Alibi (25 page)

  6. Do you think she should have kept the baby or do you agree with her decision to have the abortion?

  7. Do you think that she and Billy would have gotten married if no one found her in Murfreesboro, Tennessee?

  8. What would her mother have said if she were alive?

  9. How many deaths were there related to the alibi in this book?

10. What should Daisy have done differently?

11. How can other young girls learn from her?

D
iana Praeliou emerged from the kitchen patio. “It’s absolutely beautiful out today,” she said to her husband as he kissed
her cheek. “A perfect day for a hot air balloon ride,” she said, like a kid wanting a lollipop in a candy store.

“I wish I could, but you know I’m out of here today.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” she said, having completely forgotten. “I remember, you did say that you had a convention in Miami, and
next month, the Doctrine of Medical Excellence Ceremony, which I’m shopping for a dress to wear to as we speak.”

“I know my schedule is tight.”

“You think?” she asked sarcastically. “Do you think you could pencil me in for a quiet dinner alone, just the two of us?”

“Someone has to pay the bills around here, Diana.”

“This is true, and you do a wonderful job, honey,” she said jokingly, wrapping her arms around him.

“Do you remember the first time I ever hugged you?” he asked, as he lovingly stared into his wife’s eyes.

The first time we hugged. Only he would remember the first time we hugged. Jeez, he always does this to me.

“Hmmm, now let me see, darling,” she said, playing for more time.

“You don’t remember. I might as well tell you.”

“No, I do, I do, wait,” she said, as her husband began fidgeting and tickling at her sides.

“I know, stop that, our first hug, body to body, was at the game. Remember, the Hawks won the game seven to zero, remember,
and I was there and I ran down on the field and you hugged me, swung me around, and squeezed the living daylights out of me,
in all that heavy armor you was wearing, all big and strong,” she said, batting her perfectly fitted eyelashes at him as she
felt his hand sliding down her back and into the middle of her legs.

“Now,” she said, as she passionately kissed him.

“Now,” he said, as he lay down on top of her, simply destroying her first attempt at getting dressed for the day. They passionately
made love as they did most mornings, a perfect start to every waking day they spent together. Webster came inside his wife,
taking less than five minutes from start to finish, but leaving Diana with a feeling that could last an eternity.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” she said, smiling as she wrapped her arms around her husband and moved her leg in between
his, holding on to him as if to let him go would be to let go her last breath.

“I wish I didn’t have to go either, but can you wait for Spain or what?” he asked, kissing the tip of her nose.

“No, no, I absolutely can’t. Spain is going to simply be the best, our twentieth wedding anniversary and we’re going to see
the bull fighting. Oh, my God, Webster, can you believe it’s been twenty years?” she asked.

“No, it doesn’t seem like we’ve been married that long.”

“I know, right, but it’s been the best ride of my life and you’ve been the best husband a girl could ask for. I do dreadfully
adore you, and I am most proud of you,” she said before kissing his lips gently.

“I love you too, more than you will ever know.”

He kissed her cheek as several knocks on their bedroom door startled them.

“Yes, Rosa,” she said, as Webster walked into the bathroom and out of sight.

“Excuse me, Señora Praeliou, would you like me to make your breakfast now?” asked Rosa, her housekeeper.

“No, I think I’ll take a ride this morning. I would like a hot bath drawn for me when I come back and then I’ll have my breakfast,”
she said, tying her hair in a long ponytail on top of her head.

“You going riding?”

“Yes. I will see you when you get back. Safe travels, my love,” she said, lending a quick peck of the lips to seal the deal
of safely returning to her. While Webster showered, she quickly dressed and grabbed a pair of rusty brown Valentino riding
boots from her closet.

The stables where her champion stallion thoroughbreds were kept was a half-mile walk from the house. Carlos, their butler,
had a golf cart. Rosa used a walkie-talkie to reach him and he was at the side door waiting to whisk Diana away to the stables.
Polo, Misfit, and Rags were all retired now from racing, but they had made their owner, Diana Praeliou, a very rich woman.
Misfit had won the Kentucky Derby and had taken the Triple Crown. Misfit had made Diana rich beyond her wildest dreams. Rags
had won four Grade One races, including the Breeders Cup Classic at Belmont Park, and he was Horse of the Year in 2004, 2005,
and 2006. He retired with a record of twelve wins, nine second-place finishes, and one third-place finish. His career earnings
topped $3,453,220, no cents required. She herself would have never believed it had she not known better. Polo, until he injured
his left leg, had been a prize-winning racehorse. His record far outweighed that of Misfit and Rags. He took home first place
at every race, and every horse show, but after he fell and suffered a fractured leg, she never raced him again. Instead, he
retired to a quiet, tranquil life with her. “We might be a little broken, hey, Polo, but we’re survivors, huh, boy,” she’d
always tell him, feeling most attached to him and most grateful for all the high times he had brought her.

