Page 33 of Breaking Emily's Rules
The sound of Molly’s truck blazing up the trail kicking up dust like a whirlwind drew my attention. “Would you excuse me?”
I met Molly at the bottom of the hill, because I didn’t have time for this now. Sure enough, Molly looked ready to throttle someone. “What’s up?”
“It’s Dylan, that bastard.” Molly kicked the gated fence.
“When did you see Dylan?”
“At the park.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, forget it. I can see you’re busy.” Molly stalked toward the house. “I don’t want to waste your precious time.”
“Go talk to Grammy, and I’ll be there in a few minutes. I told these people I’d do whatever they need to make this wedding day memorable for them, and I have to do that.”
“Talk to the hand.” Molly turned once to hold up a one-handed gesture. “Or the finger.”
Great. A pissed off Molly was the last thing this day needed.
When I walked back to the barn, Ashley and Delilah were inspecting the rafters and speaking to George, who looked confused.
“Is everything all right?” I smiled.
“There are no cobwebs because I do my job,” George said, eyebrows meeting what was left of his hairline.
“No cobwebs?” I turned to Ashley.
“I was hoping,” Ashley said with a frown.
“George takes care of that. It is a gift shop.” I wasn’t sure why I felt like I should apologize.
“That’s okay, we can add some fake cobwebs if we must,” Delilah said with a wave of her arm.
“Ma’am?” George looked from me to Delilah and back to me again.
“I want to make sure your experience here is satisfactory in every way.” And I never once imagined the lack of cobwebs might be an issue.
I whispered to George that he shouldn’t worry and I’d explain later. He walked away, muttering under his breath. Finally I concluded the meeting, and both Ashley and Delilah were on their way, with an appointment to come back for the wedding rehearsal.
Now to deal with Molly.
I found Molly in her bedroom, half underneath the bed.
“So what’s going on?”
“I want my boots. The pink ones. You seen them?” Molly came out from under her bed, holding what looked like a library book in one hand and a sandal in the other. “I can’t find them.”
I bent down to pick up the matching sandal from where it lay behind Molly’s trash can. “You could clean up in here once in a while.”
“I could. But right now, I need my boots. Are you going to help me, or what?” Molly opened her closet door and started tossing shoes out.
I caught a flying stiletto pump before it impaled my forehead. “Hey, watch it. What’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, I don’t want to talk. I want to dance. And I’ll need my boots.”
“Let’s retrace your steps. Think about where you last saw them.”
“I’m looking for my boots, not solving a mystery. Help me look or stop talking.”
