“You just never know, Bella,” she said. “A woman always wants to look her best.”
“Well, I’ll look my best tomorrow, I promise. And it’s not like I’m going out for a photo shoot. I’m just going to the Piggly Wiggly.”
“Drive safely, honey. And put on a little bit of lipstick before you go.”
I fought the temptation to say “Yes, ma’am” before hanging up. Instead, I said, “Love you. See you tomorrow.” Before she clicked off, I heard her holler something at my dad. Lovely.
I took off for the store. It was less than five minutes to get there, thank goodness. With only three or four cars in the parking lot, I knew I didn’t have much time. The store would be closing soon.
I came down off my sugar high at about the same time I stepped out of the truck. In my half-asleep state I could hardly remember my own name, let alone what I’d come to the Piggly Wiggly for. I tossed my purse—the one with the broken zipper—into the front of a nearby basket, then headed off to locate . . . ah yes. Almond extract.
The store manager came on the loudspeaker, announcing that the store would be closing in fifteen minutes. Surely I would be back home by then. I hoped.
It took awhile to find the extracts, which had been moved to aisle three instead of their usual place in aisle five. I decided I might as well pick up a few other essentials for tomorrow: some hand lotion, tissues, cushy inserts for my shoes, and eye makeup remover. By now the store manager was flashing the lights on and off.
“I get the point,” I muttered.
I made it to the register, and the clerk—a perky woman I recognized from Full Gospel Chapel in the Pines—waited on me. I pulled items from my cart and tossed them on the conveyer belt, but I found myself distracted by Clayton Deets, who stood directly behind me in line holding a gallon of ice cream. Seriously? Who ate ice cream in December?
I made small talk as I unloaded my stuff. Clayton seemed to be in a pleasant mood.
“That’ll be fifteen dollars and twenty-two cents.” The clerk yawned as she gave me my total.
I continued making small talk as I paid for the goods, then said my goodbyes and walked to the door with my purchases. I’d just stepped outside when the manager stopped me. “Um, ma’am?”
“Yes?” I yawned.
“May I see your receipt, please?”
I’d never had anyone ask for a receipt at a small-town grocery store, but I gave it willingly. Surely the fellow could see that I’d paid for my merchandise.
Or not.
He pointed at the bottle of almond extract sticking out of my purse, then gestured to the clerk, hollering out some sort of code or something.
“Oh, good gravy.” I laughed. “I tossed it in the basket and it must’ve landed in my purse.”
“Mm-hmm.” The manager crossed his arms at his chest. “Stay right there, please.”
“Oh, I can’t stay here, sorry. Let me just pay for this so I can leave.” I scrambled in my purse for some cash. “Darn. I only have two ones in here. Can you take my credit card?”
The lights inside the store went out. “No, we’re closed. But that’s not the point. The point is, you had unpaid merchandise in your purse.”
“By accident. I told you. It could have happened to anyone. Surely you don’t think I would steal a bottle of extract but pay for everything else. That makes no sense.”
“Shoplifting doesn’t make sense, no matter how you explain it. Do you have any idea how much inventory I lose every year, thanks to people like you with sticky fingers?”
“I don’t have sticky fingers, I promise. I’m just tired and distracted. I’m . . .” I saw Clayton off in the distance. Surely he could vouch for me.
“What’s going on?” Clayton asked as he walked my way. “Did we lose something?”
“Caught her red-handed, stealing merchandise.”
“Stealing merchandise?” He shook his head. “But I was standing right behind her. I didn’t see a thing.”
“She was hiding this in her purse.” The manager held up the bottle of extract.
“It was an accident,” I argued. “My zipper is broken on my purse. When I tossed the bottle in the basket it must’ve landed inside the purse. That’s all. I offered to pay for it, but I don’t have enough cash.”
Clayton reached for his wallet. “Maybe I do.” He glanced inside and sighed. “No. Shoot. I spent it all at Bubba’s restaurant for my dinner.”
