Page 103 of A Dead End Wedding

He waved me off as he turned and walked toward his car. "Don't worry about it, December. Just keep Celia out of this heat. Knowing her, she'll try to lug boxes."

Celia looked offended. "Really! Although, some of those smaller ones look like something I could lift, dear. Do you want?—"

"No! I mean, no, thank you. Please come inside." There's no way I'm letting my aunt hump boxes in June heat.

Of course, I didn't much want to do it myself, either.

My cell phone rang as I unlocked the office door, and I waved Aunt Celia in and stopped at the doorway. Caller ID said Max. "Hey, Max. What are you doing up this early?"

"I didn't sleep much last night. Kept seeing wild, paint-brandishing thugs in the shadows. I finally turned on all the lights and slept on the couch. How about you?"

"I took cold medicine. Slept fine, but I had a tough time waking up when 'Dentist Brill' called to tell me that our parking lot was being overrun by boxes."

"What? What's that about? And I don't like that man. My brother's wife's cousin's aunt Margaret had some work by him, and her gums have never been the same since."

I rolled my eyes. "Small world, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. I know it's Saturday, and this is a terrible imposition, but any chance you can come down and help me figure out how I'm going to fit ninety-six boxes in our office, much less organize them?"

"WHAT?" For an ex-beauty queen, Max has got some lungs on her.

"Hey! That was my eardrum. Yeah, Langley Cowan dumped ninety-six boxes of what is probably our overdue discovery in our parking lot at seven o'clock on a Saturday morning. Sound sporting to you?"

I heard sputtering noises from her end. "Max? What's going on?"

"Oh, sorry. I said some bad words, and I didn't want you to hear."

"Ah. The southern upbringing. I keep forgetting. You're going to say 'Bless his heart' any minute, aren't you?"

"No! And yes, I'll be right down. I'll bring donuts," she said.

"Blessyourheart," I said fervently. "It's going to be a long day."

She sighed. "Long hours and low pay. This is my dream job." Before I could apologize, or offer her a raise, or start sniffling and throw myself on her mercy, she hung up.

At least she didn't slam the phone in my ear. I'd count that as a win.

December: One.

Life: Four hundred and eighty-two.

I flipped my phone shut and walked inside to find Aunt Celia ensconced at the reception desk, with the office phone at her left ear and her cell phone at her right.

Naturally, I eavesdropped on the one-sided — well, two-sided — conversations.

"No, no, no. Stella already said tuna casserole. How about sweet potato pie?" she said into her cell phone.

She nodded and made a note on a sheet of paper, then held the cell phone a couple of inches away from her ear and spoke into the office phone. "Right. How about you for rolls? Nathan will do cold cuts."

Since it sounded like she was busy organizing some potluck dinner for the senior center, and that could take hours, I headed back to my office to call Langley. Five minutes and three "will you hold while I transfer you's" later, I finally heard his smarmy voice.

"Addison Langley."

"Interesting choice for document production, Mr. Langley. Not very sporting of you, though, was it?" I said, using my most syrupy voice.

There was a pause, probably while he decided whether to pretend he didn't know it was me.

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