Page 37 of Faking I Do
While I sorted through boxes and bins of silk flowers, garlands, and greenery, I couldn’t help but think about the predicament I’d stuck myself in. If I didn’t come through for Adeline’s wedding, I might as well kiss any hope of success goodbye. Adeline wasn’t the kind of woman who believed in doling out second chances. She expected 120 percent effort all the time. If a single thing went wrong, no matter how well the rest of the event went, it would shroud the evening in failure. I took in a gulp of air and forced it down, past the tightness in my chest.
As I opened another box, a crash sounded from the other side of the warehouse. “Bodie? Are you okay?”
Shotgun barked. Bodie yelled something I couldn’t make out, and I took off in that direction.
I rounded a set of shelves to find Shotgun and Bodie engaged in a game of tug-of-war. Bodie crouched down, his hands wrapped around something Shotgun held in her mouth.
“What’s going on?”
Bodie looked up, letting go of his grip. “Damn dog knocked over a box of breakables.”
My gaze passed over the chunks of white ceramic scattered all over the floor. “What was it?”
“It was a box of beavers.” He stretched his hands to the sides, nodding toward the mix of cardboard and packing peanuts spilling over the floor in front of him. “Shotgun wouldn’t leave it alone. She jumped up and knocked it off the shelf.”
I nudged the mess with the toe of my boot. “Are they all broken?”
Bodie knelt down and sifted through the packing material. “What the hell?”
“What?” I squatted next to him.
He lifted up the remains of a bucktoothed beaver figurine. Something long and brown stuck up from the center. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
I squinted, trying to see what Bodie must be seeing. “What is it?”
“I think we just figured out why my dad and pops were so eager to get their hands on your beavers.”
“Excuse me?”
Bodie made eye contact, looking like he’d just realized where we were and who squatted down next to him. “Sorry, I mean the beaver figurines. Do you know what this is?”
I squinted again as I shook my head. “No. Are you going to tell me?”
He let the beaver’s bottom drop to the floor and held the bundle in front of me. “This makes so much sense now.”
Impatience was getting the best of me. I clamped my hands to my hips as I stood. “I’m glad you’ve figured out what’s going on. Now, do you want to enlighten me? Please?”
Still squatting, he had to look up to meet my eyes. “Have you ever seen my dad without a cigar in his mouth?”
I nibbled on my lower lip as I considered the question. “No, I can’t say that I have.”
As Bodie stood, he handed me the bundle. “Any idea what kind of cigars my dad likes to smoke?” At my blank stare, he rolled his eyes. “Cubans.”
I shrugged. “So?”
I still didn’t get it. Bodie wanted to grab me by the shoulders and shake some sense into me. Not in a creepy way. In a “come on girl, get with the program” way. “It’s illegal to import Cuban cigars into the States for commercial purposes, Mayor Cherish.”
Finally, a hint of understanding lit my gaze. “You mean your dad and pops were using the import business as a front to illegally import them?”
“I don’t know, but I’d say we’ve got some irrefutable evidence here.” He leaned over, digging through the box of broken beavers. Every single one of them had a bundle of cigars tucked inside. “How many boxes of beavers do you have?”
I looked up at the shelf towering above me. “All the boxes on this shelving unit. Plus some more against the wall over there.”
Bodie put his hand to his temple as he shook his head. “No wonder they wanted them back. There’s got to be thousands of dollars’ worth of cigars here.”
“So what are you waiting for?” I tossed another bundle onto the heap.
“What do you mean?”