“This isn’t yours to fix anyway, Clayton,” the store manager said. “You’re not responsible for this. She is.”
Suddenly I heard the sound of sirens approaching. “I’m . . .” Before I could finish my thought, a patrol car pulled into the parking lot. A Montgomery County sheriff got out and walked our way.
Oh. Help.
The officer gazed at me, his brow wrinkled, then turned to face the manager. “What’s going on here, folks? What is this?”
“This is a shoplifter, that’s what it is.” The manager gestured at me. “This lady left the store with unpaid merchandise in her purse.”
“What sort of merchandise are we talking?” the officer asked.
“An expensive bottle of extract.”
“Expensive?” Clayton and I spoke in unison.
“It’s $3.99,” I said.
The officer shrugged, then turned to face the store manager. “Look, I don’t really think we have a case here. Why don’t you let this little lady head on home where she belongs. Looks like she could use a good night’s sleep.”
“Even if I insist on pressing charges?” The fellow crossed his arms at his chest.
“We’re just talking four bucks,” I said. “And I offered to pay for it. The extract accidentally landed in my purse, Officer. See?” I pointed at the broken zipper. “I haven’t been able to get this to shut for days. It’s stuck.”
“Keep your hands out of the purse, ma’am. For all I know, you might have a weapon in there.”
“The only weapon in our world is my son’s pirate sword, and it’s back at the house.”
“Ma’am, don’t open that purse.”
“But it’s already open. That’s the point. I can’t get the zipper to work. It’s broken. That’s how the extract fell in the purse in the first place.” I reached for it again and the officer cleared his throat.
“Don’t. Touch. That. Purse.”
Okay, now he was making me mad. Really, really mad. “But it’s my purse. Surely you don’t think I stole that too.” Maybe it was the exhaustion—I couldn’t say. But no man, uniformed or not, was going to keep a woman from her Gucci handbag.
So I grabbed it.
“Ma’am, please don’t make me take you in.”
“Take me . . . in?” Where exactly would he take me? “But Officer, I’m . . . pregnant.”
“Yes, ma’am. I can see that.”
“And I’m getting married in the morning!”
“Now there’s a likely story.” He busted out laughing.
“No, I’m really getting married in the morning. To D.J. Neeley.”
“Montgomery County’s a big place, but I happen to know D.J. Neeley personally from our college days. He’s been married for years. Lives in Galveston now, from what I’ve been told.”
“Well, yes, that’s true. Technically. But if you’ll call him, he can—” I stopped short, remembering that D.J. and I weren’t supposed to see one another tonight. We’d promised. And I never went back on a promise. “This is just ridiculous. I’ll come back in the morning to pay for the extract.”
“I thought you said you were getting married in the morning,” the store manager said.
“Oh, right.” I yawned. “Well, D.J. and I will stop by on our way out of town after the ceremony. We’ll pay cash. But I have to have this extract tonight or Jasmine will never get the candies made.” I grabbed the grocery bag and took a couple of steps toward my car.
“Lady, I can’t let you take that extract.” The officer shook his head. “Ain’t happening
.”
“But I have to. You don’t want to get between a girl and her chocolate.”
“I have no idea what you mean by that, ma’am, but you have to give the extract back now, or I’ll have no choice but to take you in.”
I rarely let my temper get the best of me, but I simply couldn’t help myself. Blame it on hormones. Blame it on my swollen ankles. I took a couple more steps toward the car, defiant.
“She’s leaving!” the store manager hollered.
Behind me, I heard the click of the officer’s handcuffs. I turned to face him, flabbergasted, and said, “Are. You. Serious?”
“Just doing my job, ma’am. Sorry.” The officer pointed to the backseat of his patrol car, mumbling something about how he’d never live down hauling a pregnant woman off to the pokey. Then he turned his attention back to me. “Looks like we’re headed up to the Montgomery County Sheriff’s Office.”
“You’re arresting me?”
“I’m taking you in for questioning. We’ll sort things out up there.”
