Page 78 of Trouble Walked In

A short blonde woman pushed a sign at him that read,Bell Babe 4 Life. “She’s here! Let us in! Let us in!”

“Get off the porch. Now.”

More fans surged up behind her, including one paparazzo Renic thought he recognized from New York.

The man was tall, built like a linebacker, and used to working in a crowd. He dodged around the crazed fans, the camera constantly snapping. He caught sight of Renic and raised his chin. “Dude, you can’t hide her forever. Send her out. Give us something.”

Two servers led the parents of the bride and groom up the steps to the deck. The bridesmaids, each one attached to a groomsman, followed behind them.

Renic stepped in front of the camera and gestured for them to get in the house. “Go, go, go.”

They rushed past him.

The paparazzo tried to follow, but Renic managed to cut him off. “She’s not here. This is private property. The cops are on the way. If you don’t get out now, I’ll make sure you spend the night in jail.”

“There’s no way you’re here and she ain’t,” the paparazzo said. He looked past Renic. “That’s Lizzie Bellamy. Della’s here, and I ain’t leaving until I get the shot. They’re offering top dollar for this one.”

Lizzie ushered more wedding guests through the back door.

Mark and Carter ran past Renic and plunged into what was left of the wedding. Chairs that had been set up in neat rows were now scattered tripping hazards. Twinkle lights fell drunkenly off the bushes and trees. The archway leaned to the left, in danger of falling over.

Renic encountered crazed fans too many times to count, but usually it was outside of an arena or in a parking lot or alleyway. It was easier to group them up and control the situation in those spaces. There were no boundaries to the backyard of the inn. No fence. Nowhere to corral them.

He knew from experience that diehard fans wouldn’t leave until they were convinced Della Bellamy was somewhere else. He swore several choice words as he continued to shove back anyone who looked underdressed. He’d lost sight of the second paparazzo, which worried him.

Lizzie tapped his shoulder. “The last two are coming now.”

Mark and Carter plowed through the cardboard-waving fiends with two younger women in their wake. One limped while the other supported her, and both looked shell-shocked.

Renic waited for them to pass, then backed toward the door, keeping himself between the mob and the house. The crowd sensed the end was near and pushed forward, led by the cameraman.

Lizzie grabbed his shoulder. “They’re in. Come on.”

Renic tripped backward into the house, guided by Lizzie’s hand. She slammed the door shut and locked it behind him.

The paparazzo pressed his camera lens to the window, while several fans beat at the door and cried for Della.

Carrie pulled the curtains closed to a chorus of outraged shouts from outside. “You better clear out. The cops are coming to arrest every single one of you.”

Wedding guests and servers packed the hallway. Everyone looked stunned and confused. Voices rose inside as they all started to talk at once.

Beside him, Lizzie panted like she’d run a race. Her hair had fallen out of the careful bun she’d styled it in, and her jacket pocket looked ripped. “Jesus. Oh, sweet Jesus.”

He squeezed her arm. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I’m okay. I think. Is anybody hurt?”

He realized she wasn’t talking to him, but to her team via her headset.

A woman in the crowd somewhere called out, “Hey! Is it true? Is Della Bellamy really here? Are you related to her?”

“Her name’s Lizzie. She’sthatBellamy?” someone else asked.

Renic grimaced. Before he could decide whether to confess or keep up the lie and hope Della didn’t wander downstairs, Lizzie called out, “Is anyone hurt?”

She watched the crowd, ignoring the shouts from outside the door.

“I twisted my ankle,” a young voice on the left said.

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