Weddings Can Be Murder (16 page)

She had a hard time concentrating on her
typing and found herself whiting out a lot of mistakes. A picture
of the florid-faced deputy stayed in her head. He was probably just
jealous. Al had become hugely successful, lived in a mansion,
bought lavish gifts for his girlfriend. And Reddick—his life must
seem completely dull and dreary in comparison. Life in a drab brown
uniform and squad car, a public servant’s salary that probably
didn’t go far enough. There was probably a chubby wife and three
extremely average kids at home. No wonder he was jealous of his old
schoolmate. That had to be it.

Even if it is just jealousy, she told
herself, the man could be dangerous to Al. Might try to frame him
for something, just to make him suffer. She vowed to keep an eye on
the situation. If she heard anything more, she would warn Al before
Reddick could cause trouble.

She rolled a fresh sheet of stationery into
the typewriter and redid the botched letter.

* * *

She arrived a few minutes late for work the
next day. After their beautiful dinner together, they went back to
the condo where Al had been especially attentive, with a special
bottle of wine and a new tape of romantic music. They’d danced on
the balcony and made love with a tenderness and passion that took
her breath away. Midnight came much too quickly and she asked him
to stay the night. At first he’d demurred but finally said he would
call Ernestina and let her know not to wait up.

“She worries about me like her own son,” he
said.

He went into the living room while Juliette
took off her makeup and finished her nightly routine, and he came
back with two snifters of brandy.

“One more romantic touch for the perfect
evening,” she said with a luxuriant smile.

“I’ll leave first in the morning,” he told
her. “You sleep in, baby.”

And so she had. When she walked into the
office she thought there was a knowing look on Sheila’s face, even
though she’d told Al to make the girls think she’d had an early
dental appointment. She went first to the kitchenette for coffee,
then carried her mug and purse to her desk. The connecting door was
closed but she’d not seen any strange cars in the parking lot, so
he must be alone. Maybe he’d like a good morning kiss. She opened
the door.

“… not on the record,” he said, pulling a
sheaf of pages toward himself.

The other person in the room was Marion, who
stood at the boss’s side. She practically flinched when Juliette
walked in.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was
here.”

Marion gave her a look that said,
obviously not.

Al slid the papers under his blotter in a
move so smooth most people wouldn’t have noticed.

Juliette fumbled for words, being that the
kiss offer wasn’t exactly the thing to say now. “Just letting you
know I’m in.”

“Dental appointment go okay?” he asked with
an impartial smile.

“Just perfect.” She backed out.

A minute later she heard the other door open
and close. Marion had gone back to her office. Al appeared at
Juliette’s door right away.

“Sorry, that was a little awkward,” he
said.

“Honey, it’s your office. You don’t have to
explain to me.”

Something in his expression told her those
were exactly his thoughts. He’d merely been polite.

“So, what are we working on today?” she
asked.

He stepped back to his desk and brought out
two cassette tapes of dictation. She was debating whether to ask
about the other papers, the ones he’d taken from Marion, but her
phone rang.

“Al Proletti’s office,” she answered.

She didn’t know the male voice and when she
asked who was calling, he said, “Tell him it’s New York.”

Okay … She turned to Al. “New York
calling.”

His smile dropped away and he stepped
quickly into his own space, pushing the door shut on his way to his
desk. The door didn’t click firmly and Juliette noticed that it
gaped open about a half inch. In case he looked her direction, she
made a show of putting paper in the typewriter and placing one of
the tapes into the machine.

His tone started out jovially enough, a
greeting to someone he knew fairly well, but changed completely
once the other man spoke.

“I know, but there were circumstances,” he
said.

Silence as he listened to the other man.
Juliette began typing furiously, eyes toward her page, even though
she had not yet turned on the machine with the dictated tape.

Al’s voice again: “… had to ditch … not sure
how much they left behind.”

Again, she typed while he listened.

“That part of it’s fine. I got all the
paperwork.”

