Hitched

13

When Tracy reemerged from the bathroom, her eyes had a vacant stare not unlike the ones actors who played psychos in horror movies affected right before they pounced. But her makeup was perfect-she’d clearly powdered her nose and freshened her pink lipstick, Regan noticed.

One wall of the main room of the loft was mirrored, another was all exposed brick. On good days it felt like a happy, open space full of endless possibilities, Regan thought, where excited brides were fitted for the most important dress of their lives. But now, for the second time in twelve hours, it was the setting for personal disaster. The spot where Brianne found her shredded bloodied dress in a heap was exactly where Tracy had been standing when she’d been shot through the heart, so to speak.

Regan was sure that neither one of them would ever forget every detail of their terrible experiences at Alfred and Charisse’s salon. Tracy ’s pain, of course, was far deeper. After all, what could be worse than having your heart broken a week before your wedding? And better yet, what can turn a basically sane, albeit high-strung person, into a psycho in no time flat?

Getting the royal dump.

Charisse was leaning over the coffee table, pouring tea as though her life depended on it. Nora and Kit were making noise about how wonderful yet another cup of tea would taste. Alfred was slumped on the couch, looking nervous and defeated. When he saw Tracy, he attempted to straighten up.

While her mother and sister stood in the background, Tracy walked over to Alfred and said in a scarily controlled voice, “You have ruined my life. I wanted to pick up my dress two weeks ago. It wasn’t ready. And last week it still wasn’t ready…”

Alfred never mentioned that, Regan thought.

“If it had been ready, it wouldn’t have been stolen. And if it hadn’t been stolen, I wouldn’t have been dumped.”

And if you had married that guy, Regan thought, you’d really be miserable. He clearly didn’t believe in “for better or for worse.”

The room was silent.

“Alfred,” Tracy continued. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Not really.”

Tracy shut her eyes as if somehow this would help her process his unexpected response. She opened them again. “Jeffrey, my former fiancé, likes everything to run like clockwork. Just like me. The fact that I didn’t make sure my dress was ready when it should have been, and now I don’t even have a dress, made him question my competence, I’m sure. My value as a life partner. If I picked someone as irresponsible as you to design my dress, then surely he couldn’t expect me to make the proper decisions about…” She broke off, her voice cracking.

“Alfred and Charisse are victims of a crime,” Regan interjected. “They were tied up all night, and we’re lucky they weren’t hurt or killed.”

Tracy turned her vacant stare in Regan’s direction. “You might still have a fiancé, but your dress is gone. How come you’re being so understanding?”

“I’m a private investigator. I’m going to try and help Alfred and Charisse straighten out this mess. And hopefully find out who did this.”

“Good for you. If you can find any dirt on a guy named Jeffrey Woodall, let me know. If I can’t kill him, I want to make his life miserable.”

“Dear,” Ellen said to her daughter, “don’t be so hasty.”

“Mother! One week before the wedding he calls it off. How could he do such a thing?”

“I never liked him,” Adele volunteered enthusiastically. “He’s way too uptight.”

“Who asked you?” Tracy cried. “Just shut up!”

Adele shrugged. “I was just trying to make you feel better.”

“My life is ruined! I’m never going to feel better. I don’t care what happens anymore.” Tracy rubbed the sides of her forehead. “I’m getting one of my headaches.”

“Let’s get you home, dear,” Ellen suggested. “Tonight we’ll go for a nice dinner at the club.”

“The club? I can’t show my face at the club! That’s where my reception was supposed to be!”

“Then we’ll order in Chinese.”

Charisse was vigorously stirring her tiny cup of tea. “ Tracy, this happens more than you think, and it’s always for the best. We’ve been making wedding gowns for years. We started in Alfred’s mother’s basement out in Indiana.” She tried to laugh. “You wouldn’t believe how many of them never saw the light of day! Boy, do we have stories! But in the end, it always meant the guy was not the right one! You’ll find someone so much better and we’ll make you a fantastic new dress-”

“Over my dead body.”

“Your next wedding dress is on the house!” Alfred said with gusto.

“I want my money back,” Tracy countered in an icy tone. “Then I intend to walk out of here and never come back. This place is nothing but a nightmare.”

Charisse went running for the checkbook. “If you don’t mind I’ll postdate the check. We have to move some money around in the accounts. We were robbed of cash, too, you know. Lots and lots of it. And some of my favorite pieces of vintage jewelry…”

“If the check bounces, my lawyer will sue you.”

The phone rang. Alfred grabbed it off the table next to the couch. Regan was surprised he didn’t let it go to voice mail, but then again he was frantic to avoid this unpleasant conversation. “Hello? Yes, this is Alfred. You like my dresses?” He smiled. “Thank you very much. You’re from where? This is a terrible thing…” He twirled the cord of the phone, listened, then cupped the phone with his hand. “It’s a reporter from the Galaxy Gossip. He feels just awful about what happened. He wants to do a human interest story on the five brides who lost their dresses…”

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…”