Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) (2 page)

Two

Dean and I talked Mia into giving the police some time before we potentially stepped on their toes, but we took Bruce’s full name (Bruce James Fallon) and all the information we could gather.

We also convinced her the reception was the best place for us to help, since the police probably wouldn’t be there, and we could talk with his friends and relatives. I couldn’t picture going to Bruce’s mom’s house yet, although Mia told us something intriguing: Lydia Fallon was a medium. Her “spirit guides,” Mia hoped, would reveal Bruce’s whereabouts, although they tended not to say much about family. For example, they hadn’t predicted his disappearance.

I’d considered seeing a medium about my late husband, Jason, who died while cheating on me. I wanted to know why he’d been unfaithful, when he’d fallen for his coworker Megan, and what happened the day they were kayaking on the Potomac River and drowned. Even if he wasn’t in love with me, how could he have betrayed me and our children? Like always, I pushed away such questions to maintain my sanity.

“I hope to see you tonight,” I told Mia, “but if not, let’s talk tomorrow.”

“I’ll give you Nicki’s number,” Liz said, holding her at arm’s length and looking into her eyes. “One way or another, everything is going to be okay,” she said. “Now let’s get over to Lydia’s with your parents. We’ll go from there.”

There were a few stragglers outside, including a middle-aged couple chatting on the steps and a clean-cut young man squinting at the church from his idling car, probably waiting for a delayed bridesmaid. While sliding into Dean’s nearby Aston Martin, on semi-permanent loan from his successful but relatively unknown actor dad, all I could say was, “Wow.”

I wasn’t talking about the gorgeous, deep blue car or the way it growled when it took off. Nor was I talking about the way Dean’s muscular hand somehow made shifting gears look erotic. I was talking about the scene we’d just witnessed and what we might have to do about it.
Wow.

I resisted the urge to flip down the visor mirror and see if cosmetics companies lived up to their miraculous claims. I’d applied twelve-hour, oil-absorbing powder, skin-tone-matching blush, and lipstick that would outlast dinner and—God willing—kisses. I also wore waterproof mascara, invisible deodorant, an up-and-at-’em bra, and an expression meant to exude relaxed confidence I didn’t feel. All for under fifty bucks at Target. Confidence not included.

“That was intense,” Dean agreed. After reviewing the night’s events, he asked if I believed in mediums.

“I don’t know.”
About as much as I believe in wrinkle-erasing foundation.
“I mean, it’s possible, but I think there are plenty of con artists out there. What about you?”

“I’d love it to be true. But I don’t buy it.”

Dean’s mom had died of cancer when he was twelve. Like me, maybe he protected himself with skepticism. Seeing a medium might only add questions to our questions.

“In this case, though, the medium would be trying to help herself and her family. I guess that’s different.”

“Yeah.”

Quiet set in. Dean and I were used to communicating online. What if our long-distance rapport didn’t work in person? My overactive brain leapt to the crumbling of our potential romance. Imagining worst-case scenarios was a terrible, reassuring skill. If the worst was manageable, everything else was okay.

“I applied to be on
Midwest Medium
,” I blurted.

Great. Dean knew I de-stressed with reality TV, but being
on
a show took things to a whole new level.

“Is that a reality show?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “It’s about a medium who’s an everyday single mom with three kids and a dog, but she sees spirits wherever she goes. She’s really convincing.”

“And you wanted to talk to her?”

“I did a long time ago. She looked so genuine. But they never called. Probably a good thing.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to get fooled.”

“Makes sense. Especially on TV.”

I hadn’t considered how I’d look on TV. I’d been desperate for peace of mind. That’s probably how most of the show’s guests felt, and they inevitably bawled for all to see.

“Good point. Anyway, I don’t know much about Bruce, or even about Mia. But I feel awful for her, and I’ve told you how close I am to Aunt Liz. I have to help somehow.”

“Of course. I understand. We’ll make the best of it. Are you hungry?”

“No.” Nerves either fueled or destroyed my appetite, depending on the situation. This was a suck-the-glutton-outta-me event. “Are you?”

