Nice Girls Don't Date Dead Men

Page 12

When Mimi and Jolene got wind of this maneuver, their only logical defense seemed to be moving the wedding up a week without planning to tell Mama Ginger until the last minute. And it would have worked, if Misty Kilgore, whose husband was shooting the wedding photos, had kept her mouth shut in line at the Piggly Wiggly.
Mama Ginger responded with a world-class hissy fit, further exacerbated when she was told that anyone who was not on the original mailing list would be turned away at the McClaines’ gate by large male cousins. This steely-spined response by Mimi McClaine forever secured my loyalty and devotion. Mama Ginger’s countermove was to tell Misty Kilgore that the wedding was off, prompting Mr. Kilgore to rip up the contract and schedule another wedding that weekend. Since there were no local photographers available, it was decided that Jolene’s cousin Scooter, who had a lazy eye and astigmatism, would be taking the pictures. It was safe to say at this point that Jolene had lost all control of the wedding-planning process.
So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to be standing under a guttering neon Budweiser sign wearing a strapless black dress and hair that took an alarming amount of time and pins. Vampires don’t fare well in redneck establishments. There tend to be a lot of easily breakable wooden objects and, well, rednecks. And Eddie Mac’s just happened to be the county’s main supplier of T-shirts showing a cartoon vampire being stomped on by the Statue of Liberty.
“Oh, hello, Jane, honey!” Mama Ginger cried, rushing past Jolene and the recently de-eye-patched Zeb. She wrapped her arms around me in an inescapable viselike grip and swung me around in time to the jukebox’s blaring “Islands in the Stream.” “There’s my girl! How are you?”
“Fine,” I said, smiling politely, even as Jolene’s face fell at this blatant display of favoritism. Behind her back, Mimi sent Mama Ginger a poisonous glare.
“Mr. Lavelle,” I said, smiling politely at Zeb’s father. Floyd Lavelle hadn’t had a civil word for me since I refused to fetch him a beer at a Labor Day barbecue. I was seven, and even then, I didn’t know my place. He grunted in what passed for a greeting and headed for the bar.
“Now, I made my special pimento cheese balls because I remember how much you like them,” Mama Ginger said, pinching my cheek. “You’re so skinny.”
“OK, that hurts,” I said, prying her carmine-tipped pincers from my face. “This is Gabriel. He’s a friend of mine and Zeb’s, oh, and a groomsman.”
Mama Ginger caught sight of our joined hands. Her sharp brown eyes narrowed at Gabriel. She mumbled, “How nice,” and turned on her heels.
Mama Ginger continued to greet her guests, most of whom were bar regulars. Jolene might as well have been furniture for all the attention she was paid. For example, the little banner Mama Ginger had hung simply said, “Congratulations, Zeb,” leaving room for possibilities. To add insult to gastronomical injury, the bar’s “special event package” provided a crock pot of beer weenies, a grocery-store sheet cake, and lots of beer on tap. That was it. For fifty people. Fortunately, Mimi McClaine saw this coming and called in werewolf reinforcements.
Constantly thinking and talking about food is what makes werewolves some of the world’s greatest chefs and restaurateurs. For example, Jolene’s uncle Clay owned one of the best lunch places in town. His personal food philosophy was “Meat, meat, and more meat,” which might explain the shop’s specialty: a sandwich piled high with two pork tenderloins, Black Forest ham, and bacon. Within a half hour, several aunties and uncles arrived with huge platters of cold cuts, barbecue, salads, cupcakes, and cookies, which the bar crowd fell on like hyenas on a fresh zebra carcass.
I sidled up to Mimi, who was watching the proceedings from a very dark corner. Her irises were constricted in a distinctly nonhuman manner. I slipped an arm around her waist, stroking a soothing hand along her spine. “Will you adopt me?”
“Will it piss off Ginger?” she muttered.
I nodded. “Probably.”
“I’m trying to be as patient as possible, but if that witch doesn’t ease up on my baby, I may not be held accountable for my actions.”
We watched as the buffet was moved off Pool Table 3 so Herb Baker’s Friday-night group could proceed with their usual game.
I whispered, “I’ll help you hide the body.”
