Weddings Can Be Murder (6 page)

Juliette cleared her throat quietly. “I had
excellent grades in school in both typing and shorthand.” Well,
fifty words a minute on the old manual typewriters in class. “I’ve
never done ledger entries but I’m very good at filing. I’m sure I
can learn whatever’s required of me.”

Sheila stubbed out the cigarette and let her
eyes travel over Juliette’s chestnut curls, hazel eyes and the V of
flesh at the top of the lime-green blouse. A flicker of something
resembling acceptance crossed her face.

“You’ll start at a thousand a month,” she
said. “If you want the job.”

A thousand dollars a month! It was double
what she was making now and the office was so much nicer.

She opened her mouth.
Don’t seem too
eager.
“Could I see where my desk would be?”

“Sure.” Sheila stood, towering over Juliette
on five-inch heels. She led the way toward the hall Juliette had
noticed earlier. “That office there is Al—uh, Mr. Proletti’s,” she
said with a wave toward the closed door to the right of the hall.
“The one on the left is his father’s, but the old man isn’t here
all that much. He pretty much retired a few years back.”

Juliette followed Sheila down the hall. The
first door on the right stood open, revealing a small office with
one desk, a row of brown metal file cabinets and a closed door that
must connect to Mr. Proletti’s office. But the big attraction was
the window. It faced the edge of the property and, once you got
past the driveway that ran beside the building and the chain link
fence surrounding the whole place, the view showed a lush park
filled with flowering oleander and tall trees.

“How many people work here?”

“The whole crew? A lot. It varies by how
many jobs we got going at the time. If you mean just the office
staff, besides the owners there’s me, the bookkeeper, a couple guys
who handle shipments of materials. And Mr. Proletti’s
secretary—that’s you, if you want the job.”

Juliette couldn’t believe her luck. “Yes,
absolutely.”

“Get yourself some decent clothes and plan
to start Monday morning at eight o’clock.” Sheila turned back
toward her desk.

The comment about her clothes stung a bit
but Juliette wasn’t foolish enough to question. She studied her
co-worker’s outfit, a tailored pantsuit of obviously good material
and shoes that probably cost what Juliette currently earned in a
week. She would have to work up to those, but she could come up
with something to get started. She practically flew back to the bus
stop.

She stayed with the bus, past her own
neighborhood, until it stopped outside the Surfside Mall. Near the
mall’s food court she found a pay phone and made two calls. Her
boss wasn’t happy that she’d phoned in sick this morning and was
now informing him that she quit. He let out a string of curses and
she hung up, wondering belatedly if she’d just lost out on her
final paycheck.

Her second call went to Carol Ann Dunbar,
her best, and only, friend who’d moved to the big city with her
after graduation from Dalhart High. Juliette posed her question.
Thirty minutes later she spotted Carol Ann weaving through the
crowd and waved her over.

“I told Bob I had a dental appointment
during my lunch hour, so I can always tell him it ran late or the
gas made me woozy or something. I doubt he’ll get too mad if I’m
not gone more than an extra hour. What’s up?”

Juliette explained about the new job and the
need for wardrobe changes.

“So, my silly little courses in fashion
design are coming in handy now, huh?” Carol Ann teased.

“Hey, don’t knock secretarial work either.”
Her friend’s eyes bulged when Juliette revealed her new salary.
“But what I need now are the right clothes.”

“It’s a construction company?” Carol Ann
seemed puzzled.

“But the boss is really successful and you
should see the way the receptionist dresses. If I’m his personal
secretary I have to look at least as good as she does.”

“True.” Carol Ann nibbled at her lower lip,
studying the shop fronts nearby.

“But I can’t spend much, at least right now.
How classy can you dress me on a budget?”

Carol Ann led the way to one of the
department stores. “Once you start earning some money you can head
for the fourth floor. For now, we’re over here.” She headed deeper
into the store.

Ninety minutes later each of them carried
two huge shopping bags. With two suits—a brown and a black—a
variety of blouses and a couple of skirts she could switch out with
the pants, plus two dynamic pairs of heels, Juliette knew she could
handle the new workplace. She got out of Carol Ann’s car in front
of her apartment and walked through the shabby courtyard to her
place. Removing her new clothes from the bags, she got a dizzying
bout of sticker shock. She’d run her new credit card up to the
limit. What would she do if the job didn’t work out?

