Wedding Woes Read online

  “Yesterday you told me to keep them,” Alex said. “So you wouldn’t forget.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Winston had had enough to worry about without carrying the rings. Besides, that was a best man’s duty, right? “Great, where are they?”

  “Er, somewhere in the house. I’ll find them before tomorrow, I swear. And in the meantime, I did you one better.” Alex nudged Winston in the ribs with his elbow before pulling out two Ring Pops.

  Winston stifled a groan.

  “Hey, it’s even better this way. The real ones are probably on my dresser, safe and sound. Use these for practice.”

  Winston took the candy. To Kristy’s credit, she didn’t bat an eyelash at the substitution. They continued on with the exchange of vows. Winston and Kristy had chosen to follow the standard repetition of stock phrases. He again stared into her enchanting eyes, the variations of brown drawing him in and centering him. Everything would be all right with Kristy by his side.

  And that’s when the ragtag bunch stumbled in. A group of nine Asians, ranging in age, came forward.

  “Ni doh?” the elderly patriarch asked, glancing around the clearing. Dressed in a bright-white shirt with red suspenders and checkered pants, he seemed both confused and color-blind.

  “I don’t think so, Ming,” a female voice piped up. The woman, in her late thirties, wore a yoga outfit and TOMS shoes.

  “Look at all the balloons. An entire arch of them,” a middle-aged man with wide shoulders said.

  In fact, balloon artists had spent hours configuring them this morning, in pleasing tones of purple and white. Anxious as he was, Winston had requested they come in a day early to make sure everything was ready beforehand. And they’d agreed, saying that the special liquid solution they sprayed into the balloons would keep them floating for days.

  “Where exactly are we?” the broad-shouldered stranger continued. Frowning, he stared at the rest of his group, as though they needed to provide him with answers.

  Kristy looked over at Winston, puzzled. “Relatives of yours?”

  Winston shook his head. He’d never seen this odd bunch in his life.

  Alex stiffened beside Winston. Then he marched over to the perplexed group with his arms wide open. “Ah, the Chans,” he said. “Welcome to your Mystery Shack tour.”

  CHAPTER 4

  ALEX INTRODUCED THE oddball group as the Chan family. The old man with red suspenders looked like he was in his seventies. The woman next to him, probably his wife, might have been a few years younger. Her hand clung to her husband’s arm. She wore a polyester black dress printed in huge sunflowers and carried a large satchel. Winston wondered how she managed to stay upright with that giant leather bag weighing down her bony shoulder.

  “Ming Chan,” Alex said, pointing to the large purse belonging to the wife, “sells the finest in fashion carry-wear.” Winston noticed that the rest of the family also carried bags. The men even had murses.

  Winston’s wedding party whispered among themselves, uncertain of what to do about the strangers, but nobody dared intervene.

  The old man spoke again, his finger tapping his head. “Ming mean bright in Chinese. English name mean smarts.” He beamed at those around him, showing off his yellow teeth and a chipped incisor.

  Mrs. Chan spoke up, her voice tiny but sharp. “I’m Orchid, and my husband paid for this beautiful vacation.” She waved her hand and gestured around the verdant area.

  “Actually, the shack’s in the back,” Winston mumbled, but no one paid him any attention.

  “Gorgeous,” Mrs. Chan continued. “Special trip for the kids.”

  Winston counted seven offspring in all, and he wouldn’t call them so young anymore. Every one of them looked at least thirty.

  Winston glanced at Kristy. He leaned closer to her and whispered, “Should we do something to make them stop? They’re interrupting our rehearsal.”

  Kristy shrugged. With her sweet nature, she’d probably let them carry on.

  Mrs. Chan arranged her children by age. The oldest, the broad-shouldered man, shook off Mrs. Chan’s hands as she touched him. “This is not a vacation. It’s a work retreat,” he said. “Meant to inspire us.”

  Mrs. Chan seemed oblivious to his disrespect. Or maybe she was hard of hearing. In any case, she started introducing the family. The oldest was named Fortune, or Fort for short.

  How long would these niceties take? Winston caught Alex’s eye and made a slashing motion across his neck.