It was Webster who first introduced Diana to the thrill of riding. Until then, the last creature she ever dreamed of having
for a pet was a horse, but Diana loved her stallions so passionately that she cared for them personally. Even though she had
stable boys to walk them, feed them, and brush them daily, she still every day was hands-on with them. For her, they were
the babies she never had, and she loved each of them dearly. Some women get dogs from their husbands, Diana got thoroughbreds.
Sometimes she thought she was closer to her horses than she was to her husband. All the time he spent at the hospital and
at Bio One’s pharmaceutical facility took up the time he would have spent being the perfect, doting husband. But Diana understood,
and she gave her husband all the mental and physical support he needed to be one of the creative, genius forces behind Bio
One’s search for a cure to Alzheimer’s. It was unbelievable, and she would have never imagined twenty years ago that her life
would be this rich in luxury or love, but it was, and now her husband was receiving recognition for his contributions in medicine.
His discoveries were groundbreaking. The practice of medicine had led Webster all over the world to care for the sick. And
over the years he had grown into the security of having a beautiful, strong, faithful wife by his side. Not only was Diana
the epitome of grace and charm, but she had a feminine quality that other women seemingly could not project. She walked into
a room and effortlessly illuminated it. People were attracted to her beauty and charm, and of course most of the men in their
tight-knit circle of friends secretly lusted to share her bed. They were unable to take their eyes off her, even in the presence
of her husband. If he hadn’t been told what a lucky man he was at least one hundred thousand times, his name wasn’t Webster
Praeliou. Her every move was watched, from how she held her husband’s hand, to how she danced the waltz, to every bite she’d
take of her liver pâte. And she commanded respect. Had she wished for others to bow as if in the presence of true royalty,
then it would have been so. In the secret society of Scottsdale’s who’s who, Webster and Diana Praeliou were at the top of
the list, invited to every event and envied by everyone who had the pleasure of being in their company. They were the social
couple of the century, throwing fundraisers and donating time to raising funds for city and state officials. Diana Praeliou
could throw a barbecue in her backyard and rake in more than five hundred thousand dollars for charity. She was a mover and
a shaker and she made things happen. Every year Diana threw a Christmas party in their home for all Webster’s family and their
friends. The guest list was over five hundred people and counting. Every name on the list was someone of great importance
from the city and state politicians to the medical professionals associated with her husband’s practice and every other scientist
on his team from Bio One. They were all in attendance. No doubt, Webster and Diana Praeliou had the perfect life, she was
the perfect wife, and he was the perfect husband. They were two souls that had joined together as man and wife in a union
truly blessed by God. And in the past twenty years, there had been no man or woman who could come between them. How many women
could say they were married to a neurosurgeon, a genius, a rich, handsome genius who happened to be on the cusp of a cure
for Alzheimer’s? Forget the money. They were rich beyond their wildest dreams, but then again, money meant nothing, they already
had everything they wanted financially and materially, and most important, they had each other, and for the two of them, that
was all that mattered.

Diana finished her ride with Rags, patted him down, told him what a good boy he was at least one hundred times, then called
for Carlos on the walkie-talkie. Once in her bedroom, she began to undress as Rosa prepared her bath and turned on the plasma
flat-screen hanging on the wall above the Jacuzzi. She put on a robe and walked into the wall-to-wall marble bathroom. She
handed her robe to Rosa as Rosa held her hand and helped her sit down.

“
Bien?
” Rosa asked.

“
Si, bien,
Rosa,
gracias.
”

The Jacuzzi sat kitty-corner under a large window with a perfect, picturesque view of the Arizona desert and Camel Back Mountain.
Several large saguaros, cactuses, and palo verdes lined the yard. There were scattered patches of red fairy dusters and desert
willows and a few summer poppies strategically placed around the backyard. Arizona was truly the home of mother earth and
all the holistic benefits of the desert were there at Diana’s fingertips. At forty-two years old, she looked as if she could
pass for her late twenties or early thirties.

“Señora Praeliou, will you be eating downstairs today?” asked Rosa.

“No, I’ll eat on the bedroom balcony. Bring the newspaper and the mail also,” she ordered before pressing a button and turning
on the twenty-two-jet Jacuzzi.

Diana finished her bath and dressed in a cool tan-colored sweatsuit and white tee. Her toes were perfectly manicured, and
she slipped on a pair of Bonjour Fleurette slippers and made her way to the balcony. A tray containing fresh fruit, toast,
preserves, and freshly squeezed orange juice was waiting on the master bedroom balcony. She sat down, glanced at the headlines
in today’s
Arizona Capitol Times
, and then started to open the small pile of mail.

The envelope she held in her hand was handwritten, barely legible, foreign to her. She opened it and pulled out a folded sheet
of yellow tablet paper. Small and large cut-out letters that had been pasted on the page read: “I know who you are, Daisy.
Does your husband? Call this number 602-555-3773 at 4:00
P.M
. today or I call Webster!”

Large letters, small letters, red letters, black letters, white letters all cut out and pasted on yellow tablet letter paper.
She read it again, and again, and again as a horrible feeling of uncertainty fell on her shoulders like a heavy burden. It
seemed as though someone was out there, watching her.
He called Webster by name. Oh, my God, what am I going to do?
She folded the note back up and put it back in the envelope.

“What am I going to do?”

“I so sorry, you talk to me, Señora?” asked Rosa, who was coming in to take the tray.

“Oh, my God, you startled me,” said Diana. She had not realized Rosa was in the room behind her. “Rosa, please, some privacy
for one moment.”

“Do you need anything, Señora?”

“No, no, just a few minutes alone.”

“
Si,
Señora,” Rosa said, closing the bedroom door behind her.

Diana began to pace across the floor of the room.
What do they want? Why, why now, after all these years, why?
All those years of lying, pretending, and living a life that was a lie. She thought back to when she was younger, to all
the mistakes of her past. She thought she had put them to rest, skeletons in a locked closet. She had paid the price and been
given another chance at life. But now, all that was turning upside down and her past was here, right here in her present.
Jesus, what am I going to do?
She had no options. The bottom line was Webster could never, ever find out who she really was or any other sordid detail
of her dirty, trifling life. Her secrets had to remain safe and unknown. It would ruin her marriage, ruin her life, and ruin
everything. No, her secrets must never ever be exposed. She would do whatever had to be done to keep her past life a lie.
She had to. She had no other choice. It was the only way to protect her husband and to protect their perfect life.