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  “In Midtown at the Queen’s Court Hotel.”

  “One of the best hotels in Manhattan,” Regan commented.

  “It is. I check people in on the overnight shift. That’s why I was sleeping. I’ve been doing it for a year now but my body still hasn’t gotten used to the schedule. I don’t mind though. I’m not a nine-to-five person. I love having my days free and I get a few hours sleep here and there.” She paused. “Are you sure I can’t get you two anything to drink?”

  “No thanks,” Kit said. “We’ve been drinking Charisse’s lavender tea all day.”

  Victoria smiled. “Charisse is such a darling!”

  “Charisse is the one who assured me that our gowns would be ready,” Regan said. “Victoria, we’re trying to figure out if whoever stole the gowns might have had a grudge against Alfred and Charisse or one of the April Brides. Can you think of anyone who knew you were buying your gown from Alfred and Charisse and wanted to screw up your wedding by stealing your dress?”

  “No. Not at all,” Victoria answered quickly, then smiled. “I did tease my fiancé that he must have broken a lot of hearts along the way.”

  “What’s your fiancé’s name?” Kit asked.

  Victoria leaned her head to one side. “Frederick.”

  “Frederick what?” Kit asked innocently.

  “Dortmunder. Frederick is so proud of his heritage. He talks about it all the time. His family goes wayyyy back.”

  Most families go way back somewhere, Regan thought. “What does he do in Pennsylvania?”

  “He’s a painter. Incredibly talented. At Frederick’s house in the country he has a little studio where he spends most of his time. He can’t paint in this apartment because there’s no light. That’s why we spend most of our time together out there. He says that I’m his muse—that he gets inspired when I watch him paint. So I sit there for hours just watching him create these beautiful images.”

  I’d go nuts, Regan thought, but smiled and said, “Sounds great. Now, Victoria, no matter what you say, if we don’t find the dresses very soon, Alfred and Charisse will make you a new one in time for your wedding. I’m just glad that you’re not upset. Because let me tell you something—two of the other brides today did not take this as calmly as you have.”

  “Of course I’m upset. But I’ve learned that it’s best to concentrate on the things in life that really matter.” She pointed to her books and tapes. “For the last year I’ve been studying visualization, learning to listen to the quiet music inside of me. I came to this city from Iowa to try my hand at the whole show-biz thing. I sang and danced in all the plays back home. But in New York the competition is fierce. After several years, it dawned on me that I didn’t believe in myself enough! I was introduced to visualization and it changed my life! I wrote my affirmations over and over of what I wanted and at this point in time I wanted to focus on finding love. And I found it! That’s what really matters. I’m having fun! The stolen dress doesn’t matter in the long run.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Regan said with a nod. “This robbery has gotten a lot of attention from the press. A couple of reporters want to do stories on the five April Brides, as Alfred has dubbed us. One of the other brides is happy to be interviewed. Another, for her own reasons, says absolutely not. Do you have any interest in talking to the press about your reaction to this? They’d love you. You have such a great attitude, and if you want to be in show business, it could give you some good exposure.”

  “No, Regan,” Victoria said without hesitation. “Frederick would disapprove. He believes in the quiet life. He wouldn’t want me to get involved in a media circus. I just know he’d find it undignified. He’s rather proper.”

  “So you’re not going to pursue show biz anymore?” Regan asked.

  “We’ll see,” Victoria said airily. “But right now I just want to enjoy being in love!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

  “I understand,” Regan said as she stood.

  “Of course you do! You’re in love, too!” Victoria stood. She was a little taller than Regan. “It was so lovely meeting you both,” she said as she walked them to the door, once again humming a little tune. “Good luck with your wedding, Regan.”

  “You, too. You’ll be hearing from Alfred about your dress.”

  “I’m sure it will all work out.” Victoria turned to Kit and looked at her with intensity. Her brown eyes were popping. “Remember, you’ve got to belieeevvve. Draw a treasure map of where you want to go in life and hang it on your wall. Write out your affirmations. To create the life of your dreams, you have to make it happen!”

