Vengeance Is Mine (3 page)

A black-and-white police car was double-parked on Sixth Avenue in front of the Northwestern Bell building. A red MG with California plates was getting a parking ticket. The young officer reminded her of Steve Radke. Today's meeting had confirmed her hunch about him. Margaret liked young men who had the balls to take charge of a situation. And Steve was good-looking to boot. For a moment Margaret wished she were thirty years younger, and the thought made her laugh right out loud. That silly romance novel Jane had left in the office had given her ideas.

Usually Margaret didn't have time to read fiction, but she'd been curious when she saw the cover.
Desiree's Desire
claimed to be the story of “desperate love, bitter obsession, and heartbreaking delusion.” Margaret had taken it home with her on a whim and spent the entire night reading. Nothing in her life with Howard had prepared Margaret for the torrid scenes of passion between Desiree and her lovers. Either the world had changed since she was a bride or Howard hadn't known much about women. Now Howard was dead, and she was too old to research the subject. Perhaps if she were just a bit younger . . .

“Hello, Mrs. Whitworth.” Elaine Krupmeier rushed out of Granite City Bridal, carrying a large box. “Wasn't that terrible about poor Ray Perini? I always knew he'd get into trouble with some of his business deals. You're coming to Mary Beth's wedding, aren't you?”

“I'll certainly try to make it, Elaine. Right now I'm completely tied up with the cancer drive. If I could find this year's chairman I'd be free to come to the wedding. I don't suppose you'd be interested, would you, dear?”

Margaret came close to laughing out loud as Elaine fumbled for words. She was bright enough to know that it was a trade-off. If Elaine headed the cancer drive, Margaret would attend Mary Beth's wedding.

“Oh. Well . . . I'd be delighted to do my part, of course. It's an honor to be chairman of such an important drive. And we can count on you for the wedding?”

Elaine looked anxious. She'd probably told all her relatives that Margaret was attending.

“I'll be there with bells on, Elaine.”

Margaret was smiling as she hurried down the sidewalk. A favor for a favor was the way politics operated, and Margaret had learned to be a superb politician. A wedding for the cancer drive. Margaret was sure she'd gotten the best of the bargain. She could always sleep through the wedding, but Elaine would have two months of house-to-house canvassing to endure.

There was a patch of ice on the corner of Seventh Avenue, and Margaret stepped over it cautiously. Waldo's Pizza Joynt was just up the street, and Margaret's mouth watered as she thought of a huge manager's special with garlic, onions, and Italian sausage. Dr. Weston had been firm about avoiding highly spiced foods, but Margaret was convinced he was a closet sadist. Dr. Weston seemed to delight in curtailing the little pleasures that made her life worthwhile. The first thing to go had been her imported cigarettes. Next was the unblended Scotch she sipped in the evenings. Now he insisted that she eat nothing but bland, tasteless food. Margaret knew plenty of Italians who lived to ripe old ages. And they didn't have to give up garlic and onions to do it.

Three local lawyers dressed in traditional suits and topcoats were hurrying up the steps to the south entrance of the Stearns County Courthouse. The huge building had been built in 1922 out of native granite. It sat on Courthouse Square, one block north of the mall. The entrance was flanked by 36-foot-high granite pillars, and the dome rose 109 feet above street level. It was one of Margaret's favorite places. There was a feeling of permanence in its polished rock floors and huge vaulted ceilings. Each side had its own entrance, and almost everyone who walked to work downtown ducked through the courthouse to warm up on cold winter mornings. Margaret liked to think they got a dose of history at the same time.

Margaret glanced up at the clock under the huge yellow dome and checked the time against her watch. Les Hollenkamp's drive to repair the clock had been successful. There was a public outcry when people woke up on September 10 and found the giant hands frozen at seventeen minutes past five. Les had formed a committee immediately. Everyone in town set his watch by the courthouse clock. Les called Margaret and asked her to donate airtime for his fund-raiser. Of course, Margaret had helped, but she'd given Les some anxious moments when she said she thought the clock was fine just the way it was. Even broken, it was right at least twice a day, and that was a better record than some of the county judges could claim.

Margaret's television studio was two doors down, on the south side of St. Germain. She pulled open the heavy glass door and stepped inside.

“I'm glad you're back, Mrs. Whitworth.” Carl Hunstiger, the security man, greeted her with a smile. “Janie needs you in the office right away.”

Margaret took a shortcut through Studio 2, stepping carefully over the heavy black electrical cables. She could hear the sound of Jane's rapid-fire typing in the office. Jane could type ninety words a minute on her new IBM Selectric, and she never made a mistake. She'd said it was silly for Margaret to hang on to the ancient Remington manual in her private office, but that was before the power shortage last summer.

