The Wedding Caper Read online

  Whoa. Two to twenty years. I tried to think of what my life would be like if Warren left for twenty years. What would the kids and I do?

  I continued to chomp at the end of my pen until the goofy thing exploded in my mouth. As I sprang from the chair, the notebook slid down my shins and landed on the floor. Sasha tumbled to the floor, as well, letting out a yelp just as the phone rang. I stubbed my toe on the leg of the chair as I bounded toward the kitchen sink. The phone continued to ring as I scrubbed away at my hands and mouth. I managed to catch it on the last ring.

  “H–Hello?”

  “Honey, is everything okay?”

  Warren. Tears sprang to my eyes right away. I tried to push the image of my husband in a bright orange prison jumpsuit from my mind.

  “Oh, hi, baby.” I tried to sound normal. “Yes, everything’s fine. I just broke an ink pen, and almost destroyed the armchair and the carpet all in one fell swoop.”

  “Ah. I thought you sounded a bit strange.”

  Hmm. I could’ve said the same thing about him. His voice sounded. . .odd. Off.

  “Just wanted to let you know I’m going to be late for dinner.” His sigh felt a bit forced. “O’Henry is here from the sheriff’s office. Again. He needs to ask us a few more questions.”

  I stumbled my way through the rest of the conversation and hoped Warren hadn’t picked up on the fear in my voice. As I hung up the phone, the words from today’s devotional verse rang like church bells in my ears: Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

  With a heartfelt sigh, I reached for a new pen to write one last thing.

  Fact #10: God is in control. He’s already got this thing figured out.

  With a sense of peace settling in, I turned my attentions to preparing the best spaghetti and meatball dinner a steely-eyed burglar would ever eat.

  Chapter Two

  The following morning, I awoke with four words on the brain: Just the facts, ma’am. I scrambled from the bed, fixed breakfast for my husband and teenage son, kissed them both and sent them on their merry way. Then, I settled down with my laptop to read my daily Internet devotional.

  Today’s verse from John 8:32 caught me off-guard: “You will know the truth and the truth will set you free.” Just a coincidence? I think not. Yes, indeed. I would know the truth—very soon—and my husband would be set free. Literally.

  After spending some time in prayer, I showered then dressed for the day. With fall making a rather sudden appearance, I opted for a spiffy pair of jeans and a brown turtleneck. It looked just right with my new choppy hairdo. Same color, too. A new over-the-top bead necklace in complementary reds and oranges fit right in with the ensemble. I glanced at myself in the mirror and whispered the words from Lesson One: A Good Investigator Sticks to the Facts.

  With childlike energy, I bounded from the room and down the stairs, where I snatched up my new notebook. I sat in my favorite armchair, puppy at my side, to review what I’d written yesterday.

  Hmm. In looking over my “facts” list, I had to conclude two things: either my husband was guilty. . .or he wasn’t. Not very profound, to be sure. But those were the facts, plain and simple. Knowing Warren the way I did, and knowing his love for the Lord, I found it difficult to believe he could actually have done such a thing.

  Twenty-seven years of memories floated through my head as I pondered the possibilities: The birth of our twin daughters. The way Warren cradled them in his arms. The surprise arrival of our son, Devin, years later. Watching my two “boys” play football together in the front yard. The look of pride on my husband’s face the day Devin made the football team. The tears in Warren’s eyes the night the girls announced their engagements.

  No. The more I thought about it, the more I knew he couldn’t have done it. And I would do everything in my power to prove his innocence.

  A plan erupted in my mind, one I could not ignore. I slipped on a light-weight jacket in a marvelous shade of coppery-brown, put Sasha on a leash and headed for the door. The neighbors might be thrown for a loop—seeing me out for a little walk this early in the day. But a brisk morning walk never did anyone any harm. And surely no one would be the wiser if I stopped off at the bank for a minute or two. After all, I did have a couple of checks to deposit.

