Читать книгу Missing: One Bride - Alice Sharpe, Alice Sharpe - Страница 8

It was a perfect day for an outdoor wedding. Early-June roses climbed the high rock walls of the enclosed garden; the sky was watercolor blue, the air sweet and warm. Eighty-eight people sat expectantly in white wooden chairs that were laced with nosegays of orange blossoms, forget-me-nots and pale yellow ribbons. A string quartet stood beneath a white-and-mint-striped awning, their gentle music floating out over the heads of the invited guests.

A perfect day for a wedding except for the fact that the bride was a no-show.

Alexandra Williams stood off to one side, partly hidden by a row of potted rose trees. As the sole member of the bride’s wedding party, she was dressed in a pale yellow gown, a color so subtle, it almost didn’t exist. She held a small frilly umbrella, which to her mind made her look like an extra on the set of Gone With the Wind The handle of the worthless umbrella was encrusted with roses and ribbons. She’d done this herself; in fact, she’d created all the floral pieces that decorated the tables and chairs. She’d stayed late at the floral shop where she worked, up half the night as a favor for Natalie, the bride.

Speaking of Natalie…where in the world was she? Well, seeing as she was late for work half the time and tended to cancel appointments by simply not showing up, Alex supposed Natalie being late for her own wedding shouldn’t come as too big a surprise.

Alex wasn’t wearing a watch, so she wasn’t sure exactly how late the ceremony was, just that the “moment” had come and gone. She glanced in the direction of the minister, who was standing by the groom’s family. He was studying his watch, then darting quick looks toward the French doors leading from the house. He didn’t cast the bride’s family any loaded looks for the simple reason that the bride didn’t have much family and what she did have wasn’t there.

Alex’s gaze darted ahead of the minister and rested on the groom, Thorn Powell. He seemed upset, a condition that didn’t detract in any way from his startling good looks. In his tuxedo, with a vibrant yellow rosebud pinned to the lapel, his gray eyes stark against his tanned skin, his shoulders broad, his stomach flat, he appeared to be exactly what he was: a rancher in his early thirties, wealthy, smart, industrious—and about to marry the wrong woman.

No, no, no, Alex cautioned her runaway thoughts.

But they came again. Natalie and Thorn were wrong for each other. Alex knew it; she suspected Natalie knew it but didn’t care, and now she wondered if maybe Thorn wasn’t beginning to realize it, as well.

As if her thoughts had touched his mind, he turned just then, caught her eye and began walking toward her. Alex felt her heartbeat accelerate as his long stride brought him closer and closer. This was his land, his yard, and he crossed it with a self-assured gait and an intensity of suppressed irritation that wafted ahead of him like an invisible calling card.

“Alexandra,” he said. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where Natalie is?”

Alex shook her head, faintly aware of the tendrils of black hair that had escaped the French twist and now brushed her bare shoulders. “I haven’t the foggiest,” she said. “But you know Natalie.”

“She didn’t say anything to you?” he persisted.

“Not a word. Does this mean she hasn’t called here, either?”

He nodded, then once again scanned the yard as though he suspected Natalie might be lurking behind a tree or a fountain. “When did you talk to her?” he asked.

“At the shop last night, right before closing.” She didn’t add what they had talked about: money. The fact that Thorn had it and Natalie wanted it. It had been mentioned so often, Alex had been moved to ask if there weren’t other more compelling reasons to marry Thorn Powell—other attributes he might possess that made him the only man for Natalie Dupree.

“Sure,” Natalie had said. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous, too.” A throaty laugh had been followed by the words, “And did I mention he’s loaded?”

Thorn mindlessly punched fist against palm and said, “The limousine driver swears she was dressed in a wedding gown when she answered the door but that she told him to go on back to the agency, that she’d drive herself, that she had a phone call to make. I asked him if she seemed upset and he said she didn’t, that on the contrary, she’d seemed to be quite excited—so excited, in fact, that she gave him a huge tip.”

Thinking of the way Natalie refused to tip the kid who delivered sandwiches from the deli down the street from the florist shop, Alex said, “That’s odd.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I imagine you called her apartment?”

