"They're hideous!" Sara said, referring to the stuffed heads of Africa's slain species mounted all around the two-story-high room. A rhino and a hippo, a giraffe and a lion. They stared down in dismay. "I hate them."

"Why don't you just leave here and move into the condo?" asked one of her friends, a young lady with Asian features and blond streaks in her dark hair.

"No. That was supposed to be for Brent and me. If I moved in there without him, it would be like I've given up."

"That's the point, Sara. Give up. The guy disappeared. What kind of freak leaves his wife before their wedding night? It's abnormal. What could be more jerky than that?" The redhead spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

I watched Sara. Her hair, black as coal, was tied back, giving her young face a classic look. Her dark brown eyes flashed at Denise and then she stood up.

"Thanks, you guys. It was great of you to come over and cheer me up. But now I've got to talk with Madeline."

"Hey!" one protested.

"What's that?" asked another.

"I thought we were gonna go get our nails done?" The third, a brunette, scrunched a freckled nose. "I've gotta get this little one mended or it's history."

"And your nails are shot, Sara. You've picked them right off. You've got to take care of yourself," counseled the first.

"If you stay here, you're just going to get all down on yourself. You've called everyone you know seventeen times and you still can't find Brent. So give up," demanded the second young lady.

Number two was the alpha-bitch of this group. She stood and straightened her charcoal slacks. "Okay. Here's the plan. We'll go to Sara's room and get ourselves fixed. We'll be back in fifteen, and then Sara will be done and we can all go do nails. Come on," she ordered, and the others, chattering away about nail polish, followed her out of the room.

"Sorry about that," Sara said. "I should probably offer you something to drink."

"No need. I got your messages and I figured I'd better stop by. It sounded urgent."

I took out my little notebook, expecting some question or other regarding security deposit money, or thank-you note etiquette, or some other odd or end.

"Oh, Madeline." Sara instantly went into tears mode. "Remember back when we first met at the flower shop? Remember how Brent looked at me. Tell me you remember how much he loved me then."

I put down my pencil. "Of course I remember. You were a darling couple, Sara."

She smiled at me, tears streaming. "I know we were. I know it, goddamn it! We had everything. I had the perfect dress. He had the perfect hair. It was supposed to be the perfect wedding. So how did it all fall apart?"

She was only twenty-two. She hadn't learned, yet, about the risk of insanely high expectations. But why should she? Her wedding planner had been the best in the business. She virtually guaranteed her brides would have a perfect day. Dangerous word, perfect.

"You mean you really haven't heard a word from Brent in all this time?"

"Grandfather even called the police. They said Brent wasn't really missing. We'd have to wait another day or something to make an official report."

I began to worry that this might be more than a case of a bridegroom with cold feet. After all, a murder had happened right at the wedding reception. Anyone might have accidentally seen something and become the target of a killer. Is that what happened to Brent Bell?

Sara used her hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks and I noticed the large engagement ring, now joined by a wedding band, and recalled that I had been impressed by its deep green stone the first time we'd met at Darius's shop.

"Do you think something might have happened to Brent?" I asked carefully.

She looked down at her lap and shook her head.

"Are you sure, Sara? What if the same person who hurt Vivian..."

"No." She said it quietly, but I could tell she was holding something back.

"You know where Brent is, don't you?"

She looked up at me. "I want you to go see him. Please. Tell him to come home. Tell him I don't care why he left me. I want him back."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

"I think he moved into our condo-the one we bought in Santa Monica. Grandfather gave us the money as a wedding gift. We were supposed to go on our honeymoon for three weeks and then when we got back, we would have moved in together. It was so romantic. I had just finished furnishing it, you know? Nothing like this disgusting place. I picked light colors, you know? Brent said I should pick out anything I wanted."

"You think he's there? Or do you know for sure? Did you go over and confront him?"

"No. I've been calling there, dozens of times, leaving messages on our answering machine. I imagined that he might be there, standing in the hall next to the machine, listening, and he would hear my voice and...I don't know. I figured he was just upset. But he never called me back. And none of his friends have heard from him, not even his brother. So then, pretty soon, I didn't know what to think. I doubted he was there at all. And I couldn't just go there. Don't you see? What if he was there, after all, just hiding from me? I couldn't face him like that. I couldn't. And I couldn't ask my friends to go. They don't want me to get back together with Brent. They think he's a terrible loser, and they won't even let me talk about us fixing it. So last night, when it was really, really late, I decided to call the condo again. And that time, Madeline," she said, breathlessly, "that time somebody picked up the phone."

