Wedding Bell Blues. Charlotte Douglas

and the rapidly descending sun, but his dark mood remained.

      “Then what’s troubling you?” With a jolt of panic, I wondered if Bill was having second thoughts about marrying me. My reluctance to commit was rooted in my feelings of inadequacy, but I’d never doubted how much I loved him. Losing him would be more than I could bear.

      He sighed. “I got a hit today on the background checks I’ve been doing for the Historical Society.”

      A mixture of relief and surprise rushed through me. “One of your little old ladies has a record?”

      He took a long pull at his beer and nodded. “Shoplifting.”

      “Have you told the museum director?”

      Bill shook his head. “And I’m not going to.”

      “Why?” Bill was the most ethical person I knew, so his refusal didn’t make sense. “Isn’t that what we volunteered for?”

      He leaned toward me with pain-filled eyes. “I talked to her. Bessie Lassiter is eighty-four, lives with her hundred-year-old sister, Violet, and has only their paltry Social Security checks as income. She was caught shoplifting in a grocery store. She was stealing food because she’d run out of funds before the end of the month.”

      “And some heartless judge convicted her?”

      “But let her off with a warning and probation.”

      “That’s so sad. Is there something we can do for her?”

      “She won’t accept help,” Bill said with a shake of his head. “I tried to give her money, but she said her pride is all she has left, and she refuses to accept charity. I hate to think how many elderly are out there in her situation, not having enough money for housing, utilities, groceries and medicine. And the irony is, the food she stole wasn’t for herself but for her sister. She said she would have done without, but she couldn’t let her sister starve.”

      I felt sympathy for the old ladies and wanted to do something. “Give Darcy all the info you have on the women tomorrow,” I suggested. “Have her check into government assistance programs for seniors.”

      “I doubt they’ll accept help.”

      “I’m sure they’ve paid taxes all their lives,” I said. “We’ll convince them that they’re entitled.”

      He spanned the distance between us and squeezed my hand. “That’s a good idea. We’ll try it. Now tell me about your day.”

      I related Antonio Stavropoulos’s desire to hire Pelican Bay Investigations for security for the Burns-Baker wedding reception, and Bill frowned again. “Sounds like one huge domestic disturbance.”