than Hugh Hefner.”
“That’s a lie!” As she took a threatening step toward Lacy, Pringle stumbled.
“Careful, sweetie,” said Lacy, “you don’t want to depend too much on that gimpy leg.”
Pringle gasped again. “How did you-?”
“It’s my business to know … and to tell. That car that ran you down did a lot of damage, didn’t it? Any scars left, my dear-to discourage pouring that beautiful body into a bikini?”
Pringle’s lips were a thin line. “No scars, Sally Dean! How about you? Some stretch marks? Some remnants of the stitches?”
Lacy threw back her head, laughing uproariously. “Ancient history, sweetie! I see Pat’s filled you in. Well, once upon a time there was a Sally Dean. But she is no more. Once I was on the bottom, struggling. Now I’m on top. Like some of the saints who started out not all that good, then turned their act around and got to be perfect at what they did.”
She laughed again. “Yes, dear Pringle, there are those who would like to dig up old Sally Dean. But most of them are too busy worrying about what Lacy De Vere knows about
“All’s fair, Pringle, dear. And by all, I mean everything.”
Pringle was strongly tempted to throw the dregs of her drink in the woman’s face. Pat, sensing Pringle’s impulse, shook her head “no.” Lacy too perceived what had almost happened.
She wagged her finger close to Pringle’s face. “Don’t even think about it, sister. You’ve got to learn to look one step ahead. You need to stay on the good side of me. Otherwise I’ll destroy you. Not right away. When you least expect it. Now, that’ll give your phobias a chance to work overtime.”
Again, Pringle was caught with her mouth hanging open. How does she know …? How can she know …?
Sensing the unspoken sentiment, Lacy repeated, “It’s my business to know. And it’s my business to tell.”
“Come on, Pringle,” Pat said, “let’s get out of here.”
As they turned to leave, Lacy called after them, “Oh, and Pat dear, let’s do lunch someday soon.”
“Maybe,” Pat said over her shoulder. “Then we’ll see who eats what.”
Outside The Fast Lane, everything was refreshing. They’d left behind the smoke and the noise and, above all, Lacy De Vere.
Although Pat Lennon lived in a nearby high rise, she would not consider walking these streets at this hour. She would have taken a cab; however, Pringle’s car was only a few steps away.
When they arrived at the car, after having paid the parking attendant, Pat noticed Pringle scanning both the front and rear seats before entering. Sound procedure, but in Pringle’s case it was, along with her growing list of obsessions, one more manifestation of her frame of mind.
They drove the few blocks to Pat’s apartment building in silence.
Before leaving the car, Pat turned and asked, “You okay?”
“A little shook up. This is the first time I ever met anybody I could so thoroughly dislike so quickly. But there’s not much she can do to me, as far as I can see. She seemed to be aiming mostly at you. So I guess I ought to turn the question around: You okay?”
Pat smiled and nodded. “It’ll take much more than Lacy De Vere to reach me.”
“But that poll she was talking about-“
“Remember, Pringle, and don’t ever forget: Lacy De Vere is out for number one, first and foremost and always. If she can make a point, she won’t let anything as insignificant as a mere lie inhibit hen”
“So?”
“So I seriously doubt that the ‘poll’ ever saw the light of day. You poll readers on features, comics, columnists. You don’t poll readers for their opinions on reporters. Most readers don’t know whose byline is on what. Pringle, you and I don’t get our pictures in the paper. We do our job, but nobody knows who we are. That ‘poll’ was one of Lacy’s less spectacular inventions, okay?”
“I suppose. But what about what she said about Joe?”
Pat’s smile was tight. “Probably nothing but an educated guess. I don’t think Joe will ever run out of wild oats. It’s one of the reasons we never married-not by any means a major reason, but a reason nonetheless.”
“You and Joe are okay, then?”
“I guess. We get together once or twice a month. But this commuting between Detroit and Chicago gets tiring after a while. I’ll be honest: It hurt like crazy when he left. Now it’s not so bad. I even kind of enjoy the peace and quiet. I never thought I would. But now it would be tough to go back to living with someone again.”
As Pat stepped out of the car, she stopped and turned back to Pringle. “Just remember: Lacy De Vere looks out for number one exclusively. If you get in her way, you gotta know you’re at very least in for a head-on collision.”
8
Father Koesler was used to surprises. They happened to him often enough.
Last night he had been juggling a series of appointments, along with an unusual number of phone calls. So many, indeed, that he’d asked Father Dunn to take the phone and see if the busy pastor couldn’t return the calls later.
One of those calls he returned was from one Marlene Pietrangelo.
He had no idea who this Mrs. Pietrangelo was until she identified herself as the penitent who had visited him last Saturday evening in the confessional. They had discussed in general terms the Church teachings and positions with which she disagreed. Although she hadn’t been to confession in two years, she’d declined confessing at that time. So instead of the Sacrament of Reconciliation, they’d had a chat. It was not definite, but she had mentioned that she might return. Koesler was surprised she’d called so soon.
She had, she said, a problem she hadn’t specifically brought up on Saturday. She wanted to see him now. Accent on the
Koesler had an appointment with Lieutenant Tully the next morning. But there was something in her voice, an urgency that couldn’t be ignored. This might well be a fish that wanted to take the bait and might well lose the appetite if not hooked now.
Fortunately, she was able to be at St. Joseph’s at 7:00 Tuesday morning. One more indication of her earnestness: a willingness to travel from a northern suburb to downtown Detroit at that early hour.
She arrived at precisely 7:00. He tried to lead her direcdy to the heart of the matter, which turned out to be that she was in a second marriage without having had the first annulled,
Another surprise.
Koesler mentally reexamined their conversation of Saturday. It had been there, but well concealed. Among the positions of the teaching Church with which she disagreed were birth control, divorce, remarriage, and abortion. As it turned out, the only one of these she had not acted on was abortion. What had appeared at the time as a theoretical difference of opinion was actually a conflict between practice and an apparent law.
Some nonthreatening questions elicited the fact that hers would not be a complicated case. Her first marriage-to another Catholic-had been by civil ceremony and never ratified by a Catholic priest. Both that marriage and the subsequent divorce had taken place without benefit of clergy. Yet she had assumed that when Catholics married-by any legal means-the union was recognized as valid by the Church. And that was why she and Mr. Pietrangelo had therefore also been married by a judge: Their erroneous understanding was that it was impossible for them to be married “in the Church.”
Koesler was happy to explain that this was one of life’s most easily rectified problems.
For an annulment of her first marriage, all that was needed were recent copies of the original couple’s baptismal records, on which there would be no notation of marriage-a clear indication that they had not had an ecclesiastically recognized wedding. For a valid marriage, a Catholic couple needs a priest and two witnesses at their exchange of consent. The marriage license signed by the justice would show that a priest did not perform the marriage. The “clean” baptismal certificate would indicate they never had a priest convalidate their union. A fact to
