Boo Who (50 page)

A relieved laugh burst from Melb. Oliver smiled and said, “I know you would’ve married me if we were the poorest fools around.”

She nodded eagerly. “Of course I would’ve.”

Oliver laughed too. “But according to your vows, sounds like I’m going to have to put you on a strict budget and teach you some money-managing skills.”

Everyone in the room laughed.

Then Oliver picked up the champagne. “Well, if you don’t mind, Melb and I would like to be alone, since we can be now that we’re officially married. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Melb blushed. Wolfe did too. Martin grinned and gathered the journals. “Have fun on your honeymoon at the … Bass Pro Shop.”

“We will!” they both said.

Wolfe was leaving the room, and Oliver said, “And Wolfe, we’ll be back in plenty of time for your wedding.” They smiled at each other, for the first time since Oliver had fired him. Wolfe nodded.

Outside the house, Wolfe and Martin stood there, trying to make sense of it all.

“What are you going to do?” Wolfe asked.

“The only thing I can do. Go share all this with the mayor, see if it will bring him back to reality. Give him a purpose again for being our mayor.”

Wolfe checked his watch. “Kind of late, isn’t it?”

“He’s on Caribbean time.”

“Oh.”

“What about you?”

Wolfe thought for a minute. Something he’d not felt in a long time stirred inside of him. “I’m going home. I’m going to write.”

The two shook hands. “Take these,” Martin said, handing him the journals. “I see something in your eyes that tells me you’re going to need them.”

He watched Martin return to his car and back out of the driveway. His fingers twitched, eager to get home.

A few lingering guests mingled around the reception hall, but the event was winding down. The makeup lady was done powdering Ainsley’s face, thank goodness. She was allowed to perspire out her nervousness at last. Leaning against a table, she drew in a deep breath and smiled.

“You’re satisfied,” Alfred said. She hadn’t even noticed him walking up. “You should be. You were terrific. The best.”

She laughed. “I can’t believe I pulled it off.” She was talking more about her candor than the reception. She’d said some pretty brutal things to Alfred through the evening. Yet here he was, still admiring her. It struck a sour note inside her.

“I’ve already sent the tapes off for editing. You know, Dolph, a man of few words, even said you were naturally talented, that you shone for the camera. I have a feeling about this, Ainsley. You’re going to make us both very—”

Alfred stopped. Both of them saw a group of three executive types walking through the reception hall doorway, looking around for something or someone. The lady, a head taller than the two men with her, looked familiar to Ainsley, but she couldn’t quite place her.

One of the men asked a guest something, and then the guest turned and pointed to the table where she stood with Alfred.

“Who is that?” Alfred asked.

“I have no idea,” she replied.

The three made a beeline toward them. Alfred stepped in front of her in a protective manner, extending his hand toward the first man. “Hello, Alfred Tennison. I’m Ainsley’s manager. We’re not doing any interviews tonight, but you’re welcome to call my office tomorrow and schedule an—”

“We’re not media,” the man said. He was looking at Ainsley when he spoke. All three of them were looking at her. The woman made eye contact, then looked around the room with a insidious smirk on her face.

“Who are you?” Alfred asked, and Ainsley noticed his voice cracked.

“I’m Robert Barry. This is my assistant, J. R. Stepford, and this is Elizabeth Carson-Cummings.”

The woman’s name hung in the air, and Ainsley swallowed. She knew her from the bake-off in Indianapolis. The man was explaining he was from some sort of committee that was in charge of rules and regulations. He made it sound very official. But all Ainsley could do was stare into the woman’s cold eyes.

“And what is your business here?” Alfred said, mustering up professional confidence again.

“We’re here to inform you that Miss Parker will be stripped of the four blue ribbons she was awarded in Indianapolis.”

“Why?” Alfred asked.

The woman finally spoke, her voice low and guttural, her eyes narrowed like a Cheshire cat. “You cheated.”

“Cheated?” Alfred gasped. “What in the world are you talking about? She did no such thing!”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” the woman said. “We have laboratory tests that prove it.”

“Prove what?” Ainsley managed.

“Prove that you used Brach’s butterscotch candies in your Butterscotch and Chocolate Deluxe cookie.”

Ainsley looked at Alfred, who was growing pale.

The woman continued, “The rules clearly state that every ingredient put into your cookie must be
homemade.
That includes candy.”

“What?”

“Or didn’t you read the rules that were sent to you before you entered the contest?”

Ainsley glanced at Alfred, whose stupefied face was paralyzed.

The woman said, “It’s in paragraph two point seven, sub-section C.”

Alfred looked at Ainsley. “You used Brach’s candy?”

Ainsley nodded. “I did.”

The man named Robert said, “Then I’m sorry, young lady, you’ve been disqualified, and the title will be given to the runner-up. We’ll notify the press immediately.”

Alfred said, “Is that necessary? Really? To run the story? To—”

“Expose her for the cheater she is?” the woman said, smiling. “Why yes, it is.”

Ainsley said, “It was an honest mistake.”

Robert said, “Whatever the case, you will be banned from the contest for life and will need to give back all your ribbons too.”

Ainsley thought Alfred was going to weep.

