Perfect Wedding

by Duncan, Alice

  Still, it was galling to know that an event that was monumental in her life had sent him to sleep. Bah. Life was so unfair.

  And speaking of unfairness, here she was, whining to herself about her love life, or lack thereof, when Jia Lee had been deprived forever of any sort of life at all, and only because she, like Marjorie, had been born poor. Marjorie should be counting her blessings instead of sitting in this cab trying not to weep with misery and unhappiness. It seemed terribly unjust that one’s feelings about, and the truth of, any particular situation couldn’t be made to coordinate more closely.

  Why, if she had only . . .

  Squinting out the window, Marjorie allowed the thought to trail off. Rubbing her fist on the isinglass, she tried to clear a spot on the foggy pane.

  What in the world was going on? There seemed to be some sort of commotion transpiring in Loretta’s neighborhood.

  Marjorie’s mouth dropped open when she espied the Quarleses’ estate, ablaze with lights. The gate gaped wide, too, and an automobile chugged at the curb in front of the open gate. Leaning forward, Marjorie rapped on the partition separating her from the driver. He pulled over and turned to face her. “Ma’am?”

  “Stop here, if you will, please. Something seems to be going on ahead.”

  “Looks strange, for sure,” the cabbie agreed.

  Since she didn’t have to bother about paying the man, and assuming that Lo Sing had given him a decent tip since Lo Sing was a most responsible individual, Marjorie departed the cab several houses down from that of the Quarleses without further interaction with the cabbie. She had a sinking feeling that this unusual confusion in a top-flight neighborhood had something to do with the Jia Lee affair.

  She wished she hadn’t thought of the problem in terms of affairs.

  But that was neither here nor there. Because she didn’t want to be seen, Marjorie stuck as close to the shrubbery as she could as she approached the house. If there had been another attempt to abduct Jia Lee, perhaps she could discern the individuals involved from this vantage point. Maybe she would at least be able to offer reliable descriptions of the participants, if the fiends weren’t wearing hoods.

  Then, to her utter dismay, she saw what she’d half expected and wholly dreaded to see: Two men, large, brutish, and hooded, running down the long drive to the gate. The man in front carried a huddled form over his shoulder. Marjorie knew the form was that of Jia Lee.

  To her further horror, Marjorie then espied Loretta Linden, in full fighting mode, racing after the two men and looking particularly tiny compared to them. She seemed to be wielding something in her hand, although Marjorie couldn’t make it out. A rolling pin, perhaps?

  Oh, dear. Loretta couldn’t possibly foil those hardened villains with a rolling pin. And all Marjorie had with her was a small handbag that dangled from her wrist and contained nothing more formidable than a handkerchief.

  The man carrying Jia Lee scrambled into the automobile. The other man leaped in after him, and with a terrific squeal of tires, the machine lurched away from the gate. It rumbled right past Marjorie before it had picked up much speed.

  Then, performing perhaps the first truly spontaneous act in her entire lifetime, Marjorie decided it was her turn to play the hero. With a wild leap, she grabbed onto the vehicle’s bumper and threw her arms around its protruding wheel case.

  Then, with Loretta’s horrified “Marjorie!” faintly pursuing, Marjorie MacTavish took the ride of her life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jason rolled over and blinked his eyes, wondering why he felt so good. Life had been awful lately. There was no reason he should feel so . . . so . . . content. Happy. At peace with the world.

  And then it all came back to him.

  Marjorie. She had given herself to him last night in an act so beautiful, so fulfilling, so splendid, that he could almost weep with the wonder of it all. Marjorie.

  He threw an arm about her. Odd. She seemed rather squashier this morning than she had the night before, when her body had felt as firm and pliant as a wood nymph’s. Not that Jason minded. She could get to be as fat as a whale, and he’d still desire and love her. And she was his now. She was his, body and soul. She was—

  Damnation! She was gone!

  Sitting up and hugging the pillow he’s mistaken for Marjorie, he blinked into the feeble light leaking through his bedroom curtains. He croaked, “Marjorie?” After clearing his throat, he tried again. “Marjorie?”

