Dog Days Read online

  Blessing brought up her camera.

  I rested my hand on the older woman’s arm. “I’d be honored to wear them. Thank you.”

  “Thank you. It means so very much to me.” Forsythia heaved a deep sigh. “But now, I’d best get back or I won’t get a seat.”

  A spontaneous hug between two mild … adversaries.

  The camera’s shutter clicked away.

  I swapped out my earrings for Ms. Morgan’s pearl and gold ones. “They’re perfect with Miss Vera Mae’s pearl and diamond necklace.”

  HARLEY, UP FRONT, was sitting at Wyatt’s feet. He yipped when he saw me, then turned to look at something behind me and began to growl.

  My boys and I were halfway down the aisle when I heard the distinct ratchet of a shotgun.

  Harley started barking.

  An instant hush fell over the gathered crowd.

  Breathing slowly, and squeezing the forearms of my boys—determined not to be intimidated—we continued our procession … a cappella as the music had also stopped.

  Within those first split seconds I also heard the chink of the safeties being released from a few police issue .45’s.

  My eyes were glued to Wyatt.

  He stared back—cop face-mask in place—but only one eye was on me, the other was watching the threat behind us. Rick had a hold of his arm, trying to pull him to safety.

  Wyatt wasn’t cooperating.

  Except for one solitary shriek from the back, our friends and family remained alert but quiet. Waiting, albeit with bated breath, for their local—taxpayer paid—law enforcement team to handle the discourteous intrusion.

  Are you kidding me?

  Screaming ensued, and pandemonium reigned.

  Adding to the sounds of panic were chairs collapsing and falling over, or crashing together, blocking the aisle as people scattered like cattle in a stampede, tripping and stepping on or over whatever was in the way.

  My sons, God bless them, yanked me to the ground, and covered me—probably in an attempt to keep me from being trampled.

  Huddled, and silently praying no one would get hurt, I heard a blast. The chair closest to us splintered. There was a deep answering report of a handgun, followed by another discharge from a shotgun.

  Then a volley of three pistol shots and cry of pain.

  “This is ridiculous.” Elbowing my boys out of the way, I hiked the tea-length skirt over my knees and began to crawl towards the front.

  I was worried, not only for myself, but others who were in danger because we’d asked them to be part of our day.

  And where was Harley?

  Where were the … musketeers?

  Where were my bridesmaids?

  Were our parents all right?

  “Gage, where are the boys? Can you see them? And Harley? And Lancy and Dandy? Are they okay? And the parents? Where are your grandparents? Can you see them?”

  There was a momentary pause as he cautiously took a look around. “Looks like they’re all up front. Reverend Blanchard’s got ’em crouching behind the maple tree. Josh’s got hold of Harley.”

  Relief flowed. Ten less humans to worry about. Well, eleven if you counted the Reverend. He was a bigger target. But he had a lot of military training in his background. He’d keep them safe, especially since one of them was his youngest.

  Then hands, strong, steady, and warm, were helping me up.

  Wyatt. “Are you all right?”

  He was holding me tight.

  “I’m fine, Maggie. Are you? Gage? Dawson? No holes anywhere?”

  “I’m okay. Maybe a splinter or two from the chair, but no holes.”

  My boys replied as they got to their feet, brushing at debris.

  “All good.”

  “Me, too.”

  I surveyed the chaos that—only minutes previous—had been a beautiful wedding scene. Tears of anger and hurt welled, but I tamped them down. The shaking couldn’t be controlled. “Is anyone hurt? Do you know? You said Josh had Harley, but is he okay? What about our parents?”

  Dawson shoved his hands in the pockets of his now grass-stained Tux. “Looks like the only casualty, as it should be, is the bad guy.”

  “Really?” I glanced at Wyatt, hopeful. “Is it really over?”

  “Looks like. Paul tackled him after Becca shot him. They’ve got him cuffed.”

