Wanted Wed or Alive: Thyme's Wedding Read online

  We all fall silent for a moment while he gathers his thoughts.

  He continues in a soft voice, almost too low to hear, “Her body was burned beyond recognition.”

  After another long pause, during which those of us not from Snow City give one another a series of meaningful looks that speak volumes, Dave clears his throat. “How did you identify the body, then, Sheriff?”

  The sheriff focuses on picking apart a piece of baguette, sprinkling white crumbs all over his plate like snow.

  “Well, I wasn’t able to, exactly. But her purse was thrown clear from the vehicle, and her driver’s license was in there. It wasn’t too far of a leap from there.”

  I nod to myself and look away. My eyes fall on the living room window and the street beyond. “Wait. Isn’t that her vehicle parked out front?”

  The locals start shaking their heads. “You mean the Lexus?” Dora asks.

  “Right.”

  “No, that’s not hers. In fact, I’m not sure who it belongs to.”

  “What’s it doing parked out there?”

  Three sets of shoulders rise in shrugs. “I dunno,” Dora adds.

  “Well, how long’s it been there?”

  “Quite some time,” Sheriff Fellman answers slowly. “At least since the day Thyme died. I remember seeing it sitting out there when I came by the house.”

  I clamp my lips together, hard, determined not to comment on the lax community policing.

  Victor, however, has no such compunction. “Did you run the plates? Take a look through the windows? Make sure there’s not a corpse or a bomb or ten kilos of heroin in the cargo hold?”

  Remember how I said he’s such a sweetheart? He is—with one exception: he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. And, frankly, this small-town sheriff’s lack of curiosity about the abandoned SUV smacks of incompetency.

  Sheriff Fellman has the decency to look abashed. He sticks a finger under the edge of his shirt collar and scratches his neck. “Well, no. I can’t say I did any of that. I don’t like to interface with the state and federal agencies any more than I absolutely have to. You know, we kinda need to stay off the radar.”

  “I understand that. I truly do,” Dave assures him. “But, how can you protect your community if you can’t —or won’t—access the resources you need in order to do your job?”

  The sheriff’s eyes are glued to the tablecloth. He mumbles something indistinct.

  I shift my attention to Dora. “Do you have any pictures of the other Thyme?”

  She glances at Dr. Pridemore before she answers. “Um, maybe. Why?”

  “Three reasons. One, I think I may know how she got my name—”

  “She got it from the Snow Queen,” Dora interrupts. “Remember, I told you all the names are assigned?”

  “I remember. Let me ask you a question. When did the Snow Queen arrive? When did she open up Snow City to people looking for a way out?”

  Dora looks up at the ceiling. By the way her eyelids bounce, I can tell she’s counting silently.

  “Wait—don’t answer. Let me guess,” I exclaim.

  “Okay?”

  “It would have been in the late spring/early summer four years ago.”

  Dora’s eyes, already magnified by her glasses, grow enormous. “H-how did you know?”

  “Thyme Field is the Snow Queen.” I make the declaration with a touch more confidence than I have. “Thyme, are you sure?” Rosemary stage whispers.

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “So how’d she get your name?” Sage wants to know.

  “Remember how I said Naomi used my name and personal information and signed me up as her downline without my permission?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then she deleted herself from the employee database at the yoga studio and disappeared off the face of the earth?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That all happened the spring after Mom and Dad took off.”

  “Four years ago,” Rosemary says slowly.

  “Right. Four years ago.”

  “Wait. You think a former co-worker stole your identity and established the covert network for MLM members looking to escape? The Snow Queen was a twenty-something yoga instructor?” Alexis Pridemore’s trying hard to connect the dots.

  I push back my chair and stand up. “I do. And I think someone or something spooked her, made her think she was about to be found out, so she faked her death and fled town to protect all the rest of you. But it should be easy enough to confirm.” I look around the table. “Let’s go break into a Lexus.”

  Chapter 22

  Sage

  To everyone’s great disappointment, we don’t actually get to break into the SUV. Sheriff Fellman retrieves an unlocking kit from the trunk of his car, but before he can pull out the hook thingy, Dr. Pridemore tries the front passenger side door and, sure enough, it’s unlocked.

  Given that the woman pretending to be Thyme died more than three weeks ago, I assume anything of value or importance has long since been boosted from the vehicle. So I’m shocked when the sheriff emerges from the interior of the car with a cardboard box, the kind lawyers, bankers, and accountants use to store important documents.

  “This was in the foot well,” he announces, raising the box aloft as if it’s a trophy of some kind.

  The Friday Frenzy crowds have died down, but there are still pockets of people milling about in driveways and on porches enjoying the early evening air. The sun’s last light hasn’t quite faded from the sky but the stars are already winking overhead in the dusk.

  “Keith, maybe we should take it back inside,” Dave says as the sheriff rests the box on the hood of the SUV, apparently prepared to go through it right there out in the street.

  Sheriff Fellman looks around, notes the neighbors, and jams the lid back on to the box. “Good idea.”

  He marches back up the sidewalk toward the front door and the eight of us trot along behind him.

