When Chad and I were together, one of our many running arguments had been about joining the Santa Lucia Country Club.
“Katy,” he’d say. “It’s a great place to make business connections.”
“Chad,” I’d say. “We’re not business moguls. We own a little bookstore that’s barely making it and the country club is not in our budget.”
And he’d counter with, “We can run it through the business and take the write-off.”
At the club, I raced to the pro shop, thinking that if he was playing golf, he had to sign in first, and maybe somebody could track him down on the course. Along the way, I received several disapproving glances to which I responded, “Yeah, I know. I have jeans on. This is an emergency. Do you know Chad Bridges?”
Most just shook their heads, but one beer-bellied fellow pointed toward the putting green. “You look too smart to be married to the jackass, so he must owe you money too. Am I right?”
“Close enough. Thanks.”
And there he was with his arms wrapped around a middle-aged, bleached blond helping her putt. How considerate.
“Hey, Chad!” I hollered from the edge of the green. “Your wife’s in the hospital! You might want to wind up your golf lesson and get over there.” I wondered if Blondie was the reason I hadn’t received a sex-text from Chad for the past few days. Maybe I should thank her.
“You have a wife?” The woman jerked out of his grasp, brandishing her putter dangerously near his plonker. “You son of a bitch. I bet you’re not even a real pro.”
That statement drew a round of hearty guffaws from the audience lounging on the deck above the putting green.
“Baby, you got it all wrong,” Chad said to his voluptuous protégée. “Yeah, I’m married, but it’s over. I swear.”
Blondie stomped off, yelling at the peanut gallery, “One of you guys order me a dirty martini. Make it a double.”
Chad hoisted his golf bag to his shoulder. “Thanks a lot for making me look like an ass, Katy.” He stomped away.
I tagged along. “If you’re going to thank me for anything, how about thanking me for tracking you down, since you can’t be bothered to answer your phone. As far as making you look like an ass, you sure don’t need my help.”
From my car, I watched him exit the parking lot, then followed to make sure he went straight to the hospital.
I caught up with Chad just as he was shoving through the knot of book clubbers loitering outside Heather’s room. From within the room, I heard Sam say in her sunniest voice, “Oh look, Heather. Your hubby’s here.”
“Oh, Chaddie,” cried Heather. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”
Sam broke in. “Heather, let me take Chad away for just one minute to explain your condition to him. Okay, sweetie?”
“K.”
Of course, I didn’t get to listen in on what Samantha told Chad, but while she was talking, Debra filled me in.
“Things have escalated. Her OB thinks she’s in eclampsia, which may be why she fell off the step stool. She was probably experiencing dizziness, blurry vision…” She blew out an agitated sigh. “The clerk at the store says she was seizing before the ambulance got there. That in itself is extremely serious, but the fall caused placental abruption.”
“What does that mean?”
“The placenta has peeled away from the uterine wall.”
That sent a shiver rolling through me. “Now what happens?”
“The babies need to be delivered as soon as Heather agrees.”
“But it’s too soon. Way too soon.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
THURSDAY • AUGUST 1
Posted by Katy McKenna
Have not been in a blogging mood the past few days. Heather had a stroke. Oh, God, here come the tears again. The doctors are optimistic about her long-term recovery. Doesn’t that sound like something a doctor would say when they really have no clue?
Two babies were stillborn and one very tiny guy is in neonatal intensive care. Ten and a half ounces.
Chapter Thirty-Four
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
FRIDAY • AUGUST 2
Posted by Katy McKenna
I am so sick of dealing with Chad, talking about Chad, posting about Chad. I really need this “Chad Chapter” in my life to be over. That being said, now I’ll write the latest about, what else, Chad.
Last night, Sam told me he hasn’t been to the hospital since the day after Heather’s stroke and emergency C-section. After hearing that, I decided to try to knock some sense into the jerk’s thick skull.
Chad’s black Lexus SUV was in his driveway, but he didn’t answer the door. I spied a surveillance camera aimed at me, so I waved, shouting, “I know you’re in there, so you might as well open the door, ’cause I’m not leaving until you do!”
I waited a minute, then stepped behind the bushes fronting a window about ten feet from the door and peered into the gloomy house. I saw remnants of a “Happy Meal” on the coffee table. He likes to collect the toys.
Propelled by pissed-off adrenaline, I worked my way across the front of the house, looking in every window that wasn’t draped. I continued around back, where not a single window was covered, so the peeping was easier. On the fourth window, I got lucky. Or rather he was getting lucky. And get this! It was Blondie from the country club.
My first impulse was to bang on the window, thus interrupting his banging. Then it came to me. Video. YouTube. Viral. Yes! Fist-pump. On the other side of the room, one of the french doors was cracked open, so I set my phone video mode to HD and slowly, ever so quietly, inched the door open. When it was wide enough to slip through, I focused on them and zoomed in for a nice hairy butt shot.
“Oh, Lisa, baby,” Chad grunted. “Uh-huh. Yeah. That’s it, baby. God, I love your big hooters. Jiggle ’em for your daddy.”