“Of course.” He glanced at his watch, surveyed the yard, then turned that penetrating gaze on Alex. “I’ve called everyone I can think of. Now I’m going over to her place.”

“What about all this?” Alex asked, a sweeping gesture including the guests, the towering cake, the musicians, the minister.

“To hell with all this,” he said. “Anyway, it’s about to be announced that the wedding is off, at least for today, and I don’t particularly want to be around.”

“Neither do I,” Alex said heartily.

“Do you want to come with me? If she’s there and she’s healthy, she’s going to need a bodyguard.”

A smile crossed Alex’s lips. She couldn’t imagine this man actually hurting any woman, let alone Natalie, so technically, Alex was hardly needed. So why was her heart beating faster and why did her stomach feel all fluttery just at the mere thought of being alone with him? You’re crazy, she told herself. To him, she said, “Okay.”

She followed him out the back gate to a late-model luxury convertible replete with two long strings of cans tied to the rear bumper and a sign reading Just Married. The sides of the car were decorated with something white and gooey.

Although Thorn had been coming into the shop for the better part of two months to fetch Natalie for their various dates, the conversation Alex and he had just held was the longest they’d ever engaged in. It wasn’t that he wasn’t friendly and exceedingly polite; Natalie was simply always ready to leave. In fact, the store joke was how many seconds it would take Natalie to whisk Thorn out the door. So far, the record was thirty.

Thorn tore the sign and the cans from the bumper and dumped them in the back seat, where they landed with a rattle and a clank. Alex tossed her umbrella on top of the cans, then, with some difficulty, managed to stuff the bulk of her dress into the front seat and close the door.

As he started the engine, she slid a sideways glance at Thorn’s profile, at the straight nose, the intent mouth, the assertive thrust of his chin. Every line and crease shouted impatience. She looked away as he backed the car down the long drive and pulled onto the road. As distracted as he was, he was also a good driver, and the trip from his place to Natalie’s apartment building took only fifteen minutes.

The complex was in a nice area of the small city of Cottage Grove, nestled next to a park, which currently held several children involved in a game of softball. As Alex unfolded herself from the front seat and spilled onto the pavement like a wilted rose, she sensed the children staring. With Thorn in a tux and her in a gown, they must look like the misplaced top off a wedding cake. This thought was followed by an inward smile she didn’t stop to dissect.

“Her car isn’t here,” Thorn said.

Alex looked across the sea of automobiles. “How do you know?”

“They have assigned parking spots. I just parked in her space. Come on. Her apartment is on the second floor.”

Thorn stood aside for Alex to mount the stairs ahead of him; she lifted her skirt in her hands and began making her way, with him close behind her.

The landing was made of the same concrete as the stairs, a no-nonsense iron railing added to keep tenants from taking a nosedive to the parking lot. Alex’s heels clicked along the walk as she passed the windows of different apartments, some decorated with potted plants, one with a cat sitting on the sill, catching the afternoon sun.

“Hey, you passed her door,” Thorn said, gripping Alex’s elbow and halting her progress. “It’s this one—3B. Haven’t you ever been here before?”

“No,” she said.

He regarded her with a startled look, which he shook off with effort as he reached past her and rapped on the metal door. They waited expectantly for several seconds, then he knocked again, this time so hard, the curtains in the next apartment parted and an elderly woman peeked out. Alex smiled reassuringly at the woman who snapped the curtain shut without changing her expression.

“Friendly place,” Alex murmured as she watched Thorn take his keys from his pocket. He found the one he was looking for and inserted it into the lock. The door opened easily, soundlessly.

“Nat?” he called into the dark room.

No answer. He propelled Alex inside and closed the door behind him; they were instantly swallowed by darkness. She stepped backward and ran into him. He clutched both her arms and steadied her, then dropped his hands and patted the wall, looking for the light switch. The room was suddenly flooded with light.

Alex ran her hand up and down her arm where Thorn had touched her. He had his back to her and was leaning down to press a button on the answering machine. As his recorded voice filled the room, pleading with Natalie to pick up the receiver, Alex looked about, registering a beige sofa, tan carpet, creamy drapes, ivory pillows. The place was exceptionally neat.

