Hitched

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “These little machines really get you to dream big,” Regan said with a laugh. “That’s why you usually end up losing all your money.”

  “What about you?” Kit asked. “Did you find out anything helpful?”

  “I certainly hope so,” Regan said as the three of them headed back to Stan’s office.

  Jack smiled but was lost in thought. His mind kept returning to the bank’s security tapes. His gut told him that there was more to the case than met the eye, as they say.

  He also felt that if they didn’t catch the robber soon, he’d elude them forever.

  30

  At the cavernous Club Zee, Brianne and her friends were having a great night—the music was loud and the drinks were flowing. They’d had dinner at Carmine’s on West 44th Street, a family-style Italian restaurant that attracted large parties of rambunctious diners. The portions were enormous, the atmosphere energetic. Brianne had opened her gag gifts, and they’d made jokes about wedding gowns. Before she and her buddies moved on to Club Zee, Brianne was introduced by the bartender as one of the April Brides whose gown was stolen. Brianne stood on a bar stool and took her bows. She was a celebrity for the evening and was loving every minute of it.

  Now they had procured a special spot on the Zee balcony overlooking the crowded dance floor. A banquette and several leather chairs surrounded a low glass table. The whole scene was very hip.

  You had to scream to be heard.

  The crowd Joyce was traveling with gained admittance to the club and joined the group on the balcony. Two squeezed into the banquette and two stole chairs from other tables.

  Cindy’s friend Beth made the introductions.

  “And the guest of honor is my friend Brianne whose bloody wedding gown is making headlines!” she shouted, barely audible above the deejay.

  Brianne beamed as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She was with her best friends. Life was good. She had Pauly and she was going on national television in the morning.

  Joyce, on the other hand, wasn’t feeling so great. She’d had a couple of shots of tequila, then wine with dinner. Her head was spinning, and she felt depressed.

  Club Zee had a policy of playing a popular song from different eras every half hour. Julio Iglesias’s song “To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before” came over the speakers at exactly eleven o’clock. The whole crowd started to sing. Cindy ran down to the dance floor. When the song was over and the thumping music started up again, Beth proposed a toast.

  “To all the men Brianne loved before.”

  “There have been some real winners!” Brianne said, rolling her eyes. “I’m so blessed to have found Pauly! To think that I used to let Bill the Pill leave me alone on all those Saturday nights. How did I put up with that for so long?”

  Joyce got up from the table, hurried to the bathroom, and threw up. Her life was miserable. She should never have let Francis talk her into letting Marco stay for so long. Joyce came out of the stall and rinsed her mouth with water from the sink. I need air, she thought. I’ll go outside for a little walk.

  When Cindy returned to the table from the dance floor, she looked around. “Where’s Joyce?” she asked.

  “I think she went to the bathroom,” Brianne answered.

  Fifteen minutes later Cindy went to look for her.

  But she was nowhere to be found.

  31

  Francis and Marco had been heading west on Interstate 80 for a couple of hours. The road was dark and depressing. Las Vegas seemed very far away. “This isn’t worth it,” Francis declared, breaking a long silence. “It’s going to take too much time.”

  “Francis, relax! This is business. We’re not on vacation, we’re going to make money. When you have the extra dough in your pocket, you’re going to thank me. Suck it up and call Joyce. You’ll feel better once you get that over with. Tell her you’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  Silently Francis picked up his cell phone, opened it, and grimaced. “My battery is going to die soon. And I don’t have my charger.” He dialed Joyce’s number. Her voice mail came on. “Hi, this is Joyce. Leave me a message.”

  “Honey, it’s Francis. Give me a call. I hope you’re having a good time.”

  When he hung up, Marco mimicked him. “Honey, it’s Francis…”

  “She’s a good person,” Francis said. “We’ve both been taking advantage of her sweet nature.”

  “I told you, I’ll be out of there very soon. Then you two can resume your exciting life together.”

