Wedding Bell Blues

“Did she say why she left?” I asked.

Jeanette rolled her eyes. “She said she wants to find herself. After a B.A., M.A., and a Ph.D. in philosophy, how much more self-discovery does she need?”

“What’s your take on this?” I asked Wanda.

The wedding planner frowned. “A year ago, when we started making plans, Alicia was enthusiastic, excited. You have to begin making decisions well in advance to carry off a wedding this massive, you know.”

I nodded with a grimace. “So my mother and sister have told me. But lately, had Alicia’s attitude changed?”

Wanda nodded. “The last few weeks, she seemed different.”

“Reluctant?” I suggested.

“Distracted.”

“She was finishing her dissertation,” Jeanette insisted. “Of course she was distracted.”

“What was the subject of her dissertation?” I asked.

Jeanette waved her hand. “Transcendentalism, spiritualism, some such nonsense. She tried explaining it, but I didn’t understand a word. But then Alicia’s very bright, much smarter than me.”

“In the voice mail she left,” I said, “was there any sign of coercion in her tone?”

Jeanette shook her head. “She sounded more elated than anything.”

“Was her farewell note typed or handwritten?”

“She wrote it on her personal stationery.”

“Any signs of tension or anything out of the ordinary in her handwriting or the words she chose?”

Jeanette shook her head. “That’s another reason the police won’t get involved.”

“So you feel reasonably certain her disappearance is her own doing and not the result of kidnapping?”

“Not totally,” Jeanette said and added with a frown, “because it doesn’t make sense. Alicia wants to marry Garth. Why would she leave? And why won’t she answer her phone to talk to Garth or her father and me?”

“Just to be clear,” I said, “you want me to find Alicia only to make sure she’s all right?”

Jeanette nodded.

I patted Roger, who was getting restless and looking longingly at Wanda’s bare, tanned legs. “If I find her, I can’t promise she’ll come home to go through with the wedding.”

Jeanette looked pained. “Understood. But her father and I have to know that she’s okay.”

She looked even more anguished when I quoted my hourly rate. Wanda, however, seemed unperturbed. Whether I found Alicia or not, the wedding planner’s nonrefundable fee was already in the bag.

CHAPTER 2

A few hours later, I paused inside the front door of Dock of the Bay and searched for Bill. The rustic restaurant with its knotty pine walls, decorated with sea-shells, crab traps and fishnets, overlooked Pelican Bay Marina where Bill lived aboard his cabin cruiser. A blast of cold, air-conditioned air hit me, a welcome change from the stifling heat and humidity that continued to build outside. An afternoon thunderstorm was the only hope for breaking the stifling conditions.

The lunch crowd had barely begun trickling in, but the old Wurlitzer in the bar was already in full swing with Joe Nichols crooning “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off.” The lyrics made me smile. Some liked country music for its melancholy. I loved its sense of humor.

Bill waved from our usual booth and flashed a welcome with the blue-eyed expression that had won my heart two decades ago. I slid onto the bench across from him and ordered raspberry iced tea from the waitress.

I’d spent the remainder of the morning at the office with Jeanette Langston, making lists of Alicia’s friends and acquaintances and their addresses. Then I’d taken Roger to my waterfront condo for a walk before settling him in his favorite doggy bed while I joined Bill for an early lunch. This afternoon I would begin the search for the elusive Alicia.

Bill, with his thick white hair, muscular physique, and Beach Boys tan, although ten years my senior, had grown more handsome with age, but I loved him as much if not more for his good heart and happy disposition. We were polar opposites, I an introvert with insecurities and pessimism rooted in my childhood, Bill an extrovert and perennial optimist. No wonder I was consumed with premarital jitters, even though the wedding was months away.

“Busy morning?” he said with that smile that could make me promise him anything.

I filled him in on the runaway bride.

“You think she’s lost her nerve?” he asked. “Or is maybe mentally unstable?”

“No hint of mental illness from either her mother or the wedding planner, but, according to her mother, her behavior’s definitely not normal. I should have a better take on why she took off after I talk to her fiancé and some of her friends this afternoon.”

I sighed.

Bill narrowed his eyes and studied me with an intensity that made me squirm. “What’s wrong, Margaret?”

I could never hide anything from Bill. He read body language better than I read English.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” I hedged.

“Is your mother still on your case about a big wedding?”

“I’ll deal with it. As soon as I can screw my courage to the sticking point and confront her.”

One part of me yearned for my mother’s approval and unconditional love, withheld my entire life, and, illogically, considered the possibility that going along with her wedding plans might produce the desired results. The smart part of me knew better.

“Something has you restless and uneasy.” He nodded toward my left hand and the engagement ring he’d given me last Christmas, three aquamarines, my birth-stone, set in yellow gold. “Having second thoughts?”

“You know I love you.”

He nodded and reached across the table for my hand. “And I know the idea of marriage scares you senseless. If that’s what’s bothering you—”

“No.” I shook my head, then flashed a rueful grin. “I’m willing to give marriage my best shot and praying that my best shot will be good enough.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I’ve been wanting to marry you for twenty years.”

I squeezed his hand and released it when the waitress returned with my tea. Bill waited until she’d taken our order and left before continuing. “So, what is bugging you today?”

I tried to get a handle on the vague dissatisfaction I felt so I could put it into words. “I think I need a career change.”

He sat back in the booth as if I’d hit him. “You want out of the business? We only started the P.I. firm a few months ago.”

I was doing a lousy job of expressing how I felt, primarily because I couldn’t really put a name to my discontent.