More silence on his part, punctuated by
attempts to interject, being interrupted by the man at the other
end.

Juliette typed, caught no more before he
slammed the phone down. Through the tiny crack in the doorway she
saw him, elbows on the desk, fingers gripping the sides of his
head. A violent oath, a palm slapping the desktop. He stood, his
eyes scanning the room.

She quickly looked away from the door,
sending her attention toward her work. If he spotted the fact that
the door hadn’t been closed, he didn’t acknowledge it. A minute
later she heard him telling Sheila he was going out. The Porsche
started and left the parking lot with a roar.

Juliette wasted no time strolling into his
office, all business-as-usual, with the fake typed letter in her
hand. His lobby door was closed so she edged the connecting door
shut as well. The mysterious papers were still under his blotter
and she pulled them out.

Handwritten entries on some kind of crude
form, each a half-sized sheet of flimsy paper. The printed
information was in Spanish, the handwritten parts in some kind of
sketchy code. 540 Kilo said one of them, 200 Kilo on another.

She heard a sound in the hallway, jammed the
flimsy sheets back under the blotter and hugged her other letter to
her chest as she walked back into her office, hoping her composure
hadn’t slipped too badly. Marion stood in the doorway to the
hall.

“Hi Marion, can I help you?” Rarely did the
bookkeeper come in here, and Juliette was certain her pounding
heart must be visible.

“Just wondered if you wanted a cup of tea.
I’m heading for the kitchen to get myself one.”

“Thanks, but I still have coffee here.”
Juliette flashed her a smile.

The older woman gave her a hard look. Had
she only now figured out Juliette was sleeping with the boss? Or
did she suspect her younger co-worker of spying? Marion didn’t say
another word, just headed toward the kitchen.

Juliette practically fell into her chair,
her knees felt so weak. She fiddled with the tape machine but her
mind was on those pages under Al’s blotter. What had he been
talking about and how did those papers relate? She wished there was
a way to get copies of the pages and study them, but she dared not
handle them again, especially with Marion’s eagle eye now trained
on her.

Chapter 15

I sat in my Jeep outside the Brackman home a
few minutes, deciding what to do next. The other email, the one
from Ginny Fields, might be worth a follow-up. Her address was way
across the city, so I called the number I’d gotten from Victoria’s
guest list. The call went to voice mail so I left a brief message
and clicked off, fairly certain I’d never hear back from her—my
same old worry about the reception any of Ron’s family would
receive from friends of Vic’s who’d had an earful of the news.
Halfway back to the office, my phone buzzed.

Not a fan of cell phones and driving, a
quick glance showed Ginny Fields’s number and I hit the button to
accept the call anyway. I tapped the speaker button and set the
phone on the console beside me.

“Ginny Fields here. I received a call from
you.”

“Yes, Ginny. Thanks so much for getting
right back to me.” I gave the quick introduction, approximately the
same thing I’d said to Emily earlier. “I’m on the road right now,
maybe twenty minutes from your address. I wonder if we might meet
for a few minutes? I’m trying to track down any type of useful
information about Victoria.”

A long pause.

“I don’t know what I can tell you, Charlie.
She decorated my house and worked for some of my neighbors.”

“But you became friends. You were invited to
her wedding. You wrote to let her know about your husband’s
surgery.”

“Well, all that’s true. How did you know
about my email and the surgery?”

“My brother and I are Victoria’s family.
We’re scared to death and we’re trying to find answers. Can you
spare me even a
little
time? I can meet you somewhere—just
name it.”

A sigh she didn’t bother to conceal came
across the airwaves. “Well, okay. I’m just finishing some shopping
at ABQ Uptown. Meet me at the Starbucks there.”

Good—a lot closer for me. “I’ll see you
there in ten minutes.”

Although I would have preferred a more
private setting and a friendlier invitation, I was at the point
where I would take what I could get. I spent an extra couple of
minutes finding the coffee place and a parking slot. I hoped Ginny
wouldn’t be a stickler and leave before I got there. Lunch hour had
slid right past me and my energy for dramatics was severely
lagging.