  His friend took the hint and interrupted Mrs. Chan. “Why don’t we see the world-famous Mystery Shack now?”

  The Chans finally left, some family members with looks of annoyance and others with joy. Winston breathed a sigh of relief. The schedule could go back to normal. He noticed that Kristy’s smile returned, while Marcy’s shoulders relaxed. The bridesmaids and groomsmen stood up straighter, and those watching the rehearsal repositioned themselves on their seats.

  Winston turned his attention to the celebrant. “We don’t need the best man to continue, right?”

  “Nope, not for the rest of the rehearsal.” The officiant shuffled the notes in his hands. “Now, where were we? Ah ha . . .”

  The celebrant continued going over the schedule for the next day, and Winston couldn’t wait for the whole thing to finish. Once the rehearsal was done, they’d booked a nice dinner for their friends and family at a great Malaysian place, Sambal. He could almost taste the curry dishes with their fragrant coconut milk, along with the fluffy layers of roti canai bread.

  By the time he’d finished imagining the culinary delights, Alex had returned.

  “All done?” Winston asked him. “They went off the property?”

  “No, the Chans wanted to poke around the shack some more, but I came back as quick as I could. Best man duties.” He gave Winston a thumbs-up. “Anyway, not like they can get lost in there.”

  They soon finished the rest of the rehearsal. Now calmer, Winston greeted the family and friends milling around the pasture. He gave his brother-in-law, Gary, a polite pat on the back. The guy better not hurt Marcy again—Winston felt protective of his older sis.

  He issued an even cooler greeting to Carmen, Alex’s girlfriend. Sure, she’d financed this amazing place, but he knew to be careful around the wannabe model; he’d been lured—and burned—by her a long time ago. Pete and Jazzman, his senior friends, he hugged with tenderness. They’d only grown closer over the years after their intense collaboration on Winston’s big first case.

  While discussing directions to the restaurant, he heard a faint noise. It grew louder, soon becoming a shrill scream. Winston distinguished a key word in the ongoing sharp cry: help.

  CHAPTER 5

  WINSTON AND ALEX RUSHED off to find out where the scream came from, leaving the celebrant in charge of calming the others down. They traced the sound to the Mystery Shack, its door flung wide open to the main room. Winston knew there was trouble when he peered inside and saw the Chan family gathered in a huddle, a few sobbing.

  Alex burst into the shack. “What happened?”

  The family members broke up their group. Orchid Chan shook her finger at Alex. “You’re to blame.”

  Winston inched closer and saw someone lying on the floor. He peered at the figure. Old Mr. Chan, with his bright suspenders now in sharp contrast to his pale face.

  “He collapsed,” Mrs. Chan continued, “and fell down your stupid stairs to nowhere.”

  Winston addressed the family. “Does anyone here know CPR?” (Really, with all the elderly clients he had, Winston should’ve taken the course, but he’d never made the time.)

  A woman in yoga wear looked at her brother. “Fort, didn’t you take it?”

  “It’s been a while, Sandy.” Fort’s broad shoulders seemed to shrink down.

  “Please try,” Sandy urged.

  So Fort went over to his dad and attempted resuscitation.

  Winston saw Orchid’s face twist in anger as she told Alex, “We’ll sue you
. Very dangerous. You should call this Danger Shack instead.”

  As they argued, Winston looked at the rest of the family. Sandy seemed focused on Fort’s ministrations, trying to see if she could help revive their father. Besides her, he counted four other sons and another daughter.

  One son stood in the distance, carrying a giant backpack, and staring out of a cobwebbed window. He was hunched over, and even from this distance, Winston could smell the overpowering menthol of a muscle rub ointment rolling off him. A different son rocked in a creaky old chair, surveying the scene with his jaw set and his lips pressed into a thin line. His grim face matched his all-black funereal attire. Another sat cross-legged in the middle of the glossy waxed floor trying to meditate during the disturbance.

  One more son wearing a patchwork jacket wandered around the room with his hefty camera, oblivious and trying to take photos of the knickknacks on the shelves. The other daughter paced back and forth near the staircase to nowhere, sending off a waft of floral fragrance in her wake. She even wore a golden rose brooch on her shirt to match the scent.

