“I’m coming!” Shauna called breezily as she entered the room. Regan guessed her to be about forty. She was petite, with curly, light brown hair and an elfin expression on her plain yet pleasant face. Her outfit was far more casual than her surroundings—khaki pants, Birkenstock sandals, and a peasant top. Regan was willing to lay odds that she ate granola for breakfast.
Avoiding too many pleasantries, Arnold introduced them.
Shauna had a twinkle in her eye as she sat in a chair near the couch and said to Regan, “I understand you have bad news for me.”
“Bad news? What bad news?” Arnold asked.
“My dress has been stolen!” Shauna answered, slightly raising her voice. She then turned toward Regan and Kit. “I just spoke to Alfred.”
“Your dress has been stolen?” Arnold repeated.
“Stolen! Isn’t it the worst? But don’t worry! Alfred promised he’d make me a new one in time for the wedding.”
“The wedding is in three weeks,” Arnold said, holding up that many fingers.
“He said he’d get it done.”
Regan had experienced a lot of strange situations in the past several hours but nothing quite like this. Was this man the groom? She didn’t dare ask. “Alfred and Charisse are so sorry,” she began. “They hate to inconvenience you—”
“I love them. And I love their gowns,” Shauna enthused. “I’m not into designer clothes, but Alfred’s vintage look is so perfect on me. Arnie saw pictures. He thinks the dress looks romantic. Right, Arnie?”
“I like their dresses,” he answered, waving his hand dismissively.
What is their relationship? Regan wondered. She couldn’t come out and just ask. She’d try another tack. “I ordered my wedding dress from Alfred. My fiancé asked me what it was like, but I wouldn’t tell him…” Regan let her voice trail off.
This time it was Shauna’s turn to look at Regan like she was nuts. “You don’t think?”
“What?” Regan asked, playing dumb.
Shauna started laughing hysterically. “Arnie, did you hear that?”
“What?”
“I think she thinks we’re a couple.”
“Oh, that’s a good one. Wait till Pamela hears!” He finally laughed, making one of the oddest sounds Regan had ever heard. “Kkkkkkkk,” he laughed. “Kkkkkkk.”
“I didn’t think that…” Regan protested.
“Heyyyyy, what’s happening?”
Regan turned her head. A thirtyish young man with shoulder-length dark hair, a pierced ear, and, like Alfred, sporting several day’s worth of stubble on his face, came strutting into the room. He was clad in jeans that were ripped in the places where they were supposed to be ripped these days, and a white T-shirt that showed off his great form. To say that his hip look seemed out of place in the surroundings was an understatement.
Shauna turned and looked at him lovingly. “This is my fiancé, Tyler.”
“Heyyyyy,” Tyler said again, waving at the group.
What do you know? Regan thought. Here I thought Shauna was marrying someone at least forty years older. It’s more like ten years younger! “Hello,” she said to Tyler. “We’re just talking to Shauna about her missing wedding dress.”
“What a bummer.”
“It’s okay,” Regan said. “Shauna will have a dress for your wedding. Alfred and Charisse just wanted to make sure you all knew what happened and assure you that everything would be fine.”
Shauna reached for Tyler’s hand while she stared at Regan. “Alfred told me the whole story.” With her free hand she pointed at the portrait over the couch. “Pamela is the one who will really be disappointed if I don’t have the dress for the wedding. She loves good clothes. We put a lot of time and energy into picking out that dress.” Shauna grinned. “She thinks it makes me look like a princess.”
“Awesome,” Tyler opined, “awesome.”
“You’re getting married in three weeks, right?” Regan asked.
“Yes.”
“Tell her not to worry. They’ll have it done,” Regan said with a confidence she didn’t necessarily feel. Offhandedly, she asked, “Where are you getting married?”
“At Pamela and Arnie’s club on East 65th Street. It will be a small ceremony with about fifty guests. It’s going to be so elegant and wonderful.”