That was my cue. “Speaking of daddies, shouldn’t you be at the hospital taking care of your wife and baby? Huh, Daddy?”
They froze, then twisted to gawk at me. Priceless.
“What the hell’re you doing?” screamed Chad, disengaging (for lack of a better word).
“Filming your infidelity for posterity.” I zoomed in on his sweaty, enraged face. “Gosh, the lighting in here does nothing for you.”
“Turn off that damned thing!” Lisa yanked the sheets over her big hooters.
I aimed the phone-cam on her flushed face. “FYI, he really likes it when you call him Big Guy.”
She pointed a purple nail at me. “You’re a crazy stalker just like Chad said.”
I could see where me breaking in and filming their sex-fest might seem a little stalkerish, so I set her straight. “If I was going to stalk someone, Lisa, do you really think it would be him? Seriously?”
Lisa glanced at her chunky shag-buddy battling to disentangle from the sheets. “Maybe not.”
“Chad, you know what?” I said.
He stopped wrestling the sheets. “What?”
I zoomed in on his limp tallywacker. “This video’s going viral, Big Guy.”
He flung out an arm to grab the phone, but I was too quick. Making my exit through the french door, still filming, I hollered over his threats to call the cops, sue me, kill me. “I’ll send you the YouTube link.”
I raced around the house to my car, wishing I’d left the motor running for a fast getaway. I didn’t think they’d chase me in their birthday suits, but there was the possibility they’d call the police.
Once I cleared the neighborhood, I started to giggle and shake. A strange sensation. What had possessed me to pull such a crazy stunt? I parked in a cul-de-sac to watch the video.
“Oh, this is good.” Could I blackmail him with this? Not for money, but to force him to do his duty by Heather and his child. Just until she recovers. God knows, I wouldn’t wish that sweet girl a lifetime tethered to the loser.
For safekeeping, I e-mailed a copy to myself and resisted sending it to Samantha.
I wanted to savor the moment with her.
After a couple more viewings, I headed to the temp agency to check in with Ruby. Maybe she’d take me to lunch, and we could watch the video.
When I entered Nothing Lasts Forever, I did a double take. My fairy grandmother had magically transformed the dingy office into a respectable workplace with new furniture, window coverings, and a fresh coat of paint.
From Paul’s office I heard soft murmuring, and my smutty mind instantly shifted into high alert, but I didn’t whip out my phone to document the details. Instead I rapped on the opaque glass door. “It’s me. Katy.” I didn’t want to open the door and be blinded by the sight of my granny canoodling with her boss.
“Come in, sweetie,” said Ruby.
“I can come back later if you’re busy.”
The door swung open and Ruby waved me in, clutching a handful of playing cards.
“Hey,” said Paul. “We were just talking about you.”
Ruby stepped to the desk and slapped her cards down. “Gin.”
“Not again. Katy. You need to take your job back,” said Paul. “I can’t afford your grandmother.”
“You can’t afford to lose me, bub,” said Ruby. “How many new clients have I brought on?”
“She’s right. I gotta keep her. At least until the new furniture is paid off.” He glanced at his watch. “I promised the wife I’d take her to lunch at Bada Bing. It’s her favorite. Say, you two want to join us? My treat.”
“Katy, take a look at Paul’s family.” Ruby thrust a framed photo under my nose. “Good-looking kids, huh?”
I glanced at the photo, not registering the faces. “Yeah.”
“How old did you say your boys are, Paul?” asked Ruby, still holding the photo in my vision line.
“Jason’s twenty-one and Matthew is almost eighteen. Great kids.”
Matthew? Matthew as in the Bada Bing is my parents’ favorite restaurant Matthew? I looked at the photo again. Crap. It was him. Seventeen. Thank God I didn’t sleep with him. Not ready to add pedophilia to my growing list of crimes. You can add “stupid” to the top of the list though. Judge! I confess! I’m guilty of stupidity and I’m a repeat offender.
“Thanks, Paul, for the invite, but we’ll take a raincheck. I need to spend a little quality time with my girl.”
Over lunch at The Burger Hut, I shared the Chad video with Ruby.
“Katy, I am proud to call you my granddaughter,” she laughed, dabbing her eyes. “Play it again.”
Chad’s voice boomed through the speaker: “Jiggle ’em for your daddy.”
“Wow. I can’t believe you had the nerve. I also can’t believe I loved that schmuck,” she said, shaking her head. “Boy did he have me fooled. Are you really going to put this on YouTube?”
“No. Or at least, not yet.”
“Oh darn. The gals at Shady Acres would love it.”
“I’ll e-mail it to you.” I briefed her on my plan to blackmail Chad into doing the right thing.
She leaned back in her seat, appraising me. “Too bad Josh can’t use a little help in his PI business. You’re a natural. You’re a bold, brassy broad, you know that?”
I slathered a wad of garlic fries in mayonnaise and washed them down with iced tea, thinking, More like impulsive, spiteful, stupid. “Speaking of Josh. Have you seen him lately?”
