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we
would hear from Victoria herself.
    Even as I had that thought, I knew better.
Vic would have called Ron’s cell phone if she was able to. Second
choice would probably be mine. Both of those had stayed dreadfully
quiet. As I listened, Drake’s earlier statement proved to be true.
Seventeen messages were from media people, from the four local
stations, two national networks, and a handful of newspapers. I
dutifully jotted down all the names and numbers—we couldn’t know
yet whether any of them might actually be of help.
    Elsa cleared the plates away while I booted
up Drake’s office computer. Ron had dozens of pictures on his phone
and we quickly chose a couple that looked most like Victoria in
natural light with a pose that wasn’t overdone. I soon had the
facts and phone numbers typed below it and started the printer to
crank out a few dozen. If this thing went on longer than a day or
so (heaven forbid) we could have hundreds more done up at a print
shop.
    “Okay, thanks,” Ron was saying to his cell
phone. By the look on his face, I knew it was another disappointing
call.
    “Here’s a list of the people I’ve called,”
he said, handing it over to me. “Everyone wants to help but no
one’s seen her.”
    “Most of these would have been at the
wedding,” I said.
    My throat tightened at the thought—Ron and
Victoria’s big day ruined, the friends and family disappointed, the
unopened gifts, the uncut cake still sitting on my dining table,
her gown. I wondered if the police had taken it away or just left
it there in its sad heap of fairy-princess white. I suppressed a
sniffle and pretended I had an urgent need for the bathroom.
    “I can try a couple of her clients,” Ron was
saying as I ducked out.
    When I returned after a stern lecture to
myself about holding it together, Elsa had found thumb tacks and
tape, and had set them beside a nice stack of flyers on the table.
We would be ready to hit the streets first thing in the
morning.
    “Okay, thanks,” Ron said to the phone. “If
you think of anything she might have said in recent days, any ideas
where she might have gone, please give me a call.” He gave the
number for our office as well as his cell phone.
    Drake handed me his written list of calls,
mostly names Ron had provided, people I didn’t know personally. I
felt myself spiraling downward again, wondering what else we could
do. The thought that nothing could be done hung at the
periphery but I refused to let it take hold.
    By nine o’clock we’d cross-checked our call
lists and compared notes, all with no results. I wanted to snatch
up the phone book and start with the A’s to dial every household in
the city, but realized that would not only be futile but rather
rude. I peeked around the edge of the drapes to find that there
were now three news vans out front.
    “I’d better walk Elsa home,” I said. Having
my elderly neighbor caught in the glare of those awful lights was
unthinkable. Plus, I needed to reiterate some things to the rest of
the gang. Who knew what two pubescent kids who thrived on reality
TV might do when someone turned a camera and microphone on
them?
    “Of course we know better than to talk to
the press,” Paul said, a little indignantly, when I brought it up
to the little family I’d assembled in Elsa’s living room.
    “I’m just saying. No talking to anyone about
any aspect of this. Our attorney will be giving a statement in the
morning and that’s that.” I aimed my words toward thirteen-year-old
Annie who, alarmingly, seemed more titillated than horrified by
what we were going through.
    The kid had never shown me a lot of respect,
but Paul and Lorraine both promised to rule with an iron hand.
Since they’d never done this in the past, it was with a lot of
trepidation I left and tippy-toed through the break in the hedge to
my own back door.
    The men were on the sofa, their cell phones
sitting dark and silent on the coffee table in front of them,
glasses of