Weddings Can Be Murder (19 page)

At her closet door, she debated carefully.
How she presented herself at work today could make or break
everything. She would be very businesslike and offer to take Al to
lunch. In a public place they could speak calmly and rationally.
She would not succumb, as she did last night, to hysterics in order
to keep him. And he would surely be calm enough to talk reasonably
to her about the future. She chose her best suit and a plain white
blouse, then pulled her hair back the way he’d often commented he
liked it.

When she arrived at the office, his car was
not in the lot. She parked and walked toward the front door, her
spine straight, her head high.

Marion stood beside Sheila’s desk, the two
conversing casually. For all Juliette’s intentions of first
speaking with Al, she couldn’t help herself.

“Is Al married?” she blurted out.

Sheila was the first to look at her but
Marion answered.

“He is.” The older woman’s expression held a
trace of humor. “I take it he’s only recently mentioned it to
you?”

Juliette looked toward Sheila. Why hadn’t
she said anything?

Sheila shrugged. “I didn’t know. Honestly.
You’ve seen him around here. He doesn’t confide things to me. It’s
all business.”

“But you aren’t shocked.”

“Not especially.” Sheila stood and came
around the side of the desk, placing an arm around Juliette’s
shoulders. “Honey, guys like him do this all the time. It’s in
their nature to play around.”

“Has his wife ever come here?”

Marion spoke up. “Al keeps business and
personal things completely separate. I doubt she even knows exactly
what he does.”

Juliette thought of the snippets of
overheard conversation, the warnings from Elmer Reddick. She would
bet the wife hadn’t a clue about
anything
Al did.

“But the Christmas party at his house … was
she hiding somewhere upstairs while we were all there?”

Again, that smug little pinch around
Marion’s mouth. “That mansion isn’t where his family lives. He’s
got another house and he keeps them isolated in a country club
setting and the kids in private schools.”

“Where?”

“I’m not telling you that, Juliette. He’s a
private man and that’s one aspect of his life he lets no one touch,
especially not the girlfriend.”

Sheila’s comment about men of Al’s type. “So
I’m not the first girlfriend on the side, am I?”

Both women looked at her as if that were the
stupidest question in the world. She lifted her chin and started
toward her office.

“Don’t start anything with him,” Sheila
called out. “It wouldn’t be smart to fight with him over this. Just
accept him and take what you can get out of the deal.”

Marion was right behind Juliette in the
hall. “Al’s business is complicated, sweetie. Don’t make another
stupid mistake by asking too many questions.”

Juliette went into her office while Marion
continued to the kitchen.

How dare the old bat! Calling her sweetie
was salt in the wound. The woman cared nothing for Juliette; she
was just rubbing her face in her situation. She closed her door and
sat down, letting out a deep breath.

She would show Marion. Being involved with
Al wasn’t a stupid mistake—he was her future, her baby’s father.
She would continue with her plan.

When he walked into his office an hour
later, Juliette kept her head high and finished the letter she was
typing before acknowledging him. She carried the letter to his desk
for a signature and gave a tentative smile.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said. “Can
we have lunch today and talk things out?”

If he’d been prepared for a screaming match
he was pleasantly surprised by her attitude. “Sure, babe. I
probably shouldn’t have walked out on you.”

He signed the letter and she went back to
her desk.
See, Marion? We’re adults and we can rationally
discuss anything at all.

They drove to the restaurant in his Porsche,
reminding Juliette of the lavish lifestyle she had so quickly
adapted to during the past months. He’d chosen her favorite place,
which she took as a sign of his love and sentimental feelings for
her. He held her chair, ordered wine while she placed the linen
napkin in her lap. This was a good start.

During the drive she’d planned her words.
Once the waiter left, she began.

“I have to admit to being completely
surprised when you told me about your wife. Honey, why didn’t you
say something earlier? We’re all adults. I’m sure we could have … I
don’t know … worked out something.”

“You didn’t need to know. One thing you’ll
learn about me is that my life is compartmentalized on a
need-to-know basis. This was something you didn’t need to
know.”

