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  Like a woman possessed, Tracy leaped for the phone and disconnected the call. “You imbecile! The last thing I want is my name in the paper!”

  Sheepishly, Alfred handed her the receiver. She slammed it down and lowered her face to his. “If my name gets out as being one of your brides, I will ruin you! You understand that? I will ruin you. I don’t need for the whole world to find out I was dumped! It’s bad enough everyone at the club will figure it out. I will sue you for pain and suffering, invasion of privacy, loss of ability to lead a decent life…”

  She must have a good lawyer, Regan thought.

  The phone started ringing again just as the doorbell buzzed. This time it was Charisse’s turn to make an escape. “That must be a delivery,” she muttered to herself as she ran to the door, checkbook in hand. “How could they have gotten in downstairs?”

  This place is not exactly Fort Knox, Regan wanted to respond. But she kept the thought to herself.

  As the phone rang insistently, Charisse pulled open the large metal door. A young female reporter and a cameraman were in the hallway. The bright light above the camera shone into the room as the cameraman aimed his equipment in the direction of the assembled group.

  Tracy dove behind the couch. “Trapped like rats!” she wailed.

  “We heard about what happened and we’d just love to do a story—” the reporter began.

  “This isn’t a good time,” Charisse insisted as she stepped out into the hallway and started to pull the door closed behind her.

  “But we’d just like to help…” the reporter was saying as the door shut.

  Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Tracy took a deep breath and slowly pulled herself up from behind the couch. “Now I’m stuck here! I just want to go home.”

  “Charisse will get rid of them,” Alfred promised. “She’s good at that kind of thing, but she does it in a sweet way. Then we’ll sneak you down the stairwell to your car so no one will see you.”

  Adele smiled. “Movie-star treatment, Tracy! That’s cool.”

  “I am not a movie star!” Tracy scowled.

  “When they get dumped in public, it’s really bad,” Adele commented. “Everybody in the world starts talking about it. Look at—”

  “Mother would you please tell her to stop!”

  “Hush, Adele,” Ellen said stiffly. “I know you mean well.”

  “Why would Jeffrey do this to me? Why?” Tracy cried.

  “Why is right,” Regan echoed.

  Tracy looked at Regan, shocked at the show of sympathy.

  Regan continued, “Tracy, I’m going to be talking to all the brides whose dresses are gone to see if we can figure out who might have wanted to do this. It could have been a random act, but it could have been done by someone who wanted to hurt one of us. You just never know. You joked about having me investigate your former fiancé but I really would like to check him out.”

  Tracy started laughing hysterically. “That’s wonderful! I’d love to find each and every skeleton he has in his pathologically orderly walk-in closet!”

  “Well, I’d just like to see if he could possibly have had anything to do with this. Has he had any trouble with the law before?” Regan asked.

  “The only thing he’s guilty of is being incredibly boring,” Adele retorted.

  “Adele!” Tracy snapped. She looked at Regan. “No, he’s never been arrested if that’s what you mean. He’s always so worried about what people think of him. Be my guest in checking him out. I’d love it if you dug up some dirt. I’d kick it in his face!” For the first time since Regan had laid eyes on her, Tracy looked almost happy. “If he did this, then it would be okay if people found out I was dumped. Because I would have been dumped by a nutcase.”

  “You could become a role model,” Adele suggested.

  “For what?”

  “For being a shining example of ‘Be careful what you pray for. You just might get it.’ But you’ll be the one who dodged the bullet at the last minute.”

  Tracy wasn’t quite sure what to make of this statement. She blinked her eyes and turned to Alfred. “For now, I absolutely don’t want people to know my name. Because if he turns out to be innocent, then I’m just the girl who got dumped.”

  Alfred nodded.

  “Or I’ll sue you,” she added.

  Alfred nodded again.

