“But that would mean that Tom Adams would have to abandon his experiment. It might even go against his concept of his religion. And that, I am positive, Adams would be most reluctant to do.
“Finally, the bottom line is that this is Tom Adams’s call. And after the flipflop he pulled in going from his selection of Nancy as new manager to an overnight switch to Ulrich, I haven’t a clue as to how his mind works.”
“Maybe,” Zoo said as they pulled up in front of St. Joe’s rectory, “somebody knows exactly how Tom Adams’s mind works.”
“Somebody? Who?”
“If your theory is correct, the person responsible for Al Ulrich’s death.”
Twelve
Barbara ulrich perched on the edge of a straight-back chair. Appropriately, she wore black.
All was quiet at McGovern and Sons Funeral Home on North Woodward in Royal Oak. The establishment’s appointments, down to the deep pile carpets, were chosen for the absorption and muffling of sound. Further, besides Mr. McGovern, no one was visible but Babs and Marilyn Fradet.
Good old Marilyn. Married to a bank comptroller who probably thought of his wife in terms of her chemical net worth of some ninety-two cents.
Marilyn alone, of all the bank’s hierarchy and wives, had come to Barbara’s side when news of Al Ulrich’s tragic death was broadcast.
Of course life went on. Nancy Groggins, as Al’s successor-temporary or otherwise-was undoubtedly up to her ears in the grand opening. And the others: Lou, Martin and Jack, plus Tom Adams of course, were being questioned by the police and interviewed by the media.
But here it was, late afternoon on a beautiful spring day, and none of them had so much as called to offer condolences.
On the other hand, all of the above were well aware of the fractured state of the Ulrich marriage. Maybe it was foolish to expect a call.
It was nice of Marilyn to come along-even if she was precious, little company.
The two women were seated across the desk from Charles McGovern. They had just settled on the wording of Al’s death notice.
Death notices are far more expensive than people realize. As at so many other times in life when businesses have one.at their mercy, the papers overcharge for this “service.” Al Ulrich’s death notice would run in Sunday’s combined edition of the Free Press and News on a one-time-only basis. Actually, as a prominent banker whose name had become far more familiar through his appointment as first manager of a controversial branch, he would merit an expanded and complimentary write-up on the obituary page. Finally, since this prominent banker had been murdered, he was front-page news, his death the leading story on TV and radio newscasts.
By and large, Al Ulrich’s death was well noted.
How did Barbara feel? A new definition of mixed emotions.
In direct antithesis to her mother, Babs had wanted a husband who would not so much as look at another woman with lust in his heart. She’d found one who didn’t even look at her with lust in his heart.
That hadn’t always been true.
Al and Barbara had had a months-long torrid affair that might have been called art engagement. They called it a torrid affair.
He was climbing the corporate ladder at Adams Bank and Trust. She was in public relations. They met at a cocktail party hosted by her company.
He was dark, hirsute, well built, with a dangerous, erotic look in his eyes. She was-well, physically perfect.
Gradually, as the minutes went by, they shut out everyone else. It seemed so natural for them to end the evening at her place.
They sensed this was not a one-nighter. Both were sexually experienced. They took their time. No more alcohol. They kissed lingeringly, deeply. The trail of discarded clothing was like an arrow pointing to the bedroom.
That night set a pattern for months to come.
Then, one Saturday in June, they were married. He was Mr. Virility in his black tux. In her white gown she put Elizabeth Taylor, that once and future bride, to shame.
Early in their honeymoon she made it clear there would be no children. Not under any circumstances.
He was bewildered.
Why hadn’t this literally vital consideration been thrashed out before they married? Why are so many serious matters overlooked in nearly every engagement?
People are in love. Prone to dismiss serious details, confident that a love so strong can solve any emerging problem. No need, to bring up anything that might prove troublesome. Love conquers all.
U.S. divorce statistics argue against love’s omnipotence.
With the Ulrichs, children, or the absence of same, became the bone of contention. It proved formidable.
He refused to make love at the whim of a calendar. Nor would he interrupt the progression of sex to slip on a protective sheath. Let alone endure a medical procedure that would sterilize him. Barbara, for her part, was as adamant in refusing to consider standard methods of birth control.
As time passed, their respective decisions solidified and a transformation occurred.
Al Ulrich had always been devoted to his job. He now became completely dedicated to both his job and his employer. Barbara, for him, had become an extremely attractive ornament clinging to his arm at important social functions.
Barbara did not fancy becoming an object.
Again, there were options. Divorce was the simplest. But Ulrich’s attachment to the bank and to Tom Adams was intensifying. This dedication was such an obsession that it became his entire life. It would not have mattered who his wife was. She would be his badge of respectability. If his spouse were Barbara or someone-anyone-else, it made no difference.
Barbara had found if not the philanderer she had sworn to avoid, nor a mate dedicated to her, at least a consort who was going places. He was a rocket that would catapult her into a society where she would feel right at home.
So, if not a divorce, then an unchanging continuation of the status quo.
Barbara collected her lovers one at a time with no particular plan. One led to another. Only in retrospect did she realize that she had the complete collection of Al’s superiors as paramours. She never adverted to the fact that she was duplicating, at least numerically, her mother’s track record.
How did she feel now that her peculiar version of a husband was dead-murdered?
Mixed emotions.
It was at very least odd to terribly tragic for any comparatively young person to be snatched from life. And whatever else might be said, Al’s death had been a profound shock.
There was one certainty: when her child was born, Al would not be around to deny paternity.
This opened another field of speculation. At the recent award dinner, she’d revealed her pregnant state to the four candidates. The notes she had delivered had intimated that Al could be a problem. Was it possible? Could one of them …?
It was time, Mr. McGovern suggested gently, to select a casket.
Barbara shook her head. “Casket? He’s going to be cremated.”
McGovern nodded. “But for the viewing-and before the service …?”
“I forgot about that. I don’t know what kind of service we can have. We don’t have any religious affiliation.…”
McGovern smiled. “We’ve found that a service helps all the mourners through a difficult time. We can arrange something” non-denominational that will be quite nice. Of course whether you want the body present is entirely up to you.”
Marilyn Fradet cleared her throat. If she hadn’t made an occasional sound the other two might well have forgotten her presence.
“Babs, don’t you think it would be sort of expected? I mean, to have a service and have the body present? I’m sure Tom Adams will be there. Everyone knows he’s very religious. And he and Al were so close ….”