Mayfield Jewelers didn’t have much trash, so I pretty much eye-balled that can. I was just closing the lid when something caught my eye. A corner of lovely cream and turquoise cardstock, similar to my company’s letterhead peeked out from underneath a cardboard box. The lid banged against the back of the can when I threw it open. Leaning into the trash can, I grunted at the unpleasant feeling of pressure against my ribs from the hard edge of the container.
My fingers grazed the corner of the paper, and I stretched my arms just enough to get hold of it and pull. The paper wouldn’t budge, and I let out a cry of frustration. I would have to tip the can on its side. I prepared to push the garbage can over, but something brushed against my leg, and I shrieked.
“Meow.”
I looked down to see an innocent black kitten nuzzling my leg. I nudged it away. “You scared me to death. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to sneak up on someone when they’re digging through trash?”
The kitten paid no attention to my scolding and wound its way between my ankles. I stooped and picked it up. I was partial to cats—growing up on a farm we had plenty of them—and this one was quite friendly. I could tell it was at least three months old and didn’t need its mama anymore. “Who do you belong to?” I asked as I examined the white markings on its throat and feet. I scratched between his ears, and he purred and snuggled against my chest. The vibrations from his purr brought back hundreds of memories of my farm-girl days when I loved playing with kittens near the haystack on our farm. This one didn’t have a collar, but for how friendly he was, I imagined he belonged to someone. I set him down and eyed the garbage again.
“Meow.” The kitten peered up at me and then batted at my leg as I put my hands against the garbage can and pushed. With a loud thump, the can landed on the pavement, and some of the trash bags fell out. I squatted near the opening and looked for that elusive piece of paper. I inhaled sharply when I found not one page but a whole stack of pages with turquoise and purple trim. They were my pages, with the Pyper’s Dream Weddings logo, and each of them had three holes punched in the side. One of the pages had writing on it, and I held it with a trembling hand.
Simple, yet elegant and close to nature describes Natalie’s dream wedding.
My handwriting flowed across the bottom of the page. I brushed off some dirt, and my eyes flicked to the words written on the top lines.
Sunshine, blue skies, meadowlarks, silk, pink diamonds, pink glassware settings, Warm Springs, Brock . . .
When I had first interviewed Natalie about what she wanted for her wedding day, I gave her two minutes to write down whatever came to mind. This was her list, and I knew it was also the third page of the wedding binder I had locked in my office safe.
I glanced at the back door of Mayfield Jewelers and tried to swallow the knot in my throat. Then I shook my head. Walter wouldn’t have had anything to do with the crime. The thief probably just dumped what he didn’t want in the first trash can available. But even though I told myself that, it didn’t make sense that the thief would have cracked open my safe and disposed of its contents in the vicinity. Why hadn’t Tony found any of these pages before?
The kitten pawed at the page in my hand, and I stroked his back absentmindedly. Then I pulled out my cell phone and called Detective Ford.
“Yo, Adri. How are you?” Tony answered on the second ring, chipper even though it was only seven o’clock in the morning.
“I’m going through the trash on the street behind my shop, and I found some of the contents of my safe in the can behind Mayfield Jewelers.”
“I’m on my way,” Tony said. “Don’t touch anything until I get there.”
“Too late, but I’m wearing gloves.”
“Good girl. See you in ten.”
So he was already at the station—three blocks away from my shop. He might be here in less than ten minutes, but I hated waiting, and some of the trash spilling out of one of the bags had soda cups dripping sticky liquid all over the rest of the garbage. I wanted to salvage as many of Natalie’s pages as I could.
Gravel bit into the thin fabric of my running pants and pinched my knees as I leaned farther into the garbage can and collected the pages. Why were they loose? Wouldn’t the thief have chucked the whole binder at once, not seeing anything of value in my wedding plans?
The stack of pages appeared a bit rumpled, and smears of dirt and debris clung to a few of them. I started putting them in order in an attempt to recall what might be missing. Soon there were sixteen pages of information about Natalie’s wedding stacked next to the kitten. I was relieved to have found the pages that were vital to creating a perfect wedding, but that relief vanished when I realized one of the pages was gone.
I flicked through them again to see if I had missed it but knowing that I hadn’t. Wednesday just before closing, I had attached a picture of the layered-frill wedding gown Natalie had selected to the dress section of her binder. The page was covered with sketches, stapled fabric swatches, and clippings of dresses
