Hitched

56

“Welcome to Nebraska,” Marco read aloud as they sped along the highway. “You think the guy who made that sign really cares whether we feel welcome?” He laughed, knowing Francis wouldn’t bother to answer. “By my calculations, we’re halfway to Vegas.”

“With the way you drive, I’m surprised we’re not there already,” Francis answered. “Let’s stop at that gas station ahead. I want to get a soda and see if they have anything to eat.”

“A pit stop is in order,” Marco agreed, getting into the right lane. At the station he pulled up to the pumps. “I’ll fill up.”

“Want anything?” Francis asked.

“Surprise me,” Marco answered.

Francis used the bathroom, then headed inside the minimart. Newspapers were lined up on the floor inside the front door. The New York Post was among them.

Francis gasped at the headlines. He picked up a copy, hurried through the store collecting sodas and hot dogs, paid the cashier, and raced back to the car. “Look at this!” he hissed. “It’s made the national news. We’re never going to sell those dresses.”

Marco waved his hand at him. “I just talked to my buddy in Vegas. He’s already been down at the courthouse where all those couples in love line up to get their marriage licenses. Owners of all the wedding chapels compete with each other for the lovebirds’ business on the steps of that courthouse. I hear that can get nasty. But not too many people there are selling designer gowns at great prices. My buddy says if they’re really nice we’ll sell them in about five minutes. He’s already got people interested. He told me to get there as fast as possible. No one has a prolonged engagement in Vegas.” Marco laughed. “Marriages happen so fast they even have drive-through wedding chapels!”

Francis bit into his hot dog. “Let me use your cell phone. I want to check my messages and see if Joyce called.”

Marco handed it over. Francis quickly pushed in his number, then his secret code, and waited. The only message was from his mother.

“Francis! Call me! I just saw on the television that Joyce is missing! What’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you let me know? Where are you?”

In the fight-or-flight state that the human body produces in times of extreme stress, Francis opted for flight. He opened the door, jumped out, and started to run. But with his injured leg, he didn’t get very far. He turned around and headed back to the car.

“I guess it was a bad message,” Marco said as Francis fastened his seat belt.

“My mother heard that Joyce was missing. It’s on television!”

“What? Already?”

“Yes! Already!”

Marco sped out of the gas station. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He started to curse.

“What?” Francis asked, bewildered.

“I left a lot of my stuff at her house.”

“I’ll send it to you.”

“If the cops start snooping around-”

“Marco, you don’t have any drugs in your bag there do you? Because if you do, that could really be trouble. I told you I don’t want to get involved with that-”

“No!” Marco snapped impatiently. “But when you were sleeping before, I was doing a lot of thinking. It occurred to me that I might have left those designers’ keys back at Joyce’s house.”

“You didn’t get rid of them?”

“No, I didn’t get rid of them! I was going to. But I didn’t know we were going to take a road trip! And I also didn’t plan on Joyce being missing!”

“It looks like you made the one stupid mistake that Regan Reilly was talking about on television.”

“This is your fault!” Marco yelled. “If we get in trouble it’s because of Joyce.”

Francis stared straight ahead as they crossed the state of Nebraska.