  No answer drifted back to him from the bathroom or the room he used as a front parlor. Familiar sounds wafted up from the street below, sounds of business beginning to transpire in the Chinatown district, sounds he usually found comforting. This morning, they comforted him not a whit.

  Where the devil was she? Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he wondered if he’d dreamed it all. When he lifted the covers and checked, however, he discovered definite evidence that it hadn’t been a dream. Marjorie and he had consummated their love last night.

  So where in the name of mercy was she this morning? Had she awakened, felt embarrassed, and fled? Silly woman. He’d rectify that situation in a hurry.

  With eyes gritty from lack of sleep, but still feeling pretty darned good in spite of that, Jason hurried through is morning ablutions, threw on some clothes, and clattered down the stairs to his office. The fragrance of freshly brewed coffee and Lo Sing greeted him, and both were welcome.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking the coffee cup from Lo Sing’s hand. “Say, where’s Miss MacTavish? I woke up and she was gone.” Naturally, he felt no need to reveal the most intimate secrets of the previous night to his assistant.

  “She left here a little after midnight. Said she had to get home.”

  Jason’s soaring heart wobbled in its upward flight, turned a sickening somersault, and crashed to earth. “She what?”

  “She left.” Lo Sing’s eyebrows dipped in a puzzled fashion. “What’s the matter, Jason?”

  “And you let her go?”

  “I called a cab.” Evidently discerning symptoms of consternation in Jason’s demeanor, Lo Sing added, “I paid the fare. Didn’t want her to have to worry about anything. She’d been through enough.”

  “I’ll say.” Jason stamped to the window and glared out onto the street. It was still early in the morning; Jason’s bedside clock had told him it was only five-thirty. Pretty soon Chinese vendors would be plying their carts on the streets and sidewalks, old men would be padding here and there, and younger men would be scurrying thither and yon, taking care of business. There wouldn’t be a woman anywhere, barring the occasional tourist or San Franciscan out for a jaunt in the “foreign” sector of her city. Naturally, the tourists and San Franciscans would only venture to Chinatown in clumps. For protection. Damn them all.

  Well, hell, what now? He’d have to go to Loretta’s house, he guessed.

  The silly woman would turn tail on him, wouldn’t she? He ought to have anticipated something like this from Marjorie, who was the last person in the universe from whom he’d expect unusual behavior. Last night’s surrender to his embraces had been an anomaly, and she was probably suffering pangs of embarrassment and regret this morning.

  Why hadn’t he awakened when she’d left, damn it?

  But he knew why. He’d been so absolutely exhausted, and so utterly fulfilled, he’d just drifted off to sleep in an ecstasy of delight. Trust Marjorie to throw a damper on any situation that might foreshadow happiness, he thought crankily.

  The telephone shrilled, and he jerked, slopping hot coffee onto his hand. “Damn.”

  Lo Sing answered the phone. After a brief conversation, he held the receiver out for Jason. “It’s Mrs. Quarles.”

  Oh, great. Now Loretta was going to tease him about what he and Marjorie had done. Or maybe she was going to scold him. You never knew which side of any particular issue Loretta would be on, since she seemed to alter her standards to fit her mood of the moment.

  He knew he was being
irrational, but didn’t care. “Good morning, Loretta.”

  “Good morning, my foot! Get over here, Jason Abernathy, and get over here now!”

  Peeved, Jason said, “And why should I do that?”

  “Why? Why?” Loretta had screeched the two words. Jason heard her suck in breath in an effort to calm herself. “Listen, Jason, I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. Get over here now.”

  “Damn it, Loretta, I won’t go over there unless you tell me why.” He was being stubborn for no particular reason, and he knew it, but he didn’t like being dictated to. Besides, he didn’t understand why she sounded so upset. “Anyhow, I thought you were a firm advocate of free love.”

  A pause followed this sentence. Then Loretta said, “I beg your pardon?”

  Irked, Jason snapped, “You’re always saying you support free love. Why are you so upset this morning?”

  “Jason Abernathy, did you do something to Marjorie?”

  “Did I do something to her?” Jason was no longer irked. He was furious. “Damn it, it was mutual, Loretta Linden! I mean Loretta Quarles! What kind of man do you think I am, anyway?”

