Page 92 of Say Yes to the Death

“I will gladly help you. I hope you plugged your studio when they talked to you, at least. This bullshit attention should do someone some good.” It seemed like every time Claire got a note, the press knew about it a day later. But who was telling them? She popped the cork on a bottle of cab sauv and poured a generous amount into two glasses. She handed one to Coli.

“I didn’t speak to them. I don’t even need the extra business. I can’t keep up with the requests that are coming in now.”

“Really? That’s amazing.” Claire took a sip. She was going to need it if she was going to help fold one thousand paper cranes before Nicole’s wedding in the spring.

“I guess. I might need to hire another photographer, or at least a receptionist to manage the appointments.”

“Look at you. The soon-to-be Mrs. Nicole Collins, small business owner, photographer extraordinaire, and totally killing it. I’m so proud,” Claire said and reached over to hug her best friend.

“Enough about me. Who the hell was that guy at your car on field day? Don’t think I forgot about it. I’ve been sensitive to your needs since Luke drop-kicked your heart, but I expect you to be honest with me.”

Shit. Another honesty lecture. Claire had forgotten she hadn’t told Coli what was going on. She really didn’t want to get into the specifics of Barney’s potential network of serial killer friends when she had a mountain of maid of honor duties. Maybe an abbreviated version of the truth would be best.

“That was Jack. My biological father. He wants to have dinner.”

Rosie trotted over, and Claire bent down to pet her.

Nicole’s eyes bulged. “Dinner? Why? And why now?”

“His wife has been bugging him about it.”

“The Whole Foods home-wrecker,” Nicole muttered and took a large sip of wine.

“Apparently, her name is Tanya.” The name was like an ice chip on Claire’s tongue.

“Are you going to do it?”

Claire shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve done just fine without him all these years. I’m not particularly inclined to let him in now just because he broke into my apartment claiming to be in the FBI.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “FBI. I bet. He’s probably dead broke and coming after your money. Or maybe he needs a kidney. And when are people going to stop breaking into your apartment?”

“You know, I ask myself that every day. Maybe I should move. Anyway, should we get started? I don’t think my fine motor skills are going to improve if I keep drinking.”

Nicole waved one hand and drained what was left in her glass. “Who cares? They don’t have to be perfect.”

Claire raised her eyebrows. Nicole stared back. There was silence.

“It’s for your wedding day. They’re going to be perfect.” Claire crossed to her drunk drawer and pulled out a ruler and protractor.

Nicole opened her mouth to speak, but someone knocked on the front door.

Excellent, another visit from an uninvited guest. Claire sighed and pulled a kitchen knife from the butcher block. Who would it be this time? She pressed a button on her security console, and a man she didn’t recognize flickered into view.

Her heart leapt in her chest, and she nearly dropped the knife. Was this the copycat? Would he really be so bold as to ring her doorbell?

She pressed the intercom button. “Who is it?”

“Ma’am, I’m Tom from Chucky’s Custard. I’m here to deliver an order for Claire.”

She and Nicole looked at each other. Chucky’s Custard was Claire’s favorite ice cream place. The only problem was the store was located in Delaware, easily five hours away.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“Order came from a Luke Islestorm and is to be delivered with this note,” the man onscreen said, pushing his glasses down the bridge of his nose to stare at the front of an envelope. He held it up to the camera. “He must have messed up real good.”

And indeed he had. Claire opened the door despite Nicole’s protests. “He paid you to drive ten hours round-trip to deliver me ice cream?”

“He sure did,” the man said, handing her a Styrofoam cooler and an envelope. “There’s dry ice in there, so you be careful. There’s some other feller behind me too.” He jutted a hitchhiker’s thumb over his shoulder.

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