Going to the Chapel: A Novella (2 page)

It would never happen again.

If not for getting involved with that sexy suspect, Tammy Finley, he would be lead detective by now, hunting
real
criminals. Kidnappers and killers. Doing good in the world as his father had expected him to do.

His father had been a man of honor and had drilled that code into his sons.

Which meant he needed more details about Ray LaPone’s wife. “Tell me about your marriage,” Levi said.

Ray tugged at his tie. The suit he wore looked expensive but slightly too large. Was it secondhand, or had Ray chosen not to have it altered when he bought it? “All you need to know is that we took vows and she broke ’em.”

Levi grimaced, determined to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Maybe his wife had hurt him.

“You mean she had an affair?”

Ray shrugged. “One, two, maybe. While I was working fourteen hours a day to build a nice life for us.” Ray paced, his shiny shoes clicking on the wood floor. “Women are spoiled these days. They don’t appreciate the hard work husbands do to take care of them.”

Ray fished a photograph out of his pocket and shoved it toward Levi. “This is a picture of Izzy the night we celebrated our last anniversary. I took her to this fancy restaurant and forked over a fortune for a hotel.” He pointed to a sparkling blue stone around his wife’s neck. “I even bought her that blue sapphire to show her how much I loved her.” Another photo, of a mansion in Houston, landed on the desk. “And I was planning to buy her this estate. How could a woman not be happy with all that?”

It was impressive. “How long have you been married?”

“Two years.” Ray swallowed, choking on emotion. “I thought we were happy, but . . . apparently nothing I did was enough.”

A pang of sympathy welled inside Levi. The man did sound brokenhearted.

“Did your wife work, Mr. LaPone?” Levi asked.

“Hell no. I mean, Izzy played at this little flea market, selling other people’s junk.” Ray sighed in disgust. “I never understood it. I showered her with gifts and tried to ingratiate us into society, and she went and dug through their garbage like a piece of trash.”

Levi’s gut tightened when he looked at the close-up of the couple. Golden blonde hair framed a heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes were a startling vibrant color, her face angled toward Ray as if she doted on him.

At first glance, she and Ray made a striking couple.

Ray was dressed in a three-piece suit, his hair styled like a
GQ
model’s. And his smile . . . women probably found it charming.

Although in his experience, people who wore shiny coats were usually snakes underneath.

“She’s a looker, isn’t she,” Ray said, as if he was accustomed to men ogling his wife. Maybe he’d married her to have some arm candy to impress his business acquaintances.

“But don’t let her fool you. That sweet-talking mouth of hers can turn sailor on you in a minute. And the lies . . . shrinks have a word for it. Compulsive.” Ray tapped her picture again for emphasis. “You can’t believe a word that comes out of her.”

Levi folded his arms. That part he did understand. Tammy had been hot as hell, too, but she was a pro at bending the truth.

“All right,” he said, deciding he’d take the case for all the men who’d been lied to and betrayed by sexy women like Tammy and Izzy Sassafras LaPone. “Do you have any idea where she’d go?”

Ray ran a hand over his gelled hair, as if to smooth it down. “No. I checked with her two girlfriends here in Texas, and they haven’t seen her.”

“How about family?”

“She had a couple sisters, but she hasn’t spoken to them in years, so I doubt she’d go back to that hole-in-the-wall town in Georgia. She even said it had some cheesy name—Matrimony.”

Still, Levi would check it out. For all he knew, Izzy Sassafras and her sisters could be cohorts, conning men across the states.

“Anyone else?”

A dark expression twisted Ray’s face. “She had an old boyfriend in Abilene.”

Levi pushed a notepad toward Ray. “Write down his name, along with her sisters, her friends’ names, and any men in her life.” Meaning lovers.

Ray grabbed the pad and sank into the chair on the other side of Levi’s desk. Once the man started writing, he didn’t stop for a full ten minutes.

