Weddings Can Be Murder (18 page)

But Carol Ann had smiled at the girl and
said everything was just great.

“So, my big question for you is if you’ll be
my attendant. Will you?” Carol Ann picked up her first taco and
crunched into it.

Juliette suddenly couldn’t look at the
food.

“It’s going to be a simple ceremony. I don’t
know if my parents can even come on such short notice. Tommy has to
start the new job June fifteenth, so we have less than a month to
pull this off. We’re thinking of a small chapel or maybe even
outdoors at a park or on the beach, or if we’re really pinched for
time just a little ceremony with witnesses at a judge’s office.”
Carol Ann took a breath, picked up her second taco, and noticed
Juliette hadn’t taken a bite yet. “Aren’t you hungry?”

She picked up her first taco. “Oh, yeah,
sure.” She took a bite for show but the food tasted like a ball of
paper.

“And then I have to think about a dress. I’m
thinking it’d be dumb to go for a long gown, even though I’ve
always dreamed of one. But we need the money for moving—” Carol Ann
set down her taco. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Juliette took a deep breath. She could not
dampen her friend’s big news with her own selfishness. She put on a
bright smile. “I’m absolutely fine. I’m just so happy for you.”

“Then eat.”

“I guess it’s just a little PMS moodiness.
Keep telling me about your plans.” She forced herself to finish two
tacos while her friend went on with wedding details.

“I’ll let you know the minute we set the
actual date and place. Meanwhile, do not stress over a dress.”

“But I want your day to be special. Tell me
what kind of dress you’d like me to get. I want to do that.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”
Positively jealous that Al
didn’t propose to me first.
She masked her attitude by stuffing
the third taco into her mouth and chasing it with the rest of her
margarita.

They pooled their spare change for the tip
and went back to the Camaro. All at once, Juliette couldn’t wait to
drop off Carol Ann at her apartment so she could be alone. Wedding
chatter filled the fifteen-minute drive and they said a quick
goodbye at the curb.

Juliette barely contained herself until she
got back to the condo. She rode the elevator alone, luckily, and
entered her spacious quarters. Two dozen red roses from Al—apology
for being away for the weekend—sat on the console near the front
door. A wave of bitterness overtook her and she flung the vase
across the room. She screamed as it shattered, flinging glass and
water across the marble floor, and she sank to her knees in the
foyer.

The room was in full darkness except for the
lights beaming up from the street when her frustration finally
played out. She hauled herself to her feet, reaching for the wall
switch, telling herself how stupid to create such a mess, all for a
ridiculous emotional rant. She edged to the kitchen and got out the
broom and dustpan, sweeping broken glass, letting the motion of the
broom act as a catharsis.

Maybe I’ve been focusing on the wrong
things recently. Why would Al propose when I’m so off-and-on.
At the office she’d been suspicious and spying; at home in the
evenings she’d been no better than a whore, giving herself
cheerfully in exchange for the gifts and pleasure of his
lovemaking.
If I want a husband, I’ve got to act like a
wife—loving, caring, loyal and putting his needs first.

Okay, the feminists would have a field day
with
that
one. She laughed at herself as she put the broom
away. After a stern lecture on being true first to herself, she got
ready for bed and fell into a sleep riddled with images of Carol
Ann as a bride and herself as a dull, spinster bridesmaid.

For the next two days she performed her
office duties by rote and ignored the fact that Al had not been
around after hours. Something was up but she couldn’t bring herself
to enter the intrigue of checking his files and spying. On
Wednesday she spotted a sheriff’s department vehicle across the
street from the office. She couldn’t tell if it was Elmer Reddick
at the wheel but her suspicions were confirmed when, Thursday
afternoon, she was shopping for something to prepare for dinner and
the deputy stopped her in the aisle next to the potato chips.

“How are things, Miss Mason?” he asked,
peering at a bag of Fritos.

“Just fine.”
What do you want?
There
was no one else in sight. Had he followed her or was this a chance
encounter?

As if he’d read her thoughts he turned and
faced her squarely. “Just wondering if you’ve been following your
boss’s activities lately.”

