Buzzkill (Pecan Bayou Series) (20 page)

“You know, even
though I’m married now I’ll never stop coming up with reasons to put you to
work,” I told him.

“Happy to hear
it. So have you even started packing for Dallas?”

He had me on
that one. For the last few months I had been simply living to get through
today. Now I had to start working on tomorrow.

“Right after the
honeymoon I’ll start throwing things in boxes,” I said, “but for tonight I just
want to think about now.”

“A healthy
attitude to be sure.” A bolt of lightning hit outside with a sudden crack of
thunder. The room, which had been full of guests laughing and talking over the
ever-present accordion music, now stilled. The lights flickered and then went
out. The front door of Wilhelm’s Bed and Breakfast and Authentic German
Restaurant burst open with the next flash of lightning to reveal Prissy Olin,
pink, sparkly and totally drenched.

Her face was
flushed and her glossed lips were pulled back, baring her teeth.

She screamed
across the room, “This is your fault!” and pointed at me.

I stepped back
and instantly felt Leo beside me.

“What’s my
fault?” I answered her, confused by her accusation.

“The rain!
You’ve tried to ruin my wedding since the beginning. My wedding was supposed to
be the social occasion of the year. I’m marrying the freakin’ mayor’s son on
Valentine’s Day, and you dare to plan your little Happy Hinter wedding on the
same day? Then you have the nerve to take my church, and then my reception
venue and even my frou-frou wedding planner?”

Mr. Andre
uncrossed his arms and held his hand up to his mouth, concealing a smile. From
behind Prissy, the Olin/Obermeyer wedding party started shuffling in, shaking
off umbrellas as they escaped the storm. Wilhelm and Josephine took coats while
the wait staff began directing the soggy travelers to the remaining tables and
chairs in the main dining room of the restaurant.

The groom,
Theodore Obermeyer, who had been missing in all of this, finally crept in with
the mayor and his wife. The young man looked seriously frightened of his new
bride. Mayor Obermeyer shook his head as he removed his raincoat. He guided
Theodore to a seat with the wisdom of a man smart enough not to mess with a
bride in full rage mode.

“So, because
you’re blaming me for the rain, you’ve decided to crash my wedding?” I felt my
own bridal rage beginning to churn in my gut.

“Why the hell
not?” she said, her mascara now running little black lines through a layer of
foundation. “You seem to have plenty of room, seeing as the town didn’t want to
go to the wedding of the calamine killer.”

I started to
step forward but felt Leo’s hand on my shoulder.

“Prissy, you’re
welcome to share this space out of the rain,” he said, “but stay on that side
of the restaurant.” He motioned to the common room.

She picked up
her drenched skirts and barked, “I’ll do whatever I damn well please. I’m the
bride, after all.”

“She sure is,”
Yancey Fischer said, coming in behind her with Pastor Green. He had the look of
a man who had seen intense battle and was still in shock. “Sorry for the
intrusion folks, but the rain washed out the road into town. You were the
closest place to take refuge. Anybody know when it’s going to let up?”

Yancey couldn’t
have known he had just entered a room full of weathermen, several of whom
awkwardly started raising their hands.

“Whenever it
clears up, you all are welcome,” Wilhelm said. “We may not have electricity,
but there is a fire in the fireplace, we have enough candles for all the
tables, food is already prepared – and the best part is, accordion music
requires no electricity!”

With Wilhelm’s
announcement, the focus went off of Prissy’s tantrum and to the effort of
getting dry and comfortable in the cozy restaurant. The accordion music started
back up with a rollicking version of “She’s Too Fat For Me.” Just what every
bride wants to hear on her wedding day.

Prissy’s new
husband Theodore Obermeyer timidly tried to escort his bride to a table. As he
grasped her elbow, she tore it away. Obviously she was angry at him as well. It
ought to be quite a wedding night for those two.

“You dodged a
bullet on that one,” Ruby said from her table.

Lavonne, holding
a full plate, looked over at Martha. “I can’t believe you’re here so soon after
your husband’s death. Shouldn’t you be in black?”

“I’m mourning my
husband in my own way,” said Martha. “Stay out of my life, Lavonne.”