“Those two are like children to us,” Arnie grunted. “When Pamela and I met them out in Santa Fe, they were so friendly. We felt like we knew them for years.”
Shauna smiled. “Tyler and I sell the best turquoise jewelry in the town square in Santa Fe. Arnie bought a beautiful necklace for Pamela and then invited us to join them for dinner.” Shauna paused. “Thank God we were there. Pamela started to choke on a piece of steak. Tyler saved her life.”
Tyler nodded and gave the thumbs up.
Arnie looked down, clearly uncomfortable that tears were welling in his eyes.
“So we bonded,” Shauna declared. “The next night we went out to dinner again. This time to a vegetarian restaurant. Pamela wanted to know why we weren’t married. We told her we were saving up but would probably end up going to a justice of the peace. Pamela had a fit! She said that we have to come to New York to get married in style. So here we are! Like a family.”
“How nice,” Regan murmured.
“They’re good kids,” Arnie grunted.
“I just feel so lucky about everything. So lucky. I love Tyler so much and then to meet a terrific couple like Arnie and Pamela…” Now it was her eyes that welled up with tears. “My parents passed away when I was a child. Maybe that’s why I never was interested in having a real wedding and settling down. To have met a couple who treat me like the daughter they never had…”
“And me like a second son,” Tyler interjected. “Right, Pops!”
“Stop!” Arnie ordered. “Or you’ll make me start bawling again.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Regan said.
Shauna nodded, her impish face caught between tears and a smile. “You must be very close to Alfred and Charisse,” she said as she batted her makeup-free eyes.
“I’ve gotten to know them a little over the last few months as they worked on my dress. But I’m also a private investigator so I can’t help getting involved in this case. I’ll ask you the question I’m asking all the brides who were affected by the break-in. Do you know of anyone who might have done this to hurt you and Tyler? Or Arnie and Pamela? Is there anyone who might not have wanted you to have that dress?”
Tyler looked befuddled. “No. Hardly anyone knows us around here.”
“Can’t imagine,” Arnie said dismissively.
“That would be so hurtful,” Shauna declared.
Regan took that for a no. “Okay. One more question. This case has attracted a lot of attention. Reporters are dying to write about the brides whose dresses are gone. It’s such an emotional subject. Shauna, would you be willing to talk to the press about your story?”
“Absolutely not!” Arnie barked. “I have enough people after me for money. I don’t need the world to know that we’re paying for the wedding. It would turn something nice that’s just between the four of us into something crass. And I’d have more people hounding me with their hard luck stories!”
“I understand,” Regan said. Did Shauna look disappointed? She wasn’t sure.
“Arnold Ney worked hard for every dollar he made! I don’t need any more solicitations.”
“Calm down, Arnie,” Shauna said soothingly. She hurried over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Regan and Kit made their escape as fast as they could.
“Whew!” Kit said when they were out on the street. “Out of the five April Brides, you and Brianne are the most normal.”
“Whatever normal is,” Regan said. “Let’s get a cab. I need to see Jack.”
“If you guys want to be alone tonight, and maybe even elope, it won’t hurt my feelings one bit.”
Regan smiled. “Don’t tempt me.”
&
nbsp; 20
Several miles off the Garden State Parkway, and not that far from Atlantic City, Marco and Francis wandered into a store that was nationally famous for its great bargains on appliances. A salesman approached them with his most winning smile.
“My name is Roy. What can I do for you this afternoon?” he asked.
“We’re looking for a dishwasher,” Marco said matter-of-factly.
Roy clapped his hands together. “A dishwasher? No problem. For some reason I thought you guys would be in the market for power drills or electric chainsaws.”
“We’re not,” Marco answered in a now unfriendly tone.
“The dishwasher is a present for my girlfriend,” Francis hastened to add.
“Fantastic!” Roy enthused. “I have a super-duper model she’s just going to love. It gets the dishes clean as a whistle and it’s so quiet you barely know it’s on.” He pointed to a large machine.
“Got one a little smaller?”
