“I’ll be fine.”

“When are you and Joyce getting married?”

“What?” Francis asked, astonished.

“You heard me. I don’t approve of living together before marriage. You know that.”

“I have to get back to work first,” Francis said evasively. He paused and licked his lips. “What made you ask that now?”

“I just got home from work. Right before I left the diner it came over the radio that a bridal salon in Manhattan had been broken into and the dresses were stolen. Everyone started talking about the poor brides who were left in the lurch. They have to scramble to get new dresses. Whoever did that must have been a real louse. A real louse! They broke into a safe and made off with money and jewelry. So why did they have to steal the dresses? They couldn’t have been raised well.”

“I guess not. Mom, I have to go. Thanks for calling.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Call me.”

“Okay.” Francis closed his cell phone. “I’ve got to get out of here. I’ll call Joyce from the car.” He stood quickly and almost lost his balance. Adrenaline was flowing through his body.

“Hey, be careful,” Marco admonished as he rushed to grab Francis’s arm.

It’s too late for that, Francis thought desperately. Much too late…

I can’t believe this is happening the week before my wedding, Regan thought. She had walked Jack out to the hallway, where he’d opted to take the stairs instead of waiting for the slow-as-molasses elevator. As she stepped back into Alfred and Charisse’s salon, Regan could see that her mother was getting that worried look, the look that came across her face when she was deep in thought, mulling over a problem. Or when she was trying to figure out a plot point in one of her books. This time the look seemed to say, “Regan, your wedding is in seven days and we’ve got a million things to do. Don’t get involved in this!”

But my bridal gown is out there somewhere, Regan thought, stolen by a couple of thieves who could have harmed Alfred and Charisse. I need to find out who they are. She smiled to herself, thinking of Brianne’s thirst for revenge. I certainly wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley.

“Alfred, I’d like to slowly go over everything that happened since the break-in.”

“We already did that with the police,” he answered as he sank further into the curved black leather couch. On the coffee table were the remnants of their lunch.

“I’ll make a pot of lavender tea. It’s very calming,” Charisse said quickly. “With all the anxious brides we get in here, it comes in very handy.” She started to clear the table.

“Kit and I will take care of it,” Nora offered.

“Of course,” Kit agreed, not sounding like she really meant it.

“Thanks, Mom,” Regan said. “Charisse, if you don’t mind, I do want to talk to both of you together. I know you both spoke to the police, but if we go over everything again, I think it could help.”

Charisse pushed back her wavy hair, sat down next to Alfred, and reached for his hand. They’ve had some night, Regan thought. She couldn’t blame Alfred for being agitated.

Regan’s notebook was in front of her. She’d already covered several pages with notes. She cleared her throat and began. “Obviously we want to find out who did this and hopefully get the dresses back.”

Alfred moaned. Charisse squeezed his hand.

“You say the two figures were dressed in black with stocking masks that covered their heads?”

Alfred nodded. “When I heard the commotion I opened my eyes. Larry King had on a pair of his bright red suspenders. Then I turned and saw the thieves in their dark drab clothing. What a contrast.”

“They didn’t say a word?”

“No,” Charisse answered. “Alfred and I awoke at the same moment. The two men were in the bedroom, both holding the ropes they used to tie us up. One of them came running around the bed.” She paused. “Come to think of it, he moved kind of awkwardly.”

“What do you mean?” Regan asked.

Charisse developed a faraway look, then closed her eyes, trying to conjure up images from the previous night. “He was moving fast, but it was as if he was unsure on his feet.”

“You’re right, darling,” Alfred said lovingly. “You see, Regan, movement is so important in our business. When we interview girls to model our dresses, we always want to see how they walk, how they’ll present themselves on the runway. We notice more than most people how a person carries themself. One of the thieves did seem to have a little limp.”

“Then they tied you up?”

“I should have fought them off,” Alfred said with disgust. “But it all happened so quickly. Everything was a blur. After they tied us up, one of them bashed the safe in our closet with I don’t know what! The sound was awful!”

“Neither of them said anything?” Regan prodded.

They both shook their heads. “That safe didn’t do us much good,” Alfred moaned. “It crumbled like a tin can. I used to try hiding our money and jewelry but then I could never remember where I put it.”

Like your keys, Regan thought. “You told the police both intruders seemed to be about the same height and weight,” she continued.

“Not too tall, not too short,” Alfred answered.

How helpful, Regan thought, glancing down at her notes. Sight, sound, taste, and touch, she thought. Charisse and Alfred hadn’t gotten a good look at the intruders, hadn’t heard them speak, could only have tasted the gags in their mouths, and had already mentioned they were wearing leather gloves. One sense left to explore.

“Did you notice any particular smell?”

Charisse wrinkled her nose. “At least one of them must have just smoked a cigarette.”

Regan jotted it down. “You don’t have any idea in the least who would have wanted to do this to you?”

“I can’t think of a single soul!” Alfred insisted.

“Have you had any displeased clients lately?”

“No, Regan!” This time it was Charisse’s turn to get excited. “No matter how difficult any of our clients have been during the process, I promise you that they’ve all been thrilled with our dresses. We have a scrapbook of wedding pictures with letters thanking us…” She started to get up.

“We don’t need that right now,” Regan assured her. “Let’s concentrate on who might have been displeased. The break-in could very well relate to one of the brides whose dress was stolen. I’ll talk to each of them. One bride is due in a little while, you said. Is that right?”

“Yes. She’s the worst bride I’ve ever had. She makes Brianne look like a saint.”

Nora and Kit reentered the room carrying two trays. As they poured tea, Regan kept focused on Alfred and Charisse. She knew Alfred got distracted easily and had to keep him focused-especially if another bride-from-hell was about to arrive. “I’ll question the bride who is on her way,” Regan said, “and I want the names of the other two. We have to let them know what happened right away before they hear about it through the media. That would not be good. When are all their weddings?”

“You, Brianne, and the witch coming in now-I mean the girl coming in now-are all getting married next Saturday,” Charisse answered sweetly. “The other two are in three weeks. The five of you are our April Brides.”

I knew Jack and I should have gotten married in March, Regan thought. But Nora was worried about snowstorms. Regan’s grandmother had been born during a big blizzard in March. Her parents had barely made it to the hospital on time. It became part of the family lore-March is a very unpredictable month weatherwise. Don’t plan any big occasions. “Do you have time to replace all the dresses?” Regan asked.

“The thing is…” Alfred put his hand to his chest. “What about our May brides?”

“I’m not too worried about them at the moment, Alfred,” Regan said a touch impatiently. “They have at least another month.”