“The Amundson case.” Claire paused long enough to make Pete believe she didn’t exactly remember which Amundson case he was talking about. “Oh. The spousal abuse. No—no questions really.”
Pete rubbed his chest absently, willing the pain behind his breastbone to go away. “Well, if anything comes up—any problems—you can always reach me at this number. Any time.”
This time Claire’s voice sounded slightly wary. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Pete closed his eyes. Great. Now she thought he was coming on to her. “Okay, well, good luck with it.”
“Thank you,” Claire said in a still-wary voice and hung up.
Pete clipped the cell back to his belt and popped an antacid. Not that it would do much good—his acid reflux ate antacids for lunch.
The guys were already halfway through the first pitcher of beer when Pete got back to the table, along with a couple of bowls of pretzels. He hadn’t really thought about food since he’d talked to Janie. What did they usually eat at bachelor parties? In the past, he’d been too drunk to notice. He tried to remember what they’d had at Lars’s party, but he’d been so numb with shock over Lars’s bride that he couldn’t recall too many details.
Now he studied the frozen pizza Ingstrom had plopped on the bar for his inspection. Somehow, it didn’t look like it would feed the multitudes. “Can I bring hamburgers in?”
Ingstrom shrugged. “Sure. There’s a McDonald’s down on the highway.”
Right
. Well, serving fast food at the bachelor party would certainly go along with the train wreck aspect of The Wedding so far. Pete tried to remember the name of the place Janie had recommended, then grabbed his cell again.
Janie picked up after a couple of rings, her voice slightly incredulous. “Pete?”
“Right. Where did you say to get the burgers?”
“Coffee Corral. Just tell Al that you want burgers for Cal’s bachelor’s party. He’ll know what to do.”
“Thanks. Everything okay with the females?”
He thought Janie paused for a fraction of a second. “Sure, everything’s going great.”
“Okay, check back with you later.” Pete snapped his cell closed and then wondered what the hell he’d meant by that. He hadn’t planned to check on Janie and the bachelorettes tonight. Hell, “Janie and the Bachelorettes” should be recording for Motown.
Pete got the number for the Coffee Corral from Ingstrom. The man who answered, probably the Al Janie had mentioned, promised to send over multiple orders of burgers and fries. “This is Cal’s bachelor party, right? I’ll send over a couple of toasted cheese sandwiches for him, too. Is Wonder there? Better make sure you get enough food for a small army, then.”
Back at the table, Wonder was into his third or fourth beer. He gave Cal a dark look. “Marrying Docia sets a bad precedent, Calthorpe. First thing you know we’ll all be in chains. Right, Horace?”
Horace shrugged. “Speak for yourself, Wonder. Doesn’t strike me as such a bad idea.”
“For Docia and Calthorpe, you mean.”
“For all of us.” Horace took a healthy swallow of beer. “Dorothy and I were married for twenty-two years before she died. Lately, I’ve been thinking it’s not such a bad idea to try it again.”
“You see what I mean, Idaho?” Wonder snapped. “You’ve already started the rest of us on the downward slide.”
Cal grinned. “Are you all that averse to marrying the best baker in Konigsburg, Wonder? If you are, you’re a bigger idiot than you seemed to be up to now.”
“See, this is what happens.” Wonder stared morosely at his beer. “Soon as one goes, they start dragging others along with them to share the misery. First you, then Horace, then the next thing you know I’ll be off the market. Who’s going to be left for the women of Konigsburg?”
To their credit, no one snickered. Pete sipped his soda and reflected that being a designated driver would not be his occupation of choice in the future.
“Once they’ve got you, they’ve got you,” Lars muttered from the corner of the booth. The others turned to stare at him. “Nothing you can do. Women. They’re always ready for you. That’s what they do. Get you tied down so they can stick it to you.”
The silence at the table was deafening. Pete realized he probably should have checked to see how much alcohol Lars had already consumed before he arrived.
“Hey, bro,” Cal said softly, “tell us about Daisy.”
Lars looked up, his face creasing in a smile. “She’s a real Toleffson. Ten pounds four ounces at birth. Black hair and eyes like Dad’s. Gonna be a holy terror on the soccer field.”
“How old?” Horace took another swallow from his beer stein.
“Eleven months.” Lars grinned again. “Already a holy terror to tell you the truth.”
Wonder looked aghast. “Your wife is, what, five-foot-three? She gave birth to a ten pound baby?”
