The vows were simple, time-honored.
“Dearly beloved, friends and family, we are gathered today to witness the joining of this man and this woman in matrimony.”
I thought of my own wedding, not so long ago, and my heart was there with Yuki and Brady when they exchanged vows and rings.
Judge Devine said, “On the east wall, there is a wonderful engraving of Father Time. The inscription reads: ‘San Francisco, O glorious City of our hearts that has been tried and found not wanting. Go through with like spirit to make the future thine.’
“That is what I wish for the two of you.
“And now I pronounce you, Jackson, and you, Yuki, husband and wife. Jackson, you may kiss your bride.”
Brady took Yuki’s face in both his hands and kissed her and then he lifted her into his arms. To a wonderful echoing cheer, Brady carried our dear friend down the stairs.
My husband kissed me and said, “I love you, Blondie. That much.”
I told him that I loved him that much, too.
We all ran out onto the street in our wedding finery, like a flock of tropical birds.
I was ready to dance.
Chapter 17
I don’t know how Yuki’s wedding planner managed to get a private room at Epic Roasthouse with so little notice, but she did it. This great restaurant was wall-to-wall glass panels with a full-on billion-dollar view of the Bay Bridge and the San Francisco Bay. It doesn’t matter how many times you see this wonder of wonders, it never gets old.
We had cocktails and I found myself standing with Brady. He said, “I can’t believe what a miracle it is that I found Yuki. And you introduced us, Lindsay. You did that.”
“Yeah. Well, she was visiting me, and you came over to my desk. So, okay, I guess I introduced you.”
“You deserve all the credit. My brother will tell you. She saved my ass from a life of grouchiness and solitude.”
“Your brother Doug? He already told me.”
Another great laugh from Brady. “Yep, I’m so lucky to have found Yuki.”
He went on in that vein a few more times. It was funny to hear him sounding like a young kid.
And then someone clinked a fork against a glass, and dinner was served. Our private room had its own dedicated chef, and the tables were arranged in a horseshoe so that we could all see the lights of the bridge and the glittering moonlit waters.
Joe and I sat at a table with Brady and Yuki, Brady’s two enormous blond brothers, Greg and Doug, and Yuki’s uncle Jack, her only relative in San Francisco.
Cindy, Claire, and her husband, Edmund, who plays bass with the San Francisco Symphony, completed the guest list at the head table.
The first course, spicy citrus ceviche, arrived, and during the next five courses, there were toasts to the bride and groom. Brady was roasted by his brothers, making everyone laugh helplessly. And Yuki’s coworkers and Murder Club friends offered warm anecdotes and best wishes that made our eyes water with sentiment.
Once the dishes were taken away, the lights were dimmed, and Judge Devine, who was a weekend disc jockey, cranked up the CD player and started with Bobby Darin’s up-tempo classic “More.”
Yuki and Brady took to the floor and soon the space between the tables was packed with couples, backlit by the Bay Bridge.
Rich and his athletic-looking, hot new girlfriend were stunningly good dancers. They had their moves down, as if they’d been dancing together for years. I wanted to be mad at him for bringing Tina to Yuki’s wedding, where Cindy could see how good they looked together, but realistically, a lot of time had passed since he and Cindy had broken off their engagement.
It was okay for Richie to be moving on.
I took a few turns around the floor with Joe, then switched off with Claire and danced with Edmund Washburn, who was very smooth.
When I needed a break, I left the floor and found Cindy, pretty in baby blue, sitting alone at the table. She hadn’t said anything more than hi to me all evening.
I could see it all in her face: the love and the pain.
Judge Devine put on something slow, Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable,” which was just divine.
I put my hand on Cindy’s shoulder and said, “May I have this dance?”
“You don’t have to do that, Linds. I mean really. No.”
“Come on. Just one dance. No strings attached.”
“And why do you want to dance with me?”
“Uh. Because you look so fetching sitting here, clutching your wineglass?”
“Okay, that’s not it.”
“Because I love you?”
Cindy flashed me a smile and got to her feet, and I walked her a couple of yards to the dance floor.
I took her in my arms, turned her so she was facing away from Conklin and Tina. I said, “Relax. Let me lead.”
She laughed.
Then she said, “I’m fine, Lindsay…”
“And what?”
“And I love you, too.”
Chapter 18
Cindy paid the cabdriver and stepped unsteadily up the walk to her front door. She fiddled with the key, went inside her dark apartment, and locked the door behind her. She bounced off the hallway walls a couple of times on her way to the bedroom, where she undressed, dropping her clothes on the floor.
Images of Rich and Tina flooded her, and she had no defense. They looked good together. They were having fun. It was pretty clear from the way they danced, and from the fact that Tina was Richie’s plus-one at Yuki’s wedding, that this date wasn’t their first or their last.
Lindsay was right when she assumed that watching Rich and Tina dancing together was agony for her. And Lindsay didn’t know the rest of it. She didn’t know about her trip to Wisconsin.
Cindy turned on the shower, sat down in the corner of the tub under the hot spray, and sobbed over what a total loser she was. She’d blown the best relationship she’d ever had, and she’d gone to Henry Tyler and basically told him she was teeing up her Pulitzer Prize. Now what was she going to tell him?
Henry, Morales wasn’t there.
When she was all cried out, Cindy dressed in striped-pink flannel, top and bottom, no T-shirt with SFPD slogans or attached memories of her Richie.
She wanted another drink, but she made coffee, turned on the gooseneck lamp in her home office, and booted up her Mac. After her mailbox loaded, she opened an e-mail from her new friend Captain Patrick Lawrence of the Cleveland, Wisconsin, PD.
Hey, Cindy,
Just to let you know, the FBI bomb squad defused the explosives in case some knucklehead campers come up from the lake and break in. There were three trigger points. Good thing Morrison saw a wire. The milk in the fridge had a sell-by date of two weeks ago. That’s all I know. The Feds are keeping sharp eyes on the place and we can always hope Morales drops by. Thanks again and take care.
Pat.
Cindy leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. She was going to have to tell Henry Tyler what happened to her glorious mission and she would have to come up with another plan. Somehow, she didn’t know how, she was going to have to “git ’er done” or die trying.
Cindy wrote back to Captain Lawrence and then got to work researching every place Morales had been in her entire twenty-six years on earth. Morales was no Randolph Fish. She was no genius, just a merciless killer bitch.
Where could that bitch have gone?
Chapter 19
Mackie Morales walked quickly along West Washington Street in the Loop, Chicago’s central business district. It was a Monday morning, and pathetic office workers were marching into ugly gray office buildings. Cars and taxis sped past like they were actually going somewhere. The streets were gray, the people were gray, and the very atmosphere was gray.