I began to tremble as he pointed to the patrol car once again. D.J. would never believe this. Never. Ever.
Thank goodness the officer didn’t handcuff me once I showed him my swollen wrists and ankles. And he didn’t shove me into the car like I’d seen on so many police shows.
As I sat behind the grate that separated the backseat from the front, I couldn’t help but flash back to another time when I’d gone to jail. Brock Benson and I had been arrested together.
Brock Benson! As his name flitted through my brain, I remembered that he and his wife would be at my vow renewal service tomorrow. If I made it home in time, anyway. Brock and I had gotten out of that mess years ago, hadn’t we? I’d get out of this one too.
Surely someone could make sense of this current misunderstanding. Anyone who knew me knew that I wouldn’t rob the Piggly Wiggly. Not in my pajamas, anyway. And certainly not on a night when I’d gone out in public without wearing eye shadow and blush. A mug shot could haunt a girl for life, after all.
Still, they weren’t having it. For whatever reason, the officer was determined to take me in for questioning. And so off to the Montgomery County Sheriff’s Office we went.
23
Silver Threads and Golden Needles
Children are easily influenced, and I always want to do things I can be proud to show my kids someday.
Faith Hill
By the time we arrived at the Montgomery County Sheriff’s Office, I was awash in tears. How in the world could I ever face my friends and family now? After all of our hard work renovating the wedding facility, after all of our designs to help Twila run for mayor, would it all end like this? With the owner of the wedding facility hauled in for questioning? What kind of bride got herself arrested the night before the wedding? And while pregnant, no less?
Okay, so they didn’t exactly arrest me. They took the extract and left me sitting in a chair in the hallway next to an elderly woman who’d apparently had one too many. The poor old gal looked pretty ragged. Then again, I probably looked a little ragged too.
In that moment my mother’s words, “You just never know what might happen, Bella. A lady always needs to be prepared,” ran through my mind. What if the officer decided to take a mug shot? No doubt Mayor Deets would make sure it landed on the front page of the Gazette. At least I had on a bit of lipstick. That brought me some comfort.
And my pajamas.
Oh. Help. For the first time it occurred to me that my decision to go out in public dressed in my nightclothes might come back to haunt me. Not that anyone would blame a seven-and-a-half-month pregnant woman for not wanting to get dressed up to go to the grocery store on the night before her wedding.
The odor coming from the woman in the seat next to me was more than I could bear. My stomach churned. I gave her a quick glance. Her scraggly hair and unkempt clothing—along with the overpowering body odor—let me know that this poor gal had probably been living on the streets.
“Well, howdy.” She stuck out her hand and smiled, revealing two missing teeth near the front of her mouth. “I’m Harriet. And who are you?”
“I’m Bella.”
“Bella.” She nodded. “Looks like you’re carrying quite a load there.”
“Feels like it too. They’re riding low tonight.” I shifted my position in the chair to try to get comfortable.
Harriet chattered on, reminding me of the blue jay outside my window back at the double-wide. I did my best to be polite, but I couldn’t seem to stay focused. Had I really just landed myself at the Montgomery County Sheriff’s Office on the night before my ceremony? And on the night before the grand opening of our new wedding facility? How would I ever live this down?
Deep breath, Bella. Deep breath.
I felt my stomach twist and turn as the aroma from the woman next to me left me nauseated.
Ugh. I closed my eyes and willed myself not to be sick. If only I could breathe through it. On the other hand, breathing was highly overrated, especially in a place like this. I opened my eyes and realized Harriet was standing directly in front of me. I couldn’t help but notice her leathery skin and the tobacco stains on her fingers. The woman reeked of alcohol, but that was the least of my worries. She seemed bent on chatting with me. I’d rather curl up under the covers right about now. After taking a moment to figure out why my back hurt so badly. Had the massage therapist gone too far? Next time I’d skip the hot rocks.
“What are you in for, honey?” Harriet asked. “Can’t even guess.”
“I . . . well, I was falsely accused of stealing something from the Piggly Wiggly.”
