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Dune to Death
By Mary Daheim HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright ©2006 Mary Daheim
All right reserved. ISBN: 0380769336
Chapter One
Judith Grover McMonigle rolled over, stretched, and felt something warm and furry next to her in the bed. Sweetums. The wretched cat had dared to crawl under the covers. Barely awake, she nudged with her elbow. There was no response. The aggravating animal obviously was playing possum. Judith jackknifed her knees, then gave a mighty heave.
The growl that met her ear sounded more like a dog than a cat, but it was neither: Joe Flynn clung to the edge of the king-sized bed, fighting for leverage. His usually imperturbable round face was blurred with sleep, his red hair stood on end, and the green eyes with their flecks of gold were murky slits.
"What the hell are you doing, Jude-girl? I practically fell on my backside!"
Horrified, Judith stared with round black eyes at her husband. Her husband. That was it, she and Joe were married. He wasn't Sweetums, and she wasn't home, at the bed-and-breakfast. Judith was on her honeymoon. She fell back against the pillows and began to laugh.
"Mrs. Joseph Flynn! I can't believe it! Happy day!"
Joe as not as amused. Clambering back into bed, he punched one of his pillows and gave Judith a sidelong look. "I'd hate to see you when you're not happy," he grumbled. "I'd have landed out there on thebeach in somebody's picnic lunch."
Shifting her body under the covers, Judith turned to Joe, brushing his faintly receding disheveled red hair from his forehead. At just a shade under six feet, Joe was still muscular, with only a slight paunch to remind Judith that he had passed the fifty-year mark a couple of summers ago. "I dreamed you were Sweetums," she said with a grin that was almost penitent. "Being married is going to take a bit of getting used to."
Joe grinned back and kissed the tip of Judith's nose. "At least you didn't dream I was your mother." He shuddered, not entirely facetiously. "I could have killed her at the wedding."
Judith rolled her eyes. She had not been pleased with Gertrude Grover, either. Judith's mother had almost as little fondness for Joe Flynn as she had had for her daughter's first husband, the late and seldom lamented Dan McMonigle. Still, Judith felt it had been going too far when Gertrude tied a black ribbon around her walker. And told the other guests she was wearing crepe pants. When Father Francis Xavier Hoyle had asked if anyone present knew why the pair should not be joined together, Gertrude had whipped out a list. Fortunately, Auntie Vance and Aunt Deb had shushed her.
Actually, Auntie Vance had pulled Gertrude's maroon felt hat over her ears, but Judith hoped no one except Uncle Corky noticed. Gertrude had let out a squawk, which had fortunately been drowned out by the howls of the youngest Dooley baby who was -- according to Aunt Ellen -- under siege from the Rankers's grandchildren. No one had actually mentioned the word "hotfoot," but the votive candles weren't the only thing burning on the side aisles, or so said Cousin Marty.
Still, the wedding had gone off well, Judith reflected. Or, maybe it had just gone off, and after twenty-five years and a marriage apiece, that was all Judith and Joe could hope for. The annulment that Joe had told Judith he'd applied for had proved unnecessary; his first wife's previous bouts with wedlock had nullified the Las Vegas JP's service in the eyes of the Catholic Church.
Once he had obtained his civil divorce in late May, Judith launched a whirlwind of plans. At that late date, no ordinary mortal could have secured Our Lady, Star of the Sea Catholic Church for a Saturday afternoon wedding the last weekend in June. But Judith's extraordinary status as a parishioner-cum-sleuth had moved the appropriate mountains. Father Hoyle was only too glad to accommodate Judith in gratitude for helping solve the Holy Saturday murder in the parish hall. The fact that Homicide Lt. Joe Flynn had been the official investigating officer hadn't hurt anything, either.
Judith had worn champagne silk, draped across the bosom, nipped in at the waist, with soft little pleats falling over the hip. Gone were seven of the ten pounds she'd been determined to lose, but at five-nine, it only showed when the zipper of her dress closed without her tugging and gasping. Her new hairdo, with short waves of frosted raven tresses, had obliterated the premature gray that Dan had insisted she live with for most of their marriage. "Beautiful," Joe had whispered at the altar, and Judith's heart had turned over. He wasn't quite accurate, but with her well-defined features and careful makeup, she definitely felt fetching. But then Joe always had a knack for making her feel attractive.
They had been joined in Holy Matrimony before a church virtually packed with family and friends, who had flown in from various points of the compass. Joe's diplomat brother, Paul, had come from London; Andrew, the oil rig engineer, flew up from Houston; and the eldest Flynn, Tom, who called himself a soldier of fortune, claimed he'd commandeered a private plane out of Burundi. Judith couldn't boast any relations with such exotic backgrounds, but she was mightily pleased when Aunt Ellen and Uncle Win showed up from Beatrice, Nebraska. She was just as happy that Cousin Renie's Uncle Fred hadn't gotten permission to leave the Rocky Mountain High Rest Home in Denver for the occasion. Uncle Fred, whose current reincarnation was Louis XV, had sent his regrets and a picture of Madame de Pompadour cut out of a French history book.
"It was fun, wasn't it?" said Judith, after her ruminations about the wedding and their morning amatory adventures had run their course.
"What was?" Joe asked slyly, plugging in the coffee maker.
Judith gave him a look of mock reproach, then secured the ties of her new blue terry cloth robe. "The wedding. And the reception, too. But I don't think Uncle Al should have sold chances on the cake."
Continues...
Excerpted from Dune to Death by Mary Daheim Copyright ©2006 by Mary Daheim. Excerpted by permission.
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