Weddings Can Be Murder (10 page)

The clock ticked. Our phones stayed
silent.

Ron finally crashed, face down, on the bed
in the guest room. From the living room I heard his snore so I went
in and did the sisterly thing--I removed his boots and pulled the
comforter over him. I set his cell phone beside his hand, knowing
it was probably the only thing in the world that would wake him up
at this moment. I made myself a cup of tea and stretched out on the
couch to enjoy it. When I woke up the tea was cold, Freckles had
curled up at the base of the sofa, and I had a horrible crick in my
neck from sleeping at the odd angle. The light-up face on my phone
showed it was almost five a.m.

I got up and checked on Ron. He hadn’t moved
a muscle in more than ten hours and didn’t appear likely to. I
gently closed the door to his room and thought again about the plan
I’d hatched the previous afternoon. I didn’t dare tell Ron. It was
better he not know what I had in mind. He could claim ignorance and
his innocence would be assured.

I fed Freckles a super-early breakfast which
she gobbled without question as I bustled about, gathering
supplies. She went willingly into her crate and I peered out the
front window before opening the door. The news vans had given up
and gone away, but I had no illusions that they wouldn’t be back by
daybreak. I closed the front door behind me and crunched across the
frosty lawn to my Jeep.

I was on my way to Victoria’s house, police
and lawyers be damned.

What none of them knew was that I already
had a key to the place; I’d volunteered for plant-watering duty
while the newlyweds were to have been honeymooning. All I had to do
now was get to the front door and past the yellow crime tape
without being spotted. It was the reason I’d changed into black
jeans and hoodie. My flashlight had a semi-covered lens and I’d
even remembered to tuck latex gloves into my pockets.

I parked around the corner at the nearest
cross street. A hooded figure in black wouldn’t exactly be a
welcome figure in this neighborhood in the pre-dawn hour so I
adopted the few little things I could do to look more like a jogger
or some other kind of health nut—pushed my hood back and let my
ponytail swing as I walked merrily along as if I had every right to
be there. It didn’t much matter—no one was out and about at this
ungodly hour anyway.

As I approached Victoria’s place I spotted a
light on across the street. Good old Gladys Peabody must be baking
again (I have to admit my mouth watered slightly at the memory of
those butter cookies). The lit window was on the side, facing a
neighbor’s house. I kept my jaunty pace until it was out of sight.
Her street-facing living room window was dark. I scoped out the
street lamps at either end of the block. Neither cast enough light
to illuminate my target so I edged toward the door, disguising
myself as part of the large arbor vitae by the porch until I could
get the key in hand.

It took a little gymnastic maneuver to ease
myself between the crisscrosses of police tape without ripping any
of them, but in under thirty seconds I was inside. I locked the
door; a quick getaway would be easier through the backyard anyway.
I didn’t want to be flashing a light around but risked a quick look
to orient myself to any changes that might have happened since my
last visit.

The furniture was exactly as before, coffee
table skewed, the sofa a little out of place, pillows strewn. The
blood-stained rug had been removed and her wedding dress was gone.
For some reason, that made me sadder than anything else. I took a
deep breath. This was not the moment for thoughts of what might
have been. It was Monday morning and the neighbors were likely to
begin stirring within the hour.

I decided to skip the living room and
kitchen entirely. No doubt the police had been through them and had
taken anything of interest. At a glance, for instance, I could see
that Vic’s purse was gone, which meant the invaluable contact list
on her cell phone would be out of reach too. I paused at the hall.
Where to start?

Her home office would have the records Ron
and I had discussed so I headed that direction. Not surprisingly,
Victoria’s desk was uncluttered and immaculately clean. On top,
only a phone, a notepad, an in-tray and a cup holding pens and
pencils. She’d told me her laptop would be locked away in her home
safe in the basement while she was gone. I would check that, except
I didn’t know the combination. Would it be worth waking Ron to ask?
I needed to give that a little more thought. If she’d had an
appointment book or desk calendar they were gone now.

