Hitched

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “Maybe we can ride over there tomorrow, and you can bring it in.”

  “Me?”

  “I’m embarrassed to return things. I’ve always been that way. My mother used to return clothes after she wore them, and I couldn’t stand it.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “I was too embarrassed. But it’s true. It affected me.”

  “Pauly?”

  “Yes.”

  “We haven’t used the TV. We barely took it out of the box. It’s still wrapped in plastic. There’s no issue here. Just your issue about your mother. She doesn’t seem like the type who would return clothes after wearing them.”

  “All right, Brianne. All right. What are you going to do about your dress?” he asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.

  “My father called and threatened Alfred. Said he’d better have a new dress made for me by Wednesday.”

  “Wednesday!”

  Brianne managed to laugh. “Thursday at the latest. This has been some day, Pauly. Tonight when I go out with the girls, I plan to just let it rip.”

  Pauly glanced at his reflection in the full-length mirror that was hanging next to the closet. His five-foot-eight-inch frame looked haggard. His dark hair was matted down. “That’s it, baby. Just have fun tonight. We may as well try to enjoy life while we can. I’ll try to have a good time tonight, too.”

  “Are you sure nothing happened?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “You just sound weird. You’re talking about your bachelor party with your best friends—you shouldn’t have to try too hard to have fun. Just don’t have too good a time. Oh—I don’t suppose you went to the bank today.”

  “Why would I go to the bank today?” he asked, his voice tense.

  “To get our travelers’ checks. Remember?”

  “I thought I’d do that Monday.”

  “Well I guess you have all next week. We’ve been going through a lot of money lately. That’s why I want to be sure to have travelers’ checks for our honeymoon. Unlike cash, if the checks are stolen, they can be replaced.”

  Pauly swallowed hard. “Getting married is expensive.”

  “Try being the bride. Then you’d know expensive.”

  “No thanks.”

  “One day I hope you’ll be the father of the bride,” Brianne said softly. “When this is all over, we’re going to be so happy, right, Pauly? We’re going to have a wonderful life together.”

  Nervous apprehension swept through Pauly’s body. “Of course we are,” he said, forcing himself to sound confident. “Of course we are.”

  22

  Joyce had had an unusually rough day at the pet store. Most of her customers were nice normal people who, like her, were animal lovers. But not today. Joyce figured that there must be a full moon lurking. In the couple of hours before closing time, the eccentrics had come out of the woodwork.

  Teddy, the store’s owner, had seen a catalogue that advertised life preservers for dogs. As a lark, he ordered a dozen. They’d come in and to everyone’s surprise had sold out almost immediately. Some of the store’s longtime customers had their noses out of joint that they weren’t notified in advance about this latest canine accessory.

  “Of course I would have bought two,” one woman announced haughtily. “Joyce, I’m surprised at you. You should have set them aside for me. Lucky and Jigsaw both love to go swimming out in the Hamptons.”

  Joyce knew that the closest those dogs got to the Hamptons was the fire hydrant at the end of their block. “I’ll call the manufacturer and see if we can get more in,” she promised sweetly.

  Another customer was getting married and had ordered a doggy necklace to match the one her fiancé had given her. It hadn’t come in yet. The wedding was six months away, but the bride was in a tizzy.

  “This is making me incredibly nervous,” the bride complained as she petted her little black poodle. The poodle looked bored as it stared at Joyce.

  “We have plenty of time,” Joyce assured the bride.

  “Fifi wants her necklace now, don’t you, Fifi,” the woman said, kissing the poodle on the top of his fluffy head. “Fifi wants to look pretty at my wedding.”

  Fifi yawned as the customer in line behind them rolled her eyes. “Hey, lady, did you hear about the stolen wedding dresses in Manhattan? Two guys broke into a fancy designers’ loft in the middle of the night and made off with several wedding dresses and all the money and jewelry in the safe. Now that’s something to be upset about. How would you like to be getting married next week and have no dress?”