Mimi winked at me and snuffled my cheek. “You’re a good girl.”
It was at this point, after her third rum and Coke, that Mama Ginger decided to make a toast. Ish. She tinkled a napkin dispenser against the side of her glass to get our attention, which, given the noise level, only worked for those of us with superhearing. Finally, she asked that someone unplug the jukebox. Actually, she told Dick to “unplug that damn thing before I put a foot through it.”
“Now, settle down, you all. Settle down. I have something to say.” She sighed, letting loose what appeared to be a silent belch. “Well, none of us thought this day would come.” She put her arm around Floyd, who was propped up next to her on a bar stool, just this side of pleasantly buzzed, just south of the hostile-outburst zone. “And if anything, we always thought, well, hoped, that Zeb would be marrying Jane.”
The entire room fell silent. Hell, the world stopped spinning. Mimi shot me a mortified look. Jolene turned a sort of pale blue-gray. Zeb seemed oblivious to the fact that his future wife had just been insulted. In fact, he smiled at me and winked, which seemed to make Jolene’s uncles’ faces contort into sock-puppet shapes.
“You know, those two have been friends since they were in preschool. They were always together, always so close. We worried about him being best friends with a girl. I mean, his daddy nearly died when he caught them playing with Cabbage Patch dolls. And Jane never dated anybody for very long. Anybody.”
Dick snorted, earning him an elbow to the ribs from me. Mama Ginger flinched at the sudden movement and wobbled a little against the bar. “We all just assumed she’d give up on other guys and come back to Zeb. Jane wore the prettiest blue dress to the prom. I still have the boutonnière she gave Zeb, pressed in my Bible. I just always thought that Jane would give me the most beautiful grandbabies. They say sometimes it skips a generation …”
Mama Ginger warbled, “We all just love Jane so much. We’ve always said she was the daughter we always wanted. She’s always been a part of the family—”
“But now, we’re just so happy to be welcoming Jolene into that family,” I said in a loud, explicitly cheerful voice.
“Oh, yeah, Joanne,” Mama Ginger said, sobering enough to glance in Jolene’s direction but not, apparently, to get her name right. “She seems like a nice enough girl.”
Jolene watched her future mother-in-law expectantly, waiting for some semblance of a welcome, a compliment. Instead, Mama Ginger smiled brightly and announced, “Well, let’s eat, everybody!”
Jolene’s face fell. I tried to make eye contact, tried to make some sort of connection to show her I was on her side, that being Mama Ginger’s favorite was about as desirable as being the prettiest pig at the fair. But her own mother had wrapped a protective arm around her and ushered her into a quiet corner. I fought against my instincts to soothe and smooth ruffled feathers and backed out of sight toward the back door.
I slammed the door against the chatter and the smoke. I sank against the building, ignoring my natural aversion to touching whatever was growing on the peeled aluminum siding. I cringed as Gabriel poked his head out the door. His look of concern melted into an absurd smile. “This is just—”
“Yeah.” I laughed. He wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my bare arms to ward off the chill. The brisk motion took on a slow circling pattern as I wrapped my fingers around his collar and pulled him toward me. His mouth was so cool and clean and soft on mine, reminding me that there were normal places and people in the world. Normal, at least, by my standards. It was every great kiss you’d ever imagined, only we were surrounded by junker cars and leaning against a molding air-conditioning unit.
I leaned my forehead against his. “I will repay you in unspeakable physical favors if you can erase any trace of this party from my memory.”
“I am intrigued by your offer. Can we discuss a down payment?” He grinned as his fingers danced along my spine, deftly manipulating the zipper. This was a matter of some concern, considering that (a) this wasn’t the kind of dress that allowed foundation garments, and (b) we were sort of out in the open. Released from their chiffon prison, my breasts spilled into his waiting hands.
“Do I look like the kind of girl who would do this sort of thing in a parking lot?” I asked, entering the battle for control of my zipper.
“Dick said you’ve gotten down and dirty in a parking lot.” Gabriel smirked.