A half hour later Marco and Francis pulled the car up to the back of the store where they could load Joyce’s present into the back seat. Smiling Roy was waiting. He was an enthusiastic salesman who saw to it that his customer received the best possible service from the time they walked through the door until they pulled away with their purchases.
“Hey guys!” he boomed, tapping Marco’s trunk. “Pop this baby open and we’ll load you up.”
“Our trunk is full,” Marco said gruffly. “We’re going to put it in the backseat. First we want to take it out of the box.”
“Now?”
“Now. But we want to keep the box in case we have to return the dishwasher.”
“That’s all right!” Roy said, always eager to please. “If you bring it back, you won’t need the box—”
“I want the box!” Marco snarled.
“It’s all yours!” Roy blurted nervously.
They pulled the front seat all the way forward, wedged the dishwasher into the backseat, and crammed the cardboard box in next to it. Marco and Francis drove off, the sight of smiling, waving Roy receding from the rearview mirror.
They couldn’t hear the comments he was making under his breath.
“He was suspicious of us,” Francis moaned.
“No he wasn’t. All he cares about is his commission.”
“What now?”
“Time to find a secluded spot.”
Francis sighed. “Around here?”
“Hopefully.”
They drove around and around and around, not wanting to veer too far from their final destination of Atlantic City. Marco cut down side streets, but they couldn’t find anywhere that would give them the privacy they needed. Eventually, he turned onto a two-lane road that became increasingly wooded and suddenly took a sharp curve. Once around the bend, Marco whistled with satisfaction at the sign ahead.
WELCOME TO THE HEAVENLY REST CEMETERY
GATE CLOSES AT DUSK
The imposing, black-iron gate was wide open.
“Hurry!” Francis ordered. “I don’t know what time dusk is but I think it’s around now.”
Marco stepped on the gas. They sailed through the entryway, past a religious statue whose outstretched arms welcomed them, and glided down a sloping road. Rows of tombstones could be seen in all directions. At a fork in the road, they went left and up a hill. Large mausoleums were facing each other on either side of the narrow path. Marco pulled over and stopped the car. Without a word, they both got out.
All was silent except for the rustling of the breeze and the occasional chirp of a bird.
“Do you think it’s safe?” Francis asked anxiously.
“It’s closing time,” Marco said. “Everybody’s gone except maybe the guy who’ll lock up.”
They pulled the empty dishwasher box out of the backseat, placed it on the ground behind the car, and opened the trunk. The four wedding gowns were in a jumble. One by one they pulled them out and stuffed them down into the rough cardboard container.
“I hope they’ll all fit,” Francis fretted.
“We’ll make them fit,” Marco said resolutely as he gave a final squash to the dresses that Alfred and Charisse had labored over so lovingly. “Give me the tape.”
Francis leaned in the trunk and grabbed a roll of masking tape they’d used with the ropes to bind Alfred and Charisse’s hands.
Marco closed the sides, sealed the box, and they tossed it into the trunk. Quickly, they got back in the car and drove off.
A moment later a visitor to the cemetery teetered out from behind one of the mausoleums. Something on the ground caught her eye. The elderly woman leaned down and picked up a beautiful, antique-white lace button that had fallen off one of the dresses. “Oh, darling,” she whispered as she walked back to her husband’s tombstone. “Whenever I visit, you always give me a sign that you know I’m here, don’t you?” Smiling, she examined the button that reminded her of the buttons on her wedding dress. The dress she’d worn exactly sixty years ago today. “It’s got a tiny logo with the initials A and C on the back,” she said aloud. “Too bad they’re not our initials, sweetheart, but I’ll treasure it all the same.”
A moment later her driver pulled up. He turned off the radio before she got in the car. He’d been listening to Jess and Kenny.
21
The Saturday before a guy gets married is expected to be stressful, but it shouldn’t be this stressful, Pauly Sanders thought as he returned to his spacious two-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. His roommate had moved out the month before to make way for Brianne. The minute he was gone, a van pulled up with a slew of Brianne’s belongings and several cans of paint.