  Fifi’s mommy did not seem particularly concerned. “You can find wedding gowns everywhere. Not these necklaces. Joyce, please call me the moment it arrives.”

  “I will.”

  “Come along, Fifi. Mommy wants to buy you a special treat.”

  Fifi didn’t protest. Actually, the dog had no choice. She was still in her mother’s arms. Together they exited the store.

  “I’m telling you,” the next customer began as she took the doggie toys out of her shopping basket and placed them on the counter, “if that designer had a dog like my King, those dresses would have gone nowhere, that’s for sure. King would have taken a piece out of those two guys’ hides. My King would never let anyone hurt me.”

  “They say it’s two guys?” Joyce asked off handedly as she rung up the purchases.

  “Yeah, two guys. How much do I owe you?”

  “Thirty-nine ninety-seven.”

  “It’s worth every penny. King will be so happy.”

  When Joyce finally arrived home, she was grateful that the house was empty except for the parrot who would always be there for her. When she bought Romeo, she was told that the life span of your average parrot is seventy years. That gave them a lot of time together. It also gave Romeo a lot of time to pick up new phrases.

  “Lazy bums! Lazy bums! Arrrhhhhh.”

  “No, Romeo, it’s just me,” Joyce said, walking over to the cage. “The lazy bums have gone out for the night.”

  “You’re so chicken! You’re so chicken!”

  “What?” Joyce asked her bird. She’d never heard him use this expression before.

  “You’re so chicken!”

  “What are you talking about?” Joyce laughed.

  “You’re so chicken!”

  “Did Marco teach you that?”

  “Hello!”

  “Hello, Romeo.” Joyce reached out and patted his feathers. She loved her bright green parrot with his yellow crown, and appreciated his companionship, but wished she could have a dog as well. The problem was, Francis was allergic to dogs and cats. In a million years, no dating service would have paired them up, but as Joyce explained to her mother, “What looks good on paper doesn’t always work in real life. And vice versa.”

  “Vice versa, my foot,” argued her mother, an animal lover if there ever was one. “It’s never going to work. And a dog, unlike most people, will never let you down.”

  Joyce gave Romeo his favorite treat, yogurt covered raisins, then walked into the bathroom. Again she noticed the bloody paper napkins in the garbage. Francis had a bad nosebleed a couple months ago. All of a sudden she felt panicked. What if there was something really wrong with him? She hurried into the kitchen and started to dial his cell phone. But before the connection went through she hung up.

  Why should I call him? she thought as she stood there with the phone in her hand. He’s obviously well enough to take off for Atlantic City for the evening. The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie. It was Cindy.

  “Are you ready to go out and paint the town red tonight?” Cindy asked.

  “I will be,” Joyce answered.

  “Good. I’ll pick you up at eight. After dinner we’re going to a new place called Club Zee. It’s in the Meatpacking District and it’s really cool. I just heard from one of my friends who lives near there on West Fourteenth Street. She’ll be at Club Zee tonight with a big group of friends, and they rea
lly plan to let loose.”

  “Great,” Joyce said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Her energy was waning and she was tempted not to go. But she knew Cindy would be upset if she backed out now.

  “It will be great! My friend’s group is taking out a girl who’s getting married next week—the poor girl’s wedding dress was shredded at a break-in in Manhattan. Four other dresses were stolen…”

  “I just heard about that!” Joyce interrupted.

  Cindy laughed. “My friend said if this girl Brianne ever gets her hands on the guys who did it, God pity them. She’s one tough broad. Her father just put up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for anyone who supplies information leading to an arrest.”

  “Sounds like we’re gonna have an interesting evening.”

  “We’ll make it interesting. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “You’re so chicken!” Romeo squawked as Joyce hung up the phone.

