Missing: One Bride. Alice Sharpe
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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