“Yep.” Lars finished his beer and smiled.
A wiry, dark-haired man appeared in the doorway carrying a very large box. “Bachelor party?”
“Just in time.” Pete pulled a burger and fries from the box and handed it to Lars. “Here, bro, I think you need some food.”
For a woman who said she didn’t like wine, Janie noted that Sherice had managed to consume a considerable amount of it. The viognier disappeared within fifteen minutes, to be followed by a goodly portion of the syrah.
After her second glass, Docia began eyeing the presents. “Are those serious or funny?”
Allie leaned back in her chair, her face solemn. “Serious, of course. This is a kitchen shower. We all think it’s time you took your domestic duties in hand, Docia. I myself provided some oven cleaner.”
Docia stared at her wide-eyed.
“Oh for god’s sake, lighten up, toots.” Allie shook her head. “It’s a freakin’ bachelorette party. What did you think we’d give you—an engraved pocket watch?”
Docia blew out a breath, pulling her hair back from her face. “I’ve been opening wedding presents for at least the last month, usually with Mama looking over my shoulder. You wouldn’t believe the stuff people think you need when you get married.”
“Like what?” Bethany sorted through the remaining tapas with her index finger, selecting some flatbread with sirloin and blue cheese. “All I got when I married Lloyd was a set of Corelle. I should have known that marriage was doomed.”
“Place card holders.” Docia grimaced. “Silver. Swear to god. Like I’d ever give a party where I needed to show people where to sit.”
“Maybe we could use them in the shop,” Janie mused. “I’m always looking for something to hold up the display cards.”
Allie guffawed. “That should start a new Konigsburg legend—the bookstore with sterling silver display card holders.” She reached for a gift bag. “Here, babe, take a look at this.”
Docia opened the bag and pulled out what looked like a pair of panties.
Or not. A strip of lace with a large bow and a thin string hanging down below. Janie hadn’t ever seen anything quite like it before.
“What the hell is this, and how does it work?” Docia frowned, holding it up for inspection.
“The bow goes in back,” Allie explained.
“That string looks uncomfortable.” Bethany shook her head. “Geez, I hate thongs.”
“Crotchless,” Sherice said.
All four women turned to stare at her.
Sherice reached for the panties. “Crotchless. Works like this.” She spread the string apart so that it formed a thin border around a very large hole.
Janie swallowed. “I never really understood the logic behind crotchless panties. I mean, if you’re going to do the dirty, why wear panties in the first place?”
“Men.” Sherice shrugged. “They like mystery.”
Janie studied the panties. They were undoubtedly the least mysterious item of clothing she’d ever seen.
Bethany swallowed. “Still looks really uncomfortable.”
Sherice shrugged. “It’s not that bad.” The corners of her mouth edged up in a slightly smug smile. “You usually don’t wear them long, anyway.”
Janie fought the impulse to say “Eeeew”.
“Good to know,” Docia muttered, staring at the other bags. “What else you got there?”
Lee appeared with another tray of food. “Oh good, you’re opening the gifts. Anything interesting?”
Docia hurriedly dropped the panties back into the bag. “Not for general inspection, no.”
Janie picked up a plate, checking the contents. “Bruschetta?”
“Close to it.” Lee grinned at her. “Just eat, sweetheart, you look like you need sustenance.” He patted her on the shoulder, then walked back out the door into the dining room.
As soon as Lee was gone, Allie handed Docia another bag. “Try this one.”
Docia reached in and pulled out something that resembled a white satin placemat. “Gee, this looks…intriguing.”
“Oh, hold it up,” Bethany cried. “We can each take a shot at guessing what it is.”
“I
know
what it is. It’s a nightgown,” Allie explained.
Docia’s eyes widened. “Like hell.”
She gave the placemat a shake. It unfolded to reveal two satin panels, attached by three small straps on each side, with two more at the top.
Docia shook her head. “There is no way this will cover me, Allie, not even slightly.”
“Nonsense.” Allie got to her feet, a bit shakily. Apparently, they’d gone through more bottles of wine than Janie had counted. “C’mon, toots, stand up here. I’ll show you.”
Docia stood and Allie held the satin panels in front of her. They extended from the top of her breasts to a couple of inches at the top of her thighs. “See? I told you.”
Docia stared down at her front, the corners of her mouth quirking up slightly. “That’s not an accurate measure.”