  “Becca shot him?” There was awe and pride in Dawson voice. “That’s my girl.”

  “Oh, oh. Excellent.” The waterworks started up again. “We so owe them. All of them.”

  “Doing their job.”

  “Maybe so, but it’s more than that for me. This is personal. What about my bridesmaids, and the boys?”

  “Bill’s got them in hand. He’ll make sure they’re taken care of.”

  “I knew that. I did know that, I just—”

  Wyatt gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go take a gander at your nemesis before the county boys show up and haul him off.”

  “I can see him fine from right here. Please don’t make me get too close.”

  “You don’t have anything you want to say to that bastard?”

  “No. Not really. I don’t want to see him, don’t want to talk to him, wish I didn’t even know him.”

  “Babe.” He wiped away the tears spilling down my face—and ruining Lancy’s fine makeup application. “Okay. Okay. You don’t have to.” He looked around for a moment, then turned me toward the front, a whole twenty-five yards away. “Why don’t you go sit with our moms. I have some things to take care of. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  “I feel like such a wimp.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I should go over there and punch his lights out.”

  With a straight face, but laughing eyes, he leaned in for a kiss. “Then I’d have to arrest you for aggravated assault, sweetheart.”

  My hand slapped against his chest. “Go take care of business, lover. I’ll be with the parental units.”

  I did go up front to sit with our moms, but I watched.

  Chapter 40

  … SATURDAY…

  * * *

  … September 19th…

  ….the aftermath….

  * * *

  DOC WESTON WAS reluctantly tending to the gunshot wound, being he was the only doctor in the vicinity. He could’ve just waited and let the ambulance crew take care of the idiot, but (I heard him say later) he’d taken an oath, and as much as he’d rather have let the man bleed, he used his skills to patch up the wound. And you’d have thought it was a life-threatening injury the way the patient was carrying on, screaming every time Doc touched him, flinging out obscenities, and voicing threats against the police brutality he’d received.

  After about ten minutes of that noise, our rookie finally had enough. “Quitcherbellyachin, you wuss! If you didn’t want to get shot, you should’ve left your shotgun at home. Better yet, you should have left yourself at home. On the plus side, for me, you did show up armed, and now you’re good and caught. Serves you right.”

  Yeah, she’s a cop, for sure.

  My Dawson was never far from her side, even rode with her in the police cruiser when she followed the ambulance to the hospital. He’s more than smitten.

  Miz Grayson had been sitting with her sisters waiting for the ceremony to begin when all hell broke loose. She almost had a heart attack when she found out the shooter was the one who’d killed her Thomas. I never saw her so livid. If Paul and Gus hadn’t hauled the man (after Doc was finished—and it was only a flesh wound, by the way) out to the ambulance when they did, they might have needed a hearse, instead. Forsythia and Gladiola had a tough time restraining their sister from going at him with her bare hands.

  Finally, the ambulance left. Doc Weston and Officer McGee were in the back with the prisoner—who was cuffed to the gurney.

  I was surprised at how many people were milling around, dazed and confused about what had happened, and wondering whether the ceremony would still b
e performed. Figured all and sundry would have departed the premises, afraid they might get hit by a stray bullet if they stayed. Or maybe that was the draw.

  Wyatt’s parents and mine, though shaken, were making sure there were no real casualties among those grouped in little clumps of two or three. My legs had stopped shaking, though my heartrate might never go back to normal. Wyatt and Harley weren’t letting me out of their sight, for which was I grateful. There were grass stains on my dress and both my boy’s Tuxes, and I had a few nicks from flying debris. Lancy and Dandy were being comforted by their men. The three young musketeers were hyper-thrilled, and talking animatedly among themselves.

  Our friends, through all the madness, survived without any major mishaps, only a couple sprained ankles, a torn pant leg, a few shins got scraped up, and some hats and hairdos were askew. Not bad, considering the potential scenario.