She took a slow breath. “I understand that
they
live in a different house, not the one you’ve taken me
to?”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement as he
buttered the tip of a breadstick.

“Which works out really well. Your current
wife won’t even have to move. You can divorce her quietly and when
we’re married I’ll move into the mansion with you.”

He pointed the breadstick at her. “Won’t
happen, sweetheart.”

“You can move into the condo with me.” Her
voice faltered only a little.

Al carefully set the breadstick on his
plate, sending a look toward the waiter who’d started to approach.
The young man veered away.

“You aren’t getting it, baby. There will be
no divorce. I’m Catholic, married in the church, with six kids at
home. My wife is a lovely woman and she’s a wonderful mother. I’m
happy with that life.”

“But, I—”

“You’re my girlfriend. I’m happy with this
part of my life too.” His nonchalant attitude brought her emotions
near the surface.

She looked quickly at the surrounding tables
but no one seemed to have overheard. “I’m pregnant. We are having a
baby, you and I. I want that baby to have a home and a father who
is there for him.”

He shook his head. “Huh-uh. Not this one.
You’ll have to get rid of it.”

Her eyes widened. An abortion was something
she could never, ever consider.

“Adoption, you mean?”

“Well, only if you want to ruin your body
and not have me sleeping with you for a good long time.” The
implication being that another girlfriend would come along to fill
her spot.

She clamped her lips together as the waiter
returned. Al ordered for both of them, her favorite salad and the
sandwich he liked best. Forced to sit silently, her temper
smoldered. The nerve! Saying her body would be ruined by having his
child. What about the wife? She’d borne him six children and yet he
stayed with her. She almost felt sorry for the woman, wishing she
could hear what he’d said. Too bad Juliette didn’t have a way to
record the conversation. Teach him a big lesson!

Al spotted someone he knew across the room
and got up from the table to say hello. Juliette’s insides
churned—partly from the fact that breakfast had been only four
saltine crackers, partly from the emotional upheaval he’d just put
her through. Using his religion as an excuse for no divorce but
ignoring it when it came to suggesting an abortion. The man had no
morals whatsoever! She stared toward the table where he was
laughing and patting the business-suited man on the shoulder.

Maybe she would teach him a little
something, call his wife and tell her the whole situation.

He returned when their food arrived and
immediately picked up his sandwich, biting into it with gusto. She
picked at her salad with her fork, shuffling the bits of chicken
and oriental noodles.

“Come on, babe, you have to eat,” he mumbled
with a mouthful.

If she’d brought her own car she would have
upended the big plate of salad right into his lap, but she was at
the disadvantage here. It would not be wise to play her hand too
soon. She needed the veneer of calm to cover her thoughts and
plans. Plus, he was right about her needing food. No dinner last
night, no breakfast today—skipping meals couldn’t be good for her
or for the baby. She speared a hunk of the chicken and forced it
down her dry throat.

* * *

Back at the office she began a search for
the phone number of his other home. It was something she had to do
on the quiet. The other girls didn’t know yet about her pregnancy
but being fooled by his lies hung over her like a neon sign
advertising her profound embarrassment. Sheila sent pitying glances
her way, while Marion had a smug little smile now. Juliette ignored
them both and closed her door.

She started with the phone book but there
was no listing. She tried directory assistance to no avail. Of
course it would be an unlisted number. Rich people did not make
themselves available for just anyone to find. Then she remembered
his calls to Ernestina, supposedly to let the maid know she didn’t
need to wait up for him. What a fool I’ve been, she thought. Those
calls were to offer some excuse to the wife.

Al sat in his office all afternoon, doors
closed, talking on the phone. At times his muffled tone was
belligerent, other times quiet. Was it the rough man from New York?
Juliette found she didn’t care if the man intimidated Al now. Let
the rat be pushed around a bit. Let him see how it felt to be
powerless.

