Hitched Page 4

  “Then they tied you up?”

  “I should have fought them off,” Alfred said with disgust. “But it all happened so quickly. Everything was a blur. After they tied us up, one of them bashed the safe in our closet with I don’t know what! The sound was awful!”

  “Neither of them said anything?” Regan prodded.

  They both shook their heads. “That safe didn’t do us much good,” Alfred moaned. “It crumbled like a tin can. I used to try hiding our money and jewelry but then I could never remember where I put it.”

  Like your keys, Regan thought. “You told the police both intruders seemed to be about the same height and weight,” she continued.

  “Not too tall, not too short,” Alfred answered.

  How helpful, Regan thought, glancing down at her notes. Sight, sound, taste, and touch, she thought. Charisse and Alfred hadn’t gotten a good look at the intruders, hadn’t heard them speak, could only have tasted the gags in their mouths, and had already mentioned they were wearing leather gloves. One sense left to explore.

  “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.

  9

  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?”

  “Next Saturday.”

  “Next Saturday! How come she didn’t pick up her dress before now? My mother is guarding mine at home with her dear life. She’s afraid something bad is going to happen to it. The day before she married my father, one of her bridesmaids’ kids went into my mom’s bedroom with a box of crayons.” She managed a smile. “I can just imagine the fireworks that day.”

  “Now that is bad,” Jack said, smiling back at her. He was glad to see that she was beginning to relax.

  “So how come your fiancée waited so long to pick up her dress?”

  “Huh? Oh. Well, she’s been living in Los Angeles, so she’s just back and…”

  “Long distance romance? That’s no good.”

  Now Jack’s smile was broad. “No it’s not. The long distance part is finally over.”

  “My fiancé, Jamie, lives three blocks away from me. He says that three blocks feels like forever. He should be here soon. He’s a nervous wreck.”

  “I would be, too,” Jack said sincerely, thinking of Regan. He was always worried about her, and in her line of work, there was usually good reason. He leaned forward and glanced again at the girl’s name tag. “Tara, may I call you that?”

  “It’s my name,” she answered. “I don’t know what else you’d call me.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows. “Tara it is then.” He paused. “Could you just go over with me exactly what happened? Tell me everything you remember. Even if a detail seems trivial, it could be important.”

  Tara nodded and took a sip from the glass of water that a co-worker had brought to her. “I’m sitting here all morning taking care of customers. It was busy. Next thing I know I hear a clap of thunder and it starts to rain. Really hard. We all started joking with each other. We were mad because we close at one and we thought it would be a beautiful afternoon to have off. My fiancé, Jamie, was supposed to pick me up. We were going to Home Depot to look at kitchen cabinets for our new apartment. Next thing I know there’s a black-gloved hand pushing a note through my window.” She paused. “You read it?”

  “Yes.”

  “No matter how much they train you, you’re never prepared for something like this. I slid that money over the counter so fast it would make your head spin. My heart was thumping in my chest so hard, I thought everyone in the bank could hear it. I was so scared I felt like I was having one of those out-of-body experiences—it was as if I was floating up toward that ugly ceiling out there while I watched myself going through the motions down below.”

  “What did the robber look like?” Jack asked quietly.

  “He was white with a dark mustache and beard, and had on oversized tinted glasses. I couldn’t see his eyes, but he had big bushy eyebrows. Not that I looked that hard. It all happened so fast. I was afraid to make eye contact once I read the note. But he was wearing dark clothes and a black raincoat with the hood up.”

  Jack and Tara both turned toward the door as a man’s voice could be heard yelling, “Where is she?”

  Tara jumped up as Jamie rushed through the door. Jack smiled as the hulking man scooped his petite fiancée off the ground and held her in his arms.

  “I’m getting you out of here, baby,” he announced in a booming voice as he swayed her from side to side. “I’m taking you away for a few days so we can both calm down.”

  “Where are we going?” Tara asked, as the tears started to flow from her eyes. Feeling protected and safe in Jamie’s big strong arms, she felt a wonderful relief.

  “Las Vegas. We’ll have a good time and forget all this.”

  Some place to calm down, Jack thought.

  10

  Of Charisse and Alfred’s five April Brides, Brianne and Regan were still the only two who definitely knew the bad news about the gowns. Alfred had left messages for Shauna Nickles and Victoria Beardsley, telling them that there was a “little problem.” They weren’t scheduled to come in for fittings until the following week. Tracy Timber was now a few minutes late for her appointment, which was surprising. Alfred, Charisse, Regan, Nora, and Kit were all waiting for her as though the Grim Reaper were about to appear.

  “She’s never late,” Charisse explained. “She is ultraorganized and efficient.”

  “Rigid,” Alfred offered.

