Chapter Thirty-Seven

"You'd think she'd know better than to wear white on the bride's big day." David looked up from the female victim lying in the middle of the driveway.

Sara acknowledged him and started toward the large group of people assembled at the reception. She passed through an arbor of white roses, noticing how plastic, how fake the whole situation seemed. Her one main thought was, can the love be real, when the flowers aren't. She walked past Nick who was interviewing two young beauties, but that didn't surprise her as this was a party filled with the "beautiful people." Her first interview was a bit disheartening when she quickly realized the young man had had too much to drink.

"Hi there–hi. I'm Sara Sidle. I'm from the crime lab."

"Bryce Gundy–groom's side." The young man was in a tuxedo and obviously "very" drunk.

"Did you guys decorate the wedding car with those beer cans?" Sara asks.

"Yeah."

"Did you drink all the beer first?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome. Did you also tie the groom's mom to the bumper?"

"No."

"Good chat. Um, I'm gonna have to get your fingerprints so I can compare them to the prints I got off the car."

"Cool."

"You "are" aware that someone's died."

"Nobody's gonna miss her except her son and her cell phone provider."

"Oh? What do ya mean?"

"She's creepy-close to Adam. She'd call him fifteen times a day."

"Huh. Do you mind putting your finger–right here?"

The man leaned forward to comply but in his drunken state fell into her. She grabbed him and pushed him off of her. "Oh–okay, Mr. Gundy."

The man put his hands on her shoulders and attempted to look into her eyes. "I think I love you."

"Yeah. Excuse me." She pushed him backward, trying to keep him on his feet as he stumbled in the other direction. "Yeah–uh, thank you. You need to–uh–sit down. Have a club soda."

She watched as he took a few steps and dropped to the ground, then she found his deposit of one pair of panties which she held out with her tweezers, calling after him. "Uh–um–excuse me, you dropped–this."

She no sooner had it in the air than it was plucked from her by another young man–this one evidently not as inebriated as the first.

"Sorry about him." The new man said. "Why do the jerks get all the tail?"

Sara smiles at this new man. "Sara–Sidle–Crime Lab."

"I'm Mike–best man–brother of the bride," he says as Sara offers a handshake but he refuses it, gesturing at the awkwardness with the panties. "Hey, this is a pretty crazy-ass situation, huh? They say it's good luck if it rains on your wedding day. What do you think about a dead body?"

"What do "you" think?" She asks, finding this man much more charming than the last one.

"I think my sister's better off. You ever think about getting married?" Mike asks, receiving a negative shake of Sara's head. "I'm just saying. . .ya know, I think Bryce could make an honest woman out of ya. Oh, look at that–your rejection broke his little heart."

Sara laughed at him, then allowed him to go to his friend's aid. She glanced a few yards away and saw Grissom watching her with a raised brow. She got a bit of satisfaction knowing that he had witnessed that exchange. He deserved it, she thought with a chuckle as she gave him one of her brightest smiles. It only took a moment for him to end his interview with the bride and make his way to her.

"Turning heads already, Agent Sidle?" He asked, his sunglasses hiding his eyes and making him look incredibly sexy.

"No more than you, Dr. Grissom," she smiled at him, nodding toward a few of the female guests who were eyeing him.

"I see you have them standing in line for your attentions," he leaned close to her ear. "Ya better watch it, Agent Sidle, if your boyfriend finds out, he may not let you out of his bed after only making love twice in one day."

"Oh, how interesting," she said as she half-smiled at the grass below her, then looked up at him again. "Please, if you happen to run into him, make him aware of the situation, will you?"

Grissom snorted and continued into the mansion.

With over two hundred guests their investigation continued completely through the evening and nighttime hours, not allowing them to wrap it up until the sun came out the next morning. By this time, Grissom had already gone back to the lab, leaving her with Greg and Nick. After packing all of their evidence in Nick's vehicle, they all agreed to meet for breakfast. Greg and Sara started out first, and both had their plates in front of them by the time Nick showed up to order his own meal. The three of them caught themselves on the morning news as they investigated the Diane Chase case, but Greg's attention was caught by something outside. It was instantly discovered the Nick's vehicle was gone. Someone had stolen it, with all of there evidence, from the restaurant's parking lot.

As they all stood in the restaurant's parking lot, Sara could sense the foreboding flowing through Nick and Greg as Grissom got out of his Denali. Sara hoped this didn't cause more trouble between them. Even as clearly pissed off as he was, he could make her heart skip a beat. Jesus–if she could only take him home and soothe things over in the way she wanted to. But, being realistic, she stood next to her cohorts and waited for the reaming out she was expecting.

Nick explained what happened, the best he could, and although Grissom listened intently to him, Sara could sense his eyes darting to all three of them. Finally, after Nick finished, Grissom looked directly at Sara.

"Sara, get my tablet out of the Denali," he ordered.

"Yeah," she said as she hurried away, feeling that at least she would avoid the lecture for now.