She decided to only take the tags off each
item as she wore it. She smoothed the store receipt and stuck it
under the lamp on her dresser. If the new boss took a dislike to
her she could at least return the unused clothes and go beg for her
old job back. The smell of the tires came back to her, unbidden.
No. The new job had to be great—she wouldn’t let it be
otherwise.

She ate a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner
and tried to follow
The Rockford Files
on TV but her mind
was on a hundred other details. Saturday morning, she scrounged ten
dollars from various pants pockets and walked to the nearest
low-price salon where she had three inches trimmed from her unruly
hair. It would be an extra five bucks to have the beauty student
style it in an up-do, which wouldn’t last a whole day, so she
skipped that.

Sunday, she did her own manicure and
practiced trying to get her hair into a sleek upswept style like
Sheila’s, but it was impossible. She settled for pinning it up and
letting the wavy tendrils go where they wanted. Maybe after a
paycheck or two she could afford to have it straightened. For now
she was counting bus fare and checking the peanut butter supply to
get her through the first week. Sheila hadn’t mentioned whether the
pay was weekly—what if she was only paid every two weeks? She
should have foregone one pair of shoes and made a grocery trip
instead. She couldn’t sleep that night.

By six forty-five Monday morning she’d
showered and wrestled the springy hair into a semblance of a French
roll. Her lipstick from the dollar bin at Walgreen’s wasn’t a name
brand but it was a good shade to go with the vivid turquoise blouse
she’d chosen to wear with her black pantsuit today. Stepping into
the high heels, she stole a glance in the mirror and felt more
grownup and confident. She paced her tiny apartment for forty
minutes, until her feet began to ache in the new shoes, and finally
it was time to leave for the bus stop.

What is it about the first day at a new job,
she wondered as she dragged herself to the bus that evening. The
boss hadn’t showed up—some business had come up near Ft.
Lauderdale, they said. She’d met the bookkeeper, Marion Flightly, a
churchy lady in her forties whose eagle-eyed glare made Juliette
think the woman didn’t believe such a young kid could handle the
work. Sheila had greeted her with a stack of folders and said it
was filing to be done. Juliette spent an hour poking through the
drawers in her new office, figuring out how the filing system
worked. Mainly, the folders seemed to contain bids for jobs,
information on new clients and invoices for materials. When she
asked if the invoices should go to Marion, the older woman
dismissively said, “You’ll have to figure it out.” What a witch.
Juliette blew off the insult and concentrated on straightforward
filing. In total, it took less than an hour.

About the time she was looking for something
to do the phone began to ring.

“I’m transferring all of Al’s calls to your
desk. Just take messages. You won’t know any of the names but
that’ll come with time,” Sheila said.

Three lines immediately lit up at once.
Juliette put on her best voice and pressed the button for Line
1.

“Mr. Proletti’s office,” she said.

“Where is he?” The gruff voice had a strong
New York accent and she almost had to ask the man to repeat.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Proletti is out of the
office today. May I take a message?”

“Who’re you?”

“My name is Juliette. I’m Mr. Proletti’s new
secretary. How may I help you?”

More gruff words. Finally a name and phone
number. On to Line 2, then Line 3, then back to Line 1. By lunch
time she felt as if her head would explode. She asked Sheila if
lunch was a full hour, then took her sandwich and walked to the
park. Tomorrow, put a pair of comfortable shoes in a bag and bring
them along, she told herself. She could learn the job. Surely, she
could.

Tuesday, the office was abuzz already when
Juliette walked in at 7:49. The door to Albert Proletti’s office
stood ajar and she caught a glimpse of a good-looking, dark-haired
man, younger than she would have expected. For some reason when
Sheila had referred to the boss’s father as ‘the old man’ Juliette
assumed he must be in his eighties, putting the sons in their
fifties or sixties. Mr. Proletti glanced up, spotted her, flashed a
smile.

