California Schemin' - Kate George [87]
The feeling that I was missing something persisted through the ceremony. As the minister made the usual introduction of the newly married couple, I considered skipping the reception. No point in taking my sulky face to a party. I was looking for the best way to escape the crowd at the front of the church when Miles joined me.
“You have to come to the reception, you know. You’re Steve’s oldest friend. Actually, I’m kind of surprised he didn’t ask you to be the best man.”
“Very funny. Do I have to go to the reception? I’m really not in the mood.”
“You’re just feeling self-conscious because you don’t have a date. Why don’t you ride over with me? That way, you can sit with me.”
“I thought you were with the wedding party.”
“Nah, I’m just an usher. Tom’s the best man. Come on.”
Miles grabbed my arm and pulled me over to his truck.
“Get in.”
I was just about to jump in when I remembered the cat food.
“You go on ahead. I’ve got to get some cat food, or Stripes will start spraying the house again.”
“You’ve got a cat named Stripes?”
“No, a skunk. It’s a long story, and I’ll tell it to you at the reception. If I get cat food now, I can put it in Max’s truck, and he’ll drop it at the house for me.”
I trotted across the green and into the little market. It took me less than three minutes to grab the cat food and pay. The truck was where we left it before the wedding, so I dropped the cat food on the seat and went looking for Max. I stepped between two cars parked on the street and waited for a car to pass before I crossed, but instead of going by, it slowed, then stopped in front of me. Before I figured out who was in it, the window slid down, and I could see a gun pointing directly at my heart.
“Get in the car.”
It was Wallace. So the senator wasn’t in Mexico. His voice was as smooth as when he was trying to convince me to accuse innocent men of murder. Well, maybe not innocent, but not guilty of killing his wife. The gun shook in his hand. I opened the door and got in before I ended up with an extra hole in my body.
When Senator Wallace drove into my drive, Stripes was standing on the edge of the yard waiting for dinner. Wallace gunned the engine and aimed for the skunk.
“No!” I lurched sideways and shoved Wallace’s arm to the left. The car swerved, and I couldn’t tell if Stripes had been hit, but I didn’t smell the telltale odor that accompanied the death of a skunk. Wallace slammed on the brakes, and I darted out of the car and up the front steps. Stripes was also moving toward the house on a collision course with the dogs who had come tearing around the back of the house, barking like mad.
“Annie, no! Go back!” But Annie was having no part of it. She raced past Stripes and up the steps to jump on me. Ranger and Hank ignored the skunk as well, but Diesel had to stop for a sniff. I rushed to open the door and herd the other dogs into the kitchen before Stripes blasted him. I slammed and locked the door. Horrified, I watched as the dog touched noses with the skunk, but nothing happened. They stood there nose to nose, Diesel’s hind end going like crazy. I swear Stripes lifted his head and kissed the dog.
That’s when the senator, who had finally extracted himself from the car, came storming up the walk. As he reached the animals, Diesel turned and growled, the hair along his back standing up in a brindle Mohawk. Wallace bent his knee and kicked Diesel hard under his jaw. Diesel yelped and made for the house, his tail between his legs.
I opened the door to let Diesel in, and as I slammed it shut I heard the senator yell. I looked out to see Stripes, tail high, back end in the air, giving the man all he had. Wallace stood frozen, hands over his mouth, absolute disgust in his eyes, which were running with tears like there was no tomorrow.
“That’s it!” he yelled. “I’m taking care of this once and for all!” He kicked out at Stripes, who trotted out of range, and stomped over to the car.