She went to the vehicle that was parked about twenty yards away, then to the driver's side, in search of some sort of paper product for him to write on. She was leaning over the seat, looking in the glove-box, looking under the seat–and she found nothing.

"Look back here," Grissom's voice sounded directly behind her, turning her around to look at his agitated expression.

She followed him to the back of the Denali where he raised the hatch and looked at her. Sara looked in the direction of Greg and Nick, seeing that they were both standing back at the restaurant with there heads down, looking very much like little boys who had just been reprimanded by their grade-school teacher. Neither of them seemed overly interested with what was going on across the parking lot. Sara looked in the back of the vehicle, only to find it empty as well. She looked up at Grissom, realizing that her lecture was forthcoming. She hoped to cut him off before he even started.

"Do you think it's wise to get angry at me at this point?" She asked as she looked at him defiantly.

"Do you think it's wise if I don't?" He asked with raised brows. "Can you explain to me "why" you went to breakfast with Heckle and Jeckle after investigating such a high profile case; a case that took nearly twelve hours just to collect all the evidence? Don't you think it might've been a good idea to get it back to the lab first–then go out with the boys?"

"I was hungry. I hadn't eaten anything since before work last night," she whispered.

"Your first priority is getting the evidence back to the lab, Sara. You know that." He took a deep breath, then reached his hand to her, tilting her chin up until she was looking at him. "I'm not holding you directly responsible for any of this–but next time let me know if you're that hungry that you can't get the stuff back to the lab. If you had let me know, "I" could've taken his truck back and none of this would've happened."

"Fine." She looked away from him.

"So," he said much more gently. "Did you get to eat your breakfast?"

"No, not much of it. I sort of lost my appetite when we realized someone took Nick's truck."

"Come on, then. You go inside and order whatever you were eating and bring it back to the lab. I'll pay for it."

"No," she sighed. "I'm not going to make you pay for it. And I'm not hungry now. I'll get lunch later today."

"Then let's go. McKeen's supposed to be here soon."

"I didn't find your tablet."

"I didn't have one. I just wanted to talk to you alone."

"So, what are you going to do to make this up to me? If I allow you to reprimand me in public, then you should owe me something in private." She gave him one of her teasing smiles.

"Oh, should I?"

"Yeah. I think that sounds like an excellent idea to me."

"But I didn't reprimand you in public. I pulled you aside so I didn't do it in front of anyone else."

"You pulled me aside because you wanted to get me alone–admit it."

"Does this work both ways?" He asked. "If you give me a hard time in public–am I going to get a special treat when we go home?"

She laughed as they started walking back to the others. "You've got something planned already, don't you?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, my dear."

Sara finally did get to eat that day as she sat in the break room with Nick and Greg. They were watching the wedding video for the fifth time that day and, hopefully, were coming up with some answers, with much credit to Greg.

"You paged?" Grissom asked as he entered the conference room with them.

"We think that each of the bridesmaids are responsible for killing her. Not individually, but working in cahoots. Each one played their part," Greg reported.

Intrigued, Grissom moved to the head of the table and sat diagonally from Sara. "Did you know the original role of the bridesmaid was to act as a human shield against the bride's enemies?"

"Women would dress similar to the bride to confuse and outsmart evil spirits that might try to overtake her on her wedding day," Sara added, receiving an approving nod from Grissom.

"Wow! For someone who's anti-wedding, you certainly know a lot about it," Nick told her.

"I'm not. . .anti-wedding. I'm just. . .anti-stupid. When people do things for the sake of tradition with no clue as to why," she quickly tried to explain to Nick, wishing very much that hadn't brought that fact up in front of Grissom.

When she glanced back to Grissom she noted that the comment rattled his cage a bit.

"Anyway. . ." He shook his head as if to clear it before looking at Greg. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we?"

They all watch the DVD as Greg and Sara explain what had happened during the wedding reception. With their information passed on to Brass, all of the bridesmaids involved confessed their part in the death of Diane Chase. With the case closed, except for the their statements to the Internal Affairs Bureau, the four of them waited in the break room. Nick tried to doze on the sofa, Greg paced the floor and Grissom and Sara sat together at the table. Sara watched as Grissom breezed through another crossword puzzle as she spent her time making a triangular paper "football." She wondered if this day was ever going to be over, when finally McKeen arrived with the men who would be taking their statements. Grissom assured them that nothing could go wrong since they all had the same stories, and Sara simply looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"So, it turns out it was one of your admirers from the wedding who took Nick's truck," Grissom commented to Sara after Nick and Greg had gone to be interviewed.

Sara looked at his puzzle he was working on wondering if he had actually spoken to her, considering he never removed his gaze from the newspaper. She turned her chair until she was facing him, noticing there was no one else even close to the room, let alone in it with them. She "finger-kicked" her football in his direction, aiming for the newspaper, but dropping her jaw in shock as it flew too high and hit his forehead. She knew her eyes were huge as she watched him. After the initial start from being struck in the head, he slowly lowered the newspaper and looked at her.