  As an afterthought, I grabbed my notepad and pen, shoved them into a bag and slung it over my shoulder. Then I stepped outside to face a breezy autumn morning. Leaves whipped from the trees, which appeared to fuel Sasha’s excitement. She pulled me along by her leash and I found myself catapulted down the sidewalk, near breathless, at her command. I chugged along in a mad struggle to keep up. Dachshunds might be small, but they’re fast as lightning.

  We rounded the corner onto Wabash Street, and Sasha slowed a bit. I think I confused her by not turning back toward the house, but I had to move on, had to get to the bank to eye my suspects.

  Now the obedient little pup, Sasha followed along at my heels, only veering every now and again to chase a squirrel or stray leaf. We hung a left off of Wabash onto Clarksborough and another left onto Main. There, directly in front of me, stood the Clark County Savings and Loan.

  I stopped in awed silence as I took it in. How many times had I stood in this very spot, and yet I had never noticed the blue lettering in the sign, had I? And what about that new landscaping? Had it escaped my notice in the past? Well, I certainly saw it now—it, and a host of other things—all through brand-new www.investigativeskills.com eyes. I resisted the urge to pat myself on the back when I realized just how far I’d already come.

  But no time for that now, not with so much work left undone and my husband’s fate hanging in the balance. When the traffic slowed, I crossed the street. I arrived at the side door of the bank with Sasha in tow and for the first time realized my dilemma.

  Hmm. What was I thinking, bringing along a puppy? I couldn’t take her inside, could I? Only service dogs allowed. I couldn’t feign blindness, not with everyone inside knowing me so well. What to do? What to do?

  With my keen observation skills intact, I noticed—for the first time, I might add—a flagpole on the lawn of the bank. Sasha and I sprinted over and I secured her leash to the pole.

  “Now, you be a good girl,” I admonished. “And when we get home, I’ll give you a treat.” I leaned down to lift a floppy ear as I whispered the rest. “I might even give you two.”

  Her tail wagged in joyous response.

  I turned back toward the savings and loan and drew in a deep breath. “Lord, help me. If You really want me to solve this crime, then I’m going to need Your assistance every step of the way.”

  After a few courageous steps, I reached the door. To my surprise, it swung open, as if I’d been expected.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Peterson.”

  Nikki, the I’m-just-too-cute-to-be-working-in-a-bank blonde security guard met me with a broad smile. “How are you this morning?”

  “I’m fine, honey. How are you?” And what were you doing on the night of Tuesday, September 16th?

  She let out a lingering sigh, and for the first time I noticed her bright blue eyes. Tinted contacts, no doubt. Perhaps she’s incognito, running from a former life of crime. Maybe she’s. . .

  “I’m going through kind of a hard time right now.” She interrupted my thoughts with a pained whisper. “This investigation has really unnerved me.”

  Do tell.

  “Having the police around so much has really put everyone on edge. Especially me.”

  No doubt.

  “I was supposed to be protecting the bank from things like this, and look what happened. I wasn’t even here when the burglary took place. Wasn’t even here.”

  A woeful look crossed her face. A bit too woeful, if you asked me. Rehearsed. But, at least she knew the difference between a robbery and a burgl
ary, which certainly gave her the upper hand, to my way of thinking.

  “Oh? You weren’t here?” I couldn’t resist.

  “No, my shift starts at seven in the morning,” she explained. “And the money disappeared in the night, some time before that. I feel just awful. I should have volunteered to drive the parking lot at night, but with no prior history of anything like this happening—”

  Here, her voice faded a bit.

  “And on top of all of that,” she said, “my little girl is sick with the flu today. I had to keep her home from school. Wish I could’ve stayed home with her, but I have to work, you know? I’m a single mom.”

  Duly noted.

  “Who’s watching your daughter?”

  Nikki’s eyes lit up and her voice became more animated as she spoke. “I have a really great neighbor—an older woman named Katie.”

  Mental note: This girl knows how to change voices on a dime. She’s clearly a skilled story-teller.

  “Katie Stoltzfus?” I asked.

  “Yes, do you know her?”

  Know her? Katie Stoltzfus was my third grade math teacher. I’ve known her since you were in diapers.

  “Yes, I know her.”

