Bride & Groom

getting my hair and nails done. It made sense for each of us to be mobile. Still, as Steve’s van followed behind my Blazer out Route 2, I missed his company and kept glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure he was with me.
    As Steve had remarked, Mac and Judith’s house was conveniently close to Cambridge as well as to Belmont, Brookline, and Newton. For once, there was no traffic by the Fresh Pond Mall or on Route 2. Only twenty minutes or so after we’d left home, I turned into the long wooded driveway that led to Mac and Judith’s house. One car was parked in the rounded area at the end of the drive. I couldn’t tell whether it was Mac’s or Judith’s, but Steve said it was Mac’s. Almost everything about the house looked just as it had on Saturday when we’d arrived for dinner. In the morning light, I couldn’t tell whether any lights were on. As Steve and I walked to the front entrance, I noticed that two big pots of blue asters now sat on either side of the door. The glass panels were clean, and the hardware still shone. No sound came from the house. Steve rang the bell. We waited silently.
    Reaching past Steve, I rang the bell again. No one answered. Then I rapped impatiently, just as Claire Langceil had done. Feeling annoyed, I said, “Why would you summon a person on some urgent mission the day before her wedding, and then not answer the door?”
    Steve replied to my question by trying the handle and then by opening the unlocked door. “Mac?” he called. “Judith?” His deep, strong voice reverberated in the spacious entryway. It seemed to descend the stairs to Mac’s office and to ascend to the first floor. “Mac? Judith? It’s Steve and Holly.” This time, he shouted. He must have been audible throughout the large house, even in the bedrooms and in Judith’s study on the top floor.
    I’m not a reader of gothic novels, but I didn’t need to be one to have the vaguely unreal sense that we’d been cast as characters in some melodrama, or perhaps in a parody of one. Even so, I felt compelled to play my role. “Mac?” I called. “I’m here. Where are you? Judith, are you here?”
    With no discussion, Steve and I simultaneously decided that enough time had elapsed to justify our actually entering the house. Also by unspoken agreement, we headed side by side up the stairs in search of Mac or Judith. The immense living room, with the fireplace at one end and the dining table at the other, was as tidy as it had been when we’d arrived for dinner. There was no fire. The ashes had been removed and the hearth cleaned. Except for a basket of yellow chrysanthemums, the table was bare. The kitchen, too, was neat and presentable, but it showed signs of use. The scent of coffee lingered, and a large skillet in the dish drainer was still damp. A few droplets of water were visible on the tile floor near a large blue pottery dish that had a blue floral motif and bore Uli’s name. The dish was half full of water.
    Noticing a collection of message pads and a pen on a counter beneath a wall phone, I said in an undertone, “Maybe there’s a note.”
    “Why leave a note there?” Steve asked sensibly. “Why not on the front door?” He, too, spoke very softly, as if we’d become intruders who wanted to avoid detection.
    Still, I checked. The message pads were blank. As if compelled to search for proof that I was expected, I ran my eyes over the cabinets, counters, and appliances. The kitchen was remarkably uncluttered. The cooking utensils must have been in drawers or cupboards. A wall calendar with a photograph of a Bernese mountain dog hung near the phone, but there was no corkboard or message board.
    “Nothing,” I said. Suddenly inspired, I called, “Uli! Uli, come! Here! Uli, here!”
    We listened, but heard nothing.
    “Probably with Judith,” Steve said.
    A quick look in the other rooms on that floor revealed no one. The bathroom was obviously meant only for guests: Small lilac towels hung on a rack, and there were no bottles of shampoo, no tubes of toothpaste, no cosmetics. What seemed to be a guest room held a double bed, a dresser, and little else. Another room served as a pantry and storage area. With a sense of increasing alarm, I headed upstairs. Steve followed. Absurdly, we called out Mac’s and Judith’s names. When I reached the landing, I looked through the open door of Judith’s little study and then entered. In contrast to the rest of the house, the room was messy,