“No more than usual. I answer phones, I type
letters, I schedule appointments.”

He seemed especially interested in that last
bit. “What appointments does he have this week?”

“I’m not telling you that!” She hated his
penetrating stare. “Business, that’s all. Nothing unusual.”

“Miss Mason, I’m not playing a game here. Al
Proletti is a dangerous man, especially when he’s pushed. He
started out small potatoes with drug shipments but he’s doing more
and more of them all the time, directing airplanes to ditch in the
swamps and offload big bundles of the stuff. It’s gone beyond bales
of pot. Now there’s cocaine and heroin. It’s not only local law
enforcement with an eye on him, and he’s handed out plenty of cash
to get certain people to look the other way. He’s working for a guy
out of New York, and that bunch plays rough.”

He glanced up the aisle, letting an elderly
woman push her cart past them. Once she was out of sight, he
continued. “Al has no loyalties.”

She started to protest. Al was very good to
his workers and office staff. Look at the generous raises he’d
given recently.

“You haven’t pissed him off yet. If he feels
he’s been betrayed, he’ll stop at nothing. Ask Ronnie Delvecchio
and Sal Oberman. Or, I should say, ask their widows. Both of those
guys ended up in the swamp, pretty well chewed up by the gators,
after doing some odd jobs for Al.”

She felt her mouth open and close.

“Look ’em up, hon. You don’t have to take my
word for it. Those stories made the news—August, two years ago. All
I’m saying is be careful. We’re building our case, little by
little. You don’t want to be caught up in this thing.” He grabbed a
bag of Fritos and strode away from her.

Juliette stared after the lawman. He was
obviously trying to scare her, maybe hoping she’d quit her job or
call him secretly with information on Al’s activities. He could
make up anything about some guys being killed.

She steered her cart toward the dairy
section. She would get the last items on her list and go home. Al
was coming over tonight and she planned to make omelets for their
late-night dinner, after she’d greeted him at the door in the black
negligee from the little paper bag he’d dropped on her desk this
afternoon. If the mood was right, she’d tell Al exactly what the
deputy was up to. He wouldn’t like it when he learned the man had
followed her into the supermarket.

* * *

The moment Al arrived he was clearly in a
mood. He hardly noticed the skimpy black outfit. She made his
favorite drink and pushed him to the couch, loosening his tie and
crawling onto his lap. It wasn’t until she’d pressed her breasts
right into his face that a smile appeared.

“Sorry, baby. I’ve been a grump, haven’t I?”
He began toying with the ribbon tie at her cleavage. “I need to
take better care of my girl.”

She dropped all thought of telling him about
Reddick that night. They went to the bedroom almost immediately and
she did everything she could think of to keep his mind off anything
but her.

Later, she offered the omelets but he said
he’d had a long day and his head was pounding. He’d better get home
and get a full night’s sleep.

“Stay here. Call Ernestina and let her know
you don’t need anything.”

His eyes flicked back to the bedroom but he
shook his head. “Nah, I’d better get going.”

He’d picked up his jacket, kissed her
forehead and was out the door before she knew it. She sighed,
pulled her robe around her and went into the kitchen to make an
omelet for herself. Well, at least it gave her an evening when she
could catch up on her bills and maybe watch Johnny Carson. She sat
on a barstool at the counter and pulled out her checkbook and the
calendar she used to track bills and birthdays and such. She had
the nagging feeling she’d forgotten to mail a card to someone back
home.

Running her finger across the dates for the
past few weeks she got a tingle in her belly. She’d missed her last
period.

“Oh, no,” she said out loud.

She rechecked the dates. She’d always made a
small mark on the date it began, usually for the purpose of being
able to warn Al when the week was coming up next time. He didn’t
want details, merely to be warned.

She ran to the bathroom, checked her supply
of tampons. Yes, there were too many. She’d definitely not used any
in more than a month. Her pills were off schedule too. How had she
messed up her routine so badly? Well, the answer was obvious—she’d
had her mind on too many other things.