  “I like my life with Joyce,” Francis said defensively. He longed to be home. He wished he were sitting with Joyce watching television, hearing about her day at the pet store. In her quiet way, she was funny. The parrot who couldn’t stand him would be in the background squawking. Francis missed that, too. All the comforts of home. If I get out of this mess, he silently promised God, I’ll be so good you won’t believe it.

  He tried Joyce’s cell phone three more times in the next half hour. She still wasn’t answering. He knew his battery was on its last legs so he left her a message to please call him on Marco’s phone and resumed staring out at the seemingly unending road in front of them. The unending white line. With each passing mile, his anxiety mounted. He fidgeted in his seat and caught sight of the dishwasher. Turning to Marco, he blurted, “I’ll buy Joyce another dishwasher. I think we should get rid of this one. It’s making me nervous. It’ll just attract attention wherever we stop along the way.”

  “Now you’re talking sense, buddy,” Marco said. “I’ll get off at the next exit, and we’ll leave it on the side of the road somewhere. Maybe someone with a sink full of dirty dishes will get lucky.”

  Francis breathed a sigh of relief. But he’d breathe an even bigger sigh of relief when Joyce called him back.

  What was taking her so long?

  Sunday, April 3rd

  12:10 A.M.

  32

  “So what you have,” Kit concluded, once again ensconced in the backseat of Jack’s car, “is an image of two guys who might have gotten a hold of Alfred’s keys. Or might not have.”

  “Big cases have been broken with less information,” Regan said. “And if these two are the ones who have my wedding dress, it’s worth hunting them down. Although I’ll admit it’s not much to go on.”

  “Hell hath no fury like a woman whose wedding gown has been stolen or destroyed,” Jack said with a smile.

  “That goes for three of us,” Regan said. “But those other two brides didn’t display an ounce of fury.”

  “One of them doesn’t want publicity,” Kit added, “and the other isn’t allowed to get any if she wants Arnie to foot the bill for her wedding.”

  Regan frowned.

  Jack reached over and touched her forehead. “Isn’t your mother always telling you not to frown?”

  “I’m thinking, I’m thinking. I just can’t get over how that Victoria didn’t seem at all like someone who was getting married in a few weeks.”

  Jack rubbed her forehead. “At the moment you don’t seem like someone getting married to a prince among men in one week.”

  Regan smiled. “Like I told my mother, I’ll give this case a couple of days and then go back to our wedding plans. But this case does involve criminals who have thrown a wrench into those very wedding plans.” She paused. “To my prince.”

  “Regan, I want to get my hands on these guys as much as you do,” Jack said softly. “So tell us what else you were thinking before I got you off track.”

  Regan hardly needed encouragement. “The two brides we visited this afternoon were both unusual,” she said. “I’ll ask Alfred more about their backgrounds. After all, aren’t we supposed to investigate people who are closely connected to a crime like this? Even the supposed victims?”

  “You can’t rule anybody out,” Jack answered. “Those women have obviously been in and out of the loft. They might have known there was a safe back in the bedroom. Either one of them could have gotten thei
r hands on Alfred’s keys if they were just lying out in the salon. Who knows?” Jack asked with a roll of his eyes, “Maybe one of them didn’t want to have to pay for her dress.”

  “My father would have loved it if I’d figured out a way to get that dress for free.”

  “You’re doing a good job of it right now,” Jack said. “Alfred should supply you with gowns for life.”

  “I doubt that will happen.”

  Jack adjusted the earpiece of his Bluetooth cell phone. “I think I’ll check in with the office.”

  One of the young detectives answered. “Hey, boss. We’ve got a couple things to tell you. Not too much came up on Jeffrey Woodall on a preliminary check. So Keith stopped by his apartment building on the way home and made a few inquiries. Seems he’s got a new lady friend up there tonight.”

  Jack relayed the information to Regan and Kit.

  “What a shock,” Kit proclaimed from what felt to her like the peanut gallery.

