My sense of dread flared up, and I knew better than to ignore it.

On the surface, everyone’s argument about Heather’s disappearance sounded logical. Flighty, unreliable girl gets nervous, bails out on her set. Nothing more than that. But Heather had been performing with her sister for a while, and she’d never shown even a hint of nerves.

True professional comedians never skipped out on a gig, especially not minutes before they’re about to go on stage. Not if they wanted to keep working. Not if they wanted their careers to go somewhere. The stand-up community was too tight-knit for stuff like that to happen without the important club owners and bookers finding out. And in all the time I’d known Heather, she’d always acted with complete professionalism when it came to her career. Never late for a show with Lauren, never went on stage drunk or high. Never flipped off a promoter.

When it came to her stand-up, Heather was very serious.

That’s why I was so worried. I didn’t expect the others—Ryan, her parents, even Freeman—to fully understand. They’d never had to go on stage with their careers on the line. But I knew how much Heather’s act meant to her. Even if she hadn’t matured as much as I’d thought, she’d always worked hard to separate the turmoil in her personal life from her career.

Something was wrong. The clincher: why would she want a gun?

I pulled out my cell and called Freeman.

“Hey, buddy. Enjoyed the show last night,” he said, genuine in tone. “That Jermaine, he’s damn funny. For a white guy, that is.”

“Yeah, he’s a card,” I said, deciding not to bring up J.J.’s adventure. If he wanted to report the robbery, that was his choice, but I had the feeling he’d let the whole thing simply fade away. Another wild tale from the road to impress his buddies with.

“So, did you call for a reason, or do you just like listening to my voice?”

Wiseass. “Did you talk to your buddy about Heather?”

Freeman sighed. “Yeah. Said he hadn’t heard anything. Checked a few things out, nothing turned up. Said he’d keep at it, though. I hear something, you’ll be my first call.”

I wasn’t going to let him brush me off so easily. “What things did he check out?”

Another sigh. “Let the man do his job. Give him some time. And relax. What I said last night? About most missing people showing up within a few days?” He paused.

“Yeah?”

“That’s so you won’t worry. Take my advice. Don’t worry. Odds are, she’ll show up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“I don’t think so. Something’s not right here.” I felt it at my core, but how do you tell someone that and have him believe you? “Something’s up. I know it.”

“Uh-huh. You a seer now?”

I considered telling Freeman about Heather’s booty call and about the gun, knowing that if I didn’t, I’d catch holy hell for it later. But since he and his buddy in Missing Persons already were looking for her, I didn’t want to say anything that might curtail the search or confuse the issue.

She was still AWOL, and I knew something wasn’t right, whether he believed me or not. And I wasn’t too proud to accept all the help I could beg, borrow, or finagle. I needed to find her before something bad happened. To her, or because of her.

“Channing?” Freeman sounded as if he were about to lecture his daughter about avoiding boys with long hair and skateboards tucked under their arms.

“What?”

“Seems to me the only person who thinks she’s really missing is you.” He paused, giving his words time to sink into my thick skull. “Talk to you later.”

_____

The spring morning was warm and inviting, so I took Rex for a drive along the country roads that meandered through parts of Vienna and Great Falls, windows wide open, radio blasting. It never failed to amaze me how rural the area became only a few miles from Fairfax County’s high-density population centers. Forty minutes of aimless driving later, I pulled into the gravel parking lot of Meadowspring Gardens.

The gardens were maintained by the county through a combination of entrance fees and tax dollars. But because it cost a few bucks to get in, they were never as crowded as some of the other—free—county parks and gardens, which was nice, especially if you wanted a little peace and quiet in which to commune with nature and contemplate life.

I paid my five dollars and wandered down the main path. Azaleas and rhododendrons bloomed all around, alongside scores of other brightly colored flowers and shrubs, most of which I couldn’t identify if I had a field guide and Ranger Rick next to me.