  “Well, she’s a wonderful woman. And she just adores Amber. But she’s not in the best of health, and looking after a first-grader hasn’t been easy on her. I’m grateful, of course. But I sure hope Amber is feeling better tomorrow.”

  Mental note: Nikki’s cool blue eyes don’t fool me one little bit. And I’ll bet she doesn’t even have a daughter.

  Nikki grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze as she finished her story: “I’m only telling you all of this because I know you’ll pray. Mr. Peterson talks about you all the time. He says you’re a—” Her lips pursed as she tried to think of the words. “What does he call it, again? Oh yes, a prayer warrior. I think that’s it.”

  Conviction settled in right away. Okay. Maybe her eyes really are blue. “Thank you, honey.” I reached to give her a hug. “I’ll be praying for Amber.”

  I gave Nikki a wink as I headed across the bank lobby to the desk where my husband sat. Along the way, I gave a little wave to “Loan Officer Extraordinaire”—as Warren liked to call him—Richard Blevins.

  “Hey, Richard.”

  “Oh, hi Annie.” He scarcely looked up from his work as I passed by. In fact, my finely tuned observation skills let me know that his gaze never actually locked into my own. Avoiding me, eh? What’s up with that?

  Odd. Richard was always so friendly and outgoing. Hadn’t we voted him Sunday School Teacher of the Year last December? Why the unusual shift in behavior? Of course, he was going through a lot at home. Ever since his wife, Judy, was diagnosed with cancer several months ago.

  “Hey, honey. What are you doing here?”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin as Warren approached from behind. “I–I. . .”

  “Something wrong with one of the kids?” His brow wrinkled in concern.

  “No, I, uh—” I pulled the checks from my bag. “Just need to make a deposit.”

  He took the checks from my hand. “I could’ve done that for you. There’s never any reason for you to have to come down here, Annie.”

  Never any reason to come down here? Is that some sort of warning?

  “I don’t mind.” I offered up a smile in an attempt at bravery. “I love coming to see you.” I gave him a light kiss on the lips and a couple of the tellers let out a whistle. Warren turned all shades of red, and gave me a “good grief” stare. In response, I grinned like a Cheshire cat and leaned over to give his jacket a sniff. “Mmm. You smell yummy.” Must be that new cologne the girls had given him for his birthday.

  “Annie, you’re killing me.”

  “Yeah,” I whispered. “But what a way to go.” I gave him another light peck on the cheek and he shook his head in defeat.

  As we headed to the counter together, I allowed my eyes to roam the lobby. From here, I could see quite a bit—a new painting on the far wall, dust on the paperweights, the balding spot on the top of Richard Blevins’s head, even the bit of food between my husband’s front two front teeth. I gave him a little take-care-of-that-please gesture and he quickly finger-nailed it away. His cheeks turned a rosy pink, quite a dashing contrast against his wavy salt and pepper hair. That’s twice I’ve made him blush.

  The teller’s voice brought me back to reality. “Good morning, Mrs. Peterson.”

  “’Morning, Carl.” I gave a polite nod.

  Carl chattered on about the change in weather but my mind remained otherwise engaged. Who had time to think about autumn with so much at stake?

  We finished the transaction, and Warren ushered me to the door. A little too fast, to my way of thinking. Is he trying to get rid of me?

  I summoned up the courage to ask him one more thing before leaving, something I should have asked days ago. I whispered the words, so as not to draw attention. “Warren—” I couldn’t help but wring my hands, “I need to know—about the cash—you know—for the weddings—”

  He pressed open the front door of the bank and ushered me outside. “I told you not to worry about that, honey. And I meant it. I’ve done a good job of handling our finances, haven’t I? And you’ve always trusted me to do the right thing, right?”

  As I offered up a lame nod, I couldn’t help but notice the change in his expression—the etched brow, the tightening of the lips, the crease between the eyes. They all pointed to one thing.

  I groped for coherent words, but all I managed was an “um” and an “ah.” My soul mate of so many years must have heard my unspoken suspicions.