“Starving.”

He’d chosen salmon on the RSVP, and as a longtime vegetarian, my only option was pumpkin ravioli. At the time, it sounded amazing. Now he was welcome to it.

“Should we have a strategy for the reception? I don’t interview people in depth too often.” Most of my PI work involved computer databases and telephone work—modern tools of the trade. I was more likely to get carpal tunnel syndrome than a bullet wound. Based on my past, however, gunfire wasn’t out of the question.

“I’m looking at this like an undercover job. Just act natural and be yourself, but extra outgoing and curious,” he said.

That wouldn’t be easy. My least favorite part of investigation was surveillance—being uncomfortable and bored in a car while desperately needing a bathroom. Next on my “to-avoid” list was pretext, a.k.a. lying to get information. Now the son of an actor would be watching my performance. Stupendous.

The mood at the reception was somber, but based on the popularity of the open bar, which had more customers than the hors d’oeuvres table, that might improve. Dean offered to get me a drink, but I declined, not wanting to risk its effects there, on the dance floor, or at home. I was a rap and R&B fan. I was also used to dancing solo in my living room or with my kids and their tabletop disco ball. My moves needed minimizing.

“Let’s find our table,” I suggested. I was hoping for gossipy company—relatives who would bend our ears without much prodding.

We found our spots at table four, on the edge of the empty dance floor and just below the wedding party’s table. I set my clutch on a pink-taffeta-covered chair and sipped ice water. As another couple approached, Dean offered his hand to greet them.

“I’m Dean,” he said to a young woman and her date, who looked in their twenties. She wore a low-cut, white sheath dress with spaghetti straps. A little too bridal. A little too revealing. His suit was shiny with sleeves that rose high when he shook Dean’s hand. They resembled Jason and me early in our marriage. Low on money and style…big on carefree happiness.

“I’m Greg, and this is Maisy,” he said. Maisy’s dark hair fell toward me as she reached across the table to shake hands.

“We’re Mia’s neighbors,” she added with a warm smile.

“Where does Mia live these days?” I asked.

“In Westfields.” That was an attractive D.C. suburb east of my home in King County, Virginia. “Oakland condos. Bruce is supposed to move in after their honeymoon.”

“Have you gotten to know him well?” Dean chimed in quickly.

“They’ve been to a couple cookouts at our place,” Maisy said, glancing at Greg and then me. “How about you? Didn’t I see you talking to the priest earlier?”

I explained my unofficial relationship to Mia, hoping to build rapport, the first step in most interviews. “So,” I said, lowering my voice. “I feel awful for Mia. Are you guys as shocked as we are? I mean, did you sense any potential problems?”

A couple with two kids walked up, and I hoped they wouldn’t interrupt her answer. My kids, Jack (seven) and Sophie (five), had been invited, but they wouldn’t have known anyone except Liz, and I wasn’t ready for them to spend that long with Dean. I could come up with a million excuses: They didn’t know him, they might embarrass me, and their questions—especially Sophie’s—could be endless. But truthfully, I wasn’t prepared for dating, and bringing kids into it wouldn’t help, so they were at home with my mom.

“The only problem we knew about was Bruce’s mom’s sickness,” Maisy said. “Mia and Bruce have been so worried about her.”

The family settled into their chairs, completing our table for eight.

“Hi,” said a little girl in a brown dress with a huge, black bow. Her little sister wore a matching ensemble. “I’m Louise, and this is my sister Amy. She’s three.”

“Hi,” I said cheerily. “I love your dresses.”

The parents introduced themselves, and I asked how they knew the bridal couple. The husband was Bruce’s cousin.

Dean asked if anyone wanted to hit the appetizers, and both men joined in. The kids ran to the dance floor, chased by their mom, and I turned to Maisy before she could leave.

“I hope I’m not prying, but do you know what kind of illness Bruce’s mom has? It must be really serious to miss her son’s wedding.”

