The Bride Wore Size 12 (20 page)

“Life is rough,” Canavan says philosophically. “Especially when you’re a kid who had everything one minute, then had it all taken away the next.”

“Why don’t we wait out here for ’em?” Turner looks excited. “Then we can snag ’em when they come out again, and question them.”

“About the shocking ‘homosexual affair of the flesh’?” Canavan asks. “Yes, Turner, why don’t we do that? Then, after I’ve pistol-whipped you to death, no jury in the world would hold me responsible because they’d all agree that you’re such an incompetent ass, it would be justifiable homicide.”

“I can see that you two have some relationship issues you need to work out,” I say, leaning forward in my seat. “Why don’t you drop me at that corner over there and we’ll take this up another time.”

I point to a corner of the park where there happens to be a new bakery famous for its freshly made, warm-out-of-the-oven cookies, which it sells—and will deliver, free—with a container of milk. Cookies and milk seem like exactly the right thing to eat after so much talk about murder and attempted murder and affairs of the flesh.

“Keep your Spanx on, Wells,” Canavan says. “I’m taking you home, like I promised your boyfriend. Just wanted to make sure the royal guard wasn’t tailing us. Wouldn’t like them to figure out where you live, now would we, in case they decide to shut you up next?”

I swallow and look behind us. We’re not being followed by anyone, though, unless you count the goofy-looking New York College trolley, picking up and dropping off excited freshmen attending various late-afternoon orientation events.

“I’m not wearing Spanx” is all I can think of to say in reply to the detective. “That’s insane. Who wears Spanx under stretch cords? They’d show a line across the thigh.”

Detective Canavan only grunts in reply as he continues to drive the rest of the way around the park toward Cooper’s brownstone. Turner, looking chagrined by his supervisor’s rejection of his colorful suggestion, plays Angry Birds on his smartphone in silence. I’m the only one in the car who notices the blind man near the center of Washington Square, over by the fountain.

Unlike other blind men I’ve seen there in the past, however, this one isn’t strumming a guitar for small change or using a German shepherd to guide him. This one is whipping a red-tipped white cane back and forth in front of him like it’s a machete and he’s Crocodile Dundee, mowing down jungle grass to make a path.

I lean forward to get a better look, not daring to believe my eyes, but they haven’t deceived me.

It’s Dave Fernandez, all right. He seems to be headed back toward Fischer Hall, a happy bounce in his step that matches the smile on his face. He appears mightily pleased with the way things are going (And why wouldn’t he be? He just scored free room and board for a year in one of the most expensive places to live on earth), perfectly unaware that flocks of pigeons—and confused pedestrians—are scattering from the walkway in front of him in order to escape being struck by his cane.

I know it might be wrong, but I’m seized by a sudden urge to laugh. The fact that Dave can be so joyous—so fearless and lacking in self-pity—brings cheer into even my heart, which I’ve recently been told has become hardened from my job.

All I can think is if Dave Fernandez, who’s been through so much pain and heartache, can navigate the crowded paths of Washington Square Park without being able to see, surely I can navigate the paths of my own life, murky as they’ve gotten lately.

But the sudden surge of optimism leaves me when Detective Canavan’s Crown Vic pulls up in front of Cooper’s pink brownstone and I see three familiar figures sitting on the stoop, waiting for me.

23

T
o give credit where it’s due, Detective Canavan seems to be taking Cooper’s request to protect me seriously. He pulls out his service revolver—though he doesn’t hold it high enough for anyone outside the car to notice—and asks suspiciously, “You know any of those mutts on your front stoop, Wells?”

“I know
all
of them,” I reply in a tired voice. “Unfortunately.”

“What do you mean by ‘unfortunately’?” Canavan asks. “Should I shoot them or not?”

“Well, it’s up to you, but the two girls sitting there with what appears to be a gigantic wedding present between them are my future sisters-in-law,” I say. “Although it might make things easier for me in the short term if you shot them, in the long term, it’ll probably cause a lot of headaches, especially for you, since they don’t look all that threatening. Of course, it depends on what’s in the box.”

“What about the big guy?”

Leaning against the doorframe with his massive arms folded across his chest is a large black man in a pair of clear-framed glasses. He’s wearing a black knit watch cap and a blue Yankees jacket, despite the fact that it’s close to eighty degrees outside. At his feet is a duffel bag large enough to hold a young child. He’s assiduously avoiding eye contact with Cooper’s sisters, sitting a few steps below him in light summer dresses and sandals.

“That’s Virgin Hal,” I say. “He’s one of Cooper’s friends. I have no idea what he’s doing there, but please don’t shoot him either. I imagine he’s waiting for Cooper.”

“Did you say
Virgin
Hal?” Turner asks, the word “virgin” having roused him from his smartphone. “The guy who looks like a linebacker is a
virgin
?”

“Apparently,” I say. “But please forget I mentioned it. It’s some kind of private joke. I’ve asked Cooper not to call him that, but the name’s stuck, somehow. Can you unlock the door now? Whatever fresh hell this is that awaits me, I have to go deal with it.”

