Free Weddings Can Be Murder by Connie Shelton Page A

they were at least thirty miles per hour over the speed
limit. Proletti shot a glance toward his side mirror and zipped
across three lanes of traffic to take the next exit. Ten minutes
later they pulled to the curb in front of a chain link-fenced job
site. A sign showing an architect’s rendering of a huge
Spanish-style building announced that Pro-Builder Construction was
general contractor on the new Rossmoor Golf and Country Club.
    Juliette knew bits and scraps of information
about the job, the pieces she gleaned from letters she typed and
documents she copied. The fifteen million dollar bid was only the
beginning, enough to cover earth-moving to form the curving
fairways and greens of the golf course. The clubhouse/restaurant
pictured on the sign would be added separately. For a girl who’d
been living on a little over five hundred dollars a month until
recently, those kinds of numbers were surreal.
    Al got out of the car and came around to her
side. She picked up her notepad and swung her legs around. She
struggled a moment to get out of the low car. He didn’t say
anything but she hadn’t imagined where his attention went as her
skirt slid upward. She smoothed it down and squared her shoulders,
standing beside the car and staring out at the massive earth-movers
and trucks in the distance.
    While the machines crawled over the pale
dirt hills, Al had already headed toward the cluster of metal
trailers at the front of the property and Juliette followed,
tottering on her high heels over the uneven graveled drive. He
climbed four steps at the front of the first trailer, opened the
door and held it for her. She clutched her steno pad and entered a
room with linoleum flooring and walls covered with tacked-up
notices and permits. A desk, its surface strewn with papers, sat at
one end of the room, but the largest feature was a long worktable
where rolled blueprints were unfurled and held in place with two
staplers, a metal tape measure and several rocks. A stocky man sat
behind the desk, phone to his ear, leaning so far back in his
swivel chair that Juliette was surprised it didn’t take off beneath
him. He gave her the once-over as she stepped into the room, before
he noticed Al behind her.
    “I, uh, I’ll call you back, Mr. Sciatone,”
he said, snapping upright in his seat, dropping the phone to its
cradle. “Mr. Proletti. Didn’t know you was stopping by today.”
    “I know,” said Al. His eyes traveled the
width of the desk before he turned toward the worktable. He stared
at the blueprints, smoothing the top sheet with his hand. “Why
aren’t we in phase three yet?”
    The man edged his way past the cluttered
desk, giving a nod toward Juliette as he passed.
    “Sorry. Where are my manners?” Al said.
“Juliette, this is Ernie Batista, job foreman.”
    Ernie gave her a tentative smile. She never
recalled making a man nervous before, but this one was walking on
eggshells.
    “So?” Al’s question was more pointed this
time. “Phase three, Ernie. Talk to me.”
    “Well, Mr. Proletti, there was that delay
with the concrete delivery …”
    “Old news. We got that straightened out
three days ago. Why am I not seeing a foundation out there
yet?”
    “The trench is there, sir, it’s just we had
all that rain. An alligator came onto the site and got itself stuck
in the trench and none of those bas— uh, guys on the crew would go
anywhere close. Finally, Tommy the Shark shot the thing … but they
didn’t make such good progress this week.”
    Al gave the man a silent stare with his
intense blue eyes. “Next guy shirks his duty around here, the
gator’s gonna get him.” A long, silent beat went by before Al
laughed. “Can you see it now? Some guy shows up to put forms in
that trench and there’s this big old gator?”
    Ernie’s laugh started as a shaky chuckle but
soon he was roaring. Juliette put on a polite smile, not quite sure
whether she was meant to be in on this conversation. All at once,
Al’s