“I guess the next Martha Stewart has chosen her same fate,” the woman said.

Alfred managed in a quiet voice to ask, “H-how … how did you find this out?”

The woman said, “An anonymous tip.” Then her heels clicked against the floor as she headed to the door.

The room quieted around them as they watched the woman walk away. Ainsley turned to find Alfred sitting alone at a nearby table, his face distraught. He glanced up at her. “It’s over. The media exposure on this will be too detrimental, too controversial.”

Her throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Alfred.”

“I know,” he said softly. She could see tears shimmering in his eyes. He sniffed back his emotions. “A dream died here tonight, though, you know? A dream for both of us.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her own tears dripping down her face. She took his hands. “But it was only a dream for you, Alfred. My dream is to be with Wolfe.”

Alfred shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll never understand it, I guess.” He looked at her. “But I know I was right. You were going to be the It girl. You would’ve made it, Ainsley. I have no doubt about that.”

She smiled through her tears. “Thanks for believing in me. It made me believe in myself.”

“The only saving grace about all this is that hopefully you’ll remain the innocent woman that you are. That world, Ainsley, it can corrupt people. Even the people with the best intentions. It makes them, well … just look at me.” A sad smile crossed his lips.

“Alfred, you are not bad. Please don’t believe that about yourself. And you know what? There is a real kind of saving grace that doesn’t depend on the shortcomings of other people. Alfred, I made that anonymous call. I tried to tell you I didn’t want all this, tried to back out, but I couldn’t get myself to tell you the truth. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me not to be honest.”

He sat stunned, his arms limp in his lap, his back hunched with defeat. Even the wrinkles in his face seemed to deepen with each passing second.

His eyes looked up with pleading sincerity. “You are so at peace with the world, Ainsley. I have always been at war with it. But it just keeps beating me down.”

She squeezed his hands. “Alfred, the world has nothing to offer but disappointment. It will fail you until the day you die. God will never fail you, though. Never.”

He patted her on the back and wiped a stray tear that strolled down his face. “Thank you, my dear. You are both lovely and wise.” He stood, gathering his coat.

“Where are you going?”

“Well, I have some things I have to take care of, loose ends to tie up.”

“Oh, Alfred, can’t all that wait until the morning?”

“I meant with God.” He shook her hand and said, “I will see you at your wedding.” And then he walked out of the reception hall.

Ainsley sat for a moment, taking in all that was around her, which now was crumpled napkins, dirty floors, a half-eaten cake, and lipstick-stained coffee cups—a perfect picture of how she was feeling. Just two hours ago, life was a room full of gorgeous candlelight, cheery friends, plump roses, and toasts to success and love.

Yes, how quickly things could turn.

She gathered her coat and bag and left the community center, glad to be done with the charade that had backfired anyhow. The cold night air dried the perspiration that would’ve defeated even a good dose of powder. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and secured it with a band she had in her pocket.

But instead of driving home, she decided to walk. It was only about eight blocks, and she needed to unwind. She wrapped her scarf around her neck and started home.

The evening was oddly silent. She’d grown used to the owl asking “whoo” and the horrible screams that would reply.

There was nothing of the sort this evening. Just a twinkling, starry night to shelter her.

As she walked in the door of her home, she took off her coat and scarf, putting it in the closet. She locked the door and came into the living room. Her father was still up.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Thief’s gone, Ainsley.” His voice cracked. She rushed to her father’s side. The cat had been missing for several days now.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s not like him to leave like this,” her father said. “Maybe I ruined his whole life by getting him fixed. Maybe he’s so mad at me he ran away.”

“He wouldn’t do that, Dad. Thief loves you.”

“I know he does,” her father said. “I guess when you care about someone, you try to do the right thing, and sometimes it ends up being the wrong thing.”

“Animals are notoriously forgiving, you know.” She smiled. Her father smiled too. “Maybe he’ll come back tomorrow.”

He stroked her hair and then noticed her face. “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” she said, patting him on the leg. “But I’d better get upstairs and into bed. I am tired.”

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She walked up the stairs, her legs sore and shaky. But there was a smile on her face. Life would be back to normal.

Except that monster wedding she had one week to plan.

CHAPTER 38

W
OLFE GROANED
as the dogs barked enthusiastically on either side of his bed. The sun was clear and bright, higher in the sky than he would’ve thought by how tired he was feeling. He’d stayed up writing until nearly 3:00 a.m.

“What is it?” he mumbled as they barked again. Then he heard it. Knocking. He rolled out of bed, pulled a heavy sweatshirt on and made his way downstairs. When he opened the door, Ainsley stood there.

“Hi,” she said. “You left the wedding in a hurry. And didn’t call me last night.”

“I stayed up late writing, and by the time I glanced at the clock it was way too late. How’d everything go? How’d the reception go?” He stepped aside to let her in.

“Writing?” She smiled at him.

“Yes. I’ve found a story I want to tell.” He studied her as she walked past him and into the living room, trying to find a hint of what he saw last night.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said, turning to him.

“So? What about you? How did it go last night?”

“Where did you run off to?”

“That is a story that requires a big breakfast and lots of time. Have you eaten yet?”

She shook her head.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t everything go okay last night?”