She tried calling Carol Ann at work and was
told Miss Dunbar had resigned on Friday as she was getting married
soon. Her phone at home rang until the way-too-cute answering
message came on. Juliette didn’t even know where to begin and
couldn’t say a fraction of it to a tape machine. She ended up
simply asking Carol Ann to call her at home tonight.

A tap sounded at her door and Sheila poked
her head in.

“Be careful,” she whispered, one ear turned
toward the connecting door to Al’s office. “I don’t know what
you’re up to but just remember, he knows everything that goes on
around here.”

Juliette flushed. Had she been so
obvious?

Sheila backed out and returned to her own
work. Juliette tapped her nails on her desk, her concentration shot
and her stomach churning. She wondered how much longer she could go
on working here. The photo of her mother smiled lovingly from the
corner of her desk. If only she could go home to Mom now.

Juliette took a deep breath and picked up
her purse. She slipped the picture of her mother into it and walked
out the door, telling Sheila the salad at lunch must have disagreed
with her and she was going home early.

Gravel spun under her tires as she pulled
away from the office, a horn protesting her quick entry into
traffic. She didn’t care. Al’s attitude and betrayal angered her.
She wanted to push, to get back at him. He’d made one of those
Ernestina calls only two nights ago.

She drove home and went straight to her
condo. She was fairly certain she hadn’t used the phone since that
night. She hit the redial button and the line began to ring. Now
she would see who she reached. A woman answered: “Proletti
residence.”

“Is this Ernestina?”

“No … we have no one by that name here.”

“I’m sorry, I’m looking for Mrs.
Proletti.”

“She and the children are out for the
afternoon. May I take a message?”

“I’ll just call back later.” She dropped the
receiver to its cradle.

It was true, all of it. And she knew how to
reach them. She paced the room, fury rising in her. She had to
think about this. She went back down to where she’d left her car in
a visitor space out front. Rather than putting it away in the
garage, maybe she would take a drive to clear her head. Five
minutes later she was headed toward the freeway,

She steered to the on-ramp and zipped across
three lanes of traffic, daring anyone to object to her
twenty-miles-over-the-limit attack. She drove south on Highway 1,
screaming aloud as the wind whipped her hair across her face,
railing against the whole damn mess. After twenty minutes or so,
her anger had gelled into a hard knot of determination. She took an
exit at random, circled and got back into the northbound lanes.

Al’s going down one of these days, hon,
and you don’t want to be there.
Deputy Reddick’s voice came
back at her again. The other day at the market he’d mentioned two
names, said to check them out. Two men who had crossed Al
Proletti.

The names came to her, Ronnie Delvecchio and
Sal Oberman. Reddick had advised her to check them out. Well, she
would just do that.

She’d been to the newspaper office once,
straightening out a billing snafu for Al. The upcoming exit to the
airport reminded her, as the newspaper office was only a few blocks
farther. She whipped her convertible off the freeway and found the
brown block building easily enough.

A middle-aged woman worked the reception
desk and Juliette explained that she was doing some research and
wanted to find the circumstances of two men who had either
disappeared or died.

“Well, if they died, obituaries will be the
quickest place to find them. Disappearances … well, that’s more of
a news story. When did this happen?”

What had Reddick told her? Her mind went
momentarily blank but then she pulled out a date. “August, two
years ago,” she said.

The woman took her to a small room with
video equipment and rolls of microfiche. Juliette had no idea what
to do, but the lady thumbed through some metal boxes and came up
with what she needed, even threading it into the machine for
her.

“Just turn this dial to scroll through the
pages until you find what you want.” She left Juliette alone to
figure it out.

It took awhile but eventually she came upon
the story where a Ronnie Delvecchio’s body had been recovered by
search and rescue five days after his wife reported him missing.
They’d pulled the badly decomposed body from the swamp, most of its
limbs missing due to alligators feeding on them. The details were
too graphic for Juliette to handle. She skimmed enough to learn
that the man was a minor drug runner with two prior convictions and
short prison stints on his record. An abandoned Cessna had been
found less than a mile from the body, crash-landed in the same
swampy area, with traces of cocaine in the emptied fuselage.