When he finished, he handed Levi the page. Levi’s pulse jumped. Damn—there were a lot of men on that list.

Izzy was done with men, she thought four days later, as she turned onto Main Street. And she definitely intended to drop Ray’s last name. She was a Sassafras and always would be. Still, she was debating the wisdom of coming back to Matrimony.

But when she’d phoned Aunt Dottie, her aunt had said that she’d taken a fall and had to wear a leg brace for a week or two and could use Izzy’s help at home. Especially since Uncle Harry had gone on a men’s retreat, and she was alone.

Izzy rolled up to the
WELCOME
sign for Matrimony and stopped. The wooden post had rotted and broken off since she’d left, the metal sign mangled and dented from where it had been run over multiple times. Just as the state of marriage had been trampled on by cheating, lying spouses.

It sure as heck hadn’t worked out for her.

Men had a way of messing up her life. Just look at Ray.

And Blake Kincaid.

If only she could turn back time . . .

But that was impossible. She had to live with her mistakes and learn from them, as Aunt Dottie would say.

Ten years might have passed, but she wasn’t prepared to face the past just yet—let alone her sisters.

She’d always been the baby sister, the one who messed up. The last thing she wanted was for Daisy and Caroline, who were probably happily married and financially secure with their own careers and/or babies, to see that her life was a big fat bust.

Heck, they’d probably get a kick out of it, say she deserved to be dumped on for chasing after Blake.

She spotted a stray kitten shivering beneath the sign, threw the Beetle into park, and jumped out. Unable to resist any stray, she scooped up the orange fur ball and carried it back to her car.

The kitten curled up in her lap, and she stroked it gently, remembering the psycho cat Daisy had brought home from fat camp.

At fifteen, Daisy had been awkward and shy, and so self-conscious about her curves that she refused to attend any school social functions. When summer came, she’d run from the bathing-suit store at the outlet mall as if bloodhounds were on her heels.

Aunt Dottie had signed her up for the camp as soon as they’d gotten home from the horrendous experience.

A month later, Daisy had returned home, thirty pounds lighter, and had turned her hobby of baking and eating into baking and selling. But Daisy’s self-consciousness had stayed with her like a splinter embedded too deeply to be dug out.

Three years later, when Daisy had graduated and was taking cooking classes, Izzy was a senior, and Caroline was attending cosmetology classes—she’d been a whiz at French braiding Izzy and Daisy’s hair—Blake Kincaid had ridden into town with his sexy swagger and trampled on their lives forever.

The moment Izzy had seen those tight jeans hugging his butt and the way his muscles had bunched when he’d roped a calf, she’d lost her head.

Daisy had baked desserts for a party the town had thrown in Blake’s honor after a personal appearance at the town hall, and the moment Blake had complimented Daisy on her fried pies, Daisy had been lost in love.

Only Izzy had been certain Blake was meant for her and had done everything she could to win his attention. After all, Caroline had her sports trophies and Daisy her culinary awards.

Izzy had nothing but her mama’s bad seed in her. She’d seen the wrong side of Principal Hatchett’s office so many times he’d named a seat in her honor.

Hands suddenly sweaty from the memories, she shifted into gear and drove through town. Was Daisy still mad at her for sending pictures of her at that camp to Blake Kincaid?

The sign for the
Matrimony Gazette
banged against the post in the wind as she drove past.

And then there was Caroline—Caroline, who’d been the soccer star and spelling-bee champ. Caroline, who’d quietly nursed her own infatuation with Blake. Caroline, who’d seduced Blake in the stall at the rodeo.

The night Izzy had snuck into the stable and seen them, she’d cried till she was blue in the face. Later, the anger had set in, and she’d found Caroline’s diary and read her darkest, deepest secrets.

Jealous of Caroline, she’d donated pages of the diary, pages that detailed Caroline’s undying love for Blake, to Miss Nellie’s “Naughty in Matrimony” column.

Had Caroline forgiven her for humiliating her like that?