“Yeah, well then
stay out of my water,” Lavonne replied.

“Lenny said the
judge told him he could use it any time he pleased.”

“He said
what
?
Did you actually see the documents that state that? The judge said the water
was on my land and you were to cease and desist. Did you double-check your
facts with Lenny?”

Martha stalled
for a moment. “No, I guess I didn’t.”

“Well, I’ll be
happy to show you the judgment.”

Martha’s
expression became subdued. “Lenny could have lied. He was sure angry he
couldn’t have the water.” She reached out to Lavonne’s hand. “I would like to
look at the paperwork, but because I’m running the business now, I’ve decided
that I will no longer use your water. It seems only right.”

Lavonne, who had
been ready for a big argument, stopped in surprise. “That’s … mighty kind of
you.”

“I’m just sorry
if he was using water that wasn’t his,” said Martha.

“No harm done.
It’s amazing how a little lie can cause so much pain.”

“Are you ready
for this?” Leo asked, pulling me away from the ladies.

“Having Prissy
here changes things,” I said.

“Not really.
It’s probably better this way.”

Dad stepped up.
“I’m ready when you are.”

I took a spoon
and tapped at the rim on my champagne glass. “May I have your attention
please?” The two wedding parties slowly quieted down.

“Thank you,” I
said as Prissy glared at me.

“We appreciate
everyone coming to our wedding today. We know it’s been a sad time for our little
town with the deaths of Lenny Stokes and Morton Fischer.” Yancey took a gulp of
dark beer at the mention of his brother’s name. “The thing is, Morton sent me a
letter before he died. I thought the letter was just a bill or a refund from
Chateau Fischer after we were forced to …” Prissy smiled as she tore her napkin
into little pieces. “… chose to have our reception at this lovely place.”
Wilhelm put his hand to his stomach and bowed smartly.

“Well, it seems
it wasn’t a bill or a refund. It was a warning to me. Something that Morton
felt was so important he marked it ‘personal and confidential.’”

“What was in
it?” Martha uttered almost involuntarily.

“He was telling
me who he thought Lenny’s killer was. I started to open it, but I never got
around to reading it, you see. Someone else did.”

“Who then?”
Yancey said.

“I did,” Leo
said. “I did, but then I put it back in the envelope. Right after that, someone
hit me on the back of the head, making me late for my own wedding.”

“And just who
did he say did Lenny in?” Martha asked, tapping her finger on the table.

“Someone you’d
never expect,” I said.

“So you know?”
asked Rocky, looking for something to write all this down on.

“I know,” I
said.

“I know, too,”
Judd said.

Mr. Andre was
gesturing wildly in the corner for me to stop talking about murderers at my
wedding reception, but I chose to ignore him. He finally threw himself in a
chair and drank an entire flute of champagne straight down.

“You see,” I
continued, “it had to be somebody with a knowledge of flowers, because Morton
had met this person, and he was a flower enthusiast. Morton tried to tell us
who his killer was using the story of Jacob and Esau.   Like Jacob disguising
himself as Esau in the Bible, the killer was also hiding behind something. 
Ultimately everything had to do with flowers. Isn’t that strange? ”

“What are you
trying to say?” Martha bristled.

“It also had to
be someone who had intimate knowledge of both of the Valentine’s Day weddings.”

“I guess I would
be in the category,” Pastor Green confessed.

“But mostly they
had to be smart enough and mean enough to kill someone … using a flower.”

“That would be
you Betsy, wouldn’t it?” Prissy said. “I mean, you already tried to kill me
with one of your concoctions.”

Mr. Andre rose,
straightening the deep red rose on his lapel.

“Not meaning to
be indelicate in the face of all of this mystery-solving on a dark and stormy
night,” he said, “but whatever Morton Fischer wrote on his rose-scented
stationery is really not supposed to a part of our well-planned wedding
celebration.”

“I apologize for
messing up what you so beautifully orchestrated Andre,” I said.

“That’s Mr.
Andre …”

“No, it’s Andre
– or should I say Andrew as in Andrew Parker, a past guest of the State of
Texas prison system? Seems like you have quite a past there.” I said.

“I have no idea
what you're talking about.”  Mr. Andre said shaking his head in disbelief.