  Once the hullabaloo died down, and our guests—practically everyone who’d stuck around—helped reset the chairs, and were once again seated, Wyatt and I exchanged our vows, and the Reverend Blanchard introduced us as Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt Madison.

  My breath hitched as he pronounced us married.

  I was now a wife, again. Wyatt’s wife.

  How cool is that?

  The ladies auxiliary, bless their hearts, had the buffet table all set up to display the food supplied by Annetta’s Diner. There were three kinds of meat, three choices of cheese, homemade buns, various condiments, potato salad, macaroni salad, coleslaw, a raw vegetable tray, a giant bowl of fruit salad, and gallons of sweet tea. Coffee was also available.

  Chef Wally was serving up the meat and cheese, the youth group from the church was ably dishing out the salads.

  Wyatt and I did not depart for our honeymoon after cutting the superbly frosted and decorated cake from Sporelli’s Bakery. No, we had a small discussion, and both agreed to postpone the celebration until the last details of the case were concluded. So we headed inside to change, and then proceeded to the police station where our prisoner—after having an ER doctor officially cleanse and re-dress the wound—waited in the make-shift cell for the county boys to retrieve.

  After all that, Wyatt didn’t trust himself to question the man without plowing a fist in his face, so he assigned Paul and Declan to the task.

  The guy—hate to even say his name—didn’t exactly confess, but tried to convince the two officers that the things he’d done were justified. He was only trying to make sure he and I would be together forever.

  What?

  Shudder!

  Apparently, he’d been in love with me since high school (see, I’d been right), and was unshakeable in his belief that I loved him in return. (Are you kidding me?) My marrying Bernie was just me teasing Darren. The thefts from Lavender’s shop were tokens of his love, once he saw that my affection was shifting to Wyatt.

  The shooting? Well, he hadn’t meant to hit my son. He’d been aiming at me. And how was that an act of love?

  Wyatt would be so focused on finding the shooter, he wouldn’t be able to take care of me. Darren would be at my bedside, declaring his everlasting love.

  Sick.

  And the kidnapping of Sybil? The shooting of the police chief, and hitting an officer with his truck?

  He’d never known Sybil’s name, but said she was a distraction so that no one would be watching me. Which is pretty much what Sybil told us in the hospital.

  What about Thomas Grayson?

  He’d gone back to Hidden Treasures, for more tokens. He hid when the other locksmith and Tom showed up, but then Tom didn’t leave right away. When he finally started to lock up, he saw Darren. “I had no choice. He was a nice man, but he knew who I was.”

  So, no, he never actually confessed, but at the same time, did affirm what we’d concluded.

  He’d also about deafened anyone within ten feet by screaming my name every so often, and demanding, at the top of his lungs, to see me.

  Talk about having a screw loose.

  Once the interrogation was over, Declan pulled me aside. Wyatt came along.

  “You’re sure you don’t want to confront him?”

  “Absolutely. I don’t see any reason to. Nothing more will be accomplished on the positive side, if I do. With as obsessed as he seems to be, my presence might only encourage him to think I might change my mind.”

  “I would have to agree.”

  Wyatt nodded.

  “If I’m needed to testify against him, I will, but that’s it.”

  Chapter 41

  … SUNDAY…

  * * *

  TWO COUNTY DEPUTIES came by last night to escort Darren Clifton Lewis to the county jail in Waynesburg. Wyatt gave them a list of the charges against him.

  This morning, around ten or so, groggy from tossing and turning all night, the phone rang.

  “Maggie? Are you okay?”

  “Dandy? Um, as well as I can be. Why?”

  “You sound … odd. Foggy.”

  “Foggy? I haven’t had my coffee yet, though my new husband is walking towards me with a steaming mug.”

  She laughed. “Domesticating him already, eh?”

  “Huh. He didn’t make it, I did.”

  “Ah. Well, the reason for my call, I’d like to invite you, and your new accessory, to lunch here at the Inn, on the house. A gift to the two of you.”