Thorn had left three messages, each one reflecting increasing alarm. He flicked off the machine after the final message and faced Alex.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“Maybe we should call the hospital—”

“I already did that. I also called the emergency clinic and the police, who told me to call back in twenty-four hours if I still haven’t heard from her.”

“Then maybe we should go back to your place and wait. I know this may sound silly, but I have a feeling there’s a perfectly logical explanation—”

He waved aside her assurances. “You’re her best friend. What about her family?”

Alex was immediately uncomfortable with the tag of “best friend,” although technically, she supposed it fit. Natalie had lived in Cottage Grove for less than a year and had worked in the shop just six months; as far as Alex could tell, she had few female friends. “You’re her fiancé,” she shot back. “If you don’t know about her family, how in the world would I?”

“Don’t you women talk to one another about things like that?”

“Don’t people about to commit their lives to one another exchange a little family information?” she countered.

He cast her an irritated glance and sighed. “I know her mother is dead and she’s estranged from her father. I know that she invited less than a dozen people to the wedding and half of them were from the flower shop. That’s all I know.”

“Well, Thorn, believe it or not, that’s all I know, too. Let’s go—”

“Not yet. First we’ll take a look around here for a note or some kind of indication as to where she might be. You take the bedroom, I’ll take the living room and the kitchen.”

Alex found the bedroom at the end of a short hallway. Like the living room, this.room was tastefully decorated in a bewildering array of beiges, but unlike the bulk of the apartment, it was amply lit with a large window and a skylight making artificial illumination unnecessary.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror above the dresser and winced. The dress had not been her choice. The color did not flatter her dark eyes and hair and tended to wash out her skin tone. She had argued that it looked too bridelike, sure that Natalie would immediately switch her to bright blue or pink, but Natalie had just smiled and said, “It looks expensive. I like it!”

“It is expensive,” Alex had said, gulping when she got a look at the price tag. There was no swaying Natalie, however, and in the end, Alex had put a down payment on the yards and yards of flounce and fluff, knowing she’d never wear it after Natalie’s wedding.

Ah, she thought now. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of jeans and a tank top.

She felt like a trespasser as she opened a few drawers, coming away with the distinct impression that many items were missing. A peek in the closet confirmed that suspicion. There was a long rectangular impression left in the plush carpet that had to have been left by a suitcase. The clothes rod was half-bare.

So what? Natalie had packed for a three-week honeymoon in Hawaii. She’d talked of little else for the past month. She’d painted a picture of tropical nights and fragrant orchids, a picture only slightly marred by her continual reference to the first-class air tickets Thorn had booked and the deluxe suite they would enjoy once they got there.

A final glance around the room revealed a telephone by the bed and another answering machine. The telephone had a different number printed on the receiver, meaning Natalie had two separate phone lines. The message light was not blinking, but for some reason, Alex pushed it anyway. A mechanical voice informed her it would replay messages.

A male again, but not Thorn. This voice was lower pitched, older. “Nat, honey, you win. Meet me at Otter Point, we’ll go from there.”

Otter Point was on the Oregon coast. Alex had been there many times, though she’d never stayed in the luxurious hotel overlooking the cove, not with the prices they charged, not on her salary. But the beach was free and she loved to climb the black rocks and listen to the pounding surf. She rewound and replayed the message, glad that Thorn hadn’t heard it, undecided as to how to relay this piece of information.

“Play that again,” Thorn said from the doorway.

Alex swiveled around. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were like lasers as he stared at her, one hand on the doorjamb, the other in his trouser pocket. “Play it again,” he demanded.

She played it again.

“Damn her,” Thorn said.

“Now, Thorn, don’t jump to conclusions,” Alex cautioned.

“Jump to conclusions!” he yelled. He regained his composure and added, “I’m afraid I don’t see too many ways to interpret that message. Besides, you haven’t seen what’s in the hall closet.”

“Maybe that was her dad on the phone,” Alex said.

Thorn looked doubtful, but he said, “Play it again. Please.”

