TURTLE DOVE (Alton Rhode Mysteries Book 7) (4 page)

CHAPTER 4 - HOOKER BRIDESMAIDS

I had hoped to sleep in the next morning, but Alice had other plans. Those plans included something called “cardio-tennis’, which did not sound very promising for someone, like me, who was nursing a mild hangover. Alice had looked her usual chipper self when she bounded into our bedroom decked out in a white tennis outfit and batting a racket against her hand. She was wearing a light-blue bandana around her forehead.

“Let’s go, sleepyhead,” she said.

“I didn’t bring a tennis racket,” I said hopefully.

“I’ve arranged one for you with Jeff. There’s coffee and juice in the kitchen. Please hurry up, we have a 9 AM game. It will be fun. It will get the cobwebs out.”

The next thing I knew I was riding a bike, rather unsteadily, to the tennis facility at the club, where we joined a group of tennis buffs awaiting the lesson. Half of them were bouncing up and down on their feet in anxious anticipation. I did not take that as a hopeful sign.

Jeff turned out to be a tanned tennis instructor of almost limitless enthusiasm, similar to that of the Japanese guards who forced their prisoners to build the Bridge over the River Kwai. He had the group — 20 of us — break down into teams of two. Then, he stood near the net and hit a ball to one team, which then played it across to another until one team won the point. That seemed simple enough. Except that the winning team then was required to sprint, at full speed, to the other side of the court to face a fresh pair. There were soon no fresh pairs, since after about 15 minutes everyone had sprinted around the court at least twice. This went on, nonstop, for a solid hour. Jeff, who barely moved, looked cool and collected. He kept up a steady patter of encouragement, urging us on to faster court changes, and alternating his serves with line drives and drop shots, just to keep us on our toes, or in my case, occasionally flat on my face.

It was hot, and we were soon all soaked with perspiration. I surveyed our little band. I appeared to be the oldest in a group that had several teen-agers, who, though dripping with sweat, were having a swell time. I did not see any senior citizens. I presume they would have to rename the lesson “cardiac-tennis” for that age group.

I’m in pretty good shape. I run, swim and work out regularly at the gym. But after about 10 minutes I was seriously thinking about killing Jeff. The cobwebs had been replaced by spots drifting in my vision, some of which resembled tennis balls.

“What are you swinging at?” Alice said at one point after we were trounced in an early game.

But plenty of water and Gatorade was available and I soon got my legs. Alice and I began winning more than we were losing and by the end of the lesson Jeff praised us as one of the better teams. But I noticed that no one was bouncing up and down on their feet anymore, and I still wanted to find out where he lived so I could kill him later.

Afterward, we went up to a small terrace that had a serving bar and we ordered banana-and-strawberry smoothies. I’m not a fan of smoothies, but I think the one I had saved my life. Then we rode our bikes back to the condo to shower. The rehearsal party for the wedding was scheduled for 7 PM. Alice’s plan for the rest of the day included shopping in the trendy boutiques in the marina area, lunch and then a long, languorous afternoon on the beach. I liked that plan. After cardio-tennis, anything short of the Bataan Death March would be welcome. I’m sure that was Alice’s intention. Torture me first, then I’d be putty in her hands.

I might have felt used, but since she asked me to shower with her, I decided not to hold a grudge. Especially after she asked me to lather her up.

***

It was going to be a beach wedding, but since the chairs and other equipment wouldn’t be set up until the next day, the wedding party went through its paces inside the Shoals Club prior to the rehearsal party. Barry was Jewish and had brought along his own rabbi, who happened to be a college chum of his. The guy was single, had long flowing hair and spent much of his time hitting on two of Laurene’s bridesmaids. There were six bridesmaids in all, two of whom were Barry’s married sisters. Two were women she had met while traveling in Barry’s circle and two, the ones the rabbi paid the most attention to, were from her former life as a paid escort.

“I wonder what Rabbi Klein would say if he knew Wabiba and Annette are hookers,” Laurene said to me at one point.

“I don’t think it would matter,” I replied. “They are knockouts.”

“I think it is quite fitting, Alton. You know what they say. Marriage is just another form of prostitution.”

“You can’t kid a kidder, Laurene. You and Barry don’t need each other’s money and don’t care a fig for the past. You’re in love.”

“What about you and Alice? Gonna get hitched?”

“Subject hasn’t come up. She’s just starting her career in the Ivy’s, at Barnard. I’ve got nothing against the institution. Marriage, I mean. But we have time. We’ll see what happens.”

“She’d be a fool to let you go,” Laurene said with conviction. “And vice versa. She knows that I’ve tried to bop you, and still treats me like a princess. That’s special. Even though she knows you’re more of a father figure now.”