I recognized her by the pile of shopping
bags surrounding her chair. Plus, she looked like the Tanoan type,
with chic casual clothing and a pricey manicure. She’d chosen a
table in the corner farthest from the two other patrons of the
shop. I grabbed a high-octane something-or-other, although it was
probably the last thing I needed. To convince myself I was making a
healthy choice I added a thick slice of banana nut bread to my
order since it was the only thing in the whole place resembling
fruit.

“Ginny? Thanks so much for meeting me,” I
said while the barista whipped my coffee to pure frothiness. She
sent a tight smile my way and went back to something on the screen
of her phone.

I took my seat across from her and offered
to split the banana bread. She gave one shake of the head. Silly
me. She was obviously one of those women who’s always on a diet,
despite her size six figure.

“So, as I mentioned on the phone, Ron and I
are partners in a private investigation firm and we’re trying to
work along with the police and hotline folks to get any leads on
what may have happened to Victoria and where she is now.”

“I have to say I was shocked to hear it. I’d
RSVP’d with regrets on the wedding invitation. My husband is still
recovering from surgery and we’re having to curtail our social
engagements for a few weeks.”

“I hope he’s mending well?”

“Oh, yes. He’s feeling much better, thank
you.”

“So the first you heard of the wedding being
cancelled was on TV. That must have been startling.”

“And, of course, the things they’re saying
about the groom. I’d never met him, but of course Victoria was
obviously very taken with him.”

Taken with him? Okay, I guess that’s one way
to say head-over-heels in love. I sent Ginny a prim little smile of
my own.

“My brother is devastated, of course. To
have something happen to his bride just hours before the ceremony
…”

“So, what can I do for you? I’m afraid my
recent contacts with Victoria consisted of a lunch about three
weeks ago and my one email, simply because she’d asked about my
husband.”

“I’d gotten the impression you and she
became friends after she decorated your home. I was hoping maybe
she’d said something in recent days, maybe told you if anything was
worrying her.”

“Well, I’ve referred several influential
friends to Victoria as clients. They all seemed happy with her
work, except Ida Van Horn, who is something of a pill anyway. She
threw a bit of a fit over a delay with the fabric for her sofa. I
supposed Victoria was concerned about that, since she would be
going away on her honeymoon, which would delay the job even
further.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of
threats, danger … something life-and-death.” I was beginning to
tire of this self-indulgent line, where a late fabric delivery was
as important as a missing person.

“Afraid not. As I said, Victoria and I were
more on an occasional-lunch level than real confidants.” She took
the last sip of her coffee and began to shuffle in her seat,
clearly as impatient to be out of my company as I was hers.

I managed to stick one of my business cards
into the top of her designer handbag as she stood up. “If you think
of anything—anything at all she might have said that could help us
find her—please give me a call.”

At last Ginny seemed to take me seriously.
She sent me a genuine smile and patted my shoulder as she scooted
by. “I do hope you get the answers, and I really want it to turn
out that Victoria comes home safely.”

She walked out and I saw her slip into a
Mercedes parked at the curb. I doubted she would give our
conversation a second thought. What a difference between this
‘friendship’ of Vic’s and the relationship with Emily Brackman. The
woman with triplets had given me more time and information than
this society lady. Ah well, that was simply the state of the
situation. I sat there a while longer, savoring my snack and
coffee—both of which were very good—and making a few notes.

The only thing I’d gotten from Ginny Fields
was the name of Ida Van Horn, and since this was a current client
of Victoria’s it seemed well worth the effort to contact her. I
called the office and asked Ron to look at the wedding list I’d
left on my desk to see if the Van Horns were invited guests. They
weren’t.

“Hold on a minute,” he said.

I didn’t remember that our phone system
played classical music while a person waited. We must have chosen
it for its soothing qualities. At least it worked that way on
me.