  Fifteen minutes later Ellen and Adele pulled around to the front of the building. Regan and Alfred accompanied Tracy down the stairwell. She had on one of Charisse’s raincoats, the hood pulled up over her head. Regan was glad it was actually raining. Tracy leaped into the backseat of her mother’s Lexus, the door was shut, and they sped off to the leafy suburbs of Connecticut.

  “I wouldn’t want to be a passenger in that car,” Alfred commented.

  “The poor thing,” Regan said. “She was crying again.”

  “She’ll get over it. If you find any dirt on her ex, she’ll really get over it.”

  “What a responsibility,” Regan muttered.

  “Revenge is sweet,” Alfred said in a tone that implied experience.

  “But isn’t it a dish best served cold?”

  “Regan, it’s good any way you can get it.”

  When they got back upstairs, it was three o’clock. The two other April Brides had not returned Alfred’s calls. Charisse had all five brides’ files out and was arranging to order fabric for the four dresses Alfred planned to replace.

  “Tracy’s situation is very sad, but at least that’s one less dress we have to worry about,” Charisse said cheerfully.

  “What if they make up?” Alfred asked.

  “She shouldn’t take him back,” Kit commented.

  “No, she shouldn’t,” Nora agreed with a look of concern. “Alfred and Charisse, do you think you’ll be able to replace Regan’s dress in one week? If not we’ve really got to start thinking about…”

  “Absolutely!” Alfred cried. “Regan will have her dress no matter what. We’ll get started on it right away. No thieves or threats are going to keep Alfred and Charisse from their business!”

  “Call a locksmith, would you Charisse?” Regan suggested. “I don’t want you two in here tonight not knowing if some stranger has a set of your keys.”

  “Right away, Regan.”

  “Where do the two remaining brides live?” Regan asked.

  “They’re both in Manhattan.”

  “I think I’d better pay them both a visit and deliver the news to them in person. If they’re not there, I’ll leave a note explaining the situation. Written by you, of course. That way they can’t accuse you of not trying in every way possible to contact them. After this experience with Tracy, you’d better be concerned about their privacy. Who knows what their secrets are?”

  Charisse sighed. “Anything’s possible. They are both a little different…”

  14

  Brianne and her mother had gone to Kleinfeld and been greeted cordially.

  “Your wedding’s next week!” the saleswoman cried in dismay. “Did you get engaged five minutes ago?”

  Teresa explained the unfortunate situation.

  “You’re one of the victims of the bridal heist! One of the April Brides!” the saleswoman boomed. “Oh, my God, what a mess. What a mess! Can you imagine if they stole all the dresses we have hanging around here? I can’t imagine. Well, you picked our busiest day to stop by without an appointment.”

  Another saleswoman had wandered over. “Didn’t I wait on you two once before?”

  Teresa looked guilty. “As a matter of fact you did. But Charisse and Alfred had a design that Brianne just loved. So we went with them,” she explained.

  Both saleswomen nodded mournfully. “It isn’t our policy to work without an appointment, but given your hard luck, we will try and do our best for you,” the first one said. “We have sample dresses…”

  “We appreciate any help you can give us,” Teresa said with great relief.

  The two saleswomen started
pulling dresses off the rack but they couldn’t find anything that worked for Brianne. They clucked, frowned, tsk-tsked, and implied that if they had chosen a dress from there in the first place…well, then she’d have her dress, wouldn’t she?

  Brianne was freaking out. She was hot and tired, and the rows and rows of wedding gowns were too much for her. Nothing fit right, and it was too late to order a dress that would really look great. Other brides in the shop were laughing and having fun with their mothers and sisters and friends as they gaily tried on one gown after another, knowing they had time to get whatever dress they wanted. Their happiness made Brianne even more miserable.

  Teresa pulled Brianne aside. “Your dead grandmother would light up in the sky if you wore our dress. Let’s get out of here and go dig it out of the attic.”

  “What if it’s in bad condition?”