I picked up the phone receiver and listened
as the quick dial tone indicated unheard voicemail messages. “You
have two new messages,” it told me. I pressed the series of buttons
it asked for. “First message.” A perky female voice spoke:
“Congratulations, you’ve been selected to win—” I hung up before
learning what the fantastic prize would have been. “Second
message.” Another woman’s voice: “Hey, Victoria. Just calling to
check on my drapery fabric but I realized you are away on your
honeymoon. Congrats to you two! I’ll talk to you when you get
back.” The woman didn’t leave a name so I could only assume
Victoria would recognize the voice. I hung up without deleting
either message.

I sat in her chair and opened the drawer on
my left. It contained files tabbed with client names. Ron had
mentioned her working with several current clients but he didn’t
know most of their names. One of those little details that probably
wasn’t important enough for her to tell him—until now. The drawer
on the right contained business files of the sort everyone has—paid
bills, tax information, supplier data. I grabbed a couple, laying
them on the desk.

Along one wall were shelves filled with
decorating books, the kind with wallpaper samples and color
swatches. A display of tile samples dominated a corner of the room,
and a huge paperboard-covered book held fabrics. There were paint
chips, more fabrics and scads of catalogs—nothing I could imagine
relating to our present problem. I flipped through the books on the
shelf quickly, in case a secret diary or a note written in code
should fall my way. Nothing did.

Victoria’s bedroom was much the same as I’d
seen—except her packed bag had been rummaged by police, with lacy
underthings now water-falling down the sides almost to the floor.
There, too, if there’d been a trove of information in her travel
stuff, it had been taken away. Same with the nightstand drawers.
Even the bed pillows had been disturbed and the mattress was
cockeyed showing someone had lifted it.

Odds were, the safe was the only untouched
place in the house, unless the police had obtained the combination
or a safecracker. Against my better judgment, I decided to call
Ron.

“Where are you?” he asked with a querulous
note in his sleepy voice.

“Don’t ask. I just need one bit of
information and you can deny you ever gave it to me.”

Either he was too sleepy to process the
implications or he’d taken my attitude—the hell with waiting for
the police to solve this. He gave me the numbers.

I’d only been in Victoria’s basement a
couple of times, and she had recently redecorated it as a little
man-den for Ron’s sons. On one of my visits she’d needed to put
something away, so I knew the safe was a floor model in a corner. A
square of the flooring could be lifted once you moved a heavy floor
lamp with a big base. The recessed dial presented itself and the
information from Ron worked. The lid was heavier than I expected
but it came up and I spotted the laptop computer right away. As
long as I was blatantly breaking the law I figured I should go for
it, so I pulled everything out and stuffed it into the knapsack I’d
brought from home.

With the safe lid back in place and neatly
concealed once again, I went back to her office to gather the files
I’d pulled. They joined the rest of the plunder. I’d no sooner
crossed the living room on my way to the back door when a set of
headlights hit the wall. A car had pulled into the driveway.

Chapter 10

December, 1978

Juliette stared at the oblong velveteen box
on her desk.

“What’s this?” she asked when she sensed Al
standing behind her.

“Let’s just call it an early Christmas
present.”

She opened the box and gasped. A thin
bracelet of diamonds glittered against the black background.

“Al …” She kept her voice low, although she
knew they were alone in the office. Sheila had left for the day but
what if she forgot something and came back? “You can’t be buying me
gifts like this.”

“It’s not much. Just a little tennis
bracelet. You’re supposed to wear it when you play tennis.”

She laughed. “I don’t play tennis, Al.”

“Then you can learn. There’s a court at my
house. My coach can teach you.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d be no good at it. Plus,
you don’t take up a sport just to have a place to wear jewelry.”
She closed the box and started to hand it back but he stuck his
hands behind his back, refusing to accept it.

“Look, it didn’t cost much. I got it
wholesale from my cousin’s shop.” He reached for the box, opened it
and took the bracelet out. “Let’s put it on and see how it
looks.”

The moment he fastened the clasp at her
wrist she lost the desire to refuse the gift. It was the most
beautiful thing she owned.

“Like I said, early Christmas.” The other
women had received potted poinsettias on their desks.

For a second she thought he meant to kiss
her. “I can’t— I can’t become involved, Al. It’s not right.”

“Another boyfriend?”