She played it yet again. The words were nebulous enough to leave the possibilities wide open, at least in Alex’s mind.

“I don’t think it’s herfather,” Thorn said. “He sounds old enough, but there’s some other quality to his voice I can’t pin down, except that it’s not paternal.” He took a step into the room and added, “The message sounds very personal to me. Damn! I think Natalie has flown the coop to hook up with whoever that is on the phone.”

This was the first thought that had crossed Alex’s mind but now she wasn’t so sure.

“If it was her father, why wouldn’t she have called the house or left me a note?” he added.

Alex shrugged. She wanted to say that Natalie was self-centered and that if something caught her attention, it was entirely possible she would forget all about Thorn, but she kept hearing Natalie talk about Thorn’s money. It was hard to believe she’d walk away from that and yet, apparently, she had.

Alex imagined that being stood up at the altar—even if it was for a long-lost father—would be hard for anyone to take, let alone someone like Thorn Powell, who had probably never been stood up in his entire life.

“Come look at what I found,” he said.

She followed him into the hall, where a narrow door stood open revealing a small closet. Heaped on the floor of the closet was Natalie’s wedding gown, tossed aside like a used tissue.

“Oh, dear—” Alex began.

“Still think she ran off to meet her father?”

“Well—”

“Because I’m having a hard time swallowing that scenario. She’s dumped this dress the same way she’s dumped our wedding, the same way she’s dumped me.”

“I admit it looks that way, but—”

“She’s not going to get away with it,” Thorn said suddenly and, turning on his heels, walked down the hall, Alex once again in hot pursuit.

“What are you going to do?” she called.

Ignoring her, he tore open the front door and disappeared outside.

Alex closed and locked the door behind her, then raced along the balcony to catch up with him. At the top of the stairs she hooked the toe of her right shoe in the hem of her long skirt and, for one terrifying second, thought she was going to end up at the bottom of the steep concrete stairs in a broken heap of torn silk and shattered bones. Gasping, she threw out her hands for balance and toppled forward.

Thorn wheeled and caught her with steady hands. Effortlessly, he swooped her into his arms and carried her down the stairs.

“This isn’t necessary,” she mumbled to his chin.

“I don’t have the time to cart you to the hospital,” he said. They had reached the ground and for one long second, he stared down into her eyes. The gray of his irises seemed fogged with doubt. Alex guessed this was an uncomfortable condition for him, that he wasn’t used to indecision.

He unceremoniously put her down on her feet.

“Thorn, what are you going to do?”

The confusion in his eyes fled like a flock of birds suddenly startled. “I’m going to find her,” he said. “She’s going to tell me what’s going on or I’m going to wring her pretty little neck.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

“Then I’m going with you,” Alex said firmly. Natalie wasn’t her best friend, and Alex certainly didn’t admire the way she was treating Thorn, but there was a murderous look in his eyes.

“No, thanks,” he said as he strode toward his car. She reached the passenger door as he slid in behind the wheel.

“You can either take me with you or I’ll follow you,” she told him.

“How? You don’t have a car.”

“You’re right. If you leave me here I’ll be stranded.”

“Call a cab,” he said as he put the key in the ignition.

She held up both empty hands. “How? I don’t have a penny on me.”

He shoved a hand in his pocket, then swore. “Neither do I,” he said.

“Listen, my feet are killing me and this bickering is just wasting time.”

He stared at her again, as though seeing her for the first time, then shook his head and heaved a sigh. “You’re right, it is. Okay. Just get in.”

Alex once again folded herself into the little car. She didn’t stop to wonder why she was foisting herself upon this poor man; she only knew that she felt compelled to accompany him.

After all, I’m the maid of honor, she mused, though she was pretty sure no etiquette book counted among the official duties hunting the bride down like one would a rabid dog.

“Fasten your seat belt,” Thorn told her as he drove the car through the winding streets.

She did as he asked—no mean feat, given that the dress increased her girth threefold—and said, “Where are we going?”

He shot her a quick glance with eyes that now brimmed with life. Alex realized he was a man used to taking action, used to dealing with a crisis by controlling it.

“Otter Point. Where else?” he said briskly.

Where else indeed?