Carol Clark - Hitched

“Did you notice any particular smell?”

Charisse wrinkled her nose. “At least one of them must have just smoked a cigarette.”

Regan jotted it down. “You don’t have any idea in the least who would have wanted to do this to you?”

“I can’t think of a single soul!” Alfred insisted.

“Have you had any displeased clients lately?”

“No, Regan!” This time it was Charisse’s turn to get excited. “No matter how difficult any of our clients have been during the process, I promise you that they’ve all been thrilled with our dresses. We have a scrapbook of wedding pictures with letters thanking us…” She started to get up.

“We don’t need that right now,” Regan assured her. “Let’s concentrate on who might have been displeased. The break-in could very well relate to one of the brides whose dress was stolen. I’ll talk to each of them. One bride is due in a little while, you said. Is that right?”

“Yes. She’s the worst bride I’ve ever had. She makes Brianne look like a saint.”

Nora and Kit reentered the room carrying two trays. As they poured tea, Regan kept focused on Alfred and Charisse. She knew Alfred got distracted easily and had to keep him focused-especially if another bride-from-hell was about to arrive. “I’ll question the bride who is on her way,” Regan said, “and I want the names of the other two. We have to let them know what happened right away before they hear about it through the media. That would not be good. When are all their weddings?”

“You, Brianne, and the witch coming in now-I mean the girl coming in now-are all getting married next Saturday,” Charisse answered sweetly. “The other two are in three weeks. The five of you are our April Brides.”

I knew Jack and I should have gotten married in March, Regan thought. But Nora was worried about snowstorms. Regan’s grandmother had been born during a big blizzard in March. Her parents had barely made it to the hospital on time. It became part of the family lore-March is a very unpredictable month weatherwise. Don’t plan any big occasions. “Do you have time to replace all the dresses?” Regan asked.

“The thing is…” Alfred put his hand to his chest. “What about our May brides?”

“I’m not too worried about them at the moment, Alfred,” Regan said a touch impatiently. “They have at least another month.”

“Oh, Regan, I know!” Alfred cried. “It’s just that it’s wedding season and we took on more than we can handle as it is. We wanted to strike while the iron is hot. People are talking about our designs…we work sixteen hours a day!”

“We’ll get the dresses made,” Charisse said firmly. “It will be difficult, but we’ll get it done.”

“That’s good,” Regan answered. “I’ll talk to the other April Brides and see what I can find out. See if they noticed anything that might be helpful in this investigation. I plan to be on this block tonight at around the same time the thieves broke in.”

“Regan…” Nora began.

“Don’t worry, Mom. Jack will be with me. I want to question people who are out at that time and find out if they saw anything. Maybe someone who walks his dog at that hour every night noticed something. Alfred, I want you to think really hard. When did you last have your keys? If whoever was here last night used them to get in, it would certainly be helpful to know where you might have lost them.”

Alfred looked up at the ceiling. “We’ve been working so much. It’s like we never leave here. When did I last see the keys? Hmmmm.”

“Did you have your keys in Atlantic City?” Charisse asked him softly.

“ Atlantic City?” Regan repeated, her voice rising. “When were you in Atlantic City?”

Alfred waved his hand. “Last Saturday night we needed to get out. So we took a drive down there. I gambled for a few hours. No big deal.”

But you never leave home, Regan thought. “Did you win anything?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Twenty thousand dollars.”

“Twenty thousand dollars! Isn’t that how much money you said you had in the safe?”

“Exactly. I put my winnings in there for safekeeping.”

“Did you tell the police that?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I was embarrassed. I thought they might think I have a gambling problem. And believe me, Regan, I report my winnings to the government. I don’t want any trouble there. I once worked for a designer who didn’t pay his taxes, and they closed him up right before a show! He was ruined!”

“You don’t know whether you had your keys with you?”

“Alfred, you did!” Charisse said quickly. “Remember? We were hurrying to get out of here and you ran to get your business cards and the keys were in the drawer with them and you shoved them in your pocket.”

“That’s right!”

“And you haven’t seen them since?” Regan asked.

Alfred shook his head. “No.”

“Did you hand out any cards that night?”

Alfred smiled. “Lots of them. You never know who’s going to fall in love and suddenly need one of Alfred and Charisse’s gorgeous gorgeous gowns.”

Oh great, Regan thought. You handed out business cards to strangers in the same place you lost your keys. Something told her that she and Jack would be taking a drive to Atlantic City.

In the Upper East Side bank that was having about as bad a day as a bank could, Jack was studying the note the robber had passed to a young female teller.

DON’T PUSH ANY BUTTONS OR SOUND ANY ALARMS. JUST GIVE ME THE MONEY. I’VE GOT A GUN IN MY KNAPSACK AND AM WILLING TO USE IT ON YOUR CUSTOMERS. NO FUNNY MONEY OR YOU’LL BE SORRY.

Jack shook his head. “It looks like it’s written by our guy.”

“It certainly does,” remarked Ed Meredith, one of the investigators from Jack’s office. “Same language. Same handwriting. Same kind of paper and ink.”

“I’m beginning to think we’ll have to post undercover agents at every bank in the city when rain is predicted,” Jack said with disgust.

Ed smiled wryly. “April showers bring May flowers.”

“Let’s hope that’s all they bring. You have the security tapes?”

“We’re getting them.”

In the back office, the striking young African-American teller who was the recipient of the robber’s note was sitting in a chair, trying to regain her composure. She was fidgeting, moving her hands from her lap to her hair, which was arranged in stylish cornrows and decorated with colorful beads, and back to her lap again. They were the hands that had touched the note and forked over the money. And now her hands couldn’t rest. With wide eyes, she looked up at Jack when he walked through the door.

Jack identified himself and asked her in a soothing tone, “How are you doing?”

“Fine and dandy. Lucky me gets to be the teller the bank robber picks on. Just my luck. Why can’t I win the lottery?”

Jack smiled. “Maybe you will.”

“Well, I’m not taking any more chances around here. I quit.”

“You did?”

“The second that robber walked out the door!”

“I can understand.”

“It’s not worth it. I’m getting married in a couple of months. I got a lot of good times ahead of me. I’d rather flip burgers than worry about another lowlife who says he has a gun.”

Jack sat down across from her. “I’m getting married, too,” he said, anxious to make a connection.

“You are?”

“Yes. Next week. And my fiancée’s dress was just stolen from her dressmaker’s loft downtown.”

The teller’s eyes lit up. “That’s bad. Not as bad as thinking someone might shoot you. But it’s bad. When are you getting married?”