Had Aunt Dottie?

Tamping down the guilt that grated on her like a bad hemorrhoid, she studied the town as she drove. Christmas lights adorned the storefronts, although the buildings desperately needed paint and remodeling. She coasted through the single stoplight, noting that half the businesses were empty now. The bed-and-breakfast was deserted, the library was gone, and the drugstore no longer boasted homemade malts.

She hadn’t expected Matrimony to have progressed enough to have a gourmet coffee shop, but it looked desolate. No flower shop, no boutiques, no bridal shop, no jewelry store, not even a bakery. Thankfully, Lulabelle’s Diner still stood, although the parking lot was virtually empty.

Even the sheriff’s office looked deserted.

A laugh bubbled in her throat. The town probably hadn’t needed a sheriff after the Sassafras sisters left.

She veered down the side road that led to Aunt Dottie’s Victorian house, her nerves fluttering. Aunt Dottie had been so disappointed in her and her sisters the night of that brawl in the Dairy & Donut Delite that shame filled Izzy.

Of course, she’d lived with shame all her life because of her mother’s incarceration.

The first Sassafras scandal that had rocked the town.

Rule number one:
Stand up straight and tall
, Aunt Dottie had told them.
Act like a lady and people will treat you like one.

Only she and her sisters hadn’t exactly been ladies.

Still, after the fiasco with Blake, she’d been determined to make something respectable of herself. But she’d fallen for the easy way out—guys who paid her compliments and flattered her. Men like Ray, who promised her love and a seat in society.

Her aunt Dottie’s pink Cadillac sat in the drive, her aunt’s only concession to her wilder days.

Two other vehicles were parked beneath the oak trees—a Jeep Wrangler and a minivan.

Maybe Aunt Dottie had called her friends from church to stop by and pray for her because of Izzy’s visit.

The kitten purred, and she cradled it close to her as she parked and climbed out. A cool winter breeze sent the ferns on the wraparound porch swaying and the shutters flapping, making her nostalgic for her childhood days when dreams seemed possible, and she still believed in love and men.

Except for a low light burning upstairs, which was coming from her aunt’s room, the house looked dark. She climbed the steps to the porch, memories flooding her. She and her sisters swinging on the tire swing hanging from the oak tree. Catching lightning bugs in jars, chasing butterflies, and running through the sprinkler. Listening to rock music and daydreaming about what they would do when they left Matrimony as they sat on the porch swing overlooking the yard.

A handmade wreath hung on the front door, garland draped the porch rails, and red bows decorated the windows.

But she didn’t see any twinkling lights through the front window. Hadn’t Aunt Dottie decorated a Christmas tree yet?

She took a deep breath, knocked gently, then let herself in, the familiar scents of home welcoming her: the rosewater-scented candles Aunt Dottie kept in the bathroom, the scent of cinnamon rolls wafting from the kitchen, and pine from the garland on the staircase.

The house seemed eerily quiet as she entered, but she immediately noticed her aunt’s collection of Santas on the table in the entryway and in the den by the fireplace. The antiques, crocheted doilies, and figurines dressed as carolers made her heart tug. And then there was the silver tea service sitting on the tray on the coffee table.

Memories of her aunt teaching her and her sisters how to be a lady over tea and shortbread cookies suffused her.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this place.

Ray had thought collecting Santas and antiques was ridiculous. He’d only wanted showy chrome and glass.

A quick glance in the living room and she did see a tree, although it wasn’t lit and held no ornaments. Aunt Dottie must have injured herself before she could decorate.

Photos of her and Daisy and Caroline lined the wall leading up the steps, documenting their childhood.

Izzy at five learning to ride her bike with Caroline pushing her. Caroline had doctored her boo-boos with princess Band-Aids, let her and Daisy crawl in bed with her after nightmares, helped them buy their first training bras. She’d hand-stitched clothes for their dolls and costumes for the shows Izzy had invented.