“Mia hasn’t said much about it, so I’m not sure. I know his mom had endometrial cancer, and her treatments went well, but now she’s homebound with something else. Mia said she needs a procedure soon, and Bruce is helping with it. It’s been really time consuming and stressful, especially with the wedding and all.”

“I can imagine. My aunt mentioned something about a procedure too, but I’m not sure exactly what it is.” Liz had said
transplant
, and Mia hadn’t elaborated, so I wanted Maisy’s story.

“I don’t know.” She looked around self-consciously. “It had something to do with her stomach. Like I said, Mia didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I understand.” But I didn’t. Something to do with her stomach and a transplant? Did intestinal transplants even exist? I’d Google it on my phone when no one was around.

“Well I sure hope she and Bruce are okay.” I felt an awkward segue coming on, but I couldn’t stop it. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh, sure.”

As we walked toward the appetizers, we chatted about the striking stargazer lily arrangements and which guests would be brave enough to dance first. I stopped at the stuffed mushrooms while she moved on.

“Anything helpful?” I asked Dean, who was filling his plate with pigs in a blanket (more like a burial shroud) and cheese puffs. I wasn’t a bitter vegetarian, but I didn’t like thinking about animals suffering. In general, I kept my views to myself and didn’t push them on others.

“I made some progress,” Dean said. “You?”

“A little,” I said.

“Get some food,” he suggested. “You might not want to eat after hearing what I learned.”

I force-fed myself a mushroom, a rice ball, and a cheese puff. Dean had tried them all and declared them meat-free. I’d trusted him, not wanting hunger to interfere with investigation. It was unthinkable that Mia and Bruce wouldn’t taste any of it.

“So what did you find out?” he asked after patiently waiting for me to finish. Proper meal etiquette took so much focus that I wondered how I usually ate. Or scarfed. Apparently I’d been eating alone with kids for too long.

“You first,” I said. “Yours sounds much more interesting.” Our table was empty, and I wanted to take advantage of it.

“Okay. So Bruce’s cousin says Bruce has been worried about a procedure he has to do with his mom.”

“Does it have to do with a transplant?”

Dean smiled. “Yes.”

“Why are you smiling?”

“Well, this is the part you might not like, but his cousin thought it was amusing. Ready?”

I eyed the last rice ball, dipped it in cheese sauce, and hoped it would sustain me through whatever the night held. Then I seized the opportunity to look straight into Dean’s turquoise eyes.

“Ready,” I said.
For anything.

“It’s kind of gross, but in a slightly funny way.”

I resisted saying,
Dude, I’m a mom. “Gross but funny” is my motto. (Followed by “Let’s order pizza” and “It’s either laugh or cry.”) What else ya got?

“Bruce,” he continued, “is giving his mom his...number two.”

“What?” I paused to consider his words. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Bruce is donating, or transplanting, his, ahem, stuff, to his mom.”

“I still don’t get it.”

I was baffled. Where was she going to put it? And why?

“You know what? Let’s not discuss it now. I’ll email it to you.”

“After a year of emailing,
that’s
funny,” I said.

“True.” He grinned. “But I promise not to make a habit of it.”

Deal.

Three

Dean emailed from his phone and suggested I wait until later to check it. I wasn’t up for that plan.

“I’m going to the restroom,” I said after a few minutes.

“Wanna leave your phone? I’ll pick up any emergency calls.”

“No thanks.”

He knew exactly what I was doing, and the bathroom was the best spot for it.

From: Dean Summers

To: Nicki Valentine

Bruce’s mom has a stomach infection that makes her have to go to the bathroom a lot. His cousin said it’s a superbug that can be deadly. Hers isn’t life-threatening now, but they don’t want it to get that way. The procedure is called a fecal transplant. If you do an internet search, you’ll see it’s for real. His healthy poop enters where her sick poop exits. I’ll let you research how it’s done. The point is, Bruce and his mom have a lot invested in this. He had to take time off to go to appointments and get lab work done to approve him as a donor. The transplant was planned for this week, before the honeymoon. (They’re going to Hawaii, BTW.) Adults have the right to disappear, but Bruce would have to be pretty cruel to do it on purpose.