"You hit me–in the head–again," he said quietly, and she couldn't hold back her snort of laughter, although she did try to contain it.

"Oh, Griss–I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hit you there!"

"You had another area in mind? What was it? The eye?"

"No," she chuckled at him and watched as he picked the paper from his lap where it had fallen, sitting where his legs met.

"Or was this your original destination?" He lifted it from the zipper of his pants.

"It usually is–but I swear–I was only trying to get your attention. . ."

"Well, you certainly got it."

"I mean, I was trying to hit the newspaper."

"Did I just see what I thought I saw?" Hodges entered the room with them. "Did you just hit him in the head with that?"

"It slipped," Sara told him, signs of her smile now gone as she looked at the technician.

"Yeah," Grissom agreed sarcastically. "A lot of things have a tendency to "slip" around you."

"What do you mean, it slipped? I watched you kick it with your fingers–right at him." Hodges turned his attention to Grissom. "Don't let her tell you it slipped, boss! I saw her aim for you."

"I did not aim!" Sara objected. "Hodges–how could you see "what" I was aiming for from all the way down in your lab?"

"I wasn't in my lab. I was just coming around the corner–right there."

"Well–I wasn't aiming. I just kicked it–and . . .well. . .his forehead got in the way."

"Uh. . ." Hodges looked at Grissom again. "I don't think I'd believe that if I were you."

"What's my alternative, Hodges?" Grissom asked, his usual irritation with the man starting to show. "Believe you and put her on suspension for bludgeoning her supervisor? Or listen to her and believe that she can't be trusted aiming anything more powerful than a paper football?"

Hodges seemed to think it over for a moment. "Ya know, boss. You do kinda have a big forehead. So, it probably did get in the way."

Grissom stared at the other man. "I do "not" have a big forehead."

"But on the other hand, if she really did aim at you–you don't have to suspend her for attacking a supervisor. You've got a paper in your hands–hit her back and call it even." Hodges shrugged his shoulders as he poured himself a cup of coffee then walked out of the room.

Sara watched him leave but before she could fully turn back to Grissom, she felt the sudden snap of the newspaper against the top of her head.

"Hey!" She stared at him again. "You did that on purpose!"

"Can you prove it?" He asked as he looked at her. "Hodges was walking away with his back to us. He didn't see a thing."

"You know, you're going to pay for that when you get home."

"That's what I was intending," he said as he lifted the paper back for his examination.

"Where's my football?" Sara asked as she looked around the table.

"In my hand."

"Give it back."

"No." He continued to look at the paper.

"Fine. I'll make another one."

She picked up another flat piece of paper and started folding it, but stopped when he reached over and covered it with his hand. She looked at him and saw him staring at her as he leaned closer enough for her to hear him.

"Do you wanna take this outside?' He said so seriously that she beamed another smile.

"Sure, anytime you're ready, big guy!" She boasted, but he simply crunched the paper beneath his hand and took it from her, then went back to reading the puzzle.

"Can't. We have to wait here until they're done with Nick and Greg."

"Uh-huh," she said in a low tone. "You're all talk and no action."

"We shall see about that, won't we?" He raised one brow as he glanced at her, bringing her attention to the pink spot where her football had hit him and she chuckled. "What?"

"You have a pink spot in the middle of your forehead. Now it looks like a target. Give the football back, so I can try again. I can score big points if I hit the same spot twice."

"Do you remember what I told you this morning about misbehaving at work? Let's see, first you hit me with your water bottle–then you hit me with your little toy, here. Is there anything else you'd like to try while we're here? I'm tallying everything up and payback is going to be a bitch."

"Really? Does it have anything to do with peanut butter and maraschino cherries?"

He looked away from her as his smile hit him, almost as if he couldn't remain sober at the thought of spreading peanut butter on her as she lay with the sweet cherries strategically positioned on her torso.

"It just may." He looked at her again. "So–want to tell me how it is that you always attract the trouble-makers? Like I said, the object of your flirtation at the wedding yesterday is now behind bars for taking Nick's truck."

"I don't know–I guess I just like bad boys. You should see my boyfriend."

"Oh, and he's bad?" He said doubtfully.

"You should meet him. He can do the most amazing things with his. . ."

"Speaking of attracting men," Grissom interrupted. "I saw you going through the bride's luggage today."

"Oh, ya did?" She gave him a crooked smile. "Did you see anything in there that you liked?"

"Nothing that I could fit into," he told her, making her chuckle. "I did see you telling Nick that you needed his hands–and he seemed pretty willing to lend them to you. What did he say? He thought you'd never ask?"

"Yes. I believe he did."

"Uh-huh. Shall we bring up your beliefs regarding weddings and stupidity? And, please, make it good."

"You heard that, did you?"

"I did."

McKeen stood at the doorway to the room. "Sidle–your turn."

Sara got out of her chair, but leaned low enough to whisper to Grissom. "I think it also has something to do with the bride and groom, themselves. Don't you?"