Hitched

by Carol Higgins Clark

  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.

  53

  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.”

  “Thanks to your show we caught them,” Regan said and handed him Joyce’s picture. “Hopefully with your help we’ll find her.”

  The assistant nodded enthusiastically. “We’ll put her picture right up there on-screen. My producer also wanted to know if you’d like us to make up the flyers. If you just tell us what you’d like them to say, we can do it right now.”

  “That’d be great. Thank you,” Regan answered, as she pulled a piece of paper out of her notebook in her purse. She wrote out the information, gave it to him, and he hurried out the door.

  Jack handed her a cup of coffee.

  “Thanks.” Something tells me I’m going to be drinking a lot of this today, she thought.

  “I’m so grateful they’re willing to talk about Joyce,” Cindy said anxiously, looking up at the television screen on the wall. “So many people go missing who never get any publicity.”

  “We are lucky,” Regan agreed. “And all it takes is one person watching the show who saw something…”

  When Brianne and Pauly arrived a few minutes later, they were all immediately ushered into the studio. Regan and Brianne joined Patrick and Jeannie in the same area of the studio where they’d had their earlier chat. The two seats Alfred and Charisse occupied had been removed.

  Like musical chairs, Regan thought.

  This time the interview had a different tone. Jeannie introduced the segment, recapping the whole story for the audience. They showed a clip of the earlier interview, then they replayed the video of Regan tackling one of the April Brides. “Thanks to one of our viewers who called in this morning after our interview with Regan and Brianne, she was caught,” Jeannie said with a smile. “Regan and Brianne have joined us again, but unfortunately it’s because of another twist in the story of these brides.” She turned to Patrick who explained to the audience Brianne’s connection to the missing Joyce.

  “The fact that she didn’t make it home last night was a worry to her friends. But when her purse was found this morning on a street downtown, the situation became much more serious.” Patrick sighed and turned to Brianne. “When did you last see Joyce?”

  “We were all at Club Zee downtown. Joyce got up from the table, presumably to go to the ladies’ room. It was about 11 o’clock. She hadn’t been there that long. The deejay had just played Julio Iglesias’s ‘To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before.’ We all sang along and then started joking around about loser ex-boyfriends.”

  Jeannie made a face. “Now there’s a topic we could spend hours on.”

  Patrick looked at her. “Heyyyy—I feel as if I should defend the guys out there in our viewing audience.”

  “It was just in fun,” Brianne explained. “It was my bachelorette party. I had finally found the right one to marry, my wonderful Pauly Sanders, and my friends were teasing me about a couple guys I’d gone out with.” Brianne smiled. “Listen, I know Pauly has had some horrible relationships. He told me about every one of them in great detail. He said he never went out with anyone who wasn’t a loser until he met me.”

  In the corner of the studio, Pauly almost fainted.

  “Do you think this discussion about bad relationships might have upset Joyce?” Patrick asked.

  “I don’t know,” Brianne said. “She got up from the table and that was the last any of us saw of her.”

  They showed Joyce’s smiling face on the screen. She looked so happy holding the black-and-white puppy.

  Jeannie looked at Regan. “We understand that Joyce’s boyfriend is out of town. He must be upset.”

  “Apparently so,” Regan said evasively.

  “And you have a search party that’s meeting down at Club Zee.”

  “Right after this interview, we’re going straight there. We’ll put up Joyce’s picture all over the neighborhood. We’ll talk to people and ask if anyone saw Joyce or noticed anything unusual last night. I can’t stress enough that we need help in finding her. People should call in with any information they have, no matter how insignificant it seems.”

  “Okay, then,” Jeannie said. She turned to the camera. “If anyone in the New York area would like to join the search party, I’m sure you’d be most welcome. And if you do have any information, please call this number….”

  When the interview was over, Regan and Brianne walked over to rejoin the rest of their group.

  “Where did Pauly go?” Brianne asked.

  “He said he’d meet you down in the lobby,” Jack answered. “He was sweating and said he needed some air.”

  B
rianne was out the door in a shot.

  “Cindy, you don’t look so well either,” Regan said.

  Cindy shook her head. “I’m just thinking about Joyce. I’m not surprised if talk of loser ex-boyfriends upset Joyce. Her problem is that she is still with someone who should be her ex. And he hasn’t even had the decency to call me back. Where could he be? I’m beginning to think maybe he did have something to do with this.”

  “We’ll find out,” Regan assured her.

  “They’re checking Joyce’s cell phone records,” Jack told Cindy. “But even if he isn’t involved, he doesn’t sound like such a swell guy.”

  “He’s not. He let his unemployed friend park himself on Joyce’s couch for the last three months. When we get Joyce back…” Cindy’s mouth started to tremble, “when we get Joyce back, I’m going to help her throw both of those losers’ belongings out into the street.”

  54

  A tired and bored Phoebe Muller was babysitting at her next-door neighbor’s apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Sixteen years old, she’d been out late with a bunch of kids the night before and was grateful that the rambunctious two-year-old in her care had just gone down for a nap.

  Settling on the couch, she pulled her school books out of her all-purpose bag. Always a multitasker, she then picked up the remote control and flicked on the television. Phoebe wanted to watch that new weekend cable show while she did her homework. Patrick and Jeannie were cool.

  As she watched the segment about the missing Joyce, she started to come to life. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Like…oh, my God! she thought. Could it be?

  Last night her group had gone to the movies and then to a diner. They’d walked past the popular Club Zee and looked longingly at the people being admitted.

  “We’ve got to get some fake IDs, man,” Dirk had said as they ambled along. “I don’t want to wait another five years to go to Club Zee!” A few blocks later, on a small side street, he had spotted a little black purse on the ground and picked it up. He fished out the eighty dollars cash, stuck it in his pocket, then looked at the driver’s license inside.

  “Thanks, Joyce,” he’d said, before dropping the license back inside.

  “We should turn the purse and money in to the police,” Phoebe had said.

  “Goody Two-shoes,” Dirk had said derisively, throwing the purse at one of his friends, and they’d run down the street playing catch with it. Several blocks later, Dirk tossed the small black bag on the ground between two cars.

  Phoebe knew there was no fighting with Dirk. And she didn’t want to give the purse to the police with the money gone. She hoped Joyce would somehow get the purse back anyway.

  But now someone named Joyce was missing. It must be the same person, Phoebe thought, and it might help the police if they knew where her purse had been before Dirk moved it. Phoebe realized she couldn’t call the police from her cell phone or from the Darbers’ phone. They’d be able to trace the call easily, and she didn’t want to give her name. The baby was asleep, so she couldn’t go out and use a pay phone.

  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.

  55

  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…

  56

  “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!”