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your mother-in-law?” Corinne teased him.
“Oh, she’s fine. But she and Elizabeth really set each other off.” He frowned, resisting an unwelcome thought. “I guess they’re both pretty strong-willed. So’s her father. I don’t think he approves of us getting married.”
Corinne seized his arm in that melodramatic way she had. “Don’t worry about other people, Paul! If you truly love someone, that’s forever. No one can stand in your way.”
Paul, taken aback by these greeting-card sentiments, said, “Um, thanks. Carnegie, you up for dinner?”
I hesitated. I was so damn tired, but I knew there was nothing edible back at the houseboat. Starve a fever, feed a hangover, right?
“Sure, why not?”
“Great. There’s a sushi place up the block.”
“Well, maybe not sushi…”
We ended up having Chinese, which in my case meant lots of rice, a few pea pods, and careful sips of tea. I was off Pinot Noir for life. Corinne ate her own dinner and most of mine, chattering away about how nice it was to see Tommy. She had certainly rebounded quickly from her fear of Lester Foy
“Now what was that policeman for?” she asked, popping one last sweet-and-sour shrimp between her lips. “I didn’t say anything, in case Tommy was under arrest for drunk driving or something embarrassing like that. Are y’all going to eat your fortune cookies?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself,” said Paul, and he didn’t mean the cookies. “My guess is that Tommy saw something at the Aquarium, so he’s a murder witness and they’re protecting him. What do you think, Carnegie? You were there yourself that night. Afterwards, anyway.”
Corinne gazed at me, her blue eyes round and spooked, a glistening dab of shrimp sauce on her chin. “That’s right, you were. Did Tommy see that tattooed man, do you think? Or did you?”
“Well, I wasn’t supposed to talk about it, but now that he’s been arrested, I guess it doesn’t matter.” I was suddenly exhausted, and sick of the whole dreary business. “But this is off the record, Paul, OK?”
“Swear to God. So tell us, did Tommy see the killer?”
“I think so. Once his memory comes back—if it ever does— his testimony could nail down the case against Lester Foy But I’m sure they’ll charge Foy anyway. Someone must have spotted him at Angela’s building.”
“Even if they didn’t,” Paul said, “he showed up at your houseboat! Why would he do that if he wasn’t stalking all of you?”
Why, indeed? It occurred to me, disconcertingly, that Foy could always claim that he only came to my house because of Juice’s phone call. But no, Graham would find more evidence, now that he had his man. I’d done part of his job for him—with a little help from the Buckmeisters—and now he could do the rest.
“The important thing,” I said to Corinne, as we parted ways in front of the restaurant, “is that Lester Foy is in jail, and we can all concentrate on the wedding. We’re safe now.”
“That’s right,” she replied, buttoning up her raincoat for the solitary walk back to her car. “We’re safe now.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE FINAL DAYS BEFORE A MAJOR WEDDING HAVE A HEAD-LONG momentum that can be nerve-racking, but also a hell of a lot of fun, an adrenaline high. I started this particular final lap by going straight home from the Chinese restaurant, calling Lily for a cathartic conversation about my escape from Lester Foy and then sleeping like a baby with a clear conscience until nine o’clock Wednesday morning. It felt wonderful
On Wednesday, with the help of Eddie and his magic software, I threw myself into the final preparations for Lamott/Wheeler. As usual, we had a slew of little snags and surprises, but after the recent horrors, they seemed pleasantly mundane. The wedding announcements, for example. To be strictly proper, announcements should be postmarked on the wedding date itself. Elizabeth might be wearing an unorthodox gown, but she wanted propriety elsewhere, so I had lined up a calligrapher for the envelopes well ahead of time. Fran was a single mom who worked at home, using a spare bedroom as an office.
Unfortunately, Fran’s oldest daughter chose this particular week to learn how to operate a doorknob. Result: A through L tipped over on the floor (mussed but salvageable), and M through Z smeared with peanut butter (a total loss). There was nothing else for it; I swallowed my pride and called Dorothy Fenner.
“The other calligraphers on my list are busy doing holiday invitations, but I was hoping you could—”
“Why, Carnegie, I’m always here to