I stood still, trying to wrap my brain around what Dean had said. My phone dinged, telling me I had another email.

From: Dean Summers

To: Nicki Valentine

Stop reading and come back.

Instead, I did a quick search on “fecal transplant,” in shock such a thing even existed. Yet several reputable sites—ones I consulted about my family’s health—said it often cured a potentially fatal infection called clostridium difficile, a.k.a.
C. diff
, by infusing “natural probiotics” into the gut, sometimes via colonoscopy. No wonder Mia didn’t say much about her future mother-in-law’s health.

I shuddered to think about potential jokes at the police station and elsewhere if this case was publicized. Yet calling attention to Bruce’s plight could be lifesaving. Everyone would be on the lookout for him, and there was no substitute for that.

The police will do a better job than I could
, I reassured myself while reapplying lipstick in the bathroom mirror. The concern in my brown eyes was accented by the crow’s feet around them. If Dean had wrinkles, I hadn’t noticed them. He hadn’t changed a bit while he was away.
Just smile
, I reminded myself.
Relax.

Easier said than done. I made sure my dark, shoulder-length hair looked presentable, just the way I’d shellacked it at home. I also straightened my wrap and reminded myself that
at no point
should I swing it above my head, no matter how good the music got or how stressed I felt. Dancing was my go-to way to ease tension, but Dean would have to see that another time.

When I walked in to Earth, Wind & Fire’s “September,” Dean was holding his phone under the table, trying to hide it, and almost everyone was seated. Waiters were carrying large, covered trays from the kitchen. The glow of Dean’s cell reminded me that anyone here could take pictures or record video, including us. When Jason and I got married, we’d put disposable cameras at each table, hoping people would capture memories the photographer missed. This was a whole new era.

“Hi,” I said to Dean. “Whatcha reading?”

He grinned and stood to greet me.

“Nice to have you back,” he said, giving me a hug.

“Nice to have
you
back,” I said, meaning it.

We chatted with everyone around us, at first commiserating about the situation and then complimenting the DJ, hotel, and Thanksgiving-themed wedding favors. Each guest received a tiny basket of fall goodies—apple-pie-scented candles, assorted nuts, and leaf-shaped maple candies. I’d save mine for the kids.

After Dean and I had learned everything we could from our tablemates, I nibbled at my ravioli, thinking I should have called Liz from the bathroom. I wanted to text her, but I didn’t know if she’d come that far with technology. My mom, however, was a different story, and I should have touched base with her, too, especially about Jack and Sophie.

My thoughts were interrupted by the DJ, who cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Traditionally,” he announced, “the bride and groom would have their first dance now. They had prepared something special for you, but since they aren’t here, let’s all get up and dance for them. This is the song they chose.”

I recognized the first few notes of the Black Eyed Peas’ “I Gotta Feeling.” Maybe Mia and Bruce had been planning one of those choreographed routines. Guests shifted in their seats and looked at each other. A few made their way toward the parquet squares. Dean held out his hand.

“Maybe we should get out there and help people let their guards down,” he said.

As he led me to the dance floor, I considered the song’s refrain about it being a good night. I didn’t see how that was possible.

During a spin around the floor to survey the room, I noticed the wedding cake being wheeled away. The photographer had snapped it—and many of us—for posterity. I hoped the top layer would be saved for Mia and Bruce.

The room’s chatter grew louder and more relaxed, and a few members of the wedding party arrived, welcomed by the DJ with subdued fanfare. Dean and I scooted back to our seats while an older man whispered to the DJ and took the microphone. The crowd held its breath.

“Folks,” he began. “I’m Mia’s dad. I’m sorry I don’t have any news.”

Everyone exhaled.