  Joyce smiled as she headed into the bathroom. A nice hot bath will relax me, she thought. But when she looked down again at the sight of the bloody napkin, her sense of unease intensified. She shook her head and realized again that she was fed up with having Marco around. I’m going to have to lay down the law, she thought. If Francis doesn’t get rid of him, then I’ll throw them both out. Who knows? Maybe I’ll meet someone new tonight.

  Somehow Joyce sensed that the winds of change were blowing around her life. She took off her clothes, stepped into the tub, and eased her body down into the soothing warm water.

  “You’re so chicken!” Romeo squawked from down the hall. “You’re so chicken!”

  Joyce stood up and pushed the bathroom door closed with a loud bang. It almost felt symbolic. I’m not taking it anymore, she told herself. As she sat back down, she felt liberated. Tonight, I start a new way of life. It’s my way or the highway. Francis is going to be surprised. But life is full of surprises.

  She couldn’t have guessed how many were in store for her.

  23

  When Regan and Kit stepped out of the cab at Jack’s apartment building in Tribeca, Kit looked up and sighed. “Your Home Sweet Home, Regan.”

  Regan smiled. “I love it. I can’t believe this place used to be a warehouse.”

  Jack’s paternal grandfather had been an extremely successful businessman who, when he died, left a generous inheritance to each of his grandchildren. Jack had wisely put some of that money in real estate, buying an apartment that he hoped someday to share with his soul mate. Until Regan came along, Jack had been afraid he’d never find her. Now, as the song went, he never wanted to let her go.

  His maternal grandfather had been a police lieutenant. After graduating from Boston College, Jack decided that he, too, wanted to pursue a career in law enforcement. He’d risen quickly through the ranks of the NYPD, from patrolman to captain, and now was head of the Major Case Squad. His goal was to become the police commissioner of New York City. Few doubted that he would make it.

  Jack was waiting for them upstairs in the roomy apartment. “How’s my bride?” he asked as he opened the door, leaned over, and gave Regan a quick kiss.

  “Much better now,” Regan answered with a smile as she looked up at him, always amazed at how handsome he was and how happy he made her feel. “We’ve had quite the afternoon.”

  “And our bridesmaid?” Jack asked Kit, planting a kiss on her cheek.

  “I feel better, too, just knowing we’re on our way to Atlantic City. Maybe I’ll hit the jackpot at one of those slot machines. Then I can retire.”

  “Maybe we’ll hit the jackpot and find out some useful information about our dress thieves,” Regan said hopefully as she walked into the large, airy living room. Several of the boxes she had sent from California were lined up against the wall.

  “I talked to the head of security at Gambler’s Palace,” Jack informed them. “Stan Visoff is a former FBI agent I met a couple of times. He’s getting out the security tapes from last Saturday night for us.”

  “Great,” Regan said as she silently admired her surroundings. Jack had decorated the apartment with oriental rugs, antiques, traditional furniture, and interesting artwork that he bought in the neighborhood galleries. Like Alfred and Charisse’s loft, the apartment had an exposed brick wall that gave a feeling of country charm. Regan felt completely at home. Blending her life with Jack’s felt so easy and so right.

  “Wait till you hear about the other April Brides,” Kit began enthusiastically.

  “I’d love to as soon as we get in the car,” Jack said quickly. “We’d better get going if we want to get back tonight at a reasonable enough hour to check out the activity in Alfred and Charisse’s neighborhood.”

  Ten minutes later they were heading for the Holland Tunnel.

  “So tell me,” Jack said, “how did the other brides take the news?”

  “Surprisingly well,” Regan answered, “especially considering the reactions of the first two.”

  Kit leaned forward from the backseat. “Besides your lovely fiancée, these April Brides of Alfred’s take the cake. The two we visited this afternoon were so blasé about their missing gowns, I couldn’t believe it. One of them is into visualization and inner peace. She’s into inner peace so much that she and her future husband don’t plan to live together when they get married. They’ll just pay each other visits.”

  Jack chuckled and grabbed Regan’s hand. “That won’t be us.”

  Regan smiled. “No way.”

