An Excerpt from Shotgun, Wedding, Bells

SHOTGUN,WEDDING, BELLS

(Book #11 in the Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series)

By

Joanna Campbell Slan

 

Chapter 1

 

Our wedding day dawned like a scene from a fairy tale. Frozen rain coated the freshly fallen snow. The glassy surface glistened like a million tiny diamonds. Icicles hanging from the eaves of our house formed natural prisms, casting rainbows across the blanket of white. Sunlight transformed the long dead banks of mums into mounds, like glittering pillows under a white duvet. The scene before us was beautiful, but treacherously slick. This overnight winter storm had paralyzed travel throughout the St. Louis area. All the salt and sand we’d tossed down on the walkways hadn’t done much good.

Our friend Detective Stan Hadcho guided me along the flagstones, by means of a good grip on my elbow. He escorted me from the back door of our house to the gazebo. As we walked, Leighton Haversham, our former landlord and dear friend, snapped photos so I could make a memory album. That’s what I do. I'm a scrapbooker and owner of a store called Time in a Bottle.

At the stairs to the gazebo, I stared up into the smiling faces of the people so dear to me: my newly adopted son, Erik; my daughter, Anya; Erik’s aunt, Lorraine Lauber; our nanny, Bronwyn Macavity; my fiancé, Detective Chandler Louis Detweiler; and of course, our animal friends, my dog Gracie and Lorraine’s dog Paolo. They’d all stood there patiently in the cold, waiting for me to arrive. Detweiler reached down to take my gloved hand so I could step up and join him. His eyes were warm with emotion, and his gaze was steady. Moist clouds of exhalations floated around all our faces, forming gossamer veils of moisture. As we turned to face Lorraine, who would be conducting the ceremony, Detweiler wrapped an arm around my waist.

Correction: A small portion of my waist.

At eight-and-a-half months pregnant, I’m the size of the Goodyear Blimp. Or at least that’s how it feels.

But Detweiler loves me. I’m carrying our baby, and our other two children are happy and healthy. Even though the overnight storm was keeping much of our extended family from joining us today, our wedding would be a joyous event.

Detweiler’s shoulder brushing up against mine, so strong and solid, augured a good start to the rest of our lives. We stood side-by-side, exactly the way we intended to go through life, as friends and lovers.

          "Not too bad for a wedding thrown together in forty-eight hours," he whispered in my ear as Lorraine (aka “Aunt Lori”) opened her prayer book. There was a chuckle in his voice.

I tried not to giggle. Although I have been dreaming about marrying Detweiler ever since I met him nearly three years ago, this day was a long time coming. Even though I kept telling myself that a ceremony was only a formality, deep down I really wanted to wear a wedding band again—as long as it was his! The legalities of our relationship might not matter much to Detweiler and me, but they could matter terribly to our two kids and to the baby who was kicking imaginary field goals inside me. I’d learned the hard way that the legal system can be your best friend and your worst enemy.

          Initially I'd planned for us to get married in the gap between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Detweiler and I had even talked about flying our whole family to Las Vegas and visiting the wedding chapel inside a Denny’s. The kids would have loved that combination, wedding bells and pancakes. But my friend Clancy Whitehead reminded me, "You're eight months along. They don't allow women that pregnant on a plane."

          Oops.

          Who knew?

          So I'd tabled that project, and made a notation on my calendar to revisit our wedding plans after December 25^th. I would have hurried through the holiday season and put the idea out of my head, except for something unsettling that happened to my son.

          My sisters, Amanda and Catherine, had asked if they could spend a Saturday baking cookies with my kids. Of course, I said yes. Anya and Erik were delighted. From the big smiles on their faces, they’d had a wonderful time.

“Look, Mama Kiki,” said Erik, as he offered up a small shopping bag. Inside were two shoeboxes and two Pringles cans filled with yummy treats.

“I’ve got one too.” Anya grinned at me. “We’ll have plenty to share with Aunt Lori and Leighton.”  After thanking my sisters profusely, I hustled my children out to the car.

          My mouth began to water as we were pulling away from the curb of the rental house my sisters share with my mother. The car’s interior smelled wonderfully of butter, sugar, and vanilla. Now and then, I caught a whiff of cinnamon.

Sometimes playing chauffeur is a drag, but there’s an undeniable magic that happens when you’re looking out the front window and your children are in the back seat. Remember Arthur Godfrey? How he said that kids say the darnedest things? Something about car rides encourages that. Especially longish car rides.

We were merging onto the heavy traffic on Highway 40 when Erik explained to me that because Detweiler and I weren't married, our new baby would be a "littermate."

          "A littermate?" I adjusted my rearview mirror so I could look at him. My son’s solemn face stared back at me. His chocolate brown eyes, his mocha-colored skin, and his red hair testified to his biracial heritage. He might not be the child of my womb, but he's certainly the child of my heart. From the moment I set eyes on him, I fell in love with that little boy.