“Except to say that we’re praying for Bruce’s safety and an end to Mia’s heartbreak. I want to thank you for being here and supporting our families. I know some of you came a long way, and I hope you’ll enjoy this night. We certainly don’t want it to go to waste. Both families and the police are doing everything we can to find Bruce,” he continued. “I’ll leave the police number at the front desk in case anyone has helpful information. Please, please don’t hesitate to call.” That took a little pressure off me and Dean. “I wish I could thank all of you individually, but I have to get back to Mia and her mom, who also send their thanks.” He addressed the DJ. “Make sure these people enjoy themselves, okay?”

The DJ nodded and waited a beat as Mia’s dad exited the ballroom. Slowly, a line dancing song faded in, and the DJ encouraged everyone to participate. While the wait staff began clearing tables and distributing red velvet cake with buttercream frosting and raspberry accents, I excused myself to check on the kids and get the police contact information from the front desk.

My first stop was the bathroom again, where I dialed Liz’s cell. She didn’t answer, so I left a message suggesting we talk the next morning.

Next was my mom, who was at my house, hopefully tucking in Jack and Sophie whose bedtime was nine. I was surprised when someone else picked up.

“Aunt Liz?” I asked. “Is that you?”

“Yes, dear. Your mom’s upstairs with the kids. I wish you could’ve been here when I saw them. I can’t believe how grown up they are. They’re beautiful.”

“Oh, I wish I hadn’t missed that. But what are you doing there?”

“I just couldn’t go back to my hotel room alone after taking Mia to Bruce’s mom’s house. And I didn’t want to be at the reception getting inundated with questions when I don’t have answers. It was better to come and see your mom.”

“Well I’m glad you’re together, but I’m stunned by the circumstances. How is Mia doing? Is there any news?”

“Not much. The police spoke to the wedding party, including me, and no one seems to have any leads. Mia’s beside herself, and Bruce’s mom, Lydia, is so ill. I didn’t feel comfortable staying at her place. I’m sure she wants her privacy, and that’s where Mia needs to be. You know she and Bruce are Lydia’s only family.”

“No, I didn’t know.”

“Yes. She and Mia are especially close because occasionally in readings, Lydia brings through Mia’s best friend from high school, who died in a car accident. It means the world to Mia.”

“I don’t mean to sound skeptical, but do you think Lydia is on the up and up?”

“I don’t know, but Mia is thoroughly convinced, although she can be a bit gullible. How is the reception going? I’m afraid to ask.”

I told her people were making the most of it, and she should get some rest. She was welcome to stay with us as long as she’d like.

“Thank you,” she said. “I want to stay, but I have to get back to Florida. The church is counting on me for several events. You and I have plans tomorrow, though.”

“We do?”

“Yes. We’re bringing Mia lunch whether or not she wants it, and you can invite that boyfriend of yours.”

“He’s not my...”

“Okay. Your handsome friend. Can you meet me at twelve?”

“I’m sure I can make that work,” I said. Babysitting would be my only obstacle. “Can you leave me a note with the details? I’ll do everything I can to be there.”

“I know you will, sweetheart,” she said. “Thank you.”

I hung up and speed-dialed my BFF Kenna. She knew I was with Dean, and unless her one-year-old daughter Sky was still awake, she’d pick up immediately, eager for details. I imagined her tall, limber frame in cozy pajamas, cleaning up after dinner while flipping through home decorating channels, her blond hair freed from the ponytail she wore to teach aerobics most days.

“Nicki?” she greeted me. “How’s it going?”

“Kenna. You will not believe this night.”

I summarized everything as quickly as possible.

“Do you think there’s any chance he left her?”

“It’s unlikely, because his mom’s so sick, but stranger things have happened. People do awful things all the time. They got engaged after a whirlwind romance, so you never know…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t jump into a relationship too quickly, either.”

“What?” That wasn’t like Kenna. She was a free spirit. I was the worrier.

“I’ve been doing a little research on Dean.”

Recently, Kenna had taken a PI class just for fun. She vowed not to work as an investigator, since she despised computers and desk work, but I was trying to talk her into working with me sometimes. How could she resist the adventures we’d have?

“What are you talking about?”