  “The other bride,” Kit continued, “well, talk about hitting the jackpot…” She told Jack about their visit to the Fifth Avenue apartment.

  “Arnie Ney?” Jack asked. “That name sounds familiar.”

  “He’s rich,” Kit volunteered. “And doesn’t want his name in the paper. He doesn’t want anyone else bugging him for money.”

  Regan turned to Jack. “And how was the rest of your day? Any leads on the bank robbery?”

  Jack shook his head and filled them in. “The bank teller is also getting married soon. Her fiancé came and picked her up. He was a wreck. He’s whisking her off to Las Vegas for a couple days of R and R.”

  “Kind of makes the whole experience worth it,” Kit sighed.

  “She was pretty upset. I just wish we could get this guy soon.”

  “If by this time next week we have the bank robber and two dress thieves behind bars, we can fly off without giving a thought to our work,” Regan said.

  Jack turned to her. “When we take off for Ireland, we have to make a pact to leave this all behind.”

  They were planning to spend several days in Ireland, staying at two different castles in the countryside, and visiting some of their ancestors’ birthplaces. As an engagement present, a friend of Regan’s had given them a year’s subscription to Roots@Relatives.com, an Internet service that helped trace your ancestry. The card read, “To Regan and Jack—I hope you don’t discover you’re kissing cousins.” They decided to find out. Then it was on to London and Paris.

  As Regan thought about their plans for Ireland, she mused aloud. “The bride who is into visualization said that her fiancé’s family went ‘wayyyy’ back. I’d love to be able to check them out on Roots@Relatives. When people imply how impressive their family lineage is, it makes me curious what they call impressive.”

  “Please!” Kit gasped. “Anyone can put on a tiara and claim to be from royalty. I met a guy at a party who said he was a prince. I’d never heard of the country. I Googled it. They hadn’t heard of it, either.”

  Jack and Regan laughed. “I’m just so curious about Victoria and Frederick’s relationship,” Regan said. “The few things she said about him give me the impression he’s pompous. Maybe I should call her and offer to look up his family in Roots@Relatives. They provide census records and birth certificates. It’s really interesting. They already sent me a picture of the boat my great-grandfather came over from Ireland on. If Frederick’s family really is so grand, I bet he’d love to get copies of those old records.”
<
br />   “He’d probably be afraid that you’d uncover a family scandal. Have you ever met anyone who doesn’t have at least one embarrassing relative?” Kit asked, then sat back in her seat. “As long as she’s not upset about the dress, leave well enough alone.”

  Regan shrugged. “We’ll see. I’d better give Alfred a call and let him know that all the victims have been notified.” She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and pressed in his number.

  “Alfred, it’s Regan,” she said when he answered.

  “I was just about to call you!” he said excitedly.

  “Is anything else wrong?”

  “There’s always something wrong. But something right has happened, too.”

  “Do tell,” Regan said. “I love good news.”

  “That hot new cable network, Tiger News, wants to have us on their Sunday morning show, Patrick and Jeannie!”

  “Us?” Regan asked.

  “Me and Charisse and the April Brides! They’ve been doing specials on planning spring weddings. One of the producers is familiar with my dresses and absolutely adores them! She thinks this would be a great human-interest story.”

  “Well, you know Tracy won’t do it. And you can forget Victoria and Shauna. Neither of them wants publicity.”

  Alfred groaned. “Brianne couldn’t find another dress. So her father called and threatened me. He said I’d better have a new dress for her or else.”

  “There’s a human-interest story for you,” Regan remarked.

  “I’m afraid to call her. Would you call her for me?”

  “And say what?”

  “That we’re going to be on Patrick and Jeannie’s show tomorrow morning and she should join us.”

  “I don’t know, Alfred.”

  “Please, Regan! That show is so popular! They’re going to show pictures of my beautiful dresses. It would mean so much for my business. It might even help us get the dresses back. Please, Regan! This is national television!!!!”