  We create an assembly line and clear the dishes from the dining room table and load the dishwasher in record time. Rosemary puts on a pot of coffee, and we all traipse back into the dining room to crowd around the table.

  The sheriff lifts off the lid and sets it aside. I pop up on my tiptoes to peek inside the box. There’s a small stack of manila folders. On top of the folders, sits a plain business-sized envelope with the name Carlie scrawled across it.

  “Carlie, that’s your real name, right?” Rosemary asks Dora.

  She nods, open mouthed. “Yes … but, I don’t understand … nobody knows that. I mean, I just told you an hour ago, but nobody in town knows.”

  “Well, the Snow Queen knows,” Thyme points out.

  “That’s true,” she breathes.

  The sheriff hands her the envelope. “It’s addressed to you, so I suppose you oughta be the one to read it.”

  She takes it gingerly, as if she’s afraid it might burn her hands. We all watch as she slices it open with her fingernail and removes a single typed sheet. She scans it quickly, her eyes racing over the page. When she raises her head, her expression is unreadable, and her hands are trembling.

  “Do you want to read it to us?” Thyme asks gently.

  Dora nods, and then clears her throat:

  “Dear Carlie,

  Are you surprised I know your real name? You shouldn’t be. I’m the one who gave you Dora as your new one. Yes, I’m the Snow Queen. I’ll bet you’re surprised, and you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this, right?

  You’re my closest friend in Snow City. I couldn’t risk getting close to anyone in case they figured out that I’m the Snow Queen. But, you sensed how isolated I was, didn’t you? You were so friendly that I decided to let you in … just a bit.

  But now, something terrible has happened. I ran into someone from my old life in Phoenix last month. I pretended not to know her when she called me by my old name, but I think she’s hired an investigator to look for me.

  It’s too dangerous for m
e to stay in Snow City. So I’m crowning you the new Snow Queen. The files in this box contain everything you need.

  There’s a folder for each resident, containing his or her original identity, a copy of their new identity, their MLM agreement, and inventory spreadsheets. As you know, Alexis Pridemore is a special case. Her folder contains the court papers from the lawsuits. Keep these documents under lock and key at all times.

  As far as bringing in new residents, I think you should keep a low profile for a while. When the time is right, you’ll find instructions for activating Santa’s Sleigh in a large envelope in the bottom of the box.

  The keys to the Lexus are in the junk drawer under my coffee maker. You can have the vehicle. I earned it as a MiMiMew rep but never drove it. It’s been in storage until now.

  I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. Thanks for being my friend.

  Thyme (Naomi)”

  “I knew it!” Thyme pumps her fist. Her victory is short-lived because she notices the tears filling Dora’s eyes. “I’m sorry about your, um, friend.”

  Dora chokes back a sob. “So do you think her accident wasn’t an accident? Do you think this person from her past … k-k-killed her and made it look like a crash?”

  She’s addressing the sheriff and Dave, who both sort of shrug.

  “It’s possible,” Dave allows. “Or it really was a tragic accident.”

  “Or—” Thyme begins, but Victor elbows her in the ribs, and she clamps her mouth shut.

  “I didn’t reach out to the county coroner because I didn’t think there was any issue about who was in that car or how she died. So I doubt we’ll ever know if she was a victim of foul play or just careless driving, Dora.” The sheriff lowers his head and shakes it mournfully from side to side.

  “I can’t believe Thyme was the Snow Queen. She was so young,” Dr. Pridemore muses.

  Sheriff Fellman has a pained expression on his face. “Are you sure you’re up for this job, Dora? There’s no shame in saying you don’t want to take up the mantle.”

  Dora’s skin pales, and her breath is fast and shallow. “I don’t … I don’t know … if I don’t, what will happen to us? To the town?” Her voice quakes with panic.

  Neither the sheriff nor the dentist has an answer for her. But I think I might.

  I jerk my head toward the kitchen, and Roman instantly understands.

  “Sage and I will bring in the coffees.”

  “Thanks, Roman,” Dave says distractedly.

  We hurry out of the room before anyone can volunteer to help us.

  Chapter 23

  Rosemary

  Sage thinks she’s so sneaky, but I’ve been able to tell when she’s up to mischief since I was six and she was four. She gets this light in her eyes, not a sparkle so much as a glow. And right now, her eyes are glowing. A second later, she and Roman scamper off to the kitchen.

  I give them a twenty-second head start, then whisper to Dave, “I’m going to see if they need any help with the coffees.”

  He’s absorbed in the documents being passed around the table, so he nods distractedly.

  I wish I could get his full attention, because as sure as I am that Sage is up to something, I also have a feeling that Thyme’s plotting and scheming. She gets a faraway stare when she’s conniving. And she’s definitely conniving.

  But there’s no way to communicate to Dave that he should keep an eye on Thyme without alerting everyone at the table. So I’m going to have to pick my battles. For now, I’ll find out what Sage is planning. Then I’ll worry about Thyme.

  As I slip into the kitchen, I nod to myself, satisfied that I’m making the right call. I won’t know until much later that I’m not. In fact, I’m making the exact wrong call.

  “Ah, Rosemary!” Roman yelps when he sees me walk into the kitchen.

