Page 149 of A Dead End Wedding

About an hour later, I couldn't ignore the loud grumblings from my stomach any longer. I gathered up a pile of work to take home with me, turned out all the lights, turned the AC down (now that I had to pay the electric bill myself, I remembered stuff like that), and left the office. As I climbed in my car, an old pickup truck with Orange Grove Antiques stenciled in a small sign on its side pulled in next to me.

Bear rolled down his window and gave me a huge smile. "Miss December! I'm so glad I caught you! I have a present for you!"

I smiled back at him, almost despite myself. He just had that kind of face. Also, that kind ofshirt —a purple one with a giant orange giraffe on it. "Hey, Bear. How's the new job? Staying out of trouble?"

He got out of the truck and hurried around to my side, clutching a package in his hands. "Yes, I am. Most definitely. Grandma even met Miss Lucinda, and they liked each other," he said.

"That's great, Bear. I'm thrilled for you," I said, meaning it. Bear may have been confused about property ownership, but at least he wasn't shooting at me or throwing rocks at my head, which made him okay in my book.

Sad, how my standards have lowered.

"So, what's up?"

He thrust the package at me. It was wrapped in what looked like the Sunday comics. "This is for you, to say thanks. But it's delicate, so be careful."

I took the package, feeling a lump form in my throat. It was funny how the simplest kind gesture could elicit the tears that all the assault and threat of painful, ugly death didn't. "Oh, Bear, that's so sweet. But you didn't have to do that," I said.

"I know, but I wanted to. Open it, open it!" he said, clapping his hands like a kid at Christmas.

So I opened the wrapping carefully and stared down at a truly gorgeous piece of pink Depression glass. I lifted it out of its paper nest and caught my breath. "It's beautiful, Bear. And in perfect condition."

"It's a syrup dispenser," he said, beaming. "Pretty rare to find them in such perfect shape."

As much as I lusted after the piece to go with my collection, I regretfully placed it back in the box. "Bear, I can't accept this. It must have cost you a fortune. You—" I stopped, suddenly worried. "Youpaidfor this, right?"

He rolled his eyes. "Miss December, I told you no more taking things without paying. I spent my savings out of my sock that I keep under my bed. You're worth it. You kept me out of jail!"

I cringed, thinking back to my hideous performance that day. "Bear, you stayed out of jail because they decided not to press charges, not because of me. Really, I can't take this from you. It's the sweetest thing anybody has done for me in a long time, but you should spend your savings on yourself."

He frowned. "I wanted to spend it on you. Don't you like it? I know you collect it, and you don't have that piece."

"It's amazing, and I love it. Please – wait a minute. How did you know I collect Depression glass?" An icy chill raced down my body, and goosebumps popped up on my arms. A neat trick, since it was about ninety degrees outside.

"Even more, how do you know what pieces I do and don't have?"

He avoided my gaze and stomped back around the front of his truck and got in, slamming the door. "Fine. Give it away. Throw it in the trash. I don't care."

"Bear, stop! I?—"

But he slammed the truck into gear, reversed, and squealed out of the parking lot, leaving me standing there with my arms full of valuable Depression glass and my mind full of very unanswerable questions.

36

All the way home, my gaze kept straying to the package on my passenger seat, and my mind kept straying to the conversation I'd just had. I almost needed a timeline on a whiteboard to keep up with my life, but I was sure I'd met Bearafterthe phone call from the sinus stalker. So it didn't make any sense at all that Bear had been the caller. Plus, the voice had sounded nothing like Bear's.

But how had he known about my collection unless he'd been inside of my house? He seemed harmless, but his mental disability might make him unstable. Had he formed an obsessive attachment to me? Was he stalking me now?

Did I have to give the syrup dispenser back?

I shook my head and grabbed my cell phone to call . . . I don't know. Somebody. I noticed it was turned off and flicked the on button. The "you have voice mail music" – Pachelbel's canon, loved that piece – came on immediately. I called in to voice mail as I turned on to my street.

You have four new messages:

Jake: "I found Gina, and she's in a little trouble. Will you call me?"

Great. With Jake's talent for understatement, that could mean anything from another bar fight to she just knocked over the local bank.

The nasal voice of the trucking company dispatcher:"Your driver called in. He got married in Vegas, and the newlyweds are taking a little honeymoon with your furniture, but he promises he'll deliver it soon."

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