“This place needs work,” she insisted.
To Pauly, it looked just fine. He’d been lucky to buy it before the market got too crazy. And he’d been lucky to keep it when he was unemployed. A funny feeling hit him in the stomach. Being unemployed and engaged hadn’t been the world’s greatest combination. He’d be starting his new job when they returned from their honeymoon. He couldn’t wait to get back to work and start collecting a paycheck again.
In the foyer of his apartment he pulled off his dark wet raincoat and dropped it along with his knapsack on the floor. He kicked off his heavy black shoes and left them there.
“One of the last times I’ll be able to get away with that,” he mumbled as he trudged into the bedroom. He changed into dry clothes, sat on the bed, and pulled on a pair of white gym socks. Trying to catch his breath, he looked around.
Brianne and the decorator she worked for had been traipsing in and out of the apartment every other day, planning their “touchups.” It was enough to make a man crazy. Pauly’s bachelor pad was being gussied up with flowery window treatments and fancy pillows, pillows that were not meant for resting one’s weary head on.
But he loved Brianne. She was a piece of goods. She didn’t take any of his garbage. She was the first girl he truly fell in love with, and he didn’t want to lose her.
The phone rang. He grabbed the cordless next to the bed. It was his beloved.
“Hey, baby,” he said.
“Don’t ‘baby’ me! Where have you been?” Brianne practically shrieked.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? I’ve had the crisis of my life and I haven’t been able to reach you. Didn’t you check your messages?”
“No. I was doing a lot of thinking. And I was busy. To tell you the truth, I thought you were going to be tied up with your mother. This is a reflective day for me. My last Saturday as a bachelor.”
“Don’t give me reflective!” Brianne screamed. “Didn’t you see me on NY1?”
Pauly’s phone beeped, which meant another caller wanted his ear. “Hold on a second, baby.” He pressed the call-waiting button. “Hello.”
“Pauly! Did you see Brianne on NY1?” It was Pauly’s best man, Tony.
“As a matter of fact I didn’t. And I’m catching a lot of flak for it now. I don’t even know why she was on. Le
t me call you back.” Pauly clicked the button. “Brianne, that was Tony. He saw you on NY1.”
“How did he think I looked?”
“He didn’t say. I didn’t give him a chance. Honey, what happened?”
Pauly laid back on the bed as Brianne explained everything that had happened, down to the last detail. “And the dress was not only covered with ants, it had been eaten by moths. My mother wants to call and scream at the dry cleaner, but he went out of business twenty years ago.”
“Maybe you could wear my sister’s dress.”
Brianne howled in protest.
“Maybe not.”
“She just got married a month ago! I’m not going to be seen in her dress. The champagne stains aren’t even dry. Besides, she had no right getting married before us. We were engaged first.”
“All right. All right. I was just trying to help.”
“I’m sorry, Pauly. I don’t want you to think I’m difficult.”
Pauly rolled his eyes. He started to sing softly. “I love you just the way you are.”
“Our wedding song,” Brianne said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“I love you just the way you are, too,” Brianne said without a trace of sentiment.
“That’s what we decided,” Pauly croaked. “No putting each other on pedestals. No unrealistic expectations. For better or for worse. No matter what, we’re there for each other.”
“What did you do?” Brianne asked, suddenly suspicious.
Pauly sat up quickly and looked out at his dark wet raincoat sprawled on the floor of the foyer, his knapsack and shoes next to it. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Did you pick up the ushers’ cuff links from the jeweler?”
“Oh, I forgot.”
“Did you pick up your new suit from the tailor?”
“No.”
“What have you been doing all day?”
“I’ve been really nervous.”
“So, I guess you didn’t return the television to Dan’s Discount Den?”
“I thought we were going to k-keep it,” he stammered.
“No, we weren’t. I want a little television for the kitchen counter to keep me company when I cook you nice dinners. You’ve lost too much weight these past few months. That TV we bought is too big.”
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