Nora couldn’t wait to see the expression on Regan’s face. Next week at this time, she mused. I don’t think I’ll relax until Regan and Jack step out onto the dance floor as husband and wife. She started humming the song they’d chosen, “Till There Was You.”

Regan and Kit hailed a taxi and gave the address of Victoria Beardsley, who lived on the Upper West Side. They headed across Central Park South, the sight of the towering Time Warner Center in front of them, home of exorbitantly priced condos, upscale shops, and hip restaurants, including the highly praised Per Se, which wasn’t a place to go “grab a bite.” Reservations could only be made two months in advance for that sumptuous multihour dining experience.

The cab rounded Columbus Circle and made a right on Broadway. It was late Saturday afternoon in early April, and the streets were busy. Shoppers were out in full force. The rain had driven people inside, but the minute the sky cleared, they were back out again. Springtime was in the air.

As they were passing Lincoln Center, Regan received a call on her cell phone from Jack, who told her about the bank robbery. “Any time it rains, this guy strikes. One of the detectives nicknamed him ‘The Drip.’ I think it’s going to stick.”

“I like that,” Regan commented. “I’ll have to figure out nicknames for the guys we’re looking for.” She filled him in on Tracy ’s plight and gave him Jeffrey Woodall’s name and address. Jack said he’d run the name and they agreed to meet at his apartment in a couple of hours. They’d take a ride down to Atlantic City to the casino where Alfred had been gambling the week before, and then come back to New York to survey the area outside Charisse and Alfred’s loft in the hours after midnight.

“It’s going to be a long night,” Kit commented when Regan hung up the phone.

“Do you want to go back to my parents’ apartment and take it easy?”

“Are you kidding? No way. I might meet somebody in Atlantic City.”

Regan smiled. She knew Kit was joking but she also knew that Kit wished she had a special guy she could bring to the wedding. “Don’t worry. There will be single guys at the reception. Jack has a cousin around our age and a couple of his friends from college will be there.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

Regan laughed. “Nothing!”

Traveling up Broadway they passed a multiplex where all the latest movies were playing, bagel shops, restaurants, mobile phone stores, and nail salons, and then Regan spotted Zabar’s, the famous gourmet marketplace, on the other side of the street. “I’d love to go in there right now. It always smells great.”

“Work calls!” Kit declared.

A couple blocks farther north, the cab turned right. The driver slowed the car and moved haltingly until he found the right address. There were handsome brownstones on the small block, but the old and tired brick building they were now staring at wasn’t one of them. Regan paid the fare, and they got out. They approached the front steps and opened the outer door. Regan pushed the buzzer for apartment 4B, the one labeled Beardsley.

They waited, and then she pushed it again.

“Who’s there?” a breathless sleepy voice answered.

“Victoria Beardsley?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Regan Reilly. I’m here on behalf of Alfred and Charisse, who made your wedding gown…”

“Ohhhhh. Yes. Alfred and Charisse.” Victoria said, dragging out the words.

Regan looked at Kit quizzically. “May I come up for a moment? I have a letter for you from them.”

“Is everything all right?”

“They’re all right. There’s a problem with their gowns. I’ll explain it to you if-”

“I’m in 4B.”

The buzzer sounded to release the lock on the inner door.

They walked up the four floors, hearing the everyday sounds of living coming from inside apartments along the way. Rock music, a baby crying, the blare of a television. They passed one apartment where a woman, obviously a professional singer, or at least a fledgling one, was doing her vocal exercises with great gusto.

“Me me me me me me me me me. Me me me me ME ME ME ME ME. Me Me ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME.”

“It’s always about you,” Kit muttered.

Regan grinned and rolled her eyes. “4B must be right here to the left.” They stopped in front of a door which had several locks and more than a few scratches. “Here goes nothing,” Regan whispered as she rang the bell.

Immediately they could hear the snapping sounds of locks being unbolted. The door opened a crack and a set of snapping brown eyes peered out.

“Hi there,” Regan said. “I’m Regan Reilly. This is my friend Kit.”

“Just a moment.” The door shut and the woman released the chain that would have prevented Regan and Kit from storming her apartment. She opened the door again. Barefoot and dressed in a colorful caftan, she waved them in as though she were having a party.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. Did we wake you?” Regan asked.

“I was taking a nap,” she said cheerfully. “But I’m up now. I have coffee brewing.”

Regan and Kit stepped inside the tiny, dark apartment. A kitchenette on the right opened onto a small room with old wooden floors. Regan had the immediate impression that Victoria was not someone who sweated the small stuff when it came to decorating. Bookshelves crammed willy-nilly with books, CDs, tapes, and knickknacks covered one wall. Two different-sized framed posters hung on the opposite wall. The seating area consisted of a beige couch dotted with assorted pillows, one overstuffed chair, and a coffee table weighted down by a small television, more books and tapes, and numerous candles. Two stools were pushed up against the kitchenette counter. A door to what Regan guessed was the bedroom was closed. It was clear that not much light could find its way through the one small window on the far wall, as it faced the brick wall of the next building. In real estate terms, the apartment would be termed “private.”

“Please come in and sit down,” Victoria said as she hurriedly yanked a blanket off the couch.

Regan guessed Victoria to be in her early thirties. She had flowing dark curly hair, wide brown eyes, and flawless skin with a perfect flush to her cheeks. Regan was sure she’d look beautiful in one of Alfred’s wedding gowns.

As Regan and Kit sat on the couch, Regan noticed that the book at the top of the stack on the coffee table was about visualization. CREATE WHAT YOU WANT IN LIFE, it said on the cover. The sleeve of one of the tapes on the table urged the viewer to access their inner peace and power. That’s good, Regan thought. If she values inner peace, let’s hope she takes the news better than Brianne and Tracy.

Regan explained who she was and what had happened.

“That’s so sad,” Victoria said. She started to giggle and shake her head. “That’s really terrible.”

Those tapes must work, Regan thought.

“I know you must think I’m a little crazy,” Victoria continued as she tried to stop laughing, “but I can just picture how hysterical Alfred must have been.” She cupped her hand to her mouth.

Regan couldn’t help but laugh herself. “He is a little bent out of shape.”

Victoria pointed to her tape on inner peace. “I wanted to lend this to him, but he wasn’t interested. He said he enjoys frenzy.”

“He thrives on it,” Regan agreed. “But I think this is a bit too much frenzy, even for Alfred. He told me you’re getting married in three weeks.”

“Huh?”

“Your wedding date?”

“Oh, yes. That’s right. Three weeks.”

“Alfred and Charisse are planning to work night and day to replace our dresses.”

“That’s great.” Victoria shook her head from side to side. “But I don’t want Alfred to have a nervous breakdown. I have a girlfriend’s dress I can wear. It’s beautiful.”

“Forget it,” Kit cracked. “What will give Alfred a nervous breakdown is if he has to write another refund check.”