  “Aw, Dandelion Jones, that’s so sweet. We’d love to. Any special time?”

  “Any time after eleven.”

  “Okay. Thank you so much.”

  Wyatt’s eyebrows were raised as he handed me the cup.

  “We’ve been invited to dine at the Inn at the End, free of charge, for lunch.”

  “Excellent. And when we get back, we’ll talk about when you want to take off for parts unknown.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not telling you where we’re headed, but we can talk about when you want to go.”

  “Oh, the honeymoon.”

  “What did you think I meant?”

  “Sorry. My brain is still muddled. Might take a day or two for it to clear up.”

  “I understand, sweetheart.” He enveloped me in a hug, being careful of the coffee I held. “I really do.”

  ABOUT AN HOUR after we returned from a delicious meal, via Granda Mayfield—who still refuses to retire—Gage and Blessing showed up.

  “Just wanted to check up on you two.”

  “We’re fine, Gage.”

  “No after effects?”

  “Like what?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t want to offend, but mental breakdown kind of stuff.”

  I almost laughed. “Number one son, it is offensive, insulting, even, but no. No mental breakdowns, for either of us.”

  He blew out a breath. “Sorry, but you know it was pretty dramatic.”

  “Yes. Yes it was. Are you okay?”

  Wyatt and I ushered them into the living room.

  “Me?”

  “You were in the thick of it with me. Any meltdowns on your end?”

  Red-faced. “Um. No.”

  “Good. It’s good to know my family is made of sterner stuff.”

  He glared. I smiled.

  “The bad guy’s in jail?”

  Wyatt nodded. “Handed him over to County last night.”

  “Good riddance. Did you talk to him, Mom?”

  I eyed my son. “No, I did not.”

  “You should have. That’s not right.”

  “Why?”

  “You just should have. You need to clear—purge him out of your system.”

  I sipped at the sweet tea Wyatt handed me. “He was never in it.”

  “Not true.”

  Wyatt put an arm around me. “What’s not true about it?”

  “She needs to make contact with this guy, to get closure.”

  “Do you want to talk to him?”

  Gage looked worried, and mad. “With my fists. But that’s not one of the options.”

  “So
your answer would be … no.”

  “Yes. Um, correct.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s a piece of slime. He hurt my mother; she should want to smear his face in it. For me, I guess I’d be afraid I’d lose control and go for his throat.”

  Aw. My boy. “Then why do you think I should face him?”

  “Yes, please explain, why it’s okay for you not to talk to him, but you want your mother, his victim, to talk to him?”

  “I said before, for closure.”

  “I don’t need closure, sweetie. It’s over and done with. There’s no changing anything that happened. I may not have released all of it, yet, because it makes me furious, but he can’t hurt me anymore. Besides that, he gives me the creeps.”

  Blessing sat silent on the couch, her knuckles white from clenching her hands together. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

  Gage, finally noticing, grabbed her hands. “I’m so sorry, honey. We shouldn’t have aired all this in front of you.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. I feel sadness for you, Maggie. You shouldn’t have had to go through that. I’m so in awe of the way you all handled it.”

  I wasn’t sure we had handled it. “Really?”

  She nodded. “You’re a unit, all of you. If Dawson was here right now, it would be even stronger. It’s the same with your police officers. They are an extension of that unity. One big family.” She looked at Wyatt. “I think that’s what makes you so good at what you do, too. It’s also the reason—though not completely, as some of it is your personality, Maggie—that you’re so strong. The support of your family and co-workers is phenomenal. Not everyone has that. Not everyone knows how to use it without abusing it.”

  Huh. “Thank you, Blessing.”

  “Being a photo-journalist, I see all kinds of family dynamics. Good and bad. Yours is definitely among the good ones. I’m honored to be part of it.”

  Gage gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I’m glad you are, too.”

  I addressed my eldest. “So are we okay about the not-talking-to-the-bad-guy thing?

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what?”