Carol Clark - Hitched

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, Regan. Think of something.”

“Give me her number.” Regan jotted it down, ended the conversation with Alfred, and then called the Timber household. Tracy ’s mother answered.

“Oh, good morning, Regan!” she said, sounding as if she didn’t have a care in the world. The old stiff upper lip, Regan thought.

“Hi, Mrs. Timber, may I speak to Tracy?”

“Sure. Tracy ’s here with her friends having a lovely breakfast.”

Regan blinked. I’d have thought Tracy would be suffering from indigestion.

“Regan,” Tracy said abruptly as she grabbed the phone from her mother.

“Yes, Tracy. I know what you’re upset about. Alfred is very sorry.”

“What good does that do me?”

“I understand. But you’re just going to have to put a good face on it.”

“That’s what my friends say. I have to say I’m glad I missed the show this morning.”

“We’re going back to the studio now.”

“What?! Don’t you dare mention my name!”

“ Tracy!” Regan said impatiently. “We’re dealing with something else. A girl is missing and her purse was just found on the street. Brianne Barth was out with her last night. We’ve gotten a search party together of all the girls who were with her to canvass downtown and distribute her picture. This girl’s life could be at stake, and her friends are most anxious to find her before it’s too late. That is my concern right now. Not stolen wedding dresses or embarrassing news items. I can assure you your name won’t come up in this conversation.”

The kick in the pants was just what Tracy needed. Her grip tightened around the phone. She looked out at the three friends who’d been there for her, who would never betray her, the friends who would do anything for her. They wanted to spend the day with Tracy doing whatever she wanted. They’d even joked about driving into the city and stalking Jeffrey, planning his demise. “I’ve got my three best friends in the world with me, Regan,” Tracy said quietly. “We’ll drive in and help you.”

Regan was shocked. “You will?”

“Yes. I know I’m lucky to have such a great family and wonderful friends. I’ve been dumped but I’m grateful for what I have. Where can we meet you?”

“There might be cameras there. This story is gaining a lot of attention.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want to sit here and feel sorry for myself. We’ll leave right now.”

Regan smiled and gave her the address of Club Zee. She could hear a man in the background cheering, “Tracy, my dear, you’ve got that Timber spirit!”

When Joyce woke up again, her mouth was dry and her body felt like rubber. She opened her eyes slowly, afraid of what she might see. I don’t believe it, she thought. I really am in this crazy place. She attempted to turn on her side to get a better look at her surroundings but groaned as a sharp stab of pain shot through her right foot.

The old woman was sitting at the tiny kitchen table with her head down.

Joyce felt so weak. A wave of nausea swept over her entire being, and she started to cough.

Hattie jumped up. One of the dogs started to bark and was soon joined by the other three as Hattie hurried over to the couch. She leaned over Joyce, violating the seventeen inches of space that normal human beings like to keep between themselves and anyone who isn’t a contender to be their valentine.

“You want some more tea?” Hattie breathed, her scraggly hair perilously close to brushing against Joyce’s cheek.

“No. I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” She turned to the barking dogs. “Quiet, fellas!”

Joyce pulled back the ratty blanket, swung her legs around, and attempted to stand. But her right foot gave way under her. “Oh!” she cried. “My ankle. It hurts so much. I can’t put any weight on it.” She lay back down.

Hattie’s eyes darted about. “Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?”

“No!” Joyce said, not wanting to be touched, then quickly added, “Thank you. I’m all right. I can wait.” Will I ever get out of here? she wondered.

“I’ll go get us some breakfast. And a bandage for your foot. You must have hurt it when you fell down the steps.” Hattie hurried for the door and reached for an old coat that was hanging on a lone hook. “I’m making us a nice stew for supper tonight. My friend Edie and I used to have dinner together every Sunday night. Since she died I didn’t have anyone to eat with. Now I have you. You like jelly donuts?”

Joyce felt herself falling back asleep. “Can you make a phone call for me?”

Hattie didn’t answer. When she closed the door, the dog in the bedroom started to bark and throw himself against the door.

The four little dogs all jumped up on the couch and cuddled with Joyce.

They’re afraid, she thought, as the barking and thumping continued-just like I am. They know that the mutt behind that door is vicious. I have to get out of here.

But she was so groggy she couldn’t move. She put her head down and drifted off.

Regan called Alfred and told him that Tracy had turned over a new leaf.

“So she’s not going to sue me?”

“We didn’t discuss that. She’s coming down to help us look for Joyce.”

“That’s wonderful. We’d love to help you out hanging those posters and whatever, but it’s so busy here! The phone is ringing off the hook with reporters wanting the scoop, and at the same time we’re trying to hunt down fabric for both your dress and Brianne’s.”

“You don’t have fabric?” Regan asked. “I thought you said you were already working on the gowns.”

“We don’t have enough fabric in the salon, Regan! The fabric that was supposed to be expressed yesterday from one of our suppliers didn’t arrive this morning. It is Sunday you know.”

“Okay, Alfred,” Regan interrupted. “I have to go. Brianne and I are going back on the Patrick and Jeannie show. Because your April Brides are now the talk of the town, the producer is willing to cover the story of the missing girl who was out with Brianne last night.”

“Do you think my presence on the show could be helpful in some way?”

“I thought you were busy,” Regan said flatly.

“We are, but…”

“Alfred, this segment is about trying to find Joyce. It’s not about the stolen dresses.”

“I understand.” Alfred paused. “It’s just that so many reporters seem to be so very interested in what I have to say. They are all asking if Charisse and I had any idea that Shauna was a crook, and they what to know what I think about the rest of my April Brides.”

“And what are you telling them?”

“Charisse and I have prepared a statement.”

Regan rolled her eyes. “I’m all ears.”

Alfred cleared his throat. “In our eyes, every bride is beautiful. We regret that one of our April Brides turned out to be someone who we would never want to darken the doors of our lovely salon. But we would stake our lives on the integrity of the other four.”

“Gee thanks,” Regan muttered.

“-we love them dearly and are sure that they will feel like princesses on their wedding days, bedecked in one of our gorgeous gowns.”

“I’m all choked up, Alfred.”

“Don’t you think it’s all right?”

“It’s fine. Four of your April Brides are accounted for. Have you heard from Victoria? She didn’t want her name in the paper, either.”

“No, I haven’t,” Alfred answered meekly.

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

In the greenroom at the studio, Regan, Jack, Cindy, and Kit were greeted by the same young assistant who’d been there earlier. “Thanks for coming back,” he said, looking at Regan and Jack with admiration. “We have the most awesome video of you tackling those two weasels. You wouldn’t believe all the phone calls we’re getting about this story.”