  “I’ll check out that dating service when I get home,” Kit muttered.

  “You do that!”

  When Kit and Regan were back out on the street, they both looked at each other. “I liked her,” Kit said. “She’s a little strange but she has charm.”

  Regan shrugged as they walked toward the corner.

  “What?” Kit asked.

  “She’s very likable but she doesn’t at all seem like someone who’s getting married in three weeks. She didn’t seem to care about the dress. And there was nothing in that apartment to indicate that she’d sent out invitations or that presents were coming in or anything like that. There are no magazines or books about wedding planning—just visualization and inner peace. If you pay that much money for one of Alfred’s dresses, you must be having some sort of special ceremony.”

  “Maybe it’s all out at Frederick’s studio,” Kit quipped. “Next to his paintbrushes.”

  “Could be,” Regan said, then frowned. “If he’s such an incredibly talented artist, then how come the only thing she has on her wall are a couple of framed prints? Wouldn’t she have at least one of his paintings on display?”

  “You’d think.”

  “I’ve got to tell you something, Kit. They don’t sound like the greatest pair. She doesn’t want to leave the city. He doesn’t want to leave the country. She’s gregarious and likes to have fun. He’s worried about getting his name in the paper. Let me tell you, if he wants to sell his paintings, it would help if people knew about them. It could help her, too. But she obviously doesn’t want to upset him.”

  “Frederick must be some hunk.”

  “I don’t know what he is.”

  Kit shrugged. “Have you ever heard that opposites attract?”

  “Sure I have. But something doesn’t seem right.” Regan hailed a cab. They got in, and she gave the address of the last April Bride. “We’re going across Central Park to Fifth Avenue,” she told the driver. “Fifth Avenue and Seventy-fifth Street.”

  “You got it lady,” he said and took off like a shot. “You live there? That’s a nice address.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “That’s okay. As long as you’re happy. You know what I mean? To me the important thing is to be happy. I’m okay. My wife’s okay. We’re happy.”

  Regan leaned back and smiled at Kit as the driver continued his monologue about the meaning of life. She was sure it wouldn’t end until they arrived at the home of the fifth April Bride.

  Whoever she turned out to be.

  18

  Jack returned to his corner office at One Police Plaza. It wasn’t unusual for him to be found at work on a Saturday. But today there were especially compelling reasons to be there.

  As of next Saturday, he’d be gone for over two weeks.

  The Drip had struck again and was still free to roam the streets.

  Jack sighed. There were bank robberies every day in New York City. With a little luck and planning, robbers often could get away with it. They couldn’t get that much more than a few thousand dollars each time. But for the same person to succeed several times in the last three months—as Jack and his colleagues suspected—was the cause of a lot of frustration in Jack’s office.

  The detectives had interviewed everyone in the banks at the time of the robberies, as well as people outside who might have seen someth
ing that would be helpful to the investigation. But because each robbery had taken place when rain, sleet, or snow was coming down, everyone’s focus had been on themselves. Even more than usual. It wasn’t a big time for observing your fellow man when you were trying to stay dry and avoid getting poked by umbrellas.

  Jack and his colleagues had looked at the tape of the last robbery several times. The profiler, Len Fisher, had said to Jack, “It looks like The Drip. Same shaped face. He’s got a different beard and mustache this time but he’s about the same size. He’s wearing another ugly raincoat and thick black rubber shoes.” They’d compared the tape to the one from the robbery two weeks before. “You see. He moves the same way. He’s good at his disguises, though. Even though this one is slightly different, he’s still recognizable from the last rainy day robbery.”

  “Looks like he took a few lessons from Willie Sutton.”

  Len nodded. “Willie took his work very seriously,” he’d said wryly.