  “I wrapped it good. Honestly. I should have had you try it on before you went to those crazy designers.”

  “Ma, Debbie had her dress made by Alfred and Charisse. It looked beautiful.”

  “Didn’t she split up with him within six months?”

  “So?”

  “They’re bad luck. I’m telling you. Bad luck.”

  “If I wear your dress and it needs to be altered, then we’ll have to take it to them. Who else would do it so fast?”

  “It’s all right. We’ll ignore the bad luck then. But it’s good you’re going to wear a family dress. Believe me, you can’t go wrong. If people don’t think it looks gorgeous, you can blame me.”

  They thanked the saleswomen for their efforts, drove out to Long Island, pulled into the garage, and entered the house through the back door. Brianne’s father had just returned from playing a game in his over-50 softball league. He’d already heard the news about the dress but seemed to have gotten over it.

  “Aahhh,” he groaned. “I pulled a muscle in my leg sliding into home plate.”

  Teresa rolled her eyes. “You’re fifty-five years old. You’ve got no business sliding around anywhere.”

  “You better be in good shape to walk me down the aisle next week,” Brianne told him.

  “Don’t worry, baby,” he said as he reached in the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of Gatorade. “No more games until after the wedding. I thought I could play next Saturday morning and still make it to the church on time, but your mother forbade me.”

  “In no uncertain terms.”

  He took a chug from the bottle. “Did you get your money back?”

  Brianne pulled the check out of her pocket and slapped it in his palm.

  “Daddy’s little girl.”

  Brianne gave her father a hug. “I was interviewed on television.”

  “Let’s get a tape and play it at the rehearsal dinner. It’ll all work out. You know, honey, the important thing is that you’re marrying a good guy. When I think of that creep you went out with last year.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Bill.”

  “That’s right. Bill the Pill.”

  “Good riddance to him,” Teresa said. “You see, Brianne, you could still be stuck with someone like that—someone always whining, complaining, and in a bad mood. Instead, you found a nice boy like Pauly. So he’s a little rough around the edges. He’ll learn.”

  “He still hasn’t called me back. I left him a message hours ago.”

  “He thought you were going to be busy all day. Maybe he went to see a movie to calm his nerves. All I can say is thank God he finally got a new job. You both work until you have a baby. Then see what’s up. Whatever.”

  “He was only out of work for a few months.”

  “It still can make a man go bonkers. Especially when he’s engaged to be married. Let’s go upstairs and check out the dress.”

  On the second floor of their modest-sized house, Brianne tugged at a rope that hung from the ceiling in the hallway. A trap door swung down, and a set of folded-up wooden stairs followed, losing its fight with gravity. Brianne promptly unfolded them, made sure the bottom section was planted firmly on the hallway floor, and started her ascent.

  “Be careful,” Teresa ordered.

  “I am, I am.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  Brianne reached the top of the flimsy stairs and stepped into the attic, carefully avoiding the insulated sections that were not meant to support anyone who weighed more than three pounds. Step on them and you end up in the extra bedroom. Brianne pulled on a smaller string that was hanging from a lonely lightbulb protruding from the ceiling. The lightbulb made a popping noise as it flashed light for a brief second then died.

  “Daaadyyy!” she screamed. “We need another lightbulb.”

  “Howie!” Teresa screamed, relaying her daughter’s message. “We need another lightbulb.”

  A short time later, guided by another dim bulb, they rummaged through the attic looking for the cherished family dress.

  “I don’t believe this,” Brianne complained after about two minutes. “I thought you said you put it away so carefully.”

  “I did. But this family has collected a lot of junk over the years. We’ve got to clean this place out. Oh look, here are some of your school pictures…”

  “Ma! We can’t take time for that now. Where’s the dress? I swear if I get my hands on whoever it was who ruined my gown I will kill them. Kill them!”