“You’re a thief?” she asked. “Don’t really look like one to me.”
I sighed. “Well, I’m not really. Not tonight, anyway. But—and I know you’ll probably think this is funny—I was recently accused of stealing my mother-in-law’s banana pudding recipe and giving it to someone, so there’s that.”
“Did you do it?”
“No. It’s top secret. Earline would never want anyone—”
“Wait! Earline Neeley?” Harriet’s eyes lit up. “Are you talking about Earline Neeley’s banana pudding? I had it years ago at a community event and have never tasted anything that compared since.”
Great. This woman knew my mother-in-law? Now I’d never live this down.
Harriet drew close—so close I could smell the alcohol on her breath. “You. Have. Her. Recipe?”
“I can say in good conscience that I do not. That’s the point of my story, actually. I wasn’t the one who stole it. My husband was. I barely gave it a glance and haven’t seen it since.”
“So your husband’s a thief too?”
“Oh no, ma’am. Not really. He just stole his mama’s recipe.”
“And now you’re being sent up the river for the very same thing? Only, this time it happened at the Piggly Wiggly?” She clucked her tongue. “Well, I always say, ‘You do the crime, you do the time.’”
“But I didn’t commit a crime,” I argued.
“That’s what they all say.”
“It was an accident. I left the store with a bottle of extract in my purse, but there’s a good explanation.”
“There’s always a good explanation.” She chuckled. “What kind of extract are we talking here?”
What does it matter? “Almond.”
“Ooh, I love almond. I used to bake quite a bit in the old days. Almond was one of my favorites. So did you really steal it?”
I sighed. “Well, I walked out without paying for it, so I suppose they have me on a technicality. I was so exhausted, I tossed it into the basket and it landed in my Gucci bag, which was open because the zipper is broken.”
“Gucci, eh? Did you steal that too?”
“Of course not.”
“Why are you so exhausted?” she asked. “From the pregnancy?”
“Well, that, and I’ve been so busy planning for my wedding tomorrow.”
“Wait. You??
?re getting married . . . tomorrow?” Her gaze shifted to my belly. “I’m so confused. I thought you said you had a husband. And a mother-in-law.”
“Right, I do. But I’m still getting married.” A sigh followed on my end. “I know, it makes no sense.” I forced a smile, hoping she wouldn’t ask for any more details.
“Back in my day folks got married first and then had the babies. Guess you young people don’t care about such things anymore.”
“Oh, I care, trust me. And technically I’m already married.”
“Ah.” She waggled her finger in my direction. “So they got you on bigamy charges, then?”
“No, no.” I shook my head. “It’s not like that. I’m not married to two men at once, though frankly, from the way D.J. was acting after he found out that the twins are both girls, he was sort of acting like a total stranger. But the point is, I’m only married to one man. And I’m marrying him again tomorrow. So, one man, two weddings.”
“Now I see. You divorced this man with the dual personalities and then reconciled? I saw that once on As the World Turns. Buster and Meg were married for years but they couldn’t get along, what with Buster’s bipolar disorder, so they divorced. Then they decided they couldn’t live without each other, so they remarried. Is that what you and . . .”
“D.J.”
“Is that what you and D.J. are doing?” she asked. “Patching things up after a split?”
“No. I’ve never been divorced.” Well, not yet, anyway. After tonight, D.J. might just run for the hills. “Too many people these days give up on each other too soon. That’s my take on it, anyway.”
“But if you didn’t divorce your husband and you’re getting married in the morning, then . . .” She shook her head. “I think I’ve had one too many. None of this is making sense to me.”
It wasn’t making much sense to me either, but I certainly couldn’t blame it on alcohol. Sheer exhaustion was making things worse. I should explain about the vow renewal ceremony, but my groggy state had my thoughts in a whirl. I needed to do something to keep myself awake. Alert. I paced the hallway, working from memory to quote the words I’d penned on the scrap of paper in my purse.
“Do you mind if I ask what you’re doing?” Harriet asked.