“What happened to ignoring and disdaining Dick? Can we go back to that?” I whispered as he pressed me against the wall, pinning me with exquisite pressure. I could hear the ping of hairpins on the pavement as his fingers slid into my carefully arranged updo. Gabriel slipped his free hand under my skirt to tug at my panties. Unable to support me and strip me at the same time, he finally ripped them off my hips.
“You owe me a pair of good black panties,” I told him in mock dismay. My fangs extended, nipping at his bottom lip. He grinned at me, even as the pin drop of blood welled at his mouth. Maybe I am the kind of girl who will get down and dirty in a parking lot.
“I’ll just hold on to these, then,” he said, tucking them into his jacket pocket.
“When can we leave?” I murmured against his lips. “When can I take you home and—”
We both froze as the door swung open and our sensitive eyes were assaulted with light.
“Oh, my!” We turned to see Mama Ginger framed in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. And I was pinned against the wall. And the wreckage of my panties hung from Gabriel’s pocket like a frayed handkerchief.
“Mama Ginger!”
Gabriel set me down on my feet and held out his jacket to hide my efforts to pull up my dress. I burst into helpless giggles as I lost my grip on the bodice and the dress fell—no jokes about having nothing to hold it up, thank you—puddling at my waist.
“This isn’t funny,” Mama Ginger scolded.
“Maybe if I bash my head against something enough times, it will be.” I grunted as I once again secured my chest under my dress.
“Jane, I am ashamed of you!” Mama Ginger cried, pulling me into the doorway. She turned on Gabriel. “And you, I can’t believe you! If you weren’t in the wedding party, I would send you home. Now, you get in there and sit with the rest of the groomsmen.”
Gabriel was truly flustered. “Now see here—”
“I don’t want to see you near Jane for the rest of the night. When I was a girl, nice young men did not paw at young ladies in dirty alleys.”
When she was a young lady, Mama Ginger got cited for mooning a busload of tourists in town for the annual lace-tatting convention. But Gabriel didn’t know that, so he looked appropriately chagrined.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, slinking back into the bar.
“And Jane, you just go on over to the bride’s table and sit down. But first, fix your lipstick. You look like a tramp.” My jaw dropped. “You heard me. Now, scoot!”
When I emerged from the bathroom, feeling far less clean than when I went in, Jolene, Zeb, my vampire friends, and some of Jolene’s uncles were doing shots at the bar. This included Uncle Zane, who sounded a lot like Boomhauer from King of the Hill. The only words you could understand were his curse words. And he cursed a lot. His twin brother, Dane, made a point not to curse, instead using elementary-grade curse substitutes. When I made my preshot toast, “Here’s to heavy security at the wedding,” Zane said something along the lines of “Like that will do any damned good.” Dane told Zane to watch his effing mouth in front of the effing ladies, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Oh, come on, just say the words,” Jolene drawled, patting Dane on the back. “We all know what you’re trying to say, just go ahead, be a man and go for the guessto.”
I chuckled. “Either you’ve had too much punch or I think you mean gusto.”
Zeb snorted as he took another drink. “Well, Jolene’s not exactly a rocket scientist. She also says ‘foo pas’ instead of faux pas and ‘lie-berry’ instead of library.”
Jolene recoiled as if Zeb had slapped her. Zane and Dane looked at Zeb as if they were sure they’d heard him wrong, then abandoned their drinks, returned to the werewolf side of the room, and glared at their nephew-to-be. Even Dick and Gabriel seemed uncomfortable.
Despite the disturbing pallor that had sapped her cheeks, Jolene gave a forced, tinkly little laugh. “It’s a good thing I have smart friends. I think I’ll just get some more punch.”
Zeb rolled his eyes and punched Gabriel’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing she’s got such a pretty face, because there’s not much going on behind it.”
I sent a significant look toward Zeb. He had that hazy, befuddled look on his face again, like someone coming out of anesthesia. He seemed to shake it off, his eyes blinking as he tried to follow Jolene’s path across the room. A brief flash of remorse crossed his features. Then it was replaced by some empty macho smirk. “You might want to go apologize to her.”
Zeb took another drink and crushed the cup in his hand before tossing it over his shoulder. “You’re right. Otherwise, I’ll be paying for it later. Am I right?”