“Hi,” I said to the guy behind the counter—GERALD was stitched into his shirt—handing over Rodney’s claim ticket. “Picking up for Rodney Daniels?”

“Ah,” Gerald said, his face creasing into a smile. “The wedding suit, of course. Just a second.” He turned around and walked through a little curtained area in the back.

I leaned my elbows on the counter and looked at the pictures hung up behind the register. The wall was filled with signed pictures of well-known local customers—the governor; Storm Raines, our TV weatherman—and the headshot of Amy Curry, who’d graduated from Stanwich High before I’d gotten there and had had a small part in Time Ninja, last summer’s blockbuster. And above them all—which probably meant it had been there the longest—was a drawing my mother had done, all the GCS characters reacting in horror as a muddy Waffles stood on a pile of clothes. Thanks for always coming to the rescue! she’d scrawled above her signature. The cartoon version of me, at six, was half hiding behind the cartoon version of Danny while Waffles shook mud everywhere.

“Here it is!” Gerald was back, carrying a black garment bag. He smiled as he handed it over. “Tell Rodney congratulations,” he said, waving us out the door. Bill and I stepped outside into the cool morning air—I kept telling myself it was going to warm up, even though it only seemed to be getting colder and windier—and exchanged a smile.

“That was easy,” he said as I draped the suit carefully over my arm and we walked back to the car, falling into step together.

“I know,” I said, feeling my spirits lift. “Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe it’ll be no problem to find a judge, too.”

Bill grinned at me. “I like the optimism.”

I beeped the car open, then laid the suit out lengthwise in the way back, so it wouldn’t get wrinkled. I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket, pulled it out, and saw that it was Rodney calling. “Hey,” I said, straightening the garment bag.

“Hey—did you get the suit yet?”

“Just picked it up.”

“Oh, good. Before you leave, just make sure that my vest is in there as well, would you?”

“Sure,” I said, unzipping the black garment bag and then freezing. I’d seen pictures of the suit Rodney would be wearing—and the modified version that all the groomsmen would be wearing. It was a dark-gray suit and vest, with a gray tie for Rodney and a peach tie for the groomsmen. But the suit in front of me was not that at all. The suit in front of me was what could only be described as maroon, with a faint plaid pattern woven throughout, and it also looked much too small for Rodney.

“Is it there?” Rodney’s voice on the other end shook me out of my daze.

“There’s a suit in front of me. I’ll bring you your suit. Nothing is wrong.”

“Wait, what?” But I hung up before Rodney could ask me any more questions, zipped the bag up, and shut the back door.

“What is it?” Bill asked, looking over at me.

“They gave us the wrong suit,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m glad we noticed before bringing it home.”

“Seriously,” Bill said, his eyes wide, as we hurried back into the shop.

“I’m sorry about this,” Gerald said after we’d explained the situation. He shook his head as he typed on his computer. “My son updated our computer system, and it’s a bit of a mess right now. He must have mistagged it and . . .” He squinted at the screen, frowning.

“What?” Bill asked. “What is it?”

“So,” Gerald said, clearing his throat. “It seems like my son, in his infinite wisdom, may have accidentally mixed up your claim tags and given Rodney’s suit to the owner of that one.”

I found myself gripping the counter for support, hoping against hope that he was about to tell me he was just kidding, that this was just pre-wedding hazing. “Seriously?” I managed, when it became clear after a few seconds that this was actually happening.

“I’m so very sorry about this. This almost never happens.”

“So it happens sometimes?” Bill asked, sounding flabbergasted.

“But I will reach out to the other customer right away,” he went on, “and see if he’d be willing to bring his suit in today and exchange them.”

“If?” I echoed, hearing my voice get higher. “There’s a wedding later today, and the groom needs a suit to wear!”

Gerald winced. “I am perfectly aware of the situation,” he said, spreading his hands. “But I’m afraid that’s all I can do.”

“Well, who did you give the suit to?” Bill asked. “Maybe we could bring it to him, and then he wouldn’t have to make a trip over here.” I nodded, incredibly grateful for Bill at that moment, simply for being someone who could make plans and not just give in to the blind rage I was currently feeling.

“Ah. Well, I’m afraid I can’t give out customer information.”

“But you can give out customers’ suits!” I sputtered, even though some part of me knew this wasn’t helping matters.

“Even so—” he started, just as the phone rang. He held up his index finger to me as he answered, the universal sign for hold on a sec. “Swift Tailors,” he said, his voice cheery and professional. I debated yelling, loud enough for the person on the other end of the phone to hear, that they should hang up, since this establishment couldn’t be trusted not to give away your possessions.

“This is bad,” I said, turning to Bill, who was examining the suit, which just got worse the more you saw of its fabric. It was like it had been designed to give you a headache in seconds. “What are we going to tell Rodney? What kind of place loses someone’s wedding suit?”

“Charlie,” Bill said, speaking softly. I glanced over at him and saw he had unbuttoned the suit and opened it up. There, on the inside of the right breast pocked was a sewn-in tag that read TAILORED EXCLUSIVELY FOR RALPH DONNELLY.

“So we know whose suit it is,” I said slowly, trying to figure out why Bill looked so excited about this.

“Why don’t we do what you said?” Bill said, lowering his voice as he glanced at Gerald, who was still on the phone. “I mean, nobody’s going to come back in on a Saturday to return a suit. But if we bring it to him . . .”

“Right.” I wasn’t sure this would work, but it seemed like a better idea than just leaving the suit here and hoping Gerald would be able to sort it out before the time the ceremony rolled around. And at least if we had Ralph Donnelly’s terrible suit in our possession, we had some leverage. Bill buttoned the suit again, then zipped the garment bag up. He glanced at me and I nodded. We both started to back toward the door, Bill carrying the suit. When we pushed it open, the bell above the door chimed and Gerald looked at us, his eyes widening.

“Wait a second,” he said, lowering the phone. “I can’t let you take that—”

But we didn’t wait to hear what else he was going to say because, like we’d discussed it ahead of time, we both bolted at the same moment and ran up the street. I unlocked my car when we were a few feet away, and then we threw ourselves inside.

“So,” Bill said, as I peeled out onto the street, “we need to convince Ralph Donnelly to give up Rodney’s suit.”

“And find someone to marry Linnie and Rodney,” I added.

“And bagels,” Bill added, and despite everything that was happening, I smiled.

“Right,” I agreed.

Bill shook his head. “It’s certainly turning out to be an interesting morning.” He looked over and smiled at me. “Let’s do it.”

CHAPTER 17

Or, #extortion

* * *

I HAD BEEN AFRAID THAT it would be hard to find Ralph Donnelly, but he proved surprisingly—and a little worryingly—easy to track down. Ralph had a very active social media presence, which was why, never having met the man, I knew not only what he looked like and that he apparently loved pugs, but also what his morning had consisted of.

ralphdonnelly: starting the day off right—coffee run! #coffeerun