Mark’s mom looked a bit like she was choking on her tongue. “She’s practically falling out of her dress like that.”
“It’s sexy,” the shop owner said. “That’s what she’s paying the big bucks for.”
“That’s not what she’s paying for,” Mark’s mom said at the same time as I said, “That’s not what I’m paying for.”
I tugged my dress back up into the place where I, at least, thought it belonged. I didn’t have time right now to argue with a woman who wanted me to look like an exotic dancer in a fancy gown on my wedding day. Mark had said I needed to hurry.
Time to channel my mom. I knew what she would say. “What I’m paying for is for you to alter this dress the way I want it to be. Until that’s done, I don’t need to be here.”
I hiked up my skirt and headed for the dressing room. The shop owner hustled after me. One thing no one told you about being a bride was that strangers who ran dress shops would manhandle your bosoms and expect to help you dress and undress. Being a bride really should come with a warning label.
“Wait,” the woman said from behind me. “I need to fit the dress.”
She’d already measured twice. “My measurements haven’t changed since the last time.”
“Brides always lose weight before their wedding from all the stress.”
I held back a snort. Escaping from a sinking car as the water closed in over us—that was stressful. Having a gun held on me—that was stressful. Being trapped in a burning building—that was stressful.
Organizing a wedding to the best man I’d ever known was the least stressful thing I’d done in a year. In fact, not knowing what was wrong with Mark right now was more stressful than planning this wedding had been.
Mark’s mom grabbed my hand. “Nikki, sweetie, it won’t take long. What she really needs to do is pin your top, not take your measurements again.”
Her tone was soft and overly patient, like she thought I was about to turn into a bridezilla.
That was fine. Mark had told me not to tell his mom. I’d let her think I was freaking out about the dress. The problem was, I couldn’t think of a good reason not to go back and let her pin my top. If I was upset about my dress, it made sense to allow her to do what she needed to in order to fix it.
If I’d thought about it sooner, I could have made up some story about a client needing to speak to me. I couldn’t throw that out now retroactively. She’d know I was making it up.
But Mark also told me I needed to leave right away. Which one would he want me to follow if I could only do one—leave quickly or hide the truth from his mom? He’d led with asking me not to tell his mom, so I’d have to assume that was the more important of the two if I couldn’t do both.
I’d try one more thing to get me out of here quickly. “I’ll come back tomorrow and do it,” I whispered as if I didn’t want the owner to hear me. “I feel like I’m going to say something unkind if I stay here any longer.”
It was true enough. This woman’s ineptitude made me want to say very rude things. I’d held them in and tried to be patient because I knew it was the right thing to do to be kind to her anyway.
Mark’s mom patted our clasped hands with her free one. “I know, sweetie. I really do. But tomorrow you’re already meeting with your cupcake baker. Besides,” she lowered her voice to a whisper as well, “we need to leave her as much time to get your dress right as possible.”
That was the truest statement made today.
I let her lead me back to the stand. Hopefully I’d made the right choice about prioritizing secrecy over speed.
For the next five minutes, I tried hard not to squirm. Moving would only make the task last longer. Tried being the key word, unfortunately. Not only were horrible scenarios starting to run through my head—like that Mark’s house had burned down—but the shop owner also pricked me with every other pin. If Ever After was a place of fairy tales, she was my evil stepmother in disguise.
By the time she finished, a text from Mark waited on my phone. How close are you?
I left Mark’s mom making our next appointment and sprinted to my car. My hands shook, and my keys rattled as I scratched them into the ignition. I forced myself to take a few deep, slow breaths before I started the car. Getting into an accident on the way to Mark’s house wouldn’t help anything. I sent him a message right before I put the car into gear that I was on my way.
The situation couldn’t be as bad as I was imagining. If he were injured or seriously ill, he would have called an ambulance rather than calling me. If something bad had happened to someone we cared about, he wouldn’t have asked me to come to his house. He would have picked me up and taken me to wherever we needed to go. In either case, we would have included his mom.
That left his house or truck. Maybe there’d been a break-in or a fire. That would be frustrating and upsetting and could make his mom worry.
He’d already moved a lot of the items he didn’t need on a daily basis to my house in preparation for our wedding. Hopefully nothing he valued had been lost.
Even if it had, Mark had called me, which meant he was alright. Anything else we could deal with. Stuff was just stuff. Only living beings were irreplaceable.
I turned onto his street. Mark’s truck sat parked in his driveway, but another car I didn’t recognize and two police cruisers lined the street.
Since his house looked intact and there wasn’t a fire truck as well, a fire was out. It had to be a break-in.
I parked my car on the road behind one of the cruisers. Two cars seemed a bit much, as well as whoever had driven the regular car here. That number of people had to be most of the on-duty officers in Fair Haven.
A chill slid over my spine like a spider made of ice had rappelled down my back.
Don’t panic, Nik. He’s a member of law enforcement in a sense, and the police take care of their own. That’s probably why.
That had to be it. The Fair Haven police worked diligently on every case they received, but you looked out in a special way for the people who served with you.
No one was watching the front door. They hadn’t even put up the crime scene tape yet. Everyone must be engaged inside and recently arrived. Mark must have called me right after calling the police. Voices came from the direction of either the kitchen or living room. I couldn’t be sure from outside the front door.
I’d find Mark and figure out exactly what had happened. He’d probably called me to have some emotional support as he filled out the paperwork for a break-in, and he hadn’t wanted me to tell his mom yet because there was nothing she could do.
I passed through the entryway and into the living room.
A man’s body sat on Mark’s couch, in the same spot where we’d worked my Uncle Stan’s case the first time he brought me here. The man’s head lolled back, exposing exactly how he’d died.
Someone had slit his neck.