  “Calm down dear. Now let me see. Oh look! It’s behind this pole.” Teresa pulled aside a carton of junk and reached for the faded white box with a window top that partially revealed the front of the beaded white wedding dress. “Here it is! All packaged nicely from that dry cleaner that went out of business. They did such a good job with wedding dresses. It’s such a shame the owner was so nasty and customers stopped going. Who needs to be insulted when you’re paying good money?”

  Brianne hurried over to take a look at the dress she had never laid eyes on, except in pictures. It was obviously packaged on some sort of form that simulated a woman’s chest. At first glance, Brianne became hopeful that it might work. It looked pretty enough.

  Teresa could tell that Brianne’s reaction was positive. “Let’s take it downstairs, honey, and have you try it on. I promise you it’ll be wonderful.”

  Like a child on Christmas morning, Brianne grabbed the box and hurried down the attic stairs, barely grabbing onto the skimpy railing. Teresa was just a little more careful in her descent down the rickety steps. They hurried into the master bedroom and placed the box on Teresa and Howie’s king-sized bed. Brianne held her breath, pulled off the cover of the box, and started to scream bloody murder.

  An army of black ants had sprung to life and were frantically running around the top of the dress.

  For the second time that day, Brianne fell to her knees in shock and grief over the state of a beleagured wedding gown.

  “Howie!” Teresa bellowed. “Get up here! We’ve got to get this dress out into the back yard! And grab a can of Raid!”

  15

  “I start to feel good when I get near the ocean,” Marco declared. “There’s something about the salt water. Remember summer after senior year of high school? We made the rounds looking for chicks on every beach from Long Island to South Jersey.”

  Francis looked glum as they continued down the Garden State Parkway. “We had to keep moving. You promised so many girls you’d call them, we could never go back to the same place twice.”

  Marco waved his hand at his passenger. “We had fun.” He rolled down the window partway and flipped on the radio. “I’m glad the weather is clearing up. I feel like singing.”

  “We’d better have that tail light fixed,” Francis reminded Marco as he checked his cell phone. He was hoping that maybe Joyce would call to say hello. No reason she should. Particularly since he blew her off on another Saturday night.

  “Don’t worry,” Marco said as a deejay’s voice came over the tinny speaker.

  “You’re back with Ke
nny and Jess. We’ve got a lot of news here to tell you about, but one of the stranger items of the day is about the wedding gowns that were stolen from a designers’ loft in downtown Manhattan—”

  “Oh, my God,” Francis muttered.

  “—four dresses stolen, one slashed and bloodied. All the brides were to be married in the next couple of weeks. ‘I’m getting married in the morning…’ ” he sang, “ ‘but, I’ve got nothinggg to wear.’ Tell me, Jess, what should those brides do?”

  “They can always look for a dress on the Internet. You’d be amazed how many gowns are sold there every day. At great discounts.”

  “Why would someone sell their dress?” Kenny asked.

  “Because somebody got coooold feet.”

  “Gotcha. Eeeww…painful stuff.”

  Jess cooed, “But I can’t imagine being one of those brides whose gowns were stolen. When I got married I spent months looking for the perfect dress. When I finally found it I had to go back to the bridal shop for several fittings. It was so much work! To have all that planning and preparation go down the drain is a crime in itself!”

  “I wonder where those dresses are now. And what those thieves plan to do with them,” Kenny said in his playful radio voice.

  “They’ll probably try to sell them. But they better not do it in the New York area. This story has been all over the airwaves today.”

  Marco looked at Francis, smiled, and tapped his head with his forefinger. “You see? I’m always thinking. We’ll get rid of them in Las Vegas.”

  “I’ve got an idea!” Kenny announced. “Let’s start a contest. See who can come up with the most original idea of where the thieves might be hiding those dresses.”

  Francis turned white.

  “That sounds like fun,” Jess agreed. “A scavenger hunt for our listeners. Call our phone lines if you have an original idea. And keep a lookout. If you notice anything unusual—”