After a few minutes of strolling through the gardens, I arrived at a small pond where a couple of benches had been set up. I took a seat on one with a view of some platter-sized lily pads floating near a thick thatch of cattails. A soft breeze set their slender stalks swaying to some subliminal orchestra.

Would it be too much to ask for Heather to emerge from the pond, like some medieval Lady of the Lake? I envisioned her, dressed in white, holding a trident or a scepter or maybe just a mic stand, as she arose from the depths, garland of tiny white flowers in her long flowing hair. Why, Channing, so nice of you to meet me here. Just going for a swim to clear my head, don’t you know? Working on my act, too. Hey, did you hear the one about the priest, the Rabbi, and the talking giraffe?

I banished the silly images from my head and considered Freeman’s words instead. Was Heather simply off somewhere doing whatever carefree, happy-go-lucky girls do? She didn’t strike me as carefree, not with the indecision and lack of confidence she displayed the other night, but maybe it was the fear of going on stage without Lauren by her side that made her bolt. In many respects, I knew exactly how she felt.

Okay, she’d sought solace—or at least a brief moment of physical comfort—with J.J. But why hadn’t she answered any of my many messages? Was she ashamed about running out on me? Had I made her solo debut so important in my eyes that she felt bad for me when she couldn’t go on?

I hated to think that was true. I was doing this for Heather, wasn’t I? This wasn’t some kind of vicarious trip I was on to recapture the rush of being on stage. I’d get my act together and get out there soon, wouldn’t I? I’d been asking myself these questions a lot lately, and I wasn’t too keen on the answers I’d been getting.

On the far side of the pond, a few geese gathered. They strutted awkwardly, deliberately, and I wondered if they mated for life like I’d heard. Mating for life, a nice concept. I couldn’t hold myself back any longer. I’d been drawn to the gardens for a reason. I left the pond and the geese behind as I continued along the asphalt walkway. About one-hundred-and-fifty yards down the path, around the second bend of an ess curve, a huge white tent occupied one side of a perfectly coiffed grassy lawn.

The tent was erected in early April and stayed up through September. It provided weather insurance for a multitude of events the gardens hosted—charity benefits, political schmoozefests, community gatherings. Not surprisingly, weddings were far and away the most popular things at the gardens. I knew this because Lauren and I had planned to be married right next to that very tent.

Tomorrow.

Now, the tent stood as empty as my life had become.

Lauren had always dreamed of getting married outside under fluffy white clouds, and she and her mother had checked out a half-dozen possible sites. The instant they saw Meadowspring, their search ended. We’d booked the place over a year ago, and Lauren—again, with her mother’s counsel—threw herself into the other aspects of wedding planning. My only goal was to make her happy, so I wisely stayed out of the way and nodded noncommittally when asked my opinion about anything and everything wedding-related.

Heather was going to be Lauren’s maid of honor. Had the wedding “ghost” affected her, as it was haunting me? Caused her to run away from the harsh realization that her sister was really gone for good? Had Heather succumbed to survivor’s guilt, too?

A young couple rounded the bend on the path across from me. The woman gasped when she saw the tent and rushed ahead, crossing the grass to peer inside. She disappeared through one of the floppy doors while the man ambled over to my side. “Big tent, huh? Looks like they could fit a whole circus inside. Maybe two.” He didn’t look at me when he spoke, keeping his eyes glued to the tent.

I nodded noncommittally. A floral fragrance wafted by on the wind, and across the field, the grass rippled in waves, an undulating sea of green.

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts and pointed to the tent with his chin. “We’re getting married tomorrow, and the weather report said there was a twenty percent chance of rain. She wanted to check things out one last time,” he said. “She’ll probably get me up in the middle of the night to come back ‘one more last time.’”

His tone exuded excitement. I tried to pump some into mine. “Uh, congratulations.”

He turned toward me. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

From inside the tent, the woman called to him, a disembodied voice full of hope and joy. “Todd. This is wonderful. Come check it out.”

Todd shrugged. “The boss calls. Have a good one,” he said, and then he skipped off to join his future wife under the big top.

I returned to my car and drove away, still wondering about the geese.