  Jack had been fascinated by Willie Sutton, the famed bank robber born in Brooklyn in 1901 whose career lasted from the late 1920s to 1952 when he was caught for the last time. He’d served a number of prison terms. Nicknamed The Actor because of his ability to take on so many different looks, he was the master of disguise. Hollowed-out corks widened his nostrils, loose clothing hid his shape. He sometimes donned uniforms of workers, such as deliverymen, so he wouldn’t seem suspicious. In 1969, he was freed from prison. Before his death in 1980, he appeared in commercials for a bank credit card and showed up as a celebrity at bank openings.

  God Bless America, Jack thought.

  Legend had it that when Willie was asked why he robbed banks, he answered, “Because that’s where the money is.” But in later years he said that a reporter had made up that quote. “I robbed banks because I enjoyed it. I loved it. I was more alive when I was inside a bank robbing it, than at any other time in my life…I enjoyed it so much that one or two weeks later I’d be out looking for the next job.”

  Jack sighed as he sat at his desk. The Drip’s first robbery was at the beginning of January. He might be looking for his next job but he couldn’t strike again until the weather was on his side. And sunny skies were predicted for the next several days. There was nothing The Drip could do about that except maybe try a rain dance. Or move to Seattle.

  Tapping his fingers on the top of the desk, Jack looked off, deep in thought. Does this guy do it for the thrill? Or just the money? Or both?

  One of the detectives had found a credit card slip on the floor of the bank. Over a thousand dollars had been charged at Dan’s Discount Den. The name on the receipt was Chris Diamond. It was being checked. With any luck it had been dropped by the robber. Of course, Jack knew that if it had been dropped by the robber, there was a good chance the card wasn’t his.

  One of the most prevalent crimes these days was credit card theft, and even worse, identity theft, Jack mused. Even if The Drip had a stolen credit card, he probably wasn’t smart enough to be involved with identity theft. If he were, he wouldn’t be wasting his time going out in broad daylight and robbing banks of a couple grand. Instead he’d be making far more money using other people’s identity to take out loans or purchase high-price items like luxury cars.

  We have the security tapes, the notes, and possibly a credit card receipt to help us find this guy, Jack thought. If only there had been some DNA on any of the notes he’d left. The scientific advances in recent years in matching DNA samples had been revolutionary. But so far The Drip hadn’t blessed them with any of his. He was smart enough to wear gloves.

  “Hey, Boss.”

  Jack looked up. Sgt. Keith Waters, Jack’s top assistant, was standing in the doorway. A handsome black man in his late thirties, Keith possessed a restless energy. He loved his work and could be found in the office at all hours. “That credit card receipt?” Keith said.

  “Yes.” Jack felt his pulse quicken.

  “The credit card company got in touch with the owner of the card, Chris Diamond. He’s been out of the country for a couple of weeks working on a project in London.”

  “So he wasn’t shopping at Dan’s Discount Den in Queens the other day?”

  “He assured them in no uncertain terms that he’d never heard of the place. And no, he didn’t give anyone permission to use his card.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Connecticut.”

  “Did you find out what the thousand dollars was spent on?”

  “We’re working on it. But The Drip’s taste in clothes could easily be satisfied by shopping at Dan’s. It’s not exactly designer stuff.” Keith pointed to the outer office where several of the detectives had their desks, “Joe said his wife doesn’t buy many clothes there, but she loves the place. They sell everything, so it’s one-stop shopping. But get this. Last Halloween she bought costumes there for the kids. They have a big department that’s stocked year round with all sorts of wigs, fake beards, and mustaches. She said they look real.” Keith laughed. “As a matter of fact, so real that the sight of her six-year-old wearing the beard gave her the creeps. The kids love that department.”

  “Let’s hope The Drip loves it, too. Maybe he did his one-stop shopping there. Everything he needs to report for work at the bank. Raincoat, beard, ugly black shoes…”

  Keith smiled. “He could have gotten everything on his list.”

  “Any chance at all we can get prints off the slip?”

  “We’re working on that, too.”