  Another pause. “Jason, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you need to get over here now. Jia Lee was kidnapped, and the last I saw of Marjorie, she was clinging like a limpet to the back of the kidnappers’ car! The police are here, and you’ve got to get over here to help. Now quit arguing with me, and come!”

  Jason had gone numb when Loretta rapped out the news about Jia Lee. When she told him about Marjorie, he actually staggered slightly. Lo Sing shoved a chair behind him, and he collapsed into it. “Marjorie was what?” he asked weakly.

  “You heard me.” And she slammed the receiver into the cradle.

  “Good God.” Passing a hand over his face, Jason stared up at Lo Sing.

  “What is it? You’ve gone white as a ghost.”

  “They’ve got Marjorie.”

  Lo Sing squinted at him. “Who’s got Marjorie? Miss MacTavish, I mean.”

  But Jason didn’t answer. Shoving poor Lo Sing out of his way, he raced to the door of his office without even pausing to grab his hat. He cranked the Hudson up faster than he’d done thus far in its existence, and with a screech of wheels that scattered pedestrians like chaff in the wind, he took off for Russian Hill.

  # # #

  Marjorie knew she’d made a massive blunder, but she didn’t know what to do about it at this point. She couldn’t just let go and leap away from the automobile. It had to be going at least fifteen or twenty miles per hour, and she’d kill herself if she tried so stupid a stunt. Yet if she stayed where she was, she’d probably die anyway.

  Nyaff, she told herself. Gudgeon. Haggis-headed ninnyhammer.

  Calling herself names didn’t help her come to any firm conclusions about what to do next, but it relieved her stress slightly. And perhaps all wasn’t lost yet. She still had her handbag, for all the good it did her. But it did contain a few coins that she might be able to use to bribe someone so she could use a telephone once the automobile came to a stop and she figured out where she was, which would be where the kidnappers had taken Jia Lee.

  The wind whipped her hair around her face and blew her skirt up to her knees, and she could only thank God that the hour was early and not too many people were on the streets of San Francisco yet. This was embarrassing enough without the whole world watching her make a fool of herself.

  That thought consoled her until she realized the machine had turned onto the Embarcadero. Oh, no. They were on the wharf.

  In less than a split-second, a sickening, soul-destroying, mind-numbing panic engulfed Marjorie.

  The ocean. The dark, cruel, life-taking ocean. It was right there, only yards away from her. She smelled it now: her bitterest enemy, her blackest foe. The ocean. The same ocean that had taken Leonard from her and destroyed her life.

  Except that she still lived, so she guess her life hadn’t been completely destroyed. Yet. Marjorie entertained the cynical thought that there was yet time for the damned ocean to finish what it had started. Her heart was already hammering as if a crazed pile driver were operating it. She was liable to suffer an apoplexy and die from fright if the bluidy automobile got any closer to the water.

  But the machine seemed to be slowing down. Marjorie prayed that she could get out of this pickle before either of the men inside it spotted her. Knowing it was risky, but fearful lest she wait too long, when the automobile slowed down to turn onto a pier, she jumped down. With a good deal of skipping and flapping of arms, she remained upright, but she was distressed to see the car still moving forward, onto a pier where boats were moored. And the sea, rolling and heaving and lurking in wait for her, slapped against the wharf. Seals barked. Gulls soared. Pelicans squawked. And Marjorie was sick.

  She couldn’t follow the automobile. She’d die if she had to walk out onto a pier.

  As clearly as if he’d taken up residence in her head, Dr. Hagendorf’s voice came to her. You won’t die, Marjorie. You’ll be frightened. There’s a huge difference.

  Damnation, but she hated when people got reasonable on her. She could still see the automobile. What she should probably do was turn around and go see if she could find a telephone somewhere. She could call Loretta and tell her where the men had taken Jia Lee.

  But she didn’t know where they were taking Jia Lee. There were dozens of boats anchored off that bluidy pier. Could the police search every one of them before the kidnappers sailed her away?