“No, it’s not that. Just … you’re my boss.”
She kept her eyes down.

“I don’t force myself on women. Even ones as
beautiful as you.” He turned toward his own office. “Enjoy the
bracelet. It looks a lot better on your wrist than in the box.”

Juliette covered her typewriter and picked
up her coat, putting the velveteen box into her purse. She hoped
she hadn’t hurt his feelings.

“Thank you, Al. It’s lovely, a very
thoughtful and extravagant gift.”

He gathered his jacket and switched off his
light. “Don’t forget the Christmas party tomorrow night at my
place. You can bring a date if you want.”

The party had been the talk of the office
for weeks. Juliette didn’t have a date. She’d thought of inviting
Carol Ann but her friend never had a nice thing to say about Al, so
why should she get to see the fabulous mansion? Forget her.

Sheila knew Juliette hadn’t bought herself a
car yet and had offered a ride. It would work out fine, the two
women going stag, since Sheila’s husband couldn’t get away from his
restaurant-management job. Juliette saw herself doing her co-worker
a favor, as much as the other way around.

Al locked the door and walked toward his
Porsche, noticing Juliette heading toward the street.

“I can give you a ride home,” he called
out.

She shook her head. “That’s okay. I have a
stop to make.”

He looked as if he would gladly take her on
her errand but she merely smiled, waved and kept walking to the bus
stop. She didn’t really have any other plans. The gift of the
bracelet and Al’s increasing attention were too much distraction
already. She was half afraid of her own actions if she were to get
in the car with him.

Friday night. She plopped into her seat on
the bus, mildly annoyed, bored, uneasy … she couldn’t define the
feeling exactly. No doubt her edgy mood was partly due to Al’s gift
just now. She stretched her arm slightly so the bracelet showed
below her cuff. But her discontent was not entirely his fault.

Every Friday night for years she and Carol
Ann had plans—movies, shopping, dinner at one apartment or the
other. If nothing else, they would simply hang out and enjoy
glasses of wine and talk about the latest books they’d read. But
the last few weeks, things had cooled. Part of it was Carol Ann’s
attitude about Al—true—but then another guy had come along.

Juliette had met her friend’s new boyfriend
twice. First impression was he was exactly that, a boy. Tommy was
their age but seeing Carol Ann with him took Juliette right back to
Texas and the drama of boy-girl stuff there. He’d been away at
college, come home to Florida at Thanksgiving, and was now talking
about not going back to school after the winter break. Stupid. He
had a semester left to graduate but couldn’t do without Carol Ann
another six months? How high school was that?

Compared to Al, Tommy seemed like such a
kid. Juliette bit her tongue every time she talked to Carol Ann
anymore. Things were changing. One side of her said it was
inevitable—life changed, things happened. The other side couldn’t
believe it. Your very best friend since second grade just didn’t do
that to you. Tears blurred her vision and she nearly missed her
stop.

She stumbled up the street to her apartment
and let herself in. The beige walls she had once thought fresh and
clean-looking were now just bland. The rental furniture depressed
her. The one piece of art on the living room wall was a cheap
printed thing from K-Mart. She’d been so wrapped up in her job that
she’d not even brought home a houseplant. Now that she was earning
more money she could afford a better place. She turned on a lamp,
put a frozen dinner in the microwave and went into her bedroom.
Moving, she decided, would be her New Year’s resolution.

Hanging from her closet door was the one
bright spot in the apartment—the dress she’d bought for tomorrow
night’s Christmas party. The red satin fit her curves precisely and
the low neckline accentuated the best parts. Together, the dress
and shoes had cost nearly half a paycheck; she couldn’t afford to
do that again, not if she wanted a new apartment.

From her tiny kitchen alcove the microwave
dinged. She grabbed a fork and peeled back the wrapper from her
meal. The idea of new surroundings excited her and she pulled out
her bank book, going through it while she ate. There wasn’t a
sufficient amount in savings for much in the way of furniture, but
she was determined not to go for another furnished place. Enough
with the saggy couches, stained upholstery and take-what-you-get
mattresses that always came with these places. With her salary she
could qualify for a loan to get her own things.