Canavan lowers his old-school Smith & Wesson (it’s sad that I now recognize the make and model of individual guns, but this is what comes from being engaged to a private investigator) and presses a button on his console, releasing the lock on my door.

“Using my keen powers of observation,” Detective Canavan remarks, “for which, it should be noted, I am well known, I’m guessing that your boy Cartwright sent his pal Virgin Hal over to keep an eye on you until he’s able to get home from wherever the hell he is, and keep you from kicking up more shit.”

“That,” I say, my fingers on the car handle, “is a ridiculous and sexist statement. Cooper isn’t like that. He knows I can take care of myself. Hal’s probably here to fix the Wi-Fi. It’s been on the blink lately.”

This is an outright lie. But I can’t tell the detectives the real reason I suspect that Hal is on the front stoop, since it will only alarm them, and probably cause them to want to come into the house. This would be a disaster since there’s no telling what level of contraband Cooper has holed up in there. While my fiancé swore to uphold the law when he passed the state private investigator exam, then got his license, at times he’s been known to bend it a little. Okay, maybe a lot.

“Hal’s a tech geek,” I explain. “I bet Cooper called him to check his computer.”

This is the biggest lie I’ve told yet.

“A six-foot-eight, three-hundred-pound tech geek,” Canavan says drily. “Who happens to show up the day we found you being harassed by a billionaire oil sheikh’s son, who I consider a suspect in a murder at your place of work. Sure, Wells. Anything you say.”

Canavan’s not falling for my fibs, but he’s apparently too fed up to question me further.

“Well, it’s been great spending time with you, as always, Wells,” he goes on. “See you at the wedding, if not sooner, when we bring you down to the station for questioning.”

I’ve opened the car door and am getting out, but now I pause with one foot on the pavement and turn back to stare at him.

“The wedding?”

It’s not that I don’t like Detective John Canavan. But I purposely did not invite him to my wedding because every time I see his face, I’m reminded of multiple crime scenes from my past at which he was present, memories I don’t particularly care to think about on the day on which I pledge eternal love to Cooper Cartwright.

“Sure,” Canavan says, checking out his mustache in the rearview mirror. “The wife’s excited about the invitation. She bought a new dress and everything. She’s making me rent a tux, so the food at that reception of yours had better be good. We’re talking steak, right? I’m not shelling out a hundred bucks for a tux to drive all the way into the city on a weekend and sit there and eat goddamned chicken, especially after everything you and I have been through togeth—”

“Don’t worry,” I say, from between gritted teeth. “The choices are prime rib, lobster tail, and salmon.”

Furious, I slam the door before he can reply, then whirl around to stomp toward the front stoop of the pink brownstone Cooper and I are going to pledge to share together forever in one month. I could almost swear I hear Detective Canavan laughing behind me.

So, apparently, can the small party gathered on Cooper’s stoop.

“Who’s that?” Nicole, Cooper’s youngest sister, pops up to ask, eyeing the Crown Vic as it begins to pull away. “Was that a
police car
?”

“Of course it wasn’t, dummy,” her twin sister, Jessica, says laconically. She stays exactly where she is, draped across several steps like a fashion model—or a jaguar—too lazy to move. “Police cars are black and white. Or blue and white. And they have the word ‘police’ written on them. Don’t be such an idiot.”

“It
looked
like a police car,” Nicole says suspiciously, “painted
not
to look like one. And those guys in the front seat looked like undercover cops. Why were you riding around in a car with undercover cops, Heather? Is everything okay?”

I glance at Hal, who seems to have shrunk in on himself a little more every time either of the twentysomething twins said the word “cop.” Cops are not well liked among many of Cooper’s friends, for reasons I’ve always been too wise to ask about.

“I’m fine,” I assure her. “Those guys just gave me a ride home from work.”

Nicole looks surprised. “Don’t you work a block from here? Tania pointed the building out once when we were down here shopping for the baby. She said it’s that one with the blue-and-gold New York College flags in front of it. She said the cafeteria used to be a ballroom in the old days and was really nice until the college bought the building and did a renovation on it and now it’s super crappy and filled with cockroaches and—”

“Oh my
God,
” Jessica groans, throwing her head back so that her long, dark hair puddles onto the step behind her. “Shut up, Nicole. Can we please go inside, where it’s air-conditioned? I’m going to die, it’s so hot out here. Plus, I have to pee like a racehorse. I’m not even kidding. I was about to go in the street between two parked cars before you pulled up.”

Nicole looks nervously up at Virgin Hal, who hasn’t said a word. “She was,” she assures me, in a whisper. “But I told her it wouldn’t be appropriate in front of
him
.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t care,” Jessica says with a shrug of her slim shoulders. “We’re all human. And when you gotta go, you gotta go.”

“Um,” I say, regarding the odd threesome. “I’m not sure this is really the best time for a visit, you guys. I think Cooper’s friend Vir—I mean, Hal, here, has a meeting with Cooper, so maybe it would be better if you girls came back some other time.”

“Oh, Cooper isn’t here,” Nicole announces. Unlike her sister—though the girls are twins, they’re far from identical—Nicole is heavyset, her hair dyed an unflattering auburn and twisted into Princess Leia buns pinned to the sides of her head, her summer dress rumpled and ill-fitting. In fact, it appears on closer inspection to be some kind of romper rather than a dress, a garment someone must have told her she looks good in.

