Whenever Randall blew into a town, he’d pick a church in an upscale neighborhood and scan its bulletin. What he looked for was a Single’s function the perfect venue for his scam.
Randall preferred woman in their forties and fifties, who were well maintained and lonely, very lonely. Yes, they were easy to spot: manicured fingers, expensive perfume, and hair coiffed and colored in the latest style. He could also zero in on the most wealthy. How? They never served cocktail sausages or stayed late folding tables and chairs.
St. Luke’s Methodist was his pit stop this evening and he felt electric. The rush of the hunt and the challenge of the conquest always did this to him. With cool calculation, he surveyed the room for the best vantage point both to see and be seen. Instinctively, he maneuvered his way to the punch bowl. Here, as in the wild, watering holes were always prime hunting grounds. Dressed conservatively in a pin-striped navy suit, Randall nodded to whomever approached, but his conversation was selective. It was critical that he not get tangled up in sports talk with other men, since the ladies were then far less likely to approach him. And having a woman come to him was the best way to snag the prize of champagne wishes and caviar dreams.
As he perused the crowd, no one stood out. There was the usual array of stout church ladies in comfortable shoes and lace-collared dresses, as well as the spattering of pale young women who slumped and huddled in dark corners with worried expressions on their faces.
Then someone caught his eye a woman in pink who entered on the arm of the Reverend and who everyone turned to look at. Yes, she might be his ticket. Everything about her said “Ka-ching” with capital dollar signs her trim, tanned figure, short, sleek hair, and thick gold necklace that glinted in the light.
Randall casually sauntered into her field of vision. His height was always an advantage and within a minute her eyes latched onto his. Contact! Now all he had to do was wait and pretend to be prey instead of predator.
Her name, he was to find out, was Daphne and she was distantly related to the Kelloggs of Michigan. Not too shabby. Her home, left to her by her dearly departed husband, was a oceanfront property nestled behind an iron gate and sprawling stone wall. Randall learned these things and more during a coffee hour, after which time, she offered to give him a tour.
“My husband was twenty years older” she said as she opened the double doors to the master bedroom, “and even though we never had children, we had ten wonderful years together.”
Sheer white curtains billowed into the room from an ocean breeze.
Curious as to the possibilities of money grubbing relatives, Randall asked, “Had either of you married before?”
Daphne adjusted some flowers on the mantle of the stone fireplace. “It was my first marriage, but his second.”
“So you’re a stepmother?” he ventured.
She laughed. “Heaven’s no. Neither of us had children.”
Relief swept through him. She was widowed with no heirs, the perfect uncomplicated history that he preferred. And it was then that Randall decided to put on the dog and woo yet another bride, his fifth.
The following day, Randall moved into a hotel suite, put a down payment on a new Mercedes, and took Daphne to dinner via a private plane to Boston. Yes, it was an extravagance but no matter what he bought, rented or charged, it would all be paid for by his future bride.
That evening her inquiries were probing. “What kind of business are you in?”
He beamed. How he loved this question! He could let his mind fabricate and weave any story he wished as long as whatever line of work he chose could conveniently take an unexpected downturn once they married. “I deal in fine art. My primary clients are German and Japanese businessmen. I have to travel a bit but it’s quite lucrative.”
“How fascinating,” she said.
He agreed but bemoaned the fact that jet-setting across continents and spending weeks away from home was cumbersome.
Daphne sympathized, “It must get lonely.”
Randall stared off and said quietly, “Yes, very.”
A whirlwind romance followed and marriage plans sprouted.
Over a continental breakfast she asked, “But would you be comfortable in my husband’s home?”
“Of course darling,” he said.
She sighed heavily. “I just don’t know if it would be right. Maybe we should have a fresh start.”
Randall didn’t like the sound of that but kept to himself. “Whatever you decide will be fine, dear.”
She drummed her fingers on the table. “Or we could just remodel. Make the house more to your taste. Would you prefer that?”
He grinned. “Yes, that would be marvelous.”
It was then decided that an indoor pool and sauna would be her wedding gift to him. And while the extensive renovations took place, she moved into his hotel suite.
One month later, their wedding day arrived. It was a crisp sunny day only clouded by one minute detail. On their way to the church, Daphne realized she had nothing blue and insisted that she gather her mother’s sapphire ring. It would only take an extra ten minutes and Randall agreed to be let off at the church and stall the Reverend.
When Randall entered the sacristy, the minister was waiting.
“I’m sorry Reverend, but Daphne had to run up to the house.”
“House?”
“Yes, her place on the ocean.”
“Oh, you mean the Seaview mansion.”
“Of course.”
“But that’s not hers, she just housesits there.”
Randall reeled as if blind-sided by a ten-ton rig. He then sprinted outside and saw the taillights of his brand-new Mercedes turn onto Highway 19, heading in the opposite direction to the shore.