  “And we found out what had been purchased at Dan’s Discount Den with the stolen credit card. Turns out a small television was on the bill as well as men’s raincoats, shoes, and clothing. And yes, some lifelike beards and mustaches from the costume department.”

  “I’m surprised The Drip didn’t splurge on a big screen TV,” Jack grumbled. “Keep me posted.” When he pushed the disconnect button on his phone, Jack turned to Regan. “It seems The Drip bought his disguises at Dan’s Discount Den with a stolen credit card, and Jeffrey Woodall has a new lady in his life.”

  “They’re both Drips,” Kit declared. “Guys have it made. A jerk like Jeffrey Woodall can just pick up the phone the day he dumps his fiancée and arrange a date for that night.”

  “Poor Tracy,” Regan lamented. “I’d love to get a look at this other girl. And find out how long Mr. Woodall has known her.”

  “Tracy will freak when she finds out,” Kit said. “Love. Ain’t it grand?”

  Regan and Jack glanced at each other quickly, a look that seemed to say, “Thank God we’re out of the singles scene. Thank God we have each other.”

  It took two and a half more hours to get back to the city. When they arrived at Alfred and Charisse’s building, they were able to park right in front. Charisse said they’d be sewing dresses around the clock and insisted Regan call when they were back from Atlantic City.

  “Regan!” Alfred cried sleepily, picking up the phone on the third ring. “We just fell into bed. We’re so exhausted and we want to look rested and refreshed on television tomorrow.”

  At least somebody will be rested and refreshed, Regan thought. “Okay, Alfred, I’ll see you at the studio. We’re downstairs and are going to see if there’s anyone who saw anything last night.”

  “Wonderful. Best of luck. I’d invite you up but we must must must get some shut-eye.”

  Regan looked at her phone and tried to remember her mother’s advice about frowning. But this time she couldn’t help it.

  For the next hour the three of them canvassed the neighborhood. They interviewed a couple of people who were walking their dogs. Nobody had seen anything unusual the night before. They stopped in a bar down the street. Nobody had anything to report. Regan knew that the tenants in Alfred and Charisse’s building had already been interviewed by the police, but when she saw the couple who had let them into the building that morning amble up the block, she asked them a few questions.

  “Our loft is above Alfred and Charisse’s,” the young woman said. “We didn’t hear anything. I wish we had. Naturally it makes us nervous to be in a building where something like this happened.”

  The young man, whose demeanor had turned deadly serious, sighed. “When we bought our loft we were concerned about being in a building where one of the tenants conducted a business. People are coming in and out all the time. It raises security issues.”

  “You were nice enough to let us in this morning,” Regan said.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” he stated.

  “No, you probably shouldn’t have,” Regan agreed, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She gave them her card. “Please give me a call if you come up with anything at all that might be helpful to the investigation.”

  “We will.”

  As they walked away, Regan turned to Jack and Kit. “Three o’clock in the morning on a dark street like this is a good time to strike. It looks like our guys made a clean getaway. They disappeared without a trace.”

  Jack put his arm around her. “Maybe we should call it a night.”

  As Regan leaned against his shoulder, her cell phone started to ring.

  “Uh-oh,” Kit said as Regan reached in her purse. “Phone calls at this hour don’t bear good tidings.”

  “Hello,” Regan said quickly.

  “Regan, it’s Brianne. I know it’s late…”

  “Hi, Brianne. Sorry we couldn’t make it to the club tonight.”

  “Regan, one of the girls we were partying with is missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “She’s been gone for several hours. She went to the ladies’ room and never came back. I just met her tonight, but her friend Cindy is really worried, and I thought you might be able to help us. Would you speak to Cindy?”

  “Of course,” Regan said quickly, then waited as Brianne handed over the phone.

  “Hello, Regan?” Cindy said anxiously.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but my friend is gone. It’s not like her to disappear like this. She’s a quiet type. I convinced her to come out with us tonight because her boyfriend is out of town. I can’t reach her on her cell phone or at home.” Her voice broke. “I’m really worried.”

