He slipped into his suit jacket, adjusted his tie, came to the bed and bent over her.
"Why didn't you dry your hair?"
"I'll put the top down." He kissed her on one nipple, then the other.
She giggled. "Sure the closing can wait a few minutes."
"Would you muss my wedding dress?" he asked. That was how he referred to the white linen suit he had had made for the occasion.
"No, you're too beautiful."
"Tell you what, if you'll call yourself Mrs.Oxenhandler for the rest of your life, I'll tell you where you're going on your honeymoon."
" Jackson, I keep telling you: nobody would choose to be called Mrs. Oxenhandler. You're stuck, you were born with it. Can you imagine my cops calling me Chief Oxenhandler? They couldn't keep a straight face."
"I think that's a very dignified name for a chief of police," Jackson said, trying to look hurt.
"It's a very dignified name for someone who handles oxen," she said.
"Well," he sighed, "I guess you'll find out where you're going on your honeymoon when you get there."
She pulled the sheet over her head. "You won't even tell me then!" she cried. She pulled down the sheet again, and he was standing in the bedroom doorway, looking splendid in his new suit.
"See you at the courthouse," he said.
"In Judge Chandler's courtroom, and you'd better be there early!" she called after him. She fell back on the bed. She would always remember that picture of him, standing in the doorway in his white linen suit and gold tie, with his hair still wet.
Holly got out of bed, brushed her teeth and got into the shower, reaching for the shampoo. She had let her hair grow, and it was nearly down to her shoulders, though she wore it up when she was in uniform, which was most of the time. She was allowing herself two hours for the process-washing, rolling and drying her hair, putting on a little makeup, which she rarely wore, and getting into the short white sheath that would be her wedding dress.
Daisy lay on the bathroom mat, watching her through the clear glass shower door, waiting patiently for her breakfast and to be let out. Holly laughed. Daisy would be her maid of honor; Holly had trained her to carry the bouquet all the way to the front of the courtroom before handing it to her. Daisy could do anything.
Holly felt that she could do anything, too. She was bursting with happiness and expectation and with trying to figure out where Jackson was taking her on her honeymoon.
She got out of the shower and called her office's direct line.
"Chief Barker's office," her secretary and office manager, Helen Tubman, said.
"Hi, it's me. What's happening?"
"Nothing, and if something were happening, I wouldn't tell you," Helen said. "It's your wedding day, so I want you to hang up and do whatever you're supposed to do on your wedding day."
"How many are coming?" Holly asked. She had posted an invitation on the squad room bulletin board.
"Let me put it this way," Helen said, "if there's a murder in the middle of Beach Boulevard this morning, the body will have to lie there until you're married and on your way to the airport."
"Oh, God," Holly said. "That many?"
"That many."
"Tell me their names, and I'll put them to work."
"I'll do no such thing," Helen said. "Now you go get beautiful, and don't bother me again." She hung up.
Holly hung up the phone, laughing, then went to feed Daisy and let her out into the dunes for her morning ablutions. She felt completely, insanely happy.
3
The men assembled after breakfast, and the leader set up a drawing pad on an easel and ran them through their individual roles once more.