“I went online and checked on Dean.”
I
was an exaggeration, unless it included her husband Andy and little Sky, both of whom knew more about technology than she did. Andy loved that Sky had already mastered a couple smartphone features. “I mean, I showed Andy one of those handouts from class.”

“Unless this is something serious, don’t freak me out,” I said. “I’m already on overload.”

“Sorry. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Okay.” I was torn. I wanted to hear more, but I had to go.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I can take the kids tomorrow,” she offered.

“Actually…what are you doing around eleven thirty?”

“It’s my day off, so I can babysit. Just send ’em over.”

“Are you sure?”

She was.

When we bought houses next to each other as newlyweds, we had no idea how important it would be, especially for me. I’d depended on her through countless lows, and helping her and Andy adopt Sky was a highlight of my life. My first case had involved Sky’s birth parents, a young couple with whom Kenna and Andy now stayed in touch via occasional letters.

“Thanks, Kenna. You’re the best.”

“You, too. Now get back to Dean.”

I did just that, right after picking up the police department’s Criminal Investigations Division number at the front desk and asking if anyone else had done the same. They hadn’t. The clerk referred my other questions to the police but agreed to keep my Sky Investigations cards handy in case anyone, staff included, wanted to talk.

While making our way around the room and setting our sights on the wedding party, Dean and I saw Raina, the woman from our pew. She waved us down with the intensity of a traffic cop.

“Sit down,” she said, patting an empty chair beside her. I let Dean take it since she might be more responsive to him anyway.

“Hi,” I said. “Still no Bruce, huh?”

“What do you think is going on?” she asked, searching Dean’s eyes.

He explained that we didn’t know, but we wanted to help Mia find out.

“When was the last time you talked to her?” I asked.

“Last month. Everything seemed fine. She was so excited about getting married.”

“So...you were college roommates,” Dean said. “I’ve lost touch with my college buddies. Do you guys talk often?”

“Sort of. I mean we’re on the NUVA board together.”

“NUVA?” Dean asked.

“The National Unwed Virgins Association,” Raina said with a confident smile.

Dean’s mouth was O-shaped and silent. I could have used it as a bean bag goal with the kids.

“Mia is so proud of NUVA’s work,” I said quickly. “I’ve heard great things about it.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure how I felt about premarital sex, except it wasn’t for my kids when they grew up. At least not with my knowledge, someone infectious, or any chance of impregnation. So maybe I
did
know how I felt about premarital sex. At least for other people. Therein lies the problem.

“How closely do you and Mia work together on the board?” Dean recovered.

“We talk a lot by phone because we’ve been organizing new college chapters. It’s been really challenging.”

“It must be,” I said.

Raina rolled her eyes and nodded. “It’s an uphill battle, and we take a lot of flak, but we can’t give up.”

“Sorry to ask so many questions,” I said. “But if you were Mia’s roommate, you must know Bruce pretty well. Does disappearing at the last minute seem like something he’d do?”

“Oh, no. He treated Mia like a princess. She never said a bad word about him.”

“That’s amazing.” And unbelievable. I’d met my late husband Jason in college, and I complained plenty about him. Weren’t young relationships usually dramatic? Maybe Mia and Raina weren’t super close.

“Yeah. He transferred to Maryland State during our senior year last fall and got to know those guys.” She wiggled her fingers at a few groomsmen chatting with her husband. “Everyone except the best man. I don’t know him. Anyway, thank God she met Bruce, because she’d just been dumped, and she was hurting bad. I think her ex was here tonight, surprisingly. They’re on good terms, but I didn’t think he’d show.”

“What’s his name?”

“Austin something. He wasn’t here long, and I don’t blame him. This is
not
a comfortable scene.”

I’d made sure to save the wedding program in my purse. If I needed key players’ names, I’d have them, and Austin’s would join the list. It hit me that the only time these people would be gathered in one place—or even in one town—was tonight. Surely a number of guests were flying home the next day. And some, like Austin, had already left.

Raina had mentioned the best man, so I asked her to point him out, just to make sure we had the right guy. With time ticking away, we needed him to be our best source, even if that meant giving up some bachelor party secrets.