  “Keep me posted. I’m going to be leaving in a little while to go meet Regan.”

  Keith shook his head and whistled. “Those stolen dresses are the talk of the town.”

  “I know.”

  “And Regan’s in the middle of it.”

  Jack smiled. “That doesn’t surprise you, does it?”

  “Not at all, Boss. That Regan is something else. We’re all looking forward to next Saturday. Your wedding is going to be some bash. Three hundred people, huh?”

  Jack nodded. “Somewhere around that number.” An uneasy feeling came over him. He wished that he didn’t have to wait another week. He wished that Regan’s dress hadn’t been stolen. She was putting up a good front, but it had to be difficult for her. Jack stood. “It will be a good time, Keith. I wish it were tomorrow.” He picked up a piece of paper off his desk. “I’d like you to do a background check on somebody. He might only be guilty of being a louse, but his name is Jeffrey Woodall…”

  19

  When the taxi pulled up to 75th and Fifth, the driver wound up his dissertation on the meaning of life. Regan quickly paid him as the doorman of Shauna’s ritzy building hurried over to open the cab door.

  “Thanks, lady,” the driver said. “And remember, don’t feel bad you don’t live here.”

  “I don’t,” Regan assured him as she climbed out after Kit.

  “Can I help you?” the doorman asked.

  “We’re here to see Shauna Nickles.”

  “And you are?”

  “Regan Reilly. I’m here on behalf of the designers of her wedding dress.”

  The doorman smiled.

  Regan wasn’t sure whether she saw a look of sly amusement flash across his face. But it quickly faded as he resumed his professional air, ushering them to the front door.

  “The concierge will call upstairs for you,” he said, pointing inside.

  Regan and Kit crossed the polished marble lobby and stopped at a gleaming wood desk. As Regan identified herself to the concierge, his expression remained impassive. When she was finished speaking, he picked up the house phone and pressed a button. A moment later, he said, “Mr. Ney, I have some young women here to see Shauna about her wedding dress.”

  A nod of his head indicated they were allowed admittance. In the elevator, a white-gloved attendant took them to the tenth floor.

  “Down the hall to your left,” he told them gravely.

  “Thank you.”

  As they walked down the floral-
carpeted hallway, Kit whispered, “Are you sure you’re not depressed you don’t live here?”

  “Positive,” Regan replied as she rang the bell. “This place doesn’t look like a lot of laughs.” The door opened, and an elderly man in a well-cut suit and conservative tie was standing before them. Regan guessed that he was in his mideighties.

  “Hello—” Regan began.

  “Come in,” he ordered in a somewhat cranky tone. He gestured toward the ornately decorated living room that looked out over the treetops of Central Park. “I’m Arnold Ney.”

  Regan and Kit obeyed his command and stepped inside.

  The apartment was a far cry from the one they had just visited. A large Persian rug was the centerpiece of a living room filled with antiques. A gold framed portrait of a regal-looking woman with silver hair, dressed in a ball gown, hung over the delicate silk couch. Regan was somehow sure that that couch was not intended for naps. It certainly couldn’t be used to stretch out on and watch the ball game because there was no television in sight, nothing, actually, to suggest that the tenants lived in a modern world. A grand piano had its place by the window and was covered with family pictures.

  “So,” Regan began, addressing the man who was now shooing them farther into the room. “We just need to speak to Shauna for a few minutes.”

  “I know.” Arnold stopped and cocked his head in the direction of the hallway. “Shauna!” he called. “Shauna!” He turned back to them. “She’ll be here in a minute.”

  “Thank you,” Regan said as she and Kit sat on the formal silk couch. Arnold took his place in a wing chair by the fireplace. “This apartment is so lovely. Did Shauna grow up here?”

  Arnold furrowed his brow and looked over at Regan like she was nuts. “Grow up here? She just moved in a few months ago to plan the wedding.”

  “Oh,” Regan murmured. Kit looked at her with an expression that said, “I’m glad it wasn’t me who asked that.”