The Wedding Caper by Janice Thompson Page A

the prettiest farmland on planet earth. We found a couple
more shops to explore, but grew weary with the process as late afternoon
sleepiness set in. Finally, just as the sun dipped off into the western sky, we
landed back on Mrs. Lapp’s doorstep once again.
    “Well,
there you are!” She clapped her hands together, obviously satisfied to see us
at last. “I’d begun to wonder if you’d changed your minds about coming back.”
    I stifled
a yawn and assured her we were thrilled to be “home.”
    Though
still stuffed from lunch, Mrs. L. insisted we sit for yet another meal. Bean soup and friendship bread. As we settled down for
supper, I took the opportunity to ask our hostess a couple of questions that
had been niggling at my brain all day.
    “I wonder
if you would mind telling me a little more about the merchants’ conference you
were talking about this morning,” I started.
    She
sliced huge chunks of the bread as she spoke. “What would you like to know?”
    I
garnered up the courage to ask the question on my mind. Why beat around the
bush? “Well, specifically, I’d be interested in hearing your take on the food.”
    “The
food?” She gave a bit of a shrug as she set the bread down. “I don’t remember
hearing any complaints. Now, mind you, it wasn’t as good as my cooking if I do
say so, myself.”
    I pressed
back the smile that threatened to sneak up on me as she continued.
    “But the
caterer did a fine job with both quantity and quality, all things considered.
We’re a picky lot, what with so many of us being cooks, ourselves.”
    “How did
you meet her?” I asked.
    Mrs. L.
shrugged. “From what I remember, we hired the woman based on references and
personal recommendation. I found her to be kind of an odd bird, physically
speaking; certainly not what I would have expected, but her work was
impressive.”
    I
couldn’t help but smile at her description of Janetta .
And at this point, I felt safe sharing my information.
    “I’m only
asking because the woman who catered your event— Janetta Mullins—is an acquaintance,” I explained. “We’ve just hired her to cater
my daughter’s wedding this coming February.”
    “Ah.” I
couldn’t help but notice the hesitation in her voice, or the way her gaze
shifted ever so slightly.
    “What?”
    “Well,
she’s a good cook, as I said, but her business practices are a bit. . . unusual.”
    “Oh?”
    As Mrs.
Lapp took a seat at the table, her demeanor changed. “I’ve been on the conference
planning committee for years,” she explained, “and we’re accustomed to dealing
with all sorts, but this one really took the cake.”
    My
www.investigativeskills.com antennae rose right away.
    “We
couldn’t figure out why she insisted upon being paid in cash, especially since
we were talking about such a large amount of money.” Mrs. L.’s brow wrinkled.
“Something about it just felt. . . odd.”
    Felt odd
to me, even now. And I could tell from the look on Sheila’s face what she must
be thinking.
    “Mrs.
Mullins didn’t seem happy when we explained we didn’t work that way. Took some
time to convince her we had no other choice. She took our check, but I could
tell she wasn’t happy about it.”
    “Can’t
say as I blame her much,” Sheila piped up. “I always say the quickest way to
double your money is to fold it over in your pocket. Just doesn’t work the same
with a check.”
    “Still,”
I argued, “It’s no way to run a business, insisting on cash.”
    “Funny
thing is,” Mrs. Lapp threw in, “she stayed on after the conference ended Sunday
night. On Monday morning, first thing, she went down to our local bank to try
to cash that check. My brother-in-law was in there making a deposit at the same
time. He said she pitched a fit. Told ‘ em she wanted
her cash and wanted it now. They usually put a hold on such large amounts, you
know.” Mrs. L. leaned back in her chair, satisfied that I would