She greeted Sheila and headed toward her own
office. This morning the connecting door to the boss’s office stood
partway open. A cassette tape sat on her desk. She picked it up,
leaned out into the hall and waved it toward Sheila, shrugging her
shoulders. The receptionist came and showed Juliette the
transcription machine, whipping the cover off an IBM Selectric.
Juliette figured out the headphones and playback mechanism which
operated with a foot pedal. By the time Mr. Proletti got off the
phone she was halfway through the first letter he’d dictated on the
tape.

“You’ll find that I often work at night,” he
said, leaning on the door frame to his own office as he nodded
toward the dictation machine. He wore a sleek-looking suit with
wide lapels and a bold-printed tie that was surely real silk.

She gave a nervous smile, unsure if he meant
what the inflection in his voice seemed to hint.

“So, Sheila tells me you have a lot of
secretarial experience,” he said.

She did? Juliette merely smiled.

“I’m glad. The work here can get crazy at
times. We have deadlines that cost tens of thousands a day if we
miss them. Sometimes I yell. Sometimes I curse. I hope that won’t
bother you.” He winked one of those brilliant blue eyes as he said
it.

Juliette shook her head. She’d noticed that
Marion Flightly kept her own office door closed. Was this part of
the reason?

“You’ll do great, sweetie. Don’t worry about
it.”

Carol Ann would have piped up and objected
to a boss calling his secretary sweetie. Definitely a sexist
remark. It absolutely would have been if her old boss had uttered
it. But here Juliette didn’t mind. His tone was warm, yet
professional. She had a feeling this was a boss who really cared
about his employees.

“Mr. Proletti—”

“Al. We’re all on first names here.”

“Thank you. I, um, I hope all the messages I
took yesterday were all right?”

“Perfect, Juliette. Just perfect.” He turned
back toward his desk but that time she was fairly certain his tone
was not quite appropriate.

Chapter 7

I woke before dawn with that feeling that
I’d never been fully asleep. The past twenty-four hours still had a
surreal feel. Yesterday morning I’d awakened with anticipation. The
wedding and reception were just ahead of us and my main concern had
been about feeding the guys and getting us all out the door on
time. For one moment I relived that,
almost
capturing the
feeling that I would walk into the kitchen and begin an ordinary
Sunday. A sound from the living room cancelled that.

Ron was huddled into the corner of the sofa,
wearing the same jeans and rugby shirt he’d put on last night.

“Did you even go to bed?” I asked, slipping
my arm around his shoulders as I passed.

He shrugged. “Tried. No point to it.”

In the far corner Freckles stirred in her
crate, giving an impatient whimper. I let her out and followed her
to the back door, where she bolted to her favorite corner of the
yard. I pressed the button on the coffee maker and when I came back
through saw Ron in the same spot. His face was haggard, eyes
bloodshot with huge bags underneath.

“I take it there’s been no call from the
police?”

He shook his head desultorily.

“Let’s get some coffee in us and then we’ll
go put those flyers out.” I splayed my arms to show that I was
already dressed for the chill outdoors.

He stared out into empty space and I finally
plopped myself beside him on the couch. “There are lots of things
we can be doing, Ron. Sitting here doesn’t accomplish
anything.”

My normally action-oriented brother sitting
like a lump was really beginning to worry me. A sound came from
behind me as our bedroom door opened and Drake emerged.

Talk to him
, I mouthed, tilting my
head toward Ron as I headed for the kitchen. Freckles had long
since finished her business and was scratching at the door, and I
saw the sky had lightened considerably. I tended to her desire for
some kibble in a bowl, reached for three coffee mugs, and checked
the bread box where a package of Danish pastries still looked
relatively fresh. Within a couple minutes I had a tray loaded and
carried the meager breakfast to the guys.

Drake had switched on the TV and a
way-too-cheery ad was touting all the Christmas goodies to be had
at one of the department stores.

“Come on, you two. We are not settling in at
home today. We’ve got flyers to distribute and don’t forget Ben
Ortiz was going to schedule a news conference so we can get the
word out. Once everyone in Albuquerque is looking for Vic, we’ll
find her.” My best upbeat voice barely made it through to them but
the smell of coffee and pastry had at least grabbed Drake’s
attention.