“I'm really glad to see you.” Jane finished typing with a burst of speed and whipped the paper out of the machine. “Could you sign this right away? It's an authorization for an emergency crew at the booster station. Tim Murphy called right after you left. He said the storm last night did all sorts of damage.”

“Next?” Margaret signed her name with a flourish.

“Trish Hollenkamp called and asked me to lunch. I told her I'd check my schedule and give her a call back. She probably wants to pump me for information so Les won't say the wrong thing on your show.”

Margaret grinned. “Hold out for D.B. Searle's, and order the most expensive thing on the menu. Then tell her Les should come out in favor of WinterGame. Talking to Trish is a lot cheaper than running through a rehearsal with Les. Next?”

“There're a bunch of other messages, but I can handle those. Jim Pehler's waiting for you in the green room.”

“Thanks, Jane.” Margaret shrugged out of her coat and ran her fingers through her short gray hair. “Why don't you order us a large Waldo's combo with extra garlic and cheese?”

“But, Mrs. Whitworth, didn't Dr. Weston say—”

“He did.” Margaret nodded. “But after the morning I've had, if that pizza takes a month off my life, it's a blessing.”

 

 

Bishop Donahue gave Sister Cecelia an approving nod as she opened the door of the small chapel. She was right. It was their duty to pray for Ray Perini's sinful soul.

“Thank you, Sister.” Bishop Donahue walked to the front of the chapel and knelt at the prayer rail, waiting for Sister Cecelia to join him. After a long moment of silent prayer he raised his head. The huge silver crucifix over the altar glowed in the dim light from the electric candles. The power of God surrounded and protected them. There were no doubts in Bishop Donahue's mind. He had made the only possible move, under the circumstances. He had attacked to capture his opponent's Black Pawn. Now he must pray for the wisdom to recognize his next move.

The chapel was so still, he could hear the sound of Sister Cecelia's soft breathing beside him. Bishop Donahue reached out and made the sign of the cross over her bowed head. He was very grateful that he had taken the risk and enlisted Sister Cecelia's aid. He never could have destroyed Ray Perini without her.

CHAPTER 3

“Steve?” Carol Berg opened the door and poked her head in. “Michele Layton's on line three, the telephone company said they'd be here in an hour to fix the intercom, and I'm running across to Dan Marsh for a hamburger. Do you want me to bring back something for you?”

Steve grinned. Sometimes he called Carol Machine-Gun Mama because she rattled off things so fast. She said it was because she had six kids and she had to talk fast in the morning or they'd never get ready for school on time.

“Could you bring me a ham salad on wheat and an order of fries? No hurry, Carol. Take your time for a change. And will you ask Michele to hold for just a second? I'll be right with her.”

Steve closed the folder on his desk and took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what it was about Michele, but she had a knack for throwing him off-balance. Maybe it was the fact that she had an irreverent sense of humor. Or that she didn't seem the least bit intimidated by him, even when he was doing his tough cop routine.

Physically Michele was the total opposite of his ex-wife. Diane had been the short, blond cheerleader type, cuddly and rounded in all the right places. When Steve held his arm straight out to the side, Diane could walk under it without disturbing her fluffy hairdo. Michele was tall, over six feet in heels, and she had long shining black hair. Her eyes were the deepest blue Steve had ever seen.

The first time he met Michele, she was walking out of D.B. Searle's, the closest thing to a classy restaurant in downtown St. Cloud, with Carol Berg and two other women. She had just come in from Texas as the new director of the Pro Choice Clinic. Naturally Carol had introduced them.

Steve picked up the phone. “Michele? Sorry to keep you on hold, but things are pretty stacked up here.”

“That's all right, Steve.” Michele's voice had a hollow echo, and Steve knew she was using the speakerphone in her office. “I just called to remind you of the WinterGame meeting tonight. Seven o'clock at Perkins?”

“I'll be there.”

There was a moment of silence. Steve really wanted to keep her on the line, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

“Well . . . I'll let you get back to work, then.” Michele sounded very professional and businesslike. “See you tonight.”

Steve hung up the phone and sighed. He'd done it again. This was the fourth time he'd missed an opportunity to ask Michele out for dinner. It would have been easy to suggest that they meet at Perkins early, before the meeting. Of course, Michele was really busy with WinterGame right now. She might have turned him down. He could always ask her later, after WinterGame was over.

