At the Chamberlain Winery five miles away in the heart of the Piedmont wine country, there was another group of workers preparing the reception. Long tables adorned with damask linens, mercury-glass votives, and elaborate hydrangea centerpieces awaited the 150 guests now seated in the pews and flipping through hymnals below her. Within hours, those guests would dance to a full Irish band overlooking the vineyard while dining on stations of cheeses from around the world—Manchegos, smoked Goudas, and bleus—then moving to short ribs, shrimp with garlic sauce, and finally a plated combination of a filet mignon with an herb-crusted salmon and patatas bravas. Around eight, they’d cut the wedding cake—a whimsical aqua-and-gold confection consisting of three layers of white almond cake topped with a cream cheese and buttercream frosting evoking just a hint of almond extract. Their friends and family would drink the wines that thrived during the humid Virginia summers—the peppery Cabernet Francs, tannic Nebbiolos, and creamy Viogniers all poured into heavy crystal Sasaki goblets with orbed stems.

Lara had designed every detail. In her mind, she was already worrying about the reception details, needing to get started, get moving. Minutes ago, the activity that had swarmed around her had all but disappeared and an eerie quiet had set in, the rattling boom from the storm providing a welcome reprieve from the stillness. She’d been dressed and ready for an hour now, the photographer capturing every moment of preparation from her hair, to the makeup, and finally the dress.

She lifted the bulk of her skirt and, like an extra from Gone with the Wind, rustled toward the hall. When she didn’t see anyone, she went back to the window, but then heard faint whispering and turned back to the hallway to see that Fred Sutton, the town’s undertaker and Todd’s stepfather, was talking with her mother in hushed tones.

Finally. It was starting.

Their voices rose and fell. Lara turned her attention back to the window, sure whatever details the two of them were tackling didn’t concern her.

Fred was heading back down the stairs when, out of the corner of her eye, Lara saw him stop, then march down the hall toward her, the floor pulsing with every heavy footstep. He placed his thick hands on her forearms with such force that he nearly lifted her up off the floorboards. His sudden movement shocked her so much that she stepped back, almost toppling over a half-moon kindergarten table behind her. Fred leaned in and whispered in her ear, his lips touching her borrowed diamond earring. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

Had she misheard? Lara spoke her next words carefully. “He’s not here?”

Fred looked down at his black, mirror-shiny rental shoes. “Not exactly.”

What did not exactly mean? She looked over at her mother for clarification. Audrey seemed to be taking in this information as she would news of a car wreck.