  Winston addressed the folks not involved with the CPR. “So, who called an ambulance?”

  They looked at one another, aghast, pointing their fingers and asking, “Didn’t you?” Finally, they singled out Mr. Muscle Rub to do it. Their brother Talent, nicknamed Tal.

  “After all,” the rose-scented woman said, “you’re second oldest, next in line after Fort.”

  Ah, there was a pecking order, Winston thought. And Rose Princess appeared to be the youngest and at the bottom of the ladder. Even her gum-chewing habit pointed to her as the baby of the family.

  Tal dialed while the youngest daughter blew a huge bubble and popped it right next to his ear.

  “Stop it, Viv,” Tal said.

  She shrugged, spit the gum out into her palm, and dropped it in her purse.

  Winston turned to the other siblings. “Is everyone all right? Can I get you anything?”

  The photographer piped up. “Do you have a tripod? I forgot to pack mine.”

  “No, Lyle,” the grim-faced one said. “Concentrate on what’s going on. Ba’s sick.”

  “He’s seventy-five,” Lyle said. “The guy needs rest, Bright.”

  “He’s unconscious.”

  Lyle hazarded a glance at his father. “Napping,” he concluded and continued snapping pictures of the room.

  “Stepbrothers,” Bright said. He extended his hand to Winston. “I’m Brighton, but everyone shortens my name.”

  Winston examined the big Chan family before him. “You guys aren’t full-blooded siblings?”

  “The Brady Bunch,” Bright said. “I’ve got two stepbrothers, Evan and Lyle.” He gestured to the meditating man and the photographer. “Plus, two stepsisters.” He nodded at the girls.

  “And those two are your brothers?” Winston pointed to the ones doing crucial work, CPR and calling the paramedics.

  “Yeah, we care about Ba. Even if he is old and crotchety.”

  “So Mrs. Chan is your stepmom?”

  “Right. Orchid. They married a year ago. Met on a senior cruise.”

  Their conversation stopped there because they heard the sirens.

  When the paramedics arrived on the scene, they examined Ming. They checked his airway, their faces set like stone. “No breathing. We’ll need to take him to the nearest hospital.”

  CHAPTER 6

  ORCHID CHAN, HER FACE haggard, insisted on accompanying her husband into the ambulance. She chased after the stretcher and acted quite the devoted newlywed. The remaining Chan members debated on who would steer their van to the hospital since they couldn’t agree on the family’s best driver.

  “No, Fort’s way too aggressive.”

  “Lyle’s mind is always in the clouds. Doesn’t pay attention to the road.”

  “Sandy’s super slow.”

  Before they could decide, a police officer strode toward the Mystery Shack from the side path. As the cop got closer, Winston did a double take. “Officer Gaffey, what are you doing here?”

  “Winston”—the policeman shook his head—“should have known you’d be around. Always causing trouble.”

  “I don’t initiate things. I investigate them.” Winston thought it was a clever use of words, but Gaffey grimaced.

  “Leave crime solving to the professionals.”

  Winston hesitated for a second. Should he return to the rehearsal and trust Gaffey to do the job? But the sneer on the cop’s face made Winston declare, “That’s why I’m an official seniors’ sleuth, a real expert.”

  Gaffey cocked an eyebrow. “Get your PI license yet?”

  Winston felt his face heat up. He clenched his hands into fists. “Do you have a homicide detective badge?”

  “Almost, actually.” Gaffey gave a smug grin. “Taking the test real soon.”

  Winston’s curiosity overcame his anger. “You what? When?”

  Gaffey shrugged. “All these cases cropping up, someone’s got to solve them.”

  “Why’d you get called in anyway?” Sure, the ambulance and firefighters had come, but they had deemed it an accident, not a crime scene.

  “Noise disturbance,” Gaffey said. “A neighbor complained, said she heard screaming.”

  Winston surveyed his surroundings. Acres of land around. Orchid Chan must have screamed pretty loud to have been heard by the adjacent homes.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Winston noticed Fort making his way over. The eldest son introduced himself to Gaffey and said, “Officer, sorry you had to come out. Everything’s okay now.”