Who was he kidding? Steve knew he was making excuses to avoid a possible rejection. Somehow he'd lost his nerve with women when Diane left him. He'd spent the first few weeks rattling around in the empty apartment on Lake Street, trying to figure out ways to get Diane back. Of course, nothing had worked. Then, a week after he was served with papers, Steve's partner had dragged him along to a therapy group for divorced cops. Steve had known it was a waste of time after the first session. The guys in the group just wanted an audience so they could bitch about their ex-wives.

Steve had known that bad-mouthing Diane wouldn't make him feel any better. It wasn't her fault. Diane had been only twenty when they'd married, and her family had
beaucoup
bucks. It was tough to make it on a cop's salary, and Diane wasn't used to hardships. Steve had been putting in all the overtime he could get so they could save for a house. He couldn't really blame her for hating their tiny rented apartment, but he'd been firm about not accepting any money from her family.

Diane had accused him of being old-fashioned. Most of the young couples they knew had to ask their families for help when they bought a house. Diane's parents were willing to give them the down payment on a real showplace in Edina. There was even room for a live-in maid.

Steve had argued until Diane was in tears. They didn't need a maid. They couldn't afford one on his salary anyway. And he still felt that it was a man's duty to support his wife.

Diane's complaints grew. It was boring for her to sit in the apartment all weekend, watching him study for his promotion. They never went out to the expensive restaurants she liked. There wasn't enough money in the budget for the designer clothes she absolutely had to have if she wanted to hold up her head in public.

It was clear that Diane missed the life she had left. She craved glamour and excitement. And she'd finally gotten it. Three months after the divorce she had married an international gem broker. He was twenty years older than Steve. As far as he knew, the guy was honest, but Steve harbored a secret fantasy of busting Diane's new husband for diamond smuggling.

For a moment Steve tried to imagine what it would be like with Michele. Would she understand if he had to work on the weekends? Or would she become disillusioned, as Diane had, and leave him for someone with lots of money and a less demanding schedule?

Steve gave up the effort. There was no use trying to second-guess what Michele would do. He simply didn't know her that well. And he'd never get to know her if he didn't ask her out pretty soon. Before he could change his mind, Steve picked up the phone and punched out Michele's number.

“Michele? This is Steve. Would you like to go down to the Sunwood for a drink after the meeting tonight?”

There was a big smile on Steve's face as he hung up the phone. It certainly hadn't taken Michele long to say yes. It almost sounded as if she'd been waiting for him to ask her.

His coffee was cold. Steve took a swallow anyway. Then he opened Ray Perini's file and got back to work.

 

 

She had a date with Steve Radke tonight. Michele grinned as she put down the phone, Of course, it was only for a drink, and it might be strictly business, but Michele was excited anyway. Carol Berg had been singing Steve's praises for the past eight months. She made a point of telling Michele that Steve didn't hang out in bars, and she knew he was definitely divorced. He'd gone to Carol's house for dinner at least four times, and he seemed to enjoy playing with the kids. He'd even taken Carol and Jim out a couple of times, and that meant he was no cheapskate. Carol claimed Steve was the most eligible man in town, and she'd done her best to play matchmaker. Carol Berg had a lot in common with Michele's mother.

Michele's intercom buzzed. Donna Voelker, the clinic secretary, sounded amused.

“Michele? Your mother's on line two. Do you want me to buzz you in ten minutes and say you have another call?”

“Good idea, Donna.” Michele grabbed a fresh cup of coffee from the pot next to her desk and took a sip. Conversations with her mother always lasted through at least two cups of coffee.

“Hi, Mom. How's the weather in Houston? Aunt Frannie? Sure I remember her. You tell her I said she made the best molasses cookies I ever tasted.”

Michele reached in her center desk drawer and took out the scratch pad she kept for her mother's calls. She picked up a pencil and drew flower petals in the middle of the page, with a squiggly stem and leaves.

“The roses are blooming already, Mom? That's wonderful.”

Michele moved to a blank spot and drew a circle with two pointed triangles on top. She added six smaller circles with smaller triangles.

“Six kittens! I'll bet Calico's proud.”

Michele listened for a moment and drew a heavy
X
through one of the smaller circles.

“Mrs. Baines took one? That's good, Mom. She's got a big backyard.”

Michele started to draw again, a long-stemmed glass with an olive in it.

“So how was the country club party? Did you see any of my friends there?”

Michele started to draw a platter of hors d'oeuvres, but she stopped abruptly.

“Dereck? I don't want to hear about it, Mom. No, I couldn't care less. So what if his new wife's pregnant?”

Michele drew a tree with a low, sturdy branch. She added a man on a horse with a hangman's noose wrapped around his neck.

