Just as well he’d left: she had run out of things to say to him.
This whole thing had played out completely differently than she had planned.
At the very worst she’d expected four financially endowed men, each unaware of the others’ involvement, to contribute generously to the poor widow and her star-crossed child.
The actual circumstance was far from that. Two men-each physically incapable of fertilizing an ovum-were cut from the herd at the outset. The third could be the father. The prospect of marriage to him was akin to volunteering for life in prison. Even accepting money from him was fraught with complexities.
Then along comes the perfect arrangement.
Tom Adams, CEO of a bank, presents a well-thought-out solution. She asks him if, without the present pressures, he would have proposed marriage. Probably not. But the bottom line? Now, he would.
However, she was just beginning to ask herself the question: would she marry
Some women live only for marriage. Perhaps no woman today exemplifies this more than Elizabeth Taylor. No matter how many times events seem to demonstrate beyond all doubt that the single life is her true destiny, she keeps on getting married.
Barbara Ulrich was beginning to think fate was giving her the same message.
Why, after all, did she need marriage? She was not heterosexual. She happened to be gorgeous, the physical answer to nearly every heterosexual male’s dream. She had no problem attracting men, even to the point of having them propose marriage. They wanted what she had on a full-time basis forever. Or so they thought.
Marriage with Tom Adams …
She sat at the large window and inattentively watched the endless flow of the river.
He was a good man. He would care for her. He would provide for her on a level she had never experienced. Her social life would be glamorous.
Could she endure his absolute unquestioning fidelity to his church? Maybe wife number one had had a point. On the other, hand, what difference could it make that her husband was preoccupied with Catholicism?
From firsthand, Barbara knew that Tom’s sexual appetite was voracious. While that could be a problem, particularly after her delivery when she would again be fertile, it was a situation she thought she could handle.
For one thing, she was beginning to believe that while she definitely was not heterosexual, she might very well be bisexual. Jack Fradet had brought that possibility to the surface. Upon reflection, she thought she might lead Tom Adams to the same techniques perfected by Fradet.
All in all, life with Tom Adams was looking more and more attractive. Perhaps even compelling.
By this time she was sure of herself. At least as sure as she could be. She had, as Tom put it, seen the light: she would accept his proposal.
How to tell him?
He had left in a huff only minutes ago. Bad timing to pick up the phone. No, give him a little time to cool off.
A note. A letter. Yes, that would be perfect.
She’d have to word this carefully.
And besides enthusiastically accepting his proposal, she would add an item that she had picked up on when she had screened the other three. It was a tipoff Tom ought to be aware of. She would present this as gossip overheard during the award dinner. Telling him what she’d heard would create a new image for herself: not only a wife, but a collaborator. He would appreciate her interest and her help with the business.
She completed the letter, addressed, stamped, and sealed the envelope. There was just time for the last mail pickup. With any luck, it would be delivered by tomorrow afternoon. She could hardly wait for him to get this letter.
She began to anticipate her coming marriage with delight.
Twenty-Four
He did seem a bit sheepish about it. And I don’t blame him.” Father Tully had checked things out with his brother and had been invited to visit police headquarters. The topic of conversation was the vacationing pastor of St. Joe’s.
Lieutenant Tully shook his head, chuckling. “How long’s he been gone now?”
“Just a week today. For the love of Pete, he could’ve stayed a month if he wanted to! But he’s been visiting his classmate up there in Canada. He says there’s just so many stories of the Good Old Days he can relive and retell.”
Zoo grew serious. “What does this do to your stay here?”
“I don’t know. Father Koesler’s decision came out of the blue. He called first thing this morning-must’ve been about seven. When I heard his voice, my immediate thought was, It’s way too early to take the pulse of this parish just to see if I’m tending it all right. But all he said was that he was packed and ready to come back. There was no way I could talk him into staying a little longer.”
One of the Tully’s squad members handed him a phone message-a death the Homicide Division had to check out. Zoo scanned the message and nodded an okay. “So Father Koesler will be back later today?”
“I guess it’ll take him four or five hours. He said he’d probably stop for lunch. So he should be pulling in sometime early to mid-afternoon. But yeah, the essence of his message was that he’d be back today.”
“Does that mean you have to vacate today?”
The priest laughed. “You mean like a relay team: I pass the baton to him and he takes it from there?”
“Look, little brother, all I want to know is what to tell Anne Marie. ‘There’ll be an overnight guest … oh, and by the way, he’ll be staying several overnights.’“
“Sorry, Zoo. I know there’s a common sense side to all this.”
“It’s just that it didn’t take long for us to fall in love with you. We don’t want to see you leave. If it means putting you up at our place, fine. We want to do everything we can to keep you here as long as possible”
“The feeling is the same, Zoo. But I don’t know what to tell you-except don’t have Anne Marie fix up the guest room. I’ll probably stay at St. Joe’s until I leave-whenever that is.
“As far as that goes, I could stay at almost any parish in the diocese: the resident pastors would think they went to heaven without having to die. The rectories have plenty of room for priests; they just haven’t got enough priests to fill the rooms.
“Take St. Joe’s, for instance. There’s plenty of room for three resident priests. Bob Koesler and I make only two.
“So, no difficulty staying over. I even made sure before leaving Texas that my substitute’s availability was open-ended. There’s no immediate hurry. But for the long run … well, I’ve got some more thinking and praying to do.”
As, Father Tully was speaking, the bulk of Sergeant Phil Mangiapane loomed. Zoo noticed him but waited till his brother had finished, then beckoned.
“’Scuse, Father. Zoo, a precinct cop just called this in.”
“Yes?”
“Apparent suicide.”
“Okay. You and” — Tully scanned the roster-” Angie take it.”
“Uh … Zoo: you might want to take a look at this one …”
“Oh?” Zoo read the message, then whistled softly. He turned to his brother. “Father, you may want to come with us.”
The priest’s unspoken reaction was, Yes, of course. He wanted to stay in contact with his brother and sister- in-law. His eyes widened as he read the message his brother handed him.
“That’s right: Barbara Ulrich’s dead. An apparent suicide.”
“Let’s go,” Father Tully said. En route, to the Ulrich apartment, the priest did little more than shake his head and murmur over and over, “I don’t think so.”
By the time Zoo and his party arrived, the police technicians with their plastic gloves were busy at their