"What kind
of cologne do you wear Andre?" Leo asked.

"What does
it matter?"

"Oh, just
that I seemed to have a run-in with that smell earlier today." Leo said as
he reached up and rubbed the side of his head.

“You’ve done
time for assault. As a matter of fact, you were part of a community work
program where you gardened for the governor himself at his mansion in Austin,
didn’t you? You were quite talented with all kinds of flowers because you could
always get the bees to pollinate them. The prison system really hated to lose
you, Mr. Parker. You were talented, but you did your time. And what does a guy
like you do to start a new life? You invented a new you and turned into Mr.
Andre, wedding planner extraordinaire. You are a pretty smart guy, but you
missed the mark when you told us about the rose-scented stationery. No one knew
about that but me and Leo.” I said.

“This is
ridiculous,” said Mr. Andre, picking up his manbag and heading for the door.
“You’ll be getting my bill, Betsy.” As he walked to the door, George and Elena
stepped in front, stopping him.

“Oh, the bill,”
I said. “The bill that we see, or the bill that includes all the kickbacks you
pressure your vendors into? That bill?”

“I didn’t have a
lot of time to check you out but luckily, Bernard, the photographer you
rejected, told my father all about your little scheme after he was caught in
the bushes at the rehearsal dinner,” I continued. “He lost our job because he
refused to pay your little fee.  So let me ask you. Was Lenny the same way? I
can’t imagine him agreeing to your terms.”

“Of course not,”
said Mr. Andre. “Mrs. Stokes there can tell you I have never asked her for a
cent outside the agreed-upon price. Isn’t that right?”

“No, no he
hasn’t,” she said.

“And the
seamstress. I never got a penny out of her.”

“No, he’s
right,” said Lavonne. “I think you might have the wrong guy there, Betsy.”

“Lavonne had
already been paid in advance so you couldn’t get your cut. If you approached
Martha, then she would surely figure out you killed her husband. Lenny was
never one to follow the pack, and he never ever would have parted with money he
felt was his. I would just bet he threatened to expose you to the entire town
and had no fear of him because of your …”

“Lifestyle,”
Stan offered.

“Lifestyle,” I
echoed.

“But what he
didn’t know was that Andre was just a fancy-scented, designer-dressed ex-con.”
My dad added.

“You killed my
Lenny?” Martha rose from the table showing an anger I didn’t know she had in
her. “You little son of a bitch!” With that she went flying across the guests
and furniture, pinning Mr. Andre to the floor. George pulled her off before she
flattened his nose with her fist.

“Get that woman
away from me!” Mr. Andre shouted, smoothing out his lapel. He picked his rose
up off the floor and replaced it in his buttonhole.

“Wait!” Wilhelm
said. “He just told us that we would need to pay him cash if he were ever to do
a wedding here again. We thought he was kidding.” Josephine nodded in
agreement.

Mr. Andre let
out a long sigh and then spoke with a much lower voice than any of us had ever
heard come out of him. He pulled Morton’s letter out of his pocket and threw it
on the table. “Whatever,” he said. “The governor’s wife loved me, you know. She
introduced me when people toured the grounds. ‘Here’s our Andy,’ she would say.
‘The bee whisperer.’ Morton, who could barely remember his own name, remembered
me. I’ll be glad to go back. I thought I was getting out of hell when they
released me from prison, but becoming a wedding planner put me right back in.”

He turned to
Prissy, who was cutting up a bratwurst and stuffing it into her face while
watching the whole scene. “By the way, darling. Your new husband? He made a
pass at me.” Prissy screamed through her bulging cheeks.

The next
morning, I opened my eyes at Wilhelm’s B&B. Leo’s arm was draped casually
around me. After ten years of living without a husband and just plain living
without, this felt good. The rest of the combined wedding parties had continued
the celebration until the road opened at around 2 a.m. Wilhelm provided us his
honeymoon suite. Compared to the other three rooms, the honeymoon suite simply
had a smaller television and a complimentary salami and cheese basket. The way
I was feeling we could spend our whole honeymoon right here in this bed, even
with the enchanting aroma of bratwurst making its way up the stairs.