  “There could be some logical explanation,” Regan said, trying to sound positive. “Was she arguing with her boyfriend?”

  “I don’t think she was thrilled that he went out of town on Saturday night.”

  “Maybe she met someone else.”

  “She would have let me know if she were leaving. We’ve been driving around for hours looking for her. We drove along the water,” Cindy said, her voice quivering. “We stopped a patrol car, and they said it’s too soon to consider her a missing person. But they said they’d keep an eye out for her.”

  “Where are you?” Regan asked.

  “We’ve been all over, but right now we’re on Washington Street.”

  “I’m on the street in front of Alfred and Charisse’s loft. Why don’t you come by here? It shouldn’t take you long to drive across town, especially at this hour. Then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

  “Thanks so much, Regan. I really appreciate your help.”

  Ten minutes later a car full of young women pulled up. The earlier excitement of the evening was gone. They were all sobered by Joyce’s absence. Brianne introduced Regan who in turn introduced Jack.

  “She’s an adult, and it’s Saturday night,” Jack reminded them. “She could have decided to go someplace else and lost track of time. Did she have much to drink?”

  “We were doing tequila shots,” Cindy reported, “and then had wine with dinner. Joyce hardly ever drinks but she seemed okay.”

  Oh boy, Regan thought. Tequila is potent. “Where does she live?”

  “In Queens. Out by LaGuardia Airport. Across the street from me.”

  “Do you have her boyfriend’s number? Or her parents’?” Regan asked.

  Cindy shook her head. “No. I’m sure they’re written down somewhere at her house. I feel terrible. It’s my fault. I told her she had to come out tonight. I don’t know what to do.”

  Regan and Jack looked at each other. “We should take a ride out to Queens,” Jack said.

  Regan nodded.

  “Ladies,” Jack said, leaning down to the car window. “Let’s go out to Joyce’s place. Cindy, why don’t you ride with us? I’ll call in her description and make sure all the patrol cars in the area are on the lookout. With any luck she’ll be home sleeping when we get there.”
>
  “Thank you so much,” Cindy said quickly as she opened the car door and jumped out. “We’ve got to find her.”

  33

  Joyce felt woozy, and her head was pounding. She tried to open her eyes, but they felt incredibly heavy. She realized she was covered by a blanket. A couple of dogs were asleep at her feet. Where am I? she wondered. Am I dreaming? Joyce groaned and put her hand to her forehead. It was covered with a damp washcloth. She turned and gasped. A woman who had to be pushing eighty, with wild gray hair, a weathered, wrinkled face, and teeth that cried out for a dental hygienist, was leaning over her.

  “Missy, how do you feel?” the woman asked in a raspy voice.

  Terrified, Joyce thought drowsily. She tried to talk, but it was an effort to say much. “My head hurts,” she uttered. “What happened to me?”

  The old lady smiled. “I was just getting home from taking four of my doggies for a walk when you came down the block. Don’t you remember you said how much you love dogs? You bent over to pet them, and my Porgy was so excited he jumped up on you. You got caught up in all their leashes and fell down the steps outside. I felt so bad! You hit your head, and I think you hurt your foot, but I helped you inside my little apartment. I like to take care of people. I want to take care of you.”

  “Thank you,” Joyce said. “But I’d better get home.”

  “No! You have to rest. The tea you sipped before is special. It will make you feel better.”

  “What kind of tea?” Joyce asked. And why am I so out of it? she wondered as she felt her eyes closing. She quickly fell back into a deep sleep.

  Joyce’s host shrugged and walked back to the stove, where she resumed stirring a pot of soup. Her four dogs were asleep in the small, cluttered, dimly lit room. “We have to be quiet, fellas,” she whispered to them. “Our company is sleeping and will be for a little while. I hope you guys don’t mind I gave her some of your medicine.” The old woman paused. “It’s so nice to entertain again. I hope she likes my cooking.”