  A couple of Jason and Loretta’s more bitter denunciations came back to her, and she then paused to wonder if the police would bother to come at all. Her heart suffered another gigantic spasm. Pressing her hand against it, she hoped she’d survive this day’s adventure without it giving out entirely.

  “Och, God, please help me,” she muttered, knowing that she had to go forward. Even if it killed her.

  You’re a survivor, Dr. Hagendorf’s voice told her.

  “I dinna want to be a survivor, curse it! I want a happy life!” Ah, well, too late for that now.

  Practice makes perfect, Dr. Hagendorf’s voice chided her.

  “Bluidy hell, how’s a body supposed to practice for something like this?”

  No answer occurred to her, and Dr. Hagendorf offered no opinion. The automobile was out of her sight now. Marjorie shut her eyes, hugged herself against her fear and the cold morning air, prayed hard for a few seconds, and spat out, “Damn it!”

  And then, making sure she hid herself as well as she could, and with her heart racing and her ears ringing, she walked out onto the pier.

  # # #

  “Where did it go?” Jason’s nerves jumped and his heart thudded, and he wanted to throttle somebody. “Didn’t you have someone follow it?”

  “How could we follow it? I was the only one in the house who was awake!”

  Loretta’s scowl bounced off Jason as if he were made of rubber. He glared at her. “You could have awakened someone!”

  “Oh, for God’s . . .” Loretta took his arm. “Listen, Jason, I know you’re worried about Jia Lee—”

  “To hell with Jia Lee! I’m worried about Marjorie!” As soon as the words left his lips, he could scarcely believe he’d said them.

  Loretta’s lifted eyebrows told him she felt the same way. To hell with it. He passed his hand through is hair in agitation.

  “I know you’re worried, but I called the police instantly. Even before I called you.”

  “The police don’t give a—”

  “They do, too. There’s a white woman involved now, you know.”

  That’s right. Marjorie. The police would surely care about Marjorie.

  “And I’m involved, too. Don’t forget the power of money, Jason. The police are always interested in whatever the famous Captain Malachai Quarles wants them to do. Or his wife, by extension.”

  “Right, right. But you don’t know where the car went?” It seemed mighty irresponsible of Loretta not to
have followed the automobile far enough to see which way it turned off of Lombard Street.

  “Oh, of course,” she said sarcastically. “I should have raced right down the street after the machine, brandishing my rolling pin instead of calling the police. That would have been a much more sensible course of action.”

  He hung his head. “Sorry. It’s only that I’m so worried.”

  She patted his shoulder. “I know, Jason. Come inside and let Mrs. Brandeis feed you something.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’ve got to keep up your strength. Besides, I want to know what Marjorie and free love have in common.”

  Jason frowned at her. “You would.”

  # # #

  Marjorie couldn’t seem to take in a decent lungful of air. Her respiration was coming in short gasps, and she had to stop every couple of steps, press a hand over her heart, and try to suck in her breath. She couldn’t.

  This was simply marvelous. She was going to hyperventilate and pass out and get herself kidnapped if this kept up. So far, she’d been able to avoid looking at the ocean, which was probably the only reason she was still conscious at all.

  Also, thank the good Lord, the fog was thickening. This not only helped conceal her from the kidnappers, but it helped conceal the water from her. There were holes in the pier’s flooring, and the black, deadly, swirling water was right down there, not twenty feet beneath her. She could hear it sloshing against the pier’s supporting posts, and the sound made her sick to her stomach. She was pretty sure that if she actually got a good look at the ocean, she’d faint dead away, Dr. Hagendorf or no Dr. Hagendorf.

  Her heart still pounded in her chest like a thunder storm; she was perspiring like a sailor in the sun; her tongue was so dry, it stuck to the roof of her mouth; and she was so light-headed, she had to keep one hand on whatever solid object was nearest to her to keep from collapsing. Her knees shook, too, but that was a minor problem.

  She heard the sounds before she saw anything. Crouching behind a tall pile of cable, she poked her head up and saw that the automobile had come to a stop. The doors opened, and the two thugs got out. She noticed that they’d taken off their hoods—not that it mattered, since there was no one at hand to whom she could give a description.