“Ouch.”

“Uncle figure?”

“Please stop.”

Laurene laughed.      

“Do you remember that time you slapped some sense into me in the hotel room, right after I tried to seduce you?”

I felt my face becoming red with shame.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Laurene put her arm through mine.

“You would have been within your rights to chuck me out the goddamn window. And you apologized right away, and then made sure I was protected, even after I almost got you killed. That’s when I knew I had to get out of the business.” She gave me a crafty smile. “When I put away enough money, of course. No use rushing into things.”

“You were always a practical sort,” I said.

Alice walked over to join us.

“What are you two laughing about?”

“Old times,” I said.

“We loved your gift,” Laurene said. “A Baccarat vase. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I usually try to avoid wedding gifts that can later be used as a murder weapon,” I said, “but in this instance I’m not worried.”

“The Rahms sent a gift, too,” Laurene said. “A beautiful antique silver and ceramic samovar. With a nice note wishing us the best. Like your gift, it went to Barry’s apartment. I guess you gave them the address.”

“I didn’t. But the Rahms have their ways of finding out things.”   

“I don’t think even Ashleigh Harper could write a book about all this,” Alice said. “It’s too weird.”

“That reminds me,” Laurene said, “Barry says you are all set for the luncheon on Sunday. Your names will be at the door and if anyone gives you a hard time, just drop the name of the guy who works for him.”

“Godfrey Benedetto.”

“That’s the guy. He has some serious juice with those publishing dudes.”

***

I behaved myself at the rehearsal party, which I glumly took as a sign of either age or common sense, maybe both.  And I spent the next morning at the beach with Alice before going over to one of the three houses Barry rented and picking up my tux.

At 1 PM sharp I walked Laurene Robillard down the aisle between rows of lawn chairs on hard-packed sand. Barry Lewinsohn stood proudly next to his Rabbi buddy, and they were flanked by the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Some of the latter looked a little worse for wear. Rehearsal parties that include call girls can do that.

All the groomsmen were decked in off-white tuxedos, as were Barry and I. It’s not my favorite color. But it also was not my wedding. The bridesmaids wore classy strapless pink dresses that looked more like ball gowns than anything else. That was a relief. I’ve seen bridesmaid dresses that must have been designed by the  Amish.

“You look gorgeous,” I said to Laurene as we neared the lattice arch under which the ceremony would be performed.

She did. Her Vera Wang beaded sheath clung to her and she was radiant.

“I feel like a hypocrite wearing white,” she whispered.

“Why? It’s not Labor Day yet.”

She squeezed my arm in appreciation of my gallant remark. What I wanted to say was that she was now as pure a soul as I knew.  

When we reached Barry I noticed Rabbi Klein, whose eyes were slightly bloodshot, glancing surreptitiously at Wabiba the bridesmaid, who looked like a Nubian princess. She winked at him and he blushed slightly. I wondered if he’d gotten a freebie.

I kissed Laurene and handed her over to Barry, then went and sat with Alice, who patted my hand and said, “Nice job.”

It was a lovely day. No bugs, warm with a slight breeze and blue sky. I was pretty sure that if it were my wedding, a Category 3 storm would be raging. The ceremony was brief and the Rabbi did not fall over. The happy couple stepped on the traditional glass and then we went inside for the reception.

I had a good time and even danced.

CHAPTER 5 - UNCLE ALTON

The luncheon reception for Ashleigh Harper was scheduled for 1 PM in one of the smaller dining rooms at the Shoals Club. Alice and I joined a line waiting to enter the room. There was a table set up just outside the door, where a young woman was checking people in. She had a name tag identifying her as an employee of the publisher, Albatross House. A burly man in an ill-fitting suit stood behind the table, looking stern.

A young girl was walking down the line speaking to everyone in turn. She finally reached us.

“Sir, I don’t suppose you have an extra ticket, do you?”

She was a cute, polite kid, brown hair pulled back tight in a bun. Her most startling feature were her big blue eyes, set wide apart under a high forehead. An upturned nose and smallish chin completed a look that reminded me of someone. She was dressed very conservatively in a skirt and light gray sweater. 

“We don’t have any tickets at all,” I said. “Someone hopefully left our name at the door. You’re not invited?”

“No. I go to the Carolina College of Christian Studies in Fayetteville. I heard about this reception and drove down hoping to get in. I’m writing a paper on
To
Bury a Turtledove
and its relevance to today’s Christians.”

With that, she moved down the line.

“Nice kid,” Alice said. “Kind of reminds me of Ellen Page. I hope she can get in.”

“That’s who I was thinking of,” I said. “The girl from
Juno
.”

