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Authors: Karen E. Olson
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impersonator singing in front of the first car parked at a small window. The bank analogy wasn’t far off the mark. As we got closer, the impersonator’s voice rang through the open car windows.
He wasn’t half bad. Actually, it sounded pretty good. Not better than Dino, of course, but close enough to make someone’s wedding day special. If they chose this particular type of nuptials.
Even if he had been awful, I wasn’t one to judge. My voice was flat and lacking any sort of lyrical sound.
A white stretch limo was parked along the driveway, “That’s Amore” in red cursive letters sliding across its side and the address of the chapel below, along with its phone number.
Looking ahead, I saw a couple on a motorcycle in the rear of the line, a big black SUV in front of it, and a sporty convertible at the window. That was the one being serenaded, and the bride had a long white veil over her head as she stood on the seat, waving something that acted as a bouquet but clearly wasn’t. It was bulkier and very possibly yellow. I squinted to see what it was. I didn’t want to ask Jeff to drive closer, or he’d think I was truly interested in this.
“What’s that?” he asked, echoing my own thoughts.
“It’s a bunch of bananas.” We hadn’t heard him approach. He wore a tuxedo identical to the one Ray Lucci had worn in my trunk.
“Bananas?” I asked.
“She’s from one of those islands—Costa Rica, I think. It’s a tribute to her heritage.” The man spoke seriously, as if this were perfectly normal. “You here for a ceremony?”
Jeff nodded. “That’s right.”
“Pay here, and it’s only a short wait,” he said.
I figured Jeff would give him some song and dance about how we were just checking this out, but instead he pulled out his wallet, handing over a fifty-dollar bill. As if we really were going to get married after all.
Chapter 12
T he fact that I started to hyperventilate did not escape the man in the tux as he handed Jeff his change. He leaned into the window and cocked his head at me as he asked Jeff, “Cold feet?”
I’d say freezing feet was more like it.
“Do you have a ladies’ room or something where she might be able to freshen up?” Jeff asked, his voice perfectly normal. As any groom would be concerned about his bride.
At the thought, even more panic bubbled up in my chest, and I tried to catch my breath.
“Your head between your knees,” Jeff said, his hand on the back of my neck, forcing me down. “Breathe deeply.”
With my head down, I couldn’t see him, but I heard him say, “I think we really do need a ladies’ room.”
“Park over there,” the man said, “and go in the front door.”
The car jerked around and then stopped again, and Jeff cut the engine.
“Kavanaugh, that was brilliant,” he whispered.
I peeked up over my knee.
“You paid him,” I said, barely able to hear myself over my pounding heart.
“Best way to get information,” he whispered. “Now get out of the car and keep pretending like you’re going to be sick.”
“Who’s pretending?” I hissed as I pushed open the car door.
I missed the glass doors in the front because potted palms practically covered them. I guess they didn’t want just anyone wandering in and preferred that patrons stay in their cars.
The foyer was dingy white with a pink tinge, the color of underwear that got caught in the color wash. I could hear the strains of “That’s Amore” coming from somewhere, probably the Dean Martin outside. I wondered whether it was Dan Franklin.
The man in the tux materialized suddenly next to me. He took my arm and led me to a door with a cutout image of a bride on it. “Here you go,” he said.
I glanced back at Jeff, who nodded. I didn’t want to go in there. I wanted to stay out here while Jeff asked this guy questions. But maybe this was Jeff’s plan all along. I was only a pawn in his own investigation. He certainly couldn’t come to a wedding chapel all
He wasn’t half bad. Actually, it sounded pretty good. Not better than Dino, of course, but close enough to make someone’s wedding day special. If they chose this particular type of nuptials.
Even if he had been awful, I wasn’t one to judge. My voice was flat and lacking any sort of lyrical sound.
A white stretch limo was parked along the driveway, “That’s Amore” in red cursive letters sliding across its side and the address of the chapel below, along with its phone number.
Looking ahead, I saw a couple on a motorcycle in the rear of the line, a big black SUV in front of it, and a sporty convertible at the window. That was the one being serenaded, and the bride had a long white veil over her head as she stood on the seat, waving something that acted as a bouquet but clearly wasn’t. It was bulkier and very possibly yellow. I squinted to see what it was. I didn’t want to ask Jeff to drive closer, or he’d think I was truly interested in this.
“What’s that?” he asked, echoing my own thoughts.
“It’s a bunch of bananas.” We hadn’t heard him approach. He wore a tuxedo identical to the one Ray Lucci had worn in my trunk.
“Bananas?” I asked.
“She’s from one of those islands—Costa Rica, I think. It’s a tribute to her heritage.” The man spoke seriously, as if this were perfectly normal. “You here for a ceremony?”
Jeff nodded. “That’s right.”
“Pay here, and it’s only a short wait,” he said.
I figured Jeff would give him some song and dance about how we were just checking this out, but instead he pulled out his wallet, handing over a fifty-dollar bill. As if we really were going to get married after all.
Chapter 12
T he fact that I started to hyperventilate did not escape the man in the tux as he handed Jeff his change. He leaned into the window and cocked his head at me as he asked Jeff, “Cold feet?”
I’d say freezing feet was more like it.
“Do you have a ladies’ room or something where she might be able to freshen up?” Jeff asked, his voice perfectly normal. As any groom would be concerned about his bride.
At the thought, even more panic bubbled up in my chest, and I tried to catch my breath.
“Your head between your knees,” Jeff said, his hand on the back of my neck, forcing me down. “Breathe deeply.”
With my head down, I couldn’t see him, but I heard him say, “I think we really do need a ladies’ room.”
“Park over there,” the man said, “and go in the front door.”
The car jerked around and then stopped again, and Jeff cut the engine.
“Kavanaugh, that was brilliant,” he whispered.
I peeked up over my knee.
“You paid him,” I said, barely able to hear myself over my pounding heart.
“Best way to get information,” he whispered. “Now get out of the car and keep pretending like you’re going to be sick.”
“Who’s pretending?” I hissed as I pushed open the car door.
I missed the glass doors in the front because potted palms practically covered them. I guess they didn’t want just anyone wandering in and preferred that patrons stay in their cars.
The foyer was dingy white with a pink tinge, the color of underwear that got caught in the color wash. I could hear the strains of “That’s Amore” coming from somewhere, probably the Dean Martin outside. I wondered whether it was Dan Franklin.
The man in the tux materialized suddenly next to me. He took my arm and led me to a door with a cutout image of a bride on it. “Here you go,” he said.
I glanced back at Jeff, who nodded. I didn’t want to go in there. I wanted to stay out here while Jeff asked this guy questions. But maybe this was Jeff’s plan all along. I was only a pawn in his own investigation. He certainly couldn’t come to a wedding chapel all
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