“Sure it is.” Allie grinned. “Everything essential is covered.”
“Look, Al, let me put it this way—my cups runneth over.” Docia moved forward slightly so that her breasts pushed against the fabric. It moved up an inch.
“Still,” Allie mused, “you’ve got essential coverage, I tell you.”
“But why bother?” Docia’s eyebrows inched up. “Why wear anything at all?” She sank into her chair again, peering at the satin panels in Allie’s hands.
“Mystery.” Sherice shrugged. “Like I said before.”
“She’s right.” Allie plopped into her chair, staring off at the fireplace. “Sometimes I make yeast rolls at the restaurant.”
“Your yeast rolls are terrific,” Bethany mused. “A life-changing experience.”
“Thanks. Anyway, I make yeast rolls. And then when we serve them we put them in these wicker baskets with a white linen napkin over the top. You can’t see the rolls, just the outlines under the napkins, but you know they’re there.”
“Yeast rolls.” Docia stared at her.
Allie closed her eyes, her voice low and crooning. “All warm and round and smelling like bread. Just under that linen napkin.”
“Yeast rolls.” Docia’s lips began to tremble.
“Yep.” Allie smiled beatifically. “All in the presentation.”
Docia threw her head back and whooped. “Oh, god, yeast rolls.” She put her arm around Bethany’s shoulders.
“Lord yes,” Bethany cried, guffawing, “yeast rolls.”
They both embraced Allie, and the three of them leaned together, laughing so hard that tears rolled down their cheeks.
Janie glanced at Sherice, who was staring at the three women, her face blank.
Sherice raised an eyebrow at her, as she tipped back the last of her wine. “What’s so funny?”
Janie shrugged. “Maybe you had to be there.”
Lars was in marginally better shape after he’d had a couple of burgers. At least his eyes were focused. Pete wondered if he could manage to avoid giving Lars any more beer without being too obvious about it.
The Dew Drop was full of the normal patrons, mostly Konigsburg males, leaning at the bar. Otto Friedrich held up one end, Pete noted, a beer stein clenched in his beefy fist. A few more years spent at the Dew Drop and Otto might find his six-pack transformed into a case.
From the back room, he heard the distant
thonk
of darts hitting the board.
“How’s your game, bro?” Lars stared at a neon Corona sign over the bar.
“Which bro?” Cal was grinning again, but Pete didn’t find it too dismaying at the moment.
“Either. What’s the plural of ‘bro’, anyway? ‘Bros’ sounds like it belongs on a sign or something—Toleffson Bros., Inc.”
“Spoken like an accountant.” Pete took a sip of his Dr. Pepper.
“Are we talking about darts, here?” Wonder put down his stein. “Because I’m not sure anybody at this table is in shape to handle sharp objects.”
“Pete is.” Cal nodded in Pete’s direction. “He’s the designated sober guy.”
Lars began to push himself to his feet. “Darts. Let’s do darts.”
Lars was the one most likely to hit something other than the target, Pete reflected, given the way he was weaving.
Cal put his arm over Lars’s shoulders, steering him toward the back. “Come on, Lars, let’s watch Pete show us all how it’s done.”
In the back room, Ingstrom placed another pitcher on a nearby table. “Okay,” he called to the other men, “everybody stand back. Bachelor party coming through.”
The dart players glanced at the five men wavering in the doorway, then placed the darts on the nearest table and fled to the main room. That struck Pete as a very wise idea.
Wonder picked up three darts and stepped to the throw line.
Horace leaned toward Cal. “Care to place a side bet? I’m saying no darts in the target.”
Cal smiled beatifically. “At least one. He might be better than usual after a couple of pitchers.”
Wonder squinted, then leaned forward, flinging a dart in the general direction of the wall. It lodged around three feet from the target.
“Good thing I cleared everything and everybody off that whole wall,” Ingstrom mused. “You do realize you’re liable for any damages, Toleffson?”
“Right.” Pete leaned back against a pillar, watching Wonder.
His second shot arced high and ended up in the floor a couple feet in front of the throw line.
“Not looking good,” Horace muttered.
“Have faith.” Cal leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head.
Wonder peered at the target, as if he was trying to locate it exactly. Pete thought about suggesting he clean his glasses. Wonder raised his last dart, eyes narrowing. The dart arced through the air and bounced off the target’s outer rim.