“Great movie,” Alice said.

“She’ll need a miracle to get into this thing. They had less security for the Pope.”

“Don’t be irreverent.”

We reached the table and I gave our names. The women checked a list.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Rhode. Mr. Benedetto called about you. He also told me to give you these. He didn’t want you to have to buy them.” She reached into a box and handed us two copies of
The Lighthouse Chronicles.
“I hope you enjoy the reception.”

I thanked the woman and Alice and I walked into the room. I nodded at the man standing by the door, who merely glared at me. Probably security. The room looked like it sat perhaps a hundred people, arranged in tables of 10 in front of a small dais. There were a few empty seats at the tables near the door, which suited me fine. I dislike sitting at the front of anything, especially receptions. Most of them bore me, and I like the option of a quick exit. Alice knows of my predilection and gladly puts up with it. Unlike most beautiful women, who want to be noticed and thus sit in front of any gathering, she is content to listen and learn. It’s the teacher in her.

We grabbed the last two seats at one of the tables. I was eying the fruit cup, which looked fresh, could smell the basket of bread, always a good sign. Perhaps this wouldn’t be too bad. Alice was chatting with a couple on our left, when I heard a man’s voice at the door.

“Get lost, sister,” he said loudly.

I turned and saw the security guy holding the arm of the young girl who had approached us for tickets. He was shoving her away, none too gently. The Albatross woman at the check-in table looked distressed. There was no one else in line and I assumed that the girl had waited until the very end to see if she could get into the room. She looked to be on the verge of tears.

“Please, sir, you are hurting my arm,” the girl said. “I only asked if I could speak to someone about buying an extra ticket.”

The ruckus had attracted Alice’s attention.

“Alton!”

I knew that tone. Rhode to the rescue! I got up and walked over.

“What’s the problem here?”

The man looked at me.

“No problem, chum. This broad is trying to crash the reception.”

The “chum” was enough to set my teeth on edge, but I decided that making a scene was not going to help the girl.

So I calmly said, “You might want to take your hand off my niece.”

That threw him for a loop.

“Your niece?”

“Your hand?”

He let her go. She stared at me, wide-eyed. The Albatross employee, seeing a possible out from a nasty situation, said, “I didn’t know your niece was coming, Mr. Rhode. She’s not on the list.”

I gave her my best smile.

“A miscommunication. When I told Godfrey I needed tickets, I assumed he knew my niece was staying with us.”

Just then, another woman walked over to our little group.

“What’s the problem, Leonard.”

The security man sputtered, “This bro …, I mean this lady doesn’t have a ticket. I didn’t know she was related to this guy.”

He pointed at me. The woman turned to me.

“And you are?”

“Alton Rhode.”

“He is a friend of Mr. Benedetto,” the check-in lady said helpfully. “He called to make sure they could get into the luncheon. But he forgot to tell us about Mr. Rhode’s niece.”

“He also forgot to tell you to reserve a book for her,” I said archly.

“We’ll certainly get her a copy, Mr. Rhode,” the new woman said. “And, of course, your niece is most welcome.”

She gave the security man a withering look and then led us into the room.

“I’m Alexandra Nidus.” She extended her hand. “I am Ashleigh Harper’s attorney and adviser. I am sorry about what just happened. But Ashleigh is very fragile, both emotionally and physically. We try to keep these sorts of events to a minimum, and manageable. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

“Of course. But perhaps you should have a word with the security service you employ. The man at the door is a little rough around the edges.”

She smiled. It was a good smile. In fact, Alexandra Nidus was a good-looking woman. Tall and rangy, with lush red hair that fell to her shoulders and a face that, while not traditionally pretty, was nevertheless arresting. She also reminded me of someone, but again I couldn’t come up with a name. She was wearing a plum-colored three-button pants suit that accentuated her long legs. Her hazel eyes were startling.

“Oh, Leonard is not really a security man. I’m afraid he’s like a fish out of water at these things. Not surprising, really, since he is mainly a charter boat captain who also helps me out from time to time at Miss Harper’s house. I have an office there and spend a lot of time seeing to her needs. But I’ll talk to him.” She put her hand on my arm. “I would appreciate it if our little contretemps did not get back to Mr. Benedetto.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Nidus. He won’t hear a word from me.”

“Thank you. I’ll have that extra book brought over to your niece. And please call me Sandy. Everyone else does.”

I offered my seat to my “niece” but she said she would be fine and found a spot at another table.

“That was nicely done,” Alice said when I sat back down, “Uncle Alton.”

“A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man.”

Alice looked at me.

“Don Corleone, in
The Godfather
,” I said. “Can you pass the rolls?”