Carol Clark - Hitched

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.

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?

“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 their 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.”