But for some reason, doubt clouded the back of my mind.
Evelyn’s eternal bad mood had not yet reached its peak. She left to fetch the bridesmaids in a massive black Cadillac that her parents had rented for the duration of our stay at the Saint Angel. I pitied any drivers who might get in Evelyn’s way. With her current disposition and the dimensions of the tank she drove, she was sure to be a hellion on the road. For once, I was glad not to accompany her. Evelyn wasn’t the best at putting her feelings out there; she preferred to stew in them until she reached a boiling point and overflowed.
As promised, I spent the morning poring over inane blogs to find out what the hell I was supposed to plan for this bachelorette party, or as Evelyn and the other Brits called it, the hen do. I knew the basics: the bride, on her last night as a single lady, was obligated to get wasted and dance with as many half-naked men as possible, stuffing their waistbands with as many singles as a banana sling could hold. Marie, however, wasn’t your usual bride. I wasn’t sure if she’d stand for strippers or not, so it seemed prudent to play it safe. Then again, if tonight wasn’t what she expected, she’d remember the faults forever.
Using my best judgement, I booked spaces for our bride-to-be and her friends at a few different events. Then I headed out into the Chicago streets in search of party favors. By the time I returned to the Saint Angel, Evelyn had arrived with the bridesmaids. As the women lingered in the lobby, waiting for Evelyn to assign rooms, I admired Marie’s taste in friends. They were a varied group with different skin tones, body shapes, and hair textures. Furthermore, they had all united for a single purpose: to support Marie in her quest to become a married woman.
“Angelica!” Evelyn called, waving a key card above her head like a tour guide with a flag. “Room 1420.”
Angelica, a tall black girl with glimmering skin and gorgeous natural hair, stepped forward and plucked the key card out of Evelyn’s hand without reaching for it. She planted a kiss on Evelyn’s cheek. “Thanks, doll.”
Evelyn blushed, and I chuckled. Not many people could throw Evelyn off balance. As Angelica waited off to the side, Evelyn distributed the rest of the room keys for the fourteenth floor. Once the bridesmaids filed into the elevator and disappeared, Evelyn came over to me and eyed the stuffed bags I carried.
“What’s all that?” she asked.
“Party favors.”
“For what?”
I shot her a wry look. “You really didn’t know what you signed up for when you agreed to be Marie’s maid of honor, did you?”
“Not at all.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved her toward the elevators. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll fill you in.”
After haphazardly sorting through the party favors and letting Evelyn in on the plans for that evening, we gathered the bridesmaids once again and took them to the bridal shop to make sure their dresses fit perfectly. Since we had seven extra girls in the wedding, not including Evelyn, it turned out to be quite the process. Each woman had to try on the dress, wait for a tailor to make changes, then carefully remove the extravagant fabric so as to not rustle the pins. After an hour, I grew tired of the constant chatter and offered to pick up lunch for everyone.
“There’s a Nando’s here,” Evelyn told me. “Just get a bunch of chicken wings and enough sides for all of us.”
“I’m vegan,” chimed in one of the bridesmaids.
“And a salad for Jennifer,” Evelyn added, drawing a crisp one-hundred dollar bill from her wallet and plunking it into my palm. Sometimes I forgot the kind of money Evelyn carried around with her. “You’ll be okay on your own?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
Leaving the dress shop, I skipped along the street and savored my freedom. The blustery wind tugged on my hair and made the skin around my nose burn, but anything was better than watching another girl try on the strapless pale pink dress Marie had picked for her bridal party.
I quickly picked up the food at Nando’s, but in my reluctance to return to the dress shop so soon, I stepped into a cafe for a cup of coffee. As I waited for the barista to make my order, my gaze drifted to the TV mounted in the corner of the room. A news report played on mute, but the subtitles soon caught my attention.
“Another woman has been reported missing in the Chicago area,” the reporter mouthed silently. “This is the third disappearance in as many months. Britney Fielden was visiting family in the Chicago suburbs, but according to her husband, she never returned to her home in New York. There is no evidence of foul play, but police are warning people, especially women, to be vigilant in the streets.”
I frowned deeply, watching the TV long after the reporter had moved on to another topic. Was this sort of thing normal in big cities? Did women go missing for no apparent reason?
“Jack. Your Americano is ready. Jack!”
The barista’s irritability and impatience broke through my stupor. I collected my coffee with a gracious nod and bowed my head against the wind as I ventured outside again.
At the dress shop, the tailors refused to let us eat near any precious length of fabric. We ended up at a trio of picnic tables in the park across the street. Thankfully, the chicken was tasty enough to distract the bridesmaids from the chilly atmosphere.
“I saw something interesting on the news,” I reported to Evelyn in a low voice. “Three other girls have gone missing from Chicago, not including Megan Hollows.”
Evelyn chowed on a chicken wing, stripping the meat from the bone in one bite. “Megan Hollows isn’t missing. You said she posted from her Twitter account.”
“But what
