Hitched

“If you see anything,” the reporter was saying, “please call Crime Stoppers. Those wedding dresses have to be somewhere. Police are on the lookout.”

Marco flipped off the radio.

Neither of them said a word. But the air was thick with tension.

The neon lights atop the towering casinos in Atlantic City finally came into view, beckoning them with the promise of Lady Luck. “Gambler’s Palace. Our lucky charm,” Marco said in an effort to change the mood in the car. But when they headed for the entrance to the Gambler’s Palace multilevel parking lot, Marco slammed on the brakes. Before cars could gain entry, drivers were being asked to open their trunks. “What the…?” Marco muttered.

“Oh, my God!” Francis cried. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Marco did a quick U-turn. “When you said they might be inspecting the trunks, I thought you were being paranoid.”

“I never thought it would really happen. Maybe we should just go home. With this dishwasher in the backseat we look like idiots. I’m really tired-”

“No!” Marco insisted. “We have to get these dresses to Las Vegas. The only way is to drive them there.”

“You go,” Francis said. “I’ll take a bus home.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“What do I tell Joyce?”

“Figure something out. We’ll be back in a couple of days. I might even let you fly back. I’ll go on to California.”

“You will?” Francis said hopefully.

“Don’t sound so happy.”

“I’m not happy. Believe me, I’m not happy.”

“I know I’ve worn out my welcome with Joyce. It might even be understandable. We’ll drive to Vegas, I’ll get my arm stitched up, we’ll have Marty sell the dresses, then we’ll divide up the proceeds. Don’t forget we also have our twenty thousand dollars cash to play with. Minus what it cost us for lunch.”

Francis sank back in his seat. Marco was right. Driving across the country seemed like the right thing to do. As Marco put in a call to his friend in Las Vegas, Francis tried to cheer himself with the thought that he’d be free of Marco very soon, with at least ten thousand dollars in his pocket. He promised himself that he wouldn’t gamble the money away. He’d hurry home from Vegas and take Joyce out for a nice di

The furthest thing from Marco’s and Francis’s minds was the possibility that a passenger in the car that had been right behind them in line for the parking lot had taken notice of their hasty departure.

It was Jack Reilly’s car.

25

Jeffrey Woodall felt a sense of relief and excitement that he had never known in all his born days. He’d gotten rid of Tracy, and the best part was he’d been handed the opportunity on a silver platter. He didn’t have to sit her down and say, “We need to talk.” When she told him her dress was stolen, he blurted out his true feelings, feelings that had been building up for weeks.

Now he was opening a bottle of champagne at his apartment on Central Park West in Manhattan and he was positively giddy. He’d spent the afternoon making the necessary phone calls, letting his half of the guest list know that they could make other plans for Saturday, April 9th, assuring those who already sent presents that they would be returned.

Jeffrey’s mother was mortified. Jeffrey’s father didn’t say much. He never did. It was from his father that Jeffrey had inherited his limited ability to communicate.

“What am I going to tell my friends?” his mother asked.

“Tell them that it just didn’t work out.”

“Our tickets are nonrefundable. Maybe we’ll come to New York and take in a show.”

“May as well,” Jeffrey said, although he wished they wouldn’t. He had other ways he wanted to spend his time. Blond, wealthy, attractive, and thirty-two years old, Jeffrey was a catch. That is, if you didn’t mind someone who was uptight, obsessed with order and cleanliness, and crippled by insecurity.

He came from a respected family in Chicago and had moved to New York after business school. He’d been working at the same insurance company for seven years, set on an unwavering rigid course, always afraid to step outside the box. But now that was all about to change. His head had been turned by someone new, someone who would soften his edges. Someone who would dare him to be himself, liberate him, set him free. He and Tracy weren’t a good match, he convinced himself, because they were too much alike. Too worried about what other people think. Too worried about living in the right place, belonging to the right clubs, getting their future children into the best schools. His new love was the yin to his yang. She was the opposite of what he had always thought he wanted.

Jeffrey felt like he might finally have found the key to life’s happiness. He was ready to change-it was worth the risk. And the fu

He couldn’t wait to get to know her better. It had all happened so fast, but the day he met her he knew his life would never be the same.

His buzzer sounded. Jeffrey answered and listened to the doorman a

Unless of course he dared take that trip with someone else…

The doorbell rang.

Jeffrey glanced at his reflection in the mirror by the door, smoothed back his hair, and opened the door. He smiled at the sight of her. She was so incredibly beautiful.

“Darling,” she said as she rushed into his arms.

He held her tight. “Can this really be happening?” he whispered. She smelled so good.

“I can’t believe it myself.”

“I’ve never felt this way before.”

“Me, neither,” she sighed. “Are you really free to love me and me alone?”

“Oh, yes. And you, did you get rid of him?”

She sighed.

He led her inside and shut the door. Cupping her face in his hands, he asked her softly, “ Victoria, please tell me that you called off your wedding to Frederick.”

She smiled up at him. “Don’t worry, darling. Frederick is of no concern to us whatsoever…”

26

“That car was certainly in a hurry to get out of here,” Regan observed from the front seat of Jack’s car as she tried to decipher its license plate number. They had just pulled into the line outside the parking lot of Gambler’s Palace. Regan grabbed her ever-present notepad out of her purse and jotted down the few numbers she was able to make out. “I don’t think they wanted anyone to inspect their trunk.”

“Maybe they didn’t want to wait,” Kit suggested.

“Maybe,” Regan agreed. “This could be useless information. Which over the years I’ve collected plenty of. But you never know. It was a gray sedan, right, Jack?”

“Yes. Two people were in the car. A guy was driving. I couldn’t tell whether his passenger was a man or a woman.” Jack looked in his rearview mirror. “The red sports car behind us is also turning around. A young couple. Who knows? Maybe they had a couple drinks and are afraid of being stopped.”

Kit turned around, craning her neck to get the license plate of the second departing car. She recited it to Regan, who dutifully jotted it down.

“I could sit here all night and collect license plate numbers,” Regan joked. “But when something like that happens right in my face, I have to take notice.”