She went to bed but stared at the ceiling
most of the night. What to do? Of course she would tell Al the news
right away. Well, maybe confirm it with her doctor before springing
the surprise. She would plan a beautiful dinner and really make the
moment right. He would be excited—wouldn’t he?—and they could make
plans to be married. A traditional Italian man like Al Proletti, of
course he would want them to be a family and be involved in his
child’s life. She could hardly wait to tell Carol Ann. It was so
romantic that the two longtime friends would both be getting
married so close together.

Elmer Reddick’s face appeared in her mind,
his warning about Al’s being involved in drugs. Ridiculous! She
knew her Al and he wasn’t like that. And even if he was, he would
change now, give up anything that would put the family in jeopardy.
If there was even a hint of truth to Reddick’s story, Al would just
tell that man from New York that he was no longer interested. She
sighed and eventually fell asleep.

She chose Saturday night for the big
announcement. The test at the doctor’s office had confirmed it. She
was pregnant, due next April. She could hardly contain her
excitement but she had to be sure Al was the first to know. When he
agreed to spend the whole weekend together she said she would plan
something special. They went to the arcade Saturday morning, then
did a little shopping (she found herself glancing wistfully toward
the baby department while he exchanged a shirt in menswear). They
picked out steaks at the market and went back to the condo to lie
around the pool for the afternoon. Soon, her body wouldn’t be in
such great shape for a bikini but Juliette didn’t mind. She could
hardly contain her secret until the right moment.

When Al brought the steaks in from the
hibachi on the balcony she poured glasses of red wine (she would
only drink half of hers—she’d read that alcohol was bad for the
baby). She lit candles and dished up the baked potatoes and fresh
asparagus.

“So, what’s up with you tonight, baby?
You’ve got some kind of gleam in your eye,” he teased with a smile.
“Got a sexy new outfit for me?”

She’d rehearsed what she wanted to say about
the baby, upcoming parenthood and how wonderful marriage would be.
She managed to deliver the little speech perfectly. What she’d not
planned was his reaction.

“Babe, didn’t you know? I’m already
married.”

Chapter 17

Juliette pressed her hands against her front
door, chest heaving, eyes burning, her mind awhirl. The elevator
bell dinged in the distance and she knew he was gone. Married?
Children?

Where had the wife been all this time?
Juliette had demanded details about her. The answer stung more than
anything else—None of your business.

She sank to the floor, gripping handfuls of
her hair with both fists. Her thoughts flew back to the times she’d
been at his house—the initial tour, the Christmas party, New Year’s
Eve. Their first lovemaking in his bedroom. And all this time he—no
one—had thought to mention a wife! Where was the woman on all these
occasions? Why had she seen no evidence of a female inhabitant or
children? It wasn’t possible he had a family.

Here’s what happened, she decided. He’d been
so surprised by the news of their baby and her impromptu proposal
he just didn’t know what to say. Maybe he’d used the ‘wife’ excuse
to get out of previous, unsatisfactory relationships. But this time
was different—he would see, when she approached him calmly and
rationally. Give him tonight to think about it, to begin making
plans the way she had. He would come around.

She got to her feet and stared at the dining
table. All her beautiful preparations, gone to waste. Ugly, wax
drips ran down the sides of the candles. Fat had congealed on the
untouched steaks and the butter on the baked potatoes formed awful
yellow puddles. She blew out the candles and scraped the plates
into the trash. Once the dishes were in the dishwasher, the table
and countertops wiped clean, only then did the tears come. She
found an old knitted afghan and pulled it over herself, bundling
into the corner of the sofa feeling weak and bedraggled, unable to
face going to the bedroom where she’d strewn rose petals over the
bed and burned musk-scented candles. The romantic setting mocked
her even more than the discarded special dinner had done. She
dozed, waking when the sky outside began to turn peachy with the
rising sun.

Her stomach lurched when she stood.

Well there’s proof, she thought. I really am
going through this. Her insides rebelled at the scent of last
night’s dinner in the trash, and she made her way to a cupboard
where she found some plain crackers. A few of those and a swig of
carbonated soda, and she felt a little better. She dragged herself
to the bedroom where she erased all traces of the evening’s
intentions, tossing everything including the red negligee into the
waste basket. The shower, running long and hot, soothed her body
and her mind.