          "A littermate? I don't understand what you mean, sweetie.”

          Anya rolled her eyes and explained, "He means i-l-l-e-g-i-t-i-m-a-t-e."

          It took me a while to put those letters into a word. When I did, I nearly drove off the road. "Uh, Erik, honey? Who was talking to you about the baby being a ...littermate?"

          "Grandma Collins," he said.

          My mother. That paragon of parenthood.

          I gritted my teeth. “That figures.” Although she didn’t know it, my Mom had just moved one step closer to an apartment in assisted living. Mom didn’t know it, but the rental house was going up for sale. My sisters and I had several meetings, trying to decide how to cope with our aging parent. In the end, we decided to wait until after the holidays were over.

          Calling my child "illegitimate" marked a new low, even for her.

          I told myself to shrug it off. To consider the source. But Anya turned her denim blue eyes on me and said, "She's right, Mom."

          "Don't worry," I said. "Detweiler and I still have plenty of time to tie the knot."

          Two hours later, the contractions started.

 

<< To Be Continued >>

 

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Excerpt from Shotgun, Wedding, Bells (Kiki Lowenstein #11)

Excerpt from

SHOTGUN, WEDDING, BELLS

(Book #11 in the Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series)

By Joanna Campbell Slan

Chapter 1

Detective Chandler Louis Detweiler took my hand and helped me up the last step of the gazebo. Standing side-by-side, we faced the minister, our friend Lorraine. I loved feeling of his shoulder against mine, strong and solid, a reminder of the way we intended to live our lives.

          "Not too bad for a wedding thrown together in forty-eight hours," he whispered in my ear.

He was right. I hadn't had much time to plan our wedding, although I had been planning to marry Chad Detweiler ever since I met him nearly three years ago. I kept telling myself that the ceremony was only a formality, but deep down, I wanted to wear a wedding band again. And even if the marriage didn't matter to us—to Detweiler and me—it mattered terribly to our two kids, and to the baby who would make his appearance less than a month from now.

          In fact, one could argue that we'd hurried to the chapel because of the bump in my belly. Initially I'd planned to start working on a ceremony immediately after Christmas, because business would slow down in my retail store. Detweiler and I had even talked about flying our whole family to Las Vegas, until my friend Clancy Whitehead shook her head and said, "Uh, you're eight months along. They don't allow people that pregnant on a plane."

          Oops.

          Who knew?

          So I'd tabled the whole project, noted it in my calendar for revisiting after December 25, and I would have put the idea out of my head, except for something Erik said.

          Have you ever noticed that when riding in the back seat of the car, kids come up with the darnedest things? After I picked five-year-old Erik and his sister, thirteen-year-old Anya, up from the house that my sisters share with my mother, he explained to me that because Detweiler and I weren't married, our son would be a "littermate."

          "A littermate?" I glanced back in the rearview mirror. Erik's solemn face stared at me. His chocolate brown eyes, his mocha-colored skin, and his red hair a testimony to his biracial beginnings. He might not be the child of my womb, but he's certainly the child of my heart. I adore that little boy.

          "I don't understand what you mean, sweetie," I said to him.

          Anya turned from her seat on the passenger side, she rolled her eyes and explained, "He means i-l-l-e-g-i-t-i-m-a-t-e."

          It took me a while to put those letters into a world. When I did, I almost drove off the road. "Uh, Erik, honey? Who was talking to you about the baby being a ...littermate?"

          "Grandma Collins," he said.

          "That figures."

          My mother. That paragon of parenthood.

          I gritted my teeth. That did it. My Mom moved one step closer to an apartment in assisted living. In fact, the only problem with putting her there immediately was financial. Because she'd only recently transferred her assets to my sister, Amanda, any facility that accepted her could access her savings. My sister had been begging my mother for years to transfer her money into Amanda's name. My mother would respond by getting angry and saying, "I'm perfectly capable of handling my own finances. How do I know you won't steal me blind?"

          Over the past year, Mom's physical and mental health had declined dramatically. The three of us siblings—Catharine, Amanda and I—talked at least once a week about what to do next. Not only was Mom meaner than a water moccasin with a sunburned belly, she'd also fallen twice. My sister Catherine ran out for a carton of milk and came back to a fire in the kitchen. Mom had turned on the oven and forgotten about it.

          A peculiar smell emanated from my mother's room. Amanda took her out for lunch, while Catherine and I investigated. We found a small pumpkin shoved in the back of her closet. Since Halloween was nearly three months ago, the pumpkin had not fared well.

          In the area of personal hygiene, Mom was also slipping, fast.

          But this calling my child "illegitmate" marked a new low, even for her.

          I told myself to shrug it off. To consider the source. But Anya turned her denim blue eyes on me and said, "She's right, Mom."

          "Don't worry," I said. "Detweiler and I still have plenty of time to tie the knot."

          Two hours later, the contractions started.

~To Be Continued~

Shotgun, Wedding, Bells will be available for pre-order early January 2015.