Carol Clark: Hitched

Maybe I should just forget it, she thought. Chances are it won’t make a difference. But as she tried to concentrate on her homework, Phoebe couldn’t stop thinking about the missing Joyce.

Hattie hurried down her little, tree-lined street, turned the corner, and darted into a bakery where she purchased jelly donuts and orange juice. Then she went into the small pharmacy where she’d been a customer forever.

Jay Stone, the handsome young owner, peered down from his pharmacist’s perch. He was working on a Sunday because one of his employees was on vacation. He was also ambitious and prided himself on getting to know his customers and their needs. “Good morning, Hattie,” he called out, surprised that she was in again. She’d refilled her prescriptions the day before.

“Morning,” she said, giving a quick wave with her gnarled hand. Her eyes were darting around as they usually were.

“I don’t see your dogs outside,” Jay said conversationally. He got a kick out of Hattie. She was one of those neighborhood characters who had been around for the whole ten years he’d worked in the store. He actually got a kick out of a lot of people. Being in the business of dispensing meds, he’d seen all kinds. Hattie was the type who came into the store and never stopped talking until she was out the door. It was as if a dam had burst. Clearly she was lonely and grabbed the chance for conversation whenever she could. Even if it was one-sided.

“I left my dogs home.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here without at least a couple of them sitting outside waiting.”

Hattie shrugged.

“Is Mugsy staying out of trouble?”

“Yes, he is!” Hattie answered with an edge to her voice he had never heard before.

Jay knew that Hattie’s best friend had recently died and left Hattie with her mixed-breed mutt who had a bad temper. Residents in the area were terrified when Hattie took him out for a walk. Hattie had had to restrain him numerous times when he charged at other dogs or people who had the nerve to walk on the same sidewalk he did. In Jay’s opinion, Hattie was the last person on earth who should have inherited such an aggressive animal. She was a little off and didn’t have the strength to handle him.

“You should let me find a nice home for Mugsy,” Jay offered. “A place with a fenced-in backyard where he can run around. Those kind of dogs need exercise.”

“I can’t do that! I promised Edie I’d take good care of him. And I am. Mugsy has the bedroom to himself.”

“Lucky Mugsy.”

“He and the other dogs still don’t get along so good. But they’ll get used to each other.”

Jay raised his eyebrows. “What can I do for you today, Hattie?”

“I need one of them Ace bandages.”

“Right there at the end of the aisle.”

Hattie stared at the display. She pulled one off the rack. “This looks all right,” she muttered.

“What do you need it for?” Jay asked.

“Nothing,” Hattie answered.

She’ll probably wrap it around one of the dogs, Jay thought, watching as she walked over and picked up a pair of crutches that were hanging on the wall. She looked at the price tag and put them back. No matter how hard she tries, the dogs can’t use those, he thought.

A moment later she tossed an ankle support bandage onto the counter.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Nope.”

He rang it up. “It looks like a nice day. Are you taking your little guys up to Central Park? I know you like to do that on Sundays.”

Hattie handed over her money. “I have to. They get mad at me if I don’t. I promised them.”

Jay counted out the change into her hand. “Have fun today, Hattie. And think about what I said to you-”

But she was out the door before he could finish.

What’s up with her today? he wondered as he went back to his perch. She’s not acting herself at all. He smiled. Not that that’s such a bad thing…

“Welcome to Nebraska,” Marco read aloud as they sped along the highway. “You think the guy who made that sign really cares whether we feel welcome?” He laughed, knowing Francis wouldn’t bother to answer. “By my calculations, we’re halfway to Vegas.”

“With the way you drive, I’m surprised we’re not there already,” Francis answered. “Let’s stop at that gas station ahead. I want to get a soda and see if they have anything to eat.”

“A pit stop is in order,” Marco agreed, getting into the right lane. At the station he pulled up to the pumps. “I’ll fill up.”

“Want anything?” Francis asked.

“Surprise me,” Marco answered.

Francis used the bathroom, then headed inside the minimart. Newspapers were lined up on the floor inside the front door. The New York Post was among them.

Francis gasped at the headlines. He picked up a copy, hurried through the store collecting sodas and hot dogs, paid the cashier, and raced back to the car. “Look at this!” he hissed. “It’s made the national news. We’re never going to sell those dresses.”

Marco waved his hand at him. “I just talked to my buddy in Vegas. He’s already been down at the courthouse where all those couples in love line up to get their marriage licenses. Owners of all the wedding chapels compete with each other for the lovebirds’ business on the steps of that courthouse. I hear that can get nasty. But not too many people there are selling designer gowns at great prices. My buddy says if they’re really nice we’ll sell them in about five minutes. He’s already got people interested. He told me to get there as fast as possible. No one has a prolonged engagement in Vegas.” Marco laughed. “Marriages happen so fast they even have drive-through wedding chapels!”

Francis bit into his hot dog. “Let me use your cell phone. I want to check my messages and see if Joyce called.”

Marco handed it over. Francis quickly pushed in his number, then his secret code, and waited. The only message was from his mother.

“Francis! Call me! I just saw on the television that Joyce is missing! What’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you let me know? Where are you?”

In the fight-or-flight state that the human body produces in times of extreme stress, Francis opted for flight. He opened the door, jumped out, and started to run. But with his injured leg, he didn’t get very far. He turned around and headed back to the car.

“I guess it was a bad message,” Marco said as Francis fastened his seat belt.

“My mother heard that Joyce was missing. It’s on television!”

“What? Already?”

“Yes! Already!”

Marco sped out of the gas station. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He started to curse.

“What?” Francis asked, bewildered.

“I left a lot of my stuff at her house.”

“I’ll send it to you.”

“If the cops start snooping around-”

“Marco, you don’t have any drugs in your bag there do you? Because if you do, that could really be trouble. I told you I don’t want to get involved with that-”

“No!” Marco snapped impatiently. “But when you were sleeping before, I was doing a lot of thinking. It occurred to me that I might have left those designers’ keys back at Joyce’s house.”

“You didn’t get rid of them?”

“No, I didn’t get rid of them! I was going to. But I didn’t know we were going to take a road trip! And I also didn’t plan on Joyce being missing!”

“It looks like you made the one stupid mistake that Regan Reilly was talking about on television.”

“This is your fault!” Marco yelled. “If we get in trouble it’s because of Joyce.”

Francis stared straight ahead as they crossed the state of Nebraska.