Only what salesperson would be so cruel? Nicole looks like an upside-down ice cream cone. Being a big-boned gal myself, I know how difficult it can be sometimes to find stylish clothing that fits well, but I also know better than to buy something just because some salesperson who works on commission says it looks good on me.

“We’ve been calling and texting him,” Nicole complains about her brother, “but he isn’t picking up.”

Hal uncrosses his ham-size arms to wave at me to get my attention.

“Hey, Heather,” he says in a voice that’s surprisingly soft for someone his size, though I know from hushed stories I’ve heard about him that Virgin Hal’s shy demeanor is deceptive. Those arms have apparently crushed skulls like watermelons. “Cooper is going to be unavoidably detained. Nothing to worry about, but he asked me to stop by and check on a few things around the house.”

As soon as Hal says the words “nothing to worry about,” I know I need to start worrying. If Cooper isn’t picking up when his sisters call—and he hasn’t texted me back either—but he’s sent Virgin Hal over to “check on a few things around the house,” something is seriously wrong.

I also know Hal isn’t going to tell me what it is. That would be breaking whatever absurd “gentleman’s code” he and the rest of Cooper’s friends have with one another. I’ll have to wait until Cooper gets home to find out what’s really going on.

“Well,” I say tightly. “As you can see, ladies, this isn’t the best time—”

“But you have to let us in,” Nicole cries, reaching down to lift the enormous silver-wrapped box at her feet. “We brought your bridal-shower gift all the way down here!”

I glare at her. “I didn’t have a bridal shower.”

“I know,” Nicole says. “You wouldn’t let us give one for you, which was such a shame, because Mom really wanted to, and so did Tania. I don’t necessarily believe in the institution of marriage because it’s part of an outdated, patriarchal social system that for thousands of years only benefited men and wealthy women, but if you’re going to do it, you should at least allow your loved ones to throw you a bridal shower. Especially if they want to say how sorry they are for ruining your wedding by inviting a lot of people you didn’t necessarily want to attend the ceremony—”

“Speak for yourself,” Jessica says, springing lightly to her feet. “I didn’t have anything to do with that. That was all Nicole. I just really have to pee, so let me in.”

I glance questioningly up at Hal, who nods and says in his whisper-soft baby voice, “It’s all right, if you know them.”

If I know them? What does
that
mean?

I look back at the girls, then say to them sternly as I climb the steps, pulling my keys from my purse, “All right, you two can come in. But just this one time. I know I’m marrying your brother, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for you guys to drop in anytime you want. In the future, please call first. Cooper and I are private people with personal lives we’d like to keep that way—private.”

“I’ll bet you two keep it personal.” Jessica shoots her sister a knowing look. “I told you. Now I know what to get you two for your wedding, a new spatula.”

I knit my brows as I work the locks to the front door. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on,” Jessica says. “
Fifty Shades of Grey?
Don’t act like you haven’t read it. Everyone’s read it.” She winks at Hal. “Am I right, big guy? We’re definitely not eating pancakes in
their
kitchen.”

Hal blinks down at her slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, shouldering his enormous duffel bag. “The last book I read was
The Information
by James Gleick.”

Jessica hoots at this. “A gentleman
and
a scholar,” she says. “Me likee.”

“I tried to call,” Nicole says plaintively, following me into the house as soon as I’ve gotten all the locks undone and the door opened. “But you never picked up. I left a zillion messages. You never called me back.”

“Things have been a little crazy,” I say as I punch in the code to turn off the alarm. “It’s check-in week at the dorm, and also—”

“I know,” Nicole says. She’s sticking beside me like glue, hauling her oversize wedding gift in both arms, so that all I can see of her above the sparkly silver bow are her Princess Leia buns and her eyes.

She isn’t the only one sticking to me like glue. My dog, Lucy, is delighted that I’m home from work—and with company for her to sniff, no less!—and is leaping around, barking, her tongue lolling out.

“I know about your mom,” Nicole says, trying to make herself heard above the barking. “Cooper already reamed me out about it. Heather, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know. I mean, obviously, I
knew
—the whole world knows how your mom stole all the money you earned when you were a kid. But like, I never thought if I sent her an invitation to your wedding she’d actually
come
.”

“What on earth did you think would happen?” I can’t help snapping.

“I thought your mom would call you,” Nicole cries. “In my precorps training institute for Teach for America—which, okay, I admit I didn’t pass, but that isn’t my fault, I have undiagnosed hypoglycemia—they said in order to reach their full potential, it’s important for individuals to
communicate
.”

I turn to face Jessica in the cool foyer, which Cooper’s grandfather had wallpapered in wide black-and-white stripes (to match the awnings over the windows outside) and that neither Cooper nor I have ever seen reason to redecorate. Jessica has already torn past us in her haste to find a bathroom, while Virgin Hal—mumbling an embarrassed “Excuse me”
—
squeezes by with his duffel bag in order to head to the basement, Lucy padding after him. She’s always been particularly fond of Hal, who has a soft spot for animals.