pillow, and her shoulders shook. If the camera’s motion detector picked it up, it would look like crying.