  Sage, who’s over in the corner near the refrigerator whispering into her cell phone, wheels around, wide-eyed. Guilt is written on her face in the form of two bright red spots, high on her cheeks.

  “Hi, you two,” I chirp.

  “Hey, help me with these, okay?” Roman asks, moving between me and Sage to act as a shield and thrusting mugs full of coffee into my hands.

  “Sure.” I crane my neck to see around him. “Who’re you talking to, Sage?”

  She gives me an incredulous look and points to the phone as if to say she’s a little busy at the moment.

  “Who’s she talking to, Roman? Tell me she’s not on the phone with one of our parents.”

  Roman places a hand on each of my shoulders and stares unblinkingly into my eyes. “She is not on the phone with your parents. I promise you.”

  I relax incrementally. “Okay, thanks.” I still want to know what she’s doing, but I figure I can deliver these first two coffees and then return for more.

  I walk into the dining room and place a mug in front of Dora and one in front of Dr. Pridemore. “I’ll be back with the rest and the creamer and sugar. Well, sugar, at any rate. I doubt anyone would want to drink any creamer that’s been sitting around here for who knows how long.”

  Nobody pays any particular attention to what I’m saying. Dave raises a hand and gives a little half-wave of acknowledgment, but everyone else’s eyes are glued to the documents in front of them. And Thyme and Victor are holding up one of the folders as a screen and whispering behind it.

  I huff out a breath and turn on my heel, back to the shenanigans in the kitchen.

  “Thanks, Agent Morgan,” Sage is cooing into the phone. “We’ll wait for your call.”

  “Morgan? As in Internal Revenue Service SA-CIS Colin Morgan? The same Special Agent who busted Mom and Dad?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “And why is he calling you back?”

  She smiles and picks up two coffee mugs from the counter. “Why don’t I tell you all about it in the dining room so I only have to say it once?”

  “Why don’t you tell me now? Oh, I know. He pulled the strings to get them their furloughs for your wedding. You’re trying to get him to do the same for Thyme, aren’t you? But Sage, she said she didn’t want them to come.”

  “First of all, Rosie, she didn’t say she doesn’t want them at her wedding, only that it’s not feasible. There’s a difference. And second of all, that’s not why I called him.”

  I arch my right eyebrow and tap my toe against the tile to let her know I’ll wait all day.

  Roman scrubs a hand over his face. “Just tell her, Sage.”

  “Listen to your husband. He’s a smart guy.”

  She shakes her head. “Fine, whatever. I’m just going to have to repeat it all for everyone else, but sure, why not? I called Agent Morgan to see if the IRS or maybe the Federal Trade Commission or maybe even the Department of Justice would be interested in building a case against a group of multi-level marketing companies who have so badly terrorized their representatives or sellers or whatever they are that these people have gone into hiding.”

  “Oh. That’s genius.”

  She grins. “Isn’t it? And, of course, he agreed that if the government were to undertake an investigation, the cooperating witnesses would all receive immunity from prosecution and clean identities. You know, under the witness protection program, not as the result of identity theft and fraud.”

  “This is great, Sage. I’m sorry I doubted you.” My apology is one-hundred percent sincere, and I’m genuinely impressed by her quick thinking.

  “It’s okay, Rosie. I know you’re being protective. But I’m glad you think it’s a good idea.”

  “It’s a great idea,” Roman tells her.

  “Do you think he’s going to go for it? Morgan, I mean?”

  She nods. “He’s onboard. He just needs to get all the approvals and follow proper procedure. But everyone in Snow City is going to be protected, and Thyme’ll get her life back.”

  I want to give her a huge hug, but she’s holding two scalding hot coffees, and everyone knows she’s a klutz. So
I settle for a quick shoulder squeeze and pick up two more mugs. “Great work, sis. Now, let’s go tell everyone the good news.”

  “Let’s do it. Oh, and I didn’t ask, but Agent Morgan offered to arrange for Mom and Dad to at least attend the wedding, whenever it happens, via video feed. That’s better than missing it entirely, don’t you think?”

  “I do.” I smile at her and we walk into the dining room side by side.

  “Thyme, you’re never going to believe this—” she begins, then she stops abruptly. “Where’s Thyme?”

  I scan the room. “And Victor?” I add.

  “Oh, they said they had to get something from your van.” Doctor Pridemore waves vaguely toward the door. “It’s parked outside the gates. They’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  I lock eyes with Dave. “Which file were they looking at right before they left?”

  He surveys the table with his analytical, observant, detecting gaze then meets my eyes. “I don’t know. But whatever it was, they took it with them.”

  I sink into a chair. “They’re not coming back, are they?”

  Nobody answers. They don’t have to. I know it’s true.

  Chapter 24

  Thyme

  Breathless and energized from the short run, Victor and I tumble into Rosemary’s van.

  “Do you want to drive?” he offers before he slides behind the steering wheel.

  I smile at the question. Victor loves to drive, even in New York, he’s comfortable behind the wheel. Meanwhile, driving’s not really my jam—even if I pretend not to notice his white-knuckled grip on his armrests when I do take a turn.