  Gaffey pulled out a pad and pen. “What was the problem?”

  Fort’s bulky body towered over Gaffey and made the cop look like a scrawny teen. “My dad, he fell. And my stepmother lost it, screamed her head off.”

  Gaffey swiveled, looking at the family members around him. “Where is your father now? Is he okay?”

  Tal’s slouched figure ambled over. His accompanying taint of muscle rub must have reached Gaffey because the cop started gagging. The policeman pinched his nose closed for a moment.

  “I called the ambulance for Ba,” Tal informed Gaffey. “Fort did CPR.”

  Gaffey scribbled in his notebook. “How is your dad’s health in general?”

  “Better than mine.” Tal rubbed his back and winced.

  Fort took over the conversation. “He’s seventy-five and in stable shape. Takes some pills.”

  “Name them,” Gaffey said.

  Fort threw his massive hands in the air. “I don’t pay attention to that stuff . . . Sandy, come here.”

  The lululemon-clad lady walked over using long, smooth strides. “What do you need, Fort?”

  “The officer wants to know about Ba’s meds.”

  Sandy reached into the pocket of her yoga pants (they had pockets?) and pulled out a slim wallet. She opened it up and retrieved a laminated card. “All listed here,” she said, handing it over to Gaffey.

  Winston spied a few of the names: Lipitor, Coumadin . . .

  After some furious writing, Gaffey returned the card to Sandy. “What medical problems does your dad have?”

  “Cholesterol, high blood pressure . . . He even had a minor heart attack a few years back.”

  “He take all his meds today?” Gaffey asked. Winston had to give the cop props for asking a perceptive question. Maybe Gaffey would make a good detective someday.

  Sandy wrinkled her brow and peeked into her wallet again. She wiggled out a miniature chore chart. “It was Viv’s turn to oversee the meds this week.”

  Fort groaned. “She’s the worst.”

  Sandy shushed him. “Bit of a prankster, but harmless,” she confided to Winston and Gaffey. She whistled to get Viv’s attention and called her over.

  Viv sprang to action, almost twirling her way over to the group. “What’s going on?”

  Gaffey started waving his hand in front of his nose, no doubt to diffuse the wave of rose power that rolled towa
rd him. “I need to know what pills you gave your dad today.”

  “The usual,” she said. “I stuck them all in his pill box.”

  Winston stepped in. Time for him to shine and show Gaffey how to really investigate. Prove to the cop what kind of capable man Kristy would be marrying. “You don’t remember the names?” Winston asked Viv.

  “Nah, but maybe there was a yellow one?”

  Winston glanced over at Sandy, who patted Viv’s head like a child.

  “You did follow the Google doc, right?” Sandy asked her sister.

  Viv nodded. “Every last detail.”

  Sandy told Winston and Gaffey, “We keep the medication names, colors, and dosages in the cloud.”

  The other brothers saw the group talking and headed over. Bright came with his dark attire, Lyle with his huge camera, and even Evan stopped om-ing and joined the conversation. The men turned to Gaffey and started firing off questions, wondering if everything was okay, if there would be an investigation.

  Gaffey closed his notebook and put away his pen. “No, I don’t think so. Seems like everything’s fine. Your dad probably had a medical scare, but the doctors will take good care of him.”

  Winston noticed looks of relief on their faces. Even he felt calmer by Gaffey’s soothing prediction—until he heard some loud popping from outside the shack. Sounded like machine gun fire. And it must have come from the clearing.

  “Kristy!” he exclaimed and started sprinting.

  CHAPTER 7

  WINSTON HUFFED ALL the way to the clearing, with Gaffey following right behind. Once he found Kristy, Winston hugged her tight. He felt her tremble in his arms. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  In his peripheral vision, Winston noticed the cop scanning the scene, one hand resting on his police gear belt.

  “I’m fine,” Kristy told Winston, touching his cheek with gentle fingers.

  “But I heard a gun.” Winston looked around him. Everything seemed to be in order, and none of the guests appeared injured.