"Brent?"

"I have to think so. He didn't say anything, but who else could it be? Maybe I woke him up and he just instinctively reached for the phone. But what am I going to do? I can't go there myself. It would be terrible. What if he hates me? I just can't face him."

"Sara, I have to ask this. Could Brent have been involved in Vivian's death? Is he hiding from the police?"

"No way! How could he? That's impossible. He was with me every single minute from the instant I walked down the aisle and met him at the altar until the second I left the table to go to the little girl's room and saw Vivian hanging up there." She began to tear up again.

"I see. That makes it clearer. Thanks."

"My life is ruined."

"I know it must seem awful right now. In fact, it is awful. Really totally crappy. But things change."

"Yes. I know," she said with sarcasm and pain. "That's what Grandfather keeps saying. I'll get over it. Right."

That hurt. My great advice. Since when had I gotten so lame that my words of wisdom matched that of a seventy-year-old geezer? I tried again. "I'm sure that isn't very much comfort to you at the moment, but it's true. I feel so bad for you, Sara. You don't deserve any of this. Your wedding was...well, it didn't go as well as you'd dreamed. And Brent's behavior is so extremely bizarre..." I let it trail off. I felt so damned useless.

"I wish there was a way to fix it, I really do." I shook my head, frustrated. "Vivian would have figured out a way to help you. Vivian would never have stood for one of her brides being unhappy." I had to admire Vivian, once again, and oddly enough, I missed her.

"By the way," I continued, "your grandfather said he'd known Vivian for a long time. I was curious about that. Did Vivian plan your mother's wedding?"

"Oh, no!" Sara grew quiet.

"Sorry," I said, feeling instantly like I'd trespassed upon some taboo topic. "None of my business. I just wondered about Big Jack Gantree's connection to Vivian."

"It's all right. It's you mentioning my mother like that. I guess it startled me. The thing is, I didn't really know my mother. She died when I was a little girl."

"Is that when you moved in here with your grandfather?"

"Oh, no. We always lived here, I think. My father had died before I was even born. He worked for the Museum of Nature, actually. He was a senior natural biologist, I guess. He did an awful lot of field work. And my mother met him in Africa. They married there. Anyway, it's a long time ago and I don't really know all that much about their wedding. But you are right about one thing. Grandfather did insist we use Vivian to plan our wedding. When she first came to the house to meet with Brent and me, she told us how she used to dance with Grandfather at some officers' club. So, wouldn't that be from World War Two or something? She wasn't very specific."

"I see."

Sara checked her watch, and again I caught a flash from her emerald.

"May I ask about your beautiful ring? I couldn't help noticing how deep the green is."

"It's really too large, I know. Denise says I'm just waiting to get ripped off. And Anita thinks it's so big it looks fake. Imagine that? But, as a matter of fact, Vivian Duncan helped us find this ring."

Emeralds. Vivian Duncan. "How?"

"She knew a gem dealer or something. Grandfather worked it all out. In fact, if you can keep a secret, I believe Grandfather paid for the ring as well. He wanted me to have it, you see. He said it was meant to be. But Brent wasn't real happy about it."

"What did you want?"

"I love it, of course. Who wouldn't? And emeralds are my birthstone. May. But I know it must have cost a fortune. I thought Brent shouldn't spend so much right now. But Grandfather likes me to have whatever is best. Next thing I knew, Brent was giving me the ring." She thought it over. "Oh my God! Do you think that's what's bugging Brent?"

"Well..."

Sara stood up, shaking with emotion. "I don't care about any of this! I only care about one thing, now. Remember what you told us? That no one is ever guaranteed that there is going to be a tomorrow. You were right."

"Sara..."

"Talk to Brent! Go to the condo and tell him I don't care about this stupid ring. I don't care about what my grandfather wants. Tell him I want to start over. Tell him I'll do whatever he says!"

"I'm not sure this is something I should get involved in..."

"Please, Madeline? Please? I love him."

Just then, the three friends came rushing into the room, ready to handle any emergency. "Sara, darling, what is the matter?" one asked, alarmed.

"We took too long. It's all our fault," said another.

"Damn it, Denise, I told you we didn't have time for you to try on Sara's wedding gown!" said the third.

