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Cincinnati heart surgeoun Darryl Sutorious was spellbound, convinced he'd found the perfect wife.

With bewitching hazel eyes and exquisite clothes, Cante Britteon seemed to have stepped straight out of Vogue and into his arms. Beneath Dante's china-doll facade lured a sceretive, dangerous woman, a man-hater born as Della Faye Hall, whose four previous marriages had been spiced with butcher knives, pistols, vandalized house and lover set on fire, according to the men she ensnared.

Dick cracked some father-of-the-bride jokes but Darryl seemed not to care. One would think Darryl had some serious form of depression, but Dick didn't really suspect that.

But then Darryl showed little happiness when he picked out a diamond tennis bracelet for Dante. Darryl wanted his wife to wear diamonds of the finest quality; he could just picture it dripping off her exquisite porcelain wrist.

Cut the poor-mouth routine." As their conversation faded, Darryl became totally engrossed with slicing his thick portion of veal. It was near Christmas, it was the holiday season, yet Darryl was finding every reason to be unhappy.

Then, after a few bites, he suddenly laid the utensils down. Dick noticed it the minute the two of them met—they had just gone to buy the wives their presents, a regular ritual for which they both ended the workday early.

"I've got problems with Deborah," Darryl confessed.

"She just announced she's getting married." "Well, that's great! I'm not so sure about this wedding she's planning." "Where's she getting married?

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