  “Believe me. You have nothing to worry about.” He gave my hands a squeeze. “That’s our money. Ours. Every penny. So let the girls have it. And let the spending begin.” He gave me a wink, which should have consoled me, but, instead, sent a little shiver down my spine.

  Of course he would say that. What else could he say if he didn’t trust me with the truth? I had to find a way to coax a full explanation from him without demanding it. I stood in silence a moment then finally opted to change gears.

  “Don’t forget, we’re eating out tonight,” I reminded him. “That new steakhouse near the turnpike. Seven o’clock.”

  “Ah. I’d forgotten.”

  Though I wouldn’t admit it, I was a little nervous about tonight’s dinner. The idea of meeting Brandi’s future in-laws for the first time left me with a bit of a knot in my stomach and I didn’t have time for knots right now.

  I had to get moving. I gave Warren one last peck on the cheek and then waved as if heading for home. And, indeed, I took a few steps toward home, just to throw everyone off a bit. However, once safely out of view, I slipped down the walkway on the north side of the savings and loan to do a bit of investigative work. I had to clamp eyes on the night deposit box, had to see for myself the location of the crime, to scope out the scene, as it were.

  I inched my way along the wall, doing all I could to avoid the glances from folks sitting at the bank’s drive-through just a few yards away. One lady stared in vague curiosity, and I shifted my gaze, avoiding her penetrating gaze at all costs. Where in the world was the night deposit box again?

  Man. Turned out the metal contraption was smack-dab in the middle of the wall at the drive through. Mental note: Come back at night when there aren’t so many people around. Be sure to bring a flashlight.

  With frustration threatening to eek its way into my pores, I turned to begin the walk home. This morning’s verse ran through my head, taunting me, “You will know the truth and the truth will set you free.”

  In all honesty, I felt like a failure. Sure didn’t have much to write in my notebook. I tried to cheer myself with happy thoughts, but the ever-present image of Warren in prison garb reminded me of my dilemma.

  So, I had to get cracking. Had to at least speculate. If the truth refused to present itself, I’d continue on in my quest to find it. I would get to the bottom of this, if it was the
last thing I did.

  If I had to solve this riddle right here, right now, I’d still lean toward Nikki. I’d watched enough episodes of whodunit television to know you couldn’t trust the innocent-looking ones as far as you could throw them. And what was all that stuff about being unnerved? What did she have to be nervous about, if not the obvious?

  I allowed my thoughts to ramble that direction as I continued the journey toward home. By the time I turned onto our street, excitement had risen to an all-time high. I couldn’t wait to settle down with my notebook to make sense of the facts now swirling through my head. Yes, Nikki had surely done this thing, and I would watch the cards as they stacked against her.

  No sooner had I walked in the front door than the phone rang. I answered it with a hint of frustration, wishing I could just stick to my work and avoid interruptions. I was startled to hear Warren’s anxious voice. “Um, honey?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you forget something?”

  Forget something? I looked down into my bag to figure out what I might have left. Got the deposit receipt. Got my notebook and pen.

  “I’m clueless,” I spoke into the phone.

  His “obviously” did little to set things straight in my mind.

  Until I heard the barking in the background.

  Chapter Three

  Hardly a secret goes untold in our tiny town of Clarksborough, P-A. Whether it’s the high school football coach’s clandestine crush on the new postal carrier or Mayor Hennessey’s eyebrow and chin lift—we hear it all. And “all” can be a lot to swallow, especially when you’re not sure it’s “all” the truth.

  Now me, I avoid gossip like the plague. Always have. I mean, I’ll occasionally chat with Sheila about this little thing or that—but most of our conversations revolve around prayer requests for the needs of others—like Mary Lou Conner’s failed marriage or Betty Sue Anderson’s good-for-nothing son who can’t seem to stay out of the local jail.

  But this thing about my husband stealing $25,000 I’ve managed to keep to myself. There are some stories you just don’t need to have spread around. People might get the wrong idea. And besides, I have my reputation to uphold. I’ve been a fine, upstanding member of the Clarksborough Community Church for over twenty years. And as president of the Clark County Ladies Political Action League, many depend on me for social guidance.