"What are you doing to Sara?" asked the first friend, as she came to put her arm around her sobbing friend's shoulder.

"It's not Madeline's fault," Sara said, trying to pull it all together. "She's helping me. Shut up, all of you."

The girls shut up.

"Here's the paper you need," Sara said, pulling a folded note from her pocket. She handed it over to me in a way that kept the prying eyes of the others from catching a glimpse of its message. Held between the note I felt a hard object, a key, which I slipped into my bag, and walked quickly to the front door.

Just as I opened it to leave, there stood the man of the house about to enter. Startled, he just stared.

"Don't I know you? You're not one of Sara's friends. No."

"I'm Madeline Bean. Excuse me, Mr. Gantree, but I was just leaving."

"Madeline Bean? Ah, yes. The caterer. You're the one who is taking over Vivian's wedding business, if I recall." He looked me up and down and burst out in a chuckle-one that I actually remember from his old T.V. series-and said, "And that, I'm afraid, is your tough luck. Because I can tell you right now, Miss Bean, I have absolutely no intention of paying the bill!"

Chapter 19.

I pulled my thin jacket tighter around myself. There was a definite, early-June-in-Santa-Monica chill to the air. The sky had been overcast for days. But I was happy. I had managed to park smack in front of the building I was looking for, a three-story architectural statement just a few blocks from the ocean. The ultramodern, concrete-colored structure featured odd flying angles and strange tubing railings and sheets of glass here and there. At the entrance, a small board displayed the numbers of each deluxe condo. A phone allowed one to call up and announce one's arrival. I pushed the button marked S & B BELL for several long, insistent seconds.

No answer.

I used Sara's key.

Soon, I had slipped past the lobby elevator, jogged up the stairs to three, and begun prowling an interesting hallway that was half indoors and half out. Wrapped around the corner, I found 3C. Sara and Brent's new condo.

Okay, I thought, looking around for inspiration, now what do I do?

Was, as Sara hoped and suspected, anyone home? Had Brent really deserted the lovely Sara and hidden himself away in their deluxe condo? Only one way to find out. I stood in the hallway and knocked. No sounds came from inside.

Brent, Brent, Brent, I thought, why have you bailed on your bride? The obvious thought was, because a woman had been killed at the wedding and he was afraid of being arrested. But I'd been over this a dozen times. Brent couldn't have murdered Vivian. I was sure of it.

One, it would have been too unfair. I admit, this reason is based purely on principle. I think it's an outrageous notion that a party planner could be done in by the host when that wedding was going perfectly! Well, okay, that's my bias.

Which brings us to two. Even if Brent Bell did have some reason to hate Vivian, which I doubted, he was seen by hundreds of witnesses all throughout dinner. But something was surely up. Facts are facts. Brent did take a powder. So what, I wondered, was the problem?

I knocked again, several good, loud knocks. I called out, "Hello, Brent? Are you home?"

Maybe Brent bolted for a more personal reason. Maybe he had some other secrets that had nothing to do with Vivian's unfortunate death. I thought that one over. With my philosophy-you remember? people are weird-it was hard for me to be shocked at anything another being might do. I was therefore blissfully free to consider just about any weird thing.

Maybe Brent had a criminal past and when the cops showed up he was afraid they'd recognize him. Hmm. That wasn't bad. Maybe some former girlfriend showed up, unbeknownst to any of us, carrying a three-year-old she now claimed belonged to the groom. Possible. Or, maybe, after spotting my new friend Whisper Pettibone looking sharp in his tux, Brent had chosen the worst possible night in his life to realize that he was secretly gay. Oh, I give up!

I beat the door rather loudly and worried about what the neighbors would think. What they probably thought was: why had they plunked down their million dollars on a condo where aggravated caterers could make so much noise in their hallway?

Enough, already, of that. I used Sara's key.

"Brent?" I called out, closing the door softly behind me.

From where I stood, the condo appeared spotless and unoccupied. The living room was done in shades of mint and white, and looked like it had just been delivered from Ethan Allen, whole. I stepped into the dining room and noticed the same air of undisturbed newness. I continued through the deserted house.

"Anybody home?"

Down the hallway, looking in this room and that, I found no signs of life. In the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator and found it bare except for a large fruit basket. A ribbon across the plastic read CONGRATULATIONS AND WELCOME HOME! I reached out to see if the cellophane wrapper had been opened.

"TURN AROUND!"