Dead Ice
Page 145

“But a new business beginning just as I’m thinking of retiring?”
“I didn’t know you were thinking of retiring, Manny.”
“Rosita and I had always planned for it when I was sixty, less than five years away.”
“Maybe she’ll go to work and you can be a stay-at-home dad for Tomas’s high school years.”
“Bite your tongue,” he said, “and thank you for the rescue.”
“No problem, Manny.” We hung up and I headed for the bridal shop. I was probably going to have to start thinking about dresses myself soon. God, I hated to shop, and I shuddered at the thought of what kind of dress Jean-Claude would prefer for me. I really hoped he was joking about having crowns made for our wedding, but I was pretty sure he was serious.
I did a group text at a long light, letting them know I was on the ground, and had to rescue Manny’s kids, and that I loved them. I got love back from everyone but Jean-Claude, and he might already be onstage at Guilty Pleasures. He was just announcing acts, not actually dancing tonight, but he still turned his phone off so it wouldn’t disturb the atmosphere he was creating for the customers, and yes, that last was his phrasing, not mine.
The last time I’d seen Connie and Tomas had been the company picnic for Animators Inc. last year. Manny had warned me that his son had grown four inches since then, so I was prepared to not recognize Tomas, but Connie was twenty-five. I knew what she looked like, but I couldn’t remember what kind of car she drove. Damn, I should have asked.
I called Manny back, and asked. “Silver Chevy Sonic, and I’ll send you both their cell phone numbers just in case. I’m about to have to turn my phone off for the ceremony.”
“It’s okay, Manny, I got this.” He thanked me again, and we hung up.
I had no idea what a Chevy Sonic looked like, but rather than ask, when I stopped at a red light, I Googled the car and there were all sorts of pictures of it. It was a smallish, midsize car and sort of roundish. I was not one of those cops that could rattle off car makes and models, or give a great description of a car from a crime scene. If there was an animal involved, that I could describe like gangbusters, but cars puzzled me.
Connie’s car was in the parking lot. She’d even parked under a light, and close to the bridal shop, whose bright windows were advertising prom dresses more than anything else. I guess it was that time of year. It was brightly lit and neither of Manny’s kids were in sight.
I parked beside the car, got out, and peeked inside it. There was a large garment bag on a hanger laid carefully on the backseat. I guess Connie hadn’t wanted to risk wrinkling her wedding dress. I didn’t blame her. There were two small garment bags hanging up. One was probably Tomas’s tux. No idea what the other smaller bag was, some mysterious wedding thing that I’d probably be learning about soon enough.
Maybe they’d gone back into Pearls of Happiness, though I hated the name enough to never go near it. But if there wasn’t a Combat Bride shop I’d probably go someplace equally saccharine. They had just gone back in to call AAA, though they both had cell phones. I took a deep breath, let it out slow, and tried to tell the tight feeling in my gut that they’d just gone back inside the shop for some reason. Being a cop of any flavor tended to make you paranoid. The paranoia wasn’t always right.
I went to the bridal shop, telling myself that they’d be there. Maybe they had to use the bathroom? It didn’t have to be something bad. I just needed to tell the cop part of me to lighten up. It was so bright inside the shop that it almost hurt after being out in the dark parking lot.
A woman in a nice but conservative black dress hurried forward, smiling. “Hello, I’m Anne, welcome to Pearls of Happiness, we’re here for all your bridal needs, how may I help you tonight?”
I wondered if I’d looked young enough, would the slogan have been “for all your prom needs”? “Hi, Anne, I’m looking for Connie and Tomas Rodriguez; her car broke down and they called me to help out.”
“Oh, yes, Connie did come in and say something like that. She was going to wait for a friend, and her brother had some kind of important sports thing at school.”
I forced myself to smile wider. “Yes, Tomas is going to State. In fact, I need to get him to his bus ASAP, so if you could just tell them I’m here.”
She frowned and looked flustered. “They went back out to get the bridal gown; Connie didn’t want to leave it in the car, you know how brides are.”
I didn’t actually, but I nodded and smiled, and said, “The dress is in the car still, but Connie and Tomas aren’t in the parking lot.”
“They’re probably sitting in the car,” she said.
“I checked the car, that’s how I know her dress is on the backseat and two other garment bags are hanging up.”
“And they’re not in the car?” she asked.
I took a deep calming breath. “No, Anne, they’re not, and they’re not in here?”
“No, and”—she looked up at a wall clock—“oh my, they went out to get the dress half an hour ago. You’re sure they aren’t out there somewhere?”
“I’m sure they’re out there somewhere, Anne, because they’re not in here, but they aren’t in the parking lot.” I resisted the urge to ask why she hadn’t checked on them. She was a civilian, a soft, fluffy, easily flustered civilian, and it wasn’t her job to serve and protect, or even to not be a fucking useless . . . It was my nerves talking. I would have been totally useless at her job here with all the sequined dresses and demanding brides; we all have our strengths. I told myself that as I dialed Connie’s cell phone.
I prayed, “Please let them have called a friend, her fiancé, anything. Let me have made this trip for nothing, just as long as they’re all right.”
Connie’s phone went to voice mail. I didn’t leave a message. I hung up and called Tomas. “Come on, come on, pick up, pick up.”
Anne the saleslady had picked up my anxiety by now and was hovering worriedly around me. I walked away farther into the shop for some privacy and because my nerves were enough without hers. The one thing I didn’t like about the headset was that ambient noise could make it harder to hear.
I left a message this time. “Tomas, this is Anita Blake. I’m here to see you get to the bus for State. Where are you and Connie?”
I called Connie’s phone back. Voice mail again, damn it. “Connie, this is Anita Blake, Manny sent me to get you guys. I’m at the bridal shop, where are you?”
I didn’t want to call Manny yet. There could be logical, safe explanations, but part of me knew that if Connie was so worried about her wedding dress that she didn’t want it left in the car for a few minutes, she would not have walked off and left it in the car like this. My Spideysense had been tingling since I found the empty car. Sometimes it’s not paranoia; it’s just the truth.
My phone rang; it was Connie’s number. I hit the button on the earpiece. “Connie, where are you guys?”
“I’m sorry, Anita, Consuela can’t come to the phone right now.” It was a man’s voice. It seemed familiar.
“Why can’t Connie come to the phone?” I asked.