“I told you why we couldn't have children. I was working full-time to put Dereck through medical school. No, I don't think a baby would have kept us together, Mom. Dereck knew what he wanted. He married into one of the biggest practices in Houston. Her father owns the whole clinic.”

Michele's lips tightened as she crumpled up the paper. She threw it toward the wastebasket and scowled when she missed.

“I know it's been three years, Mom. You're right. I'm not getting any younger. I just haven't met anybody I want to marry.”

Michele's hands were shaking as she lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip. Why wasn't Donna buzzing her? She must have been on the phone for at least thirty minutes!

Just as she was about to interrupt her mother's monologue, the buzzer sounded. Michele breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry, Mom. My secretary's buzzing me. I've got a patient waiting. Yes, Mom, I love you too.”

Michele put down the phone and got up to retrieve the ball of paper. She was twenty-eight years old, but every time she talked to her mother, she felt like a disobedient child. Her mother wanted a respectable married daughter and grandchildren she could visit. She seemed to think it was Michele's duty to propagate the family line.

The sun was in her eyes. Michele stretched up to her full height and attempted to adjust the blue miniblinds she had installed on her office window. The pull cord didn't seem to be working right, and the room was bathed in stripes of sunlight and shadow. Perhaps she should have read the instructions after all.

The Pro Choice Clinic was on the ground floor of the old Federal Building, right next to the St. Cloud Beauty College. The front part of the space had been Rick Nolan's headquarters. The huge plate-glass window facing St. Germain Street was uncurtained. Perhaps Congressman Nolan had encouraged public scrutiny, but Michele found the exposure disconcerting. Her first act as administrator was to tape poster board to the bottom half of the window and put in an order for miniblinds.

The space in the rear was perfect. It contained two examining rooms, a tiny but efficient lab, and a large waiting room. It was Dr. Sampson's former office. Bruce had moved to larger quarters in Doctors' Park last year.

Michele jerked on the cord, and it broke off in her hand. She should have known better than to tackle the job herself. Anything that had the words
E-Z Installation
on the box was a job for a professional. Now she'd have to dig through the wastebasket for the instructions and spend another night trying to fix the blinds.

“You'd better adjust those miniblinds, Michele. The way that sun's coming in, you look like a zebra.”

Louise Gladke grinned as she bustled into Michele's office and plunked a file on her desk. Even though she was dressed in street clothing, there was no doubt that Louise was a nurse. Her white orthopedic shoes gave her away.

“Cindy's test results are in. I let her stay in the small examination room while she was waiting. The poor girl was so nervous she started to cry.”

Michele sighed as she flipped open the file and looked at the results. Teenage pregnancy was always traumatic, especially when the girl was as young as Cindy. For a moment Michele almost asked Louise to take over on this one. Cindy was Dale Kline's daughter.

Dale had been Michele's first date in St. Cloud. She'd met him when he drew up the charter for the clinic.

The meal had been the only good thing about the evening. They'd driven out to the Persian Supper Club for prime rib. The trouble had started in the piano bar after the dinner. Dale had finished off four double Scotches while Michele toyed with her snifter of Tia Maria. On their way out to the parking lot Dale had warned her that he didn't ask a woman out for a second date unless she put out on the first.

Michele had thanked him graciously for dinner, turned on her heel, and gone back into the restaurant to call a taxi. It was the first time in her life that she'd needed the twenty-dollar bill her mother had insisted she tuck into her purse whenever she went out for the evening.

“Do you want me to take this one, Michele?” Louise was still standing by the desk. “I know how you feel about Dale Kline.”

“No, that's all right. Bring Cindy to my office, Louise. And make sure she doesn't have to go through the waiting room. She's probably afraid someone will recognize her and tell Dale.”

In a moment there was a soft knock and the door opened. Michele was glad to see that Louise had her arm around Cindy. Louise's mother-hen instinct was one of the main reasons Michele had chosen her for the job.

“Hi, Cindy.” Michele smiled warmly. “Let's sit over here where we can be comfortable.”

She led Cindy to the two overstuffed chairs that were part of a conversational grouping at the far end of the office. The area was designed to set young patients at ease. Michele knew that facing an adult behind a desk was always intimidating, especially for a young teenager.

“Your test is positive, Cindy.” Michele found it was helpful to get right to the point in pregnancy cases. Sometimes hearing the worst is almost a relief.

“According to the information you gave Louise, you're approximately six weeks pregnant. In a way that's good news. It means you have several options. I'll tell you about them, and then you can think about which one is best for you.”

Cindy's lower lip trembled. “I—I was hoping my period was just late.”

A tear rolled down Cindy's cheek, and Michele handed her a box of tissues. “I'll go get us a couple of Cokes. Then we can talk.”