A Mark of Distinction

The small wood stove kept the tiny chapel warm. Dim light from the candle nubs on the altar played on the faces of the minister and his wife and made the bride and groom's shadows dance on the empty pews.

The minister’s monotone continued. "If anyone can show just cause why this couple may not lawfully be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."

All four turned abruptly when they heard a cough.

"May I help you?" the minister asked.

Out of the shadows stepped a short man wearing a long coat and a Chicago Cubs baseball cap. Light from the candles flickered off a gold stud in his left earlobe. A five o’clock shadow that was two hours early adorned his cheeks. He sauntered toward the altar in silence, never taking his eyes off the foursome.

"The minister asked you a question," the groom said. An erect earthworm, he wore a shiny, three-piece grey suit, a silver ascot and a frown.

The stranger stopped a few paces from the groom and took off his hat.

"My name's Clark." He handed the groom his card. "I'm here to stop this mistake you're about to make, Robert."

"Mistake? I believe you're the one who's mistaken." The groom took his bride’s hand in his. A puzzled look sprouted on his face. “How do you know my name?"

Clark removed his coat and laid it on the back of a dusty pew. He wore jeans, a black turtleneck sweater and a tan sport coat.

"Don't you think this is an odd place for the wedding of a man of your wealth?" Six dilapidated pews abutted the center aisle of the single-roomed building. Mary and the baby Jesus watched over the proceedings from below the cracked stained-glass window and above the crucifix hanging askew behind the altar.

"It's what Marcie wanted." Robert looked at his bride and smiled. "She doesn’t like people to fuss over her. She's very shy."

"What about your parents?” Clark asked. “What do they think about it?"

"My parents are dead, Mr..." He looked at the card. "...Clark. A car accident six months ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Clark’s eyes locked on Marcie. Blond hair, blue eyes, big chest. He wondered how much of it was real. "Marcie must have been a comfort to you in your time of need."

Marcie looked down. The hem of her white gown swept the wood floor as she rocked nervously on white shoes.

"Excuse me," Reverend Anderson said, "but I’m on a tight schedule. We need to finish here so I can get ready for a funeral."

"This won’t take much longer," Clark said.

Reverend Anderson opened his mouth as if to respond, but instead turned and whispered something to his wife. After he finished, they stood like a couple in a Grant Wood painting.

“Now look here, Mr. Clark,” Robert said. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but I want you to leave. Now.”

“According to *The Times*, your net worth is around fifteen million dollars. That right, Robert?”

“The market hasn’t been kind lately. It’s more like twelve, but I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Maybe not, but it is yours. Right Marcie?”

“I…” She glared at Robert. “Get this man out of here. He’s crazy,” she said with a wave of a gloved hand.

Robert grabbed Clark’s arm and dragged him toward the door.

“I bet her parents know how much you’re worth, too.”

“Marcie’s parents are dead. Just like mine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, I am. Ask Marcie.”

“How about if I ask her parents?”

Clark grabbed Robert’s arm and turned him toward the altar.

“Robert, meet the Reverend and Mrs. Malcolm Anderson, Marcie’s parents.”

Robert stared at Marcie, his mouth open. “What’s he saying?”

“I told you, he’s crazy.” Marcie lifted the front of her gown and hurried to Robert’s side. “I don’t know where he got this ridiculous idea.”

“How about your birth certificate, Marcie?” Clark retrieved an envelope from the inside pocket of his sport coat. “It took a bit of work to track it down. You folks move around a lot,” he said to the parents.

Robert’s face reddened.

“Sorry, Robert, but you’re not the first. In fact, you’re number four.” Clark turned his attention to Marcie. “Do I have that right?”

“Don’t listen to him, Bobby. Like I said, he’s crazy.” She reached out, but Robert slapped her hands away.

“How do you know all of this?” he asked Clark.

“Number three’s uncle hired me eighteen months ago to find out what really happened to his nephew, Jason. That was shortly after one of these fine folks killed him and fled with his money. The marriage lasted a month before the husband’s accident.”

“He slipped in the bathtub. Isn’t that what you told the police, Marcie?”

When she didn’t answer, Clark continued. “That three million didn’t last long.”

“Damned old fool,” she said to the reverend. “Couldn’t stay away from the track, could you?”

She turned back to Clark.

“I didn’t kill nobody, and you can’t prove otherwise.”

“I know you didn’t.” Clark looked at the reverend. “Daddy did. That I can prove. And I bet he’ll do anything to save himself from getting the death penalty, including telling everyone how this was all your idea, Marcie.”

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