Alan Cook - Honeymoon for Three

Gary’s aunt and uncle were the best possibilities. He had lived with them during his senior year of high school. He knew the phone number of their farm house well. They might be home today, since it was Saturday. With the three-hour time difference between here and New York, it would be late afternoon there.

Gary gave an “I completely forgot that my parents are in Europe” excuse to McGinty. It sounded lame. He told the officer to call his aunt and uncle and gave him the phone number at the farm. McGinty wrote down the information and went out of the room, leaving him alone.

The wooden chair was uncomfortable. The room was dismal. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and he was starving. His white shirt was wet with sweat under his arms, and not just from the afternoon heat. Even if he were let go, would Penny still want to marry him? Would he want to marry her if the situation were reversed?

McGinty returned, holding Gary’s driver’s license. “These things can be faked.” He looked at the license from various angles, as if searching for some elusive truth. “Make it easy on yourself. Tell me how you killed your parents.”

Gary stared at the officer with the neck as wide as his head. Certainly not somebody to get into a fight with. And he was taking a bull-in-the-china-shop approach with his questioning. A young man, trying to make a name for himself. What did you do when you were telling the truth but you weren’t believed? Make up a lie that would be better received? Should he say that he had chopped them up with an ax, a la Lizzie Borden? He didn’t answer.

“What’s your real name?”

“My real name is Gary Blanchard.”

“How long have you lived in California?”

“Four years. Well, four and a half years.”

The questions were getting repetitive. He stole a glance at his watch. One forty-five. He had been here almost an hour. Where was Penny? Poor Penny. She must be either worried sick or ready to dump him. McGinty asked some more questions. Then he apparently became tired of questioning him and left the room again.

It seemed like a long time before the door opened and McGinty returned. He said, almost reluctantly, “You’re free to go.”

Gary was stunned. He wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.

“We talked to your aunt. She verified everything you told us. She said your father works for the city of Buffalo. She confirmed your address in L.A. The only thing is, she didn’t know you were getting married today.”

“We were planning to send her a telegram.”

“And one more thing. We got an answer to our query from the Kentucky state police. They’re not looking for any kids who offed their parents.”

“Who told you I killed my parents?”

“We got a tip. From the wedding chapel.”

“But who told her?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Because he didn’t know, and wouldn’t admit it. Gary had been questioned based on something pretty slim. He wasn’t going to receive an apology, either. He decided not to wait around for one. He got up, remembering to retrieve his wallet with his driver’s license from McGinty, and walked swiftly out the door before the officer changed his mind. He found his way to the lobby and looked for Penny. He saw her in deep conversation with a large woman.

He walked toward her, wondering how she would react to seeing him. As he approached, she looked up. Her face changed instantly from sorrow to joy.

“I’m free,” he said.

Penny jumped up and wrapped her arms around him.

The woman also got up, much more laboriously. “Now you children are back together again. You will have a long and happy marriage.”

“This is my instant friend, Rowanda,” Penny said. “Rowanda, this is my fiance, Gary.”

When Rowanda hugged him, Gary didn’t know whether he would escape without any broken ribs.

“Come to our wedding, Rowanda,” Penny said. “You can be my matron of honor.”

Rowanda’s body shook when she laughed. “Honey, I’m not dressed for it. I’m dressed more for a funeral than a wedding. Anyway, I got to stay here and see about my truant son. You children go and get married. Have a nice life.”

Penny and Rowanda hugged each other. Then Penny turned to Gary. “Let’s get married.”

The receptionist at the wedding chapel looked surprised to see Gary and Penny together. He felt resentment toward her for calling the police, but he tried to hide it.

“It turned out that I didn’t murder my parents after all.” He spoke lightly. “Was it the same guy you told us about before who accused me of murder?”

The receptionist nodded, her look of surprise turning to puzzlement.

“Did he give you a name this time?”

“He told me his name was Jack London.” She gave a wry smile. “He didn’t give me his correct name, did he?”

“I suspect not. I don’t know any Jack London, and the author by that name has been dead for fifty years.”

“I’m sorry I put you through that. I didn’t know. I thought you might be in danger.” The receptionist indicated Penny. She seemed sincerely apologetic.

“It’s all right.” Penny clung to Gary’s arm as if he might get away. “All’s well that ends well.”

The diminutive room they were ushered into had what looked like a small cabinet covered with a white cloth that served as an altar. Two lit candles sat on top of it. Two large bouquets of pink and white flowers graced the floor in front. Penny’s matron of honor was a middle-aged lady who worked at the chapel.

“Time out,” Gary said.

Penny’s heart did a flip until she realized that he was looking around for his “best man.”

“I’m down here.” The small voice belonged to a girl who barely came up to his shoulder.

The matron of honor knocked on a little door and said, “If you please.” It opened, and the minister walked through the doorway. It looked as if he had stepped off a large Lazy Susan. Rotating from one chapel to another? By the time he had introduced himself and said a few words, it dawned on Penny that they were halfway through the ceremony. They exchanged gold rings they had purchased at the White Front department store in Torrance for nineteen dollars apiece.

As soon as they said “I do,” a photographer breezed into the room and took a couple of pictures of them in front of the altar. The staff was the epitome of efficiency, but Penny didn’t care. The alternative would have been for her alcoholic father to walk her down the aisle in front of her friends and relatives while she pretended to be happy about the situation.

When they went back into the reception area, they were presented with goodies: Blue Cheer, Bufferin, Micron mouthwash, spray-on starch, five-day deodorant pads, and a bottle of Joy. And a temporary marriage certificate.

After a member of the staff took pictures of them in front of the chapel, Penny said, “I’m famished. We need to get something to eat. And to send telegrams. I’ll bet your aunt and uncle are wondering what’s happening to you right about now.”

“I’m sure they’ll be glad to know that I’m not in jail for ax murders,” Gary said. “Let’s go to the Cal-Neva Club. I saw it on my ride to the police station.”

Alfred didn’t dare enter the wedding chapel again. He had lost his credibility with the receptionist and was positive she would call the police if he showed his face. Even though he’d changed his appearance, she would recognize him by his damned potbelly.

His visions of rescuing Penny and carrying her off had to be abandoned. He had done his best to prevent the wedding from taking place. In part he blamed Penny, herself. She should have heeded Gary’s run-in with the police as a warning and washed her hands of him. When they climbed back into the VW together at the police station, he knew she was going through with it. Well, she was young and naive. Gary had her buffaloed. It was Alfred’s job to protect her from him. And he would.