  Charisse sweetly ignored him. “I’m afraid the news is going to be a big blow for her.”

  “She’s running her wedding like a marine sergeant,” Alfred said. He threw out his hands. “Where is the sense of joy? Show me the love.”

  Nora and Kit had been sitting silently, taking all this in. Of course neither of them wanted to leave. It was the quietest Regan had seen Kit in a long time. “You know,” Nora began. “Planning a wedding is very stressful. There’s so much to think about.”

  “The dress is the most important,” Alfred said proudly. “It’s the dress that defines the bride. If your dress is bad, then you may as well forget it! People will be talking behind your back for years to come!”

  “That’s why we have such a problem, Alfred,” Regan reminded him. “If this Tracy is so ultraorganized and she’s getting married next week…”

  The downstairs buzzer rang.

  As opposed to a collective sigh of relief, there was a collective tensing of muscles in the salon.

  Charisse walked over to the intercom but didn’t reach it before it buzzed again. This time the buzz was longer. Charisse waited until the noise ended and then pushed the button and spoke into the speaker. “Who’s there?” she asked with a lilt, winking at the group.

  “Tracy Timber,” a clipped voice answered. “I do have an appointment.”

  “Come right up.”

  When Tracy appeared at the door with her mother and sister, Regan could tell that this was going to be a painful experience. Tracy was one of those people who had every one of her shoulder-length blond hairs perfectly in place, with a headband to ensure no strays dared escape. She was dressed in preppy clothing and simple gold jewelry. But the rock on her left hand was impressive. She was carrying a briefcase in her right hand, a clipboard in her left.

  “The traffic coming in from Connecticut was terrible,” Tracy announced. “Once the rain started…”

  She doesn’t know yet, Regan thought. They must not have listened to the radio on the way in.

  “No problem…” Alfred said, fumbling for words. “Let…let me introduce you…”

  Tracy’s mother, Ellen, was an older, more relaxed version of Tracy. Her gold earrings were similar to Tracy’s, and she had on well-cut beige slacks and a yellow sweater set. Tracy’s younger sister, Adele, had the same features and hair color as her mother and sister but was clearly not cut from the same mold. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed. Wearing wrinkled blue jeans, a denim shirt, and old sneakers, she yawned at least twice before the introductions were complete.

  Everyone said hello and shook hands. Tracy’s eyes darted back and forth to the long rack where the gowns were usually hanging in wait when clients came for their final fittings.

  “Lovely meeting you all,” Tracy said without enthusiasm, then glanced at her watch. “Now, let’s
get down to business, shall we, Alfred. I want to try on my dress one more time and then be on our way. Have you finished up with Regan? You are the bride, aren’t you, Regan?”

  And the detective, Regan thought, but she just nodded. She felt her throat go dry. Poor Alfred.

  “Tracy, why don’t you and your mother and sister sit down?” Alfred said, clearly stalling for time.

  “I don’t want to sit down. I want to try on my dress.”

  “There’s a little problem…”

  Tracy’s cheeks flushed. “What is the problem, Alfred?”

  “We had a break-in last night, and your dress was stolen. So was Regan’s,” he added almost joyfully.

  Hugging the clipboard to her chest, Tracy looked as though the wind had been knocked out of her. “Could you repeat that?”

  Alfred did as he was told.

  Regan could see a look of amusement come over Adele’s face, but Tracy’s mother’s expression turned grave. Luckily she didn’t seem the type to get overwrought, at least in public. But Tracy’s stiff upper lip had vanished.

  “My dress is gone? Gone? What am I supposed to do? My perfect wedding is in one week.” She banged her clipboard. “Everything is set except the dress. Everything.”

  Charisse ran into the kitchen mumbling about making another pot of lavender tea.

  “Honey,” Tracy’s mother said in a tone that matched her expression. “We’ll find you another dress.”

  “No,” Alfred interrupted. “We’ll make you a new one. We promise. When you think about it, seven days is plenty of time. Isn’t that how long it took God to—”

  “That is unacceptable!” Tracy interrupted, her voice quivering with rage. “I have every minute scheduled from now until the time I walk down the aisle. I don’t have a second to spare. Do you understand that? Do you?”

  Alfred just looked at her.

  Tracy unsnapped the cell phone attached to her belt. “I’m going to call my fiancé. He’ll tell you a thing or two. He’ll sue you.” She pressed one key and a moment later barked into the phone. “Jeffrey! The most awful thing has happened! I am so upset! My gown was stolen. I am beside myself!…That’s right, stolen…. How can I have a wedding without a gown…? What do you mean we shouldn’t go ahead with the wedding? It is not a sign we shouldn’t get married, I’ll get another gown…”