“I’ve run into him a few times in the hall. You know what might be fun? We’ve got a senior prom night coming up at Shady Acres. You could invite him.”
Oh yeah. I can just see Josh-the-Viking going for that. Besides, he’s not my type anymore. I’m looking for a Justin Fargate clone. I bet he’d love going to the prom.
“You could double-date with Ben and me. And there’s going to be a tango contest.” Suddenly her eyes brimmed with tears.
“You look like you’re about to cry. What’s wrong?”
“Ronald.”
“The retired gay mortician?”
“Yes. The contest was his idea. But he’s danced his last tango.”
The waiter refilled our iced teas and cleared the table. As Ruby stirred sweetener into her tea, she sighed. “He’d had prostate cancer for years and it finally got to the point where he needed to be in the hospital, and a couple days later—”
“He died?”
“Yup. Just like that. Heart failure.” She snapped her fingers. “I thought for sure they’d get him up and dancing again. And remember Beverly and how she tripped over her diaper when it fell down around her ankles, and she broke her hip?”
“Yes. What about her?”
“Well, one thing led to another and the next thing you know, she’s on a respirator, and then two nights ago, out of the blue, she passes. She’d already nailed the lead in our upcoming production of Dream Girls, so it’s not like she had nothing to live for.” Ruby drained her iced tea. “And now she’s gone. Eighty-three years on this earth and all she gets is one lousy paragraph in the paper. And you know why? Because she had no family to write an obit about her.”
“Don’t worry, Ruby. We’ll write a very nice obituary for you.”
“I’m not worried about that. I already have a rough draft. We can work on it together.”
Great. Can’t wait.
“At the rate things are going, I won’t have a single friend left.”
“Ruby. It’s to be expected. They were much older than you and sick. Their time had come. You know, the circle of life and all that.”
“I understand all that, but we’ve lost nine residents just in the past month. If I get sick, do not send me to the hospital. It’s a damned death trap.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
SATURDAY • AUGUST 3
Posted by Katy McKenna
Got a call last night from the schmuck. When my house phone announced his name, I panicked. My first thoughts were, What was I thinking? Why did I make that video? Could he sue me?
I waited for the voice mail to start recording. “Katy. It’s me. Listen, I’ve thought about what you did today, and I am begging you. Please do not put that video on YouTube. I will do anything you want. Anything. Just don’t do this to me. And think about Lisa. This will destroy her.”
I picked up. “Do you honestly think I care about Lisa?”
“Oh, hi.”
“Here’s what you’re going to do.”
“I’ll do anything.”
“Yes, you will, Chad. And you want to know why?”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“Because now I own your flabby, hairy ass, that’s why. If I say jump, you better be askin’ how high.” I was liking my new tough-guy persona. Bold, brassy. “You’re going to take care of your wife. She had a stroke and lost two babies.”
“So did I, you know. It’s been really hard.”
He actually had the nerve to sound distraught. What a crock.
“Hold on a minute. I, uh, need to turn something off.” More like I needed to turn something on. I grabbed my cell off the kitchen counter, then set the landline to speaker and set my cell to record. “Okay, I’m back. You were saying?”
“I was saying it’s been really hard for me too, you know. I lost two babies and my wife almost died.” His voice quavered, but I wasn’t buying it. “Lisa was just trying to comfort me, that’s all.”
Since I was recording the conversation I resisted saying, “Don’t you mean Lisa’s big hooters were comforting you?”
He continued, “I called Heather’s mother and asked her to fly out here and help. She’s recovering from surgery and is coming as soon as she’s allowed to travel. Really bad timing.”
“How inconsiderate of her.”
“So, we’re good? You won’t post it? It would really hurt Heather. And I know you care about her.”
“No, I won’t post it. At least not yet. But Chad?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to have to man up and give Heather what she needs. You owe it to her. You
know what I’m saying?”
“You’re saying that if I don’t—”
“You’ll wish you had,” I said, and then I went all espionage on him. “I have the video ready to launch. All I have to do is go online and click the button. And if you think you can stop me by calling the police or suing me, just know this—there are copies out there already. You don’t want to make me mad, Chad.”
“Wow, Katy.” His voice got husky. “You’re turning me on.”
Apprehensive, I peeked into Heather’s hospital room from the hallway. Would she look different? Could she speak? Would she know me?
A plaid curtain was drawn around her bed. I started to back away, but then Debra and Nora stepped into sight.
“Oh look, Heather.” Nora drew the curtain back and motioned me in. “Another visitor.”
Heather saw me and smiled. She looked fine. Well, not fine, but pretty darned good considering all she’d been through.
“She’s coming along nicely, Katy,” said Debra, sensing my trepidation. “It was an ischemic stroke but a mild one.”
I had no idea what an ischemic stroke was but wasn’t asking in front of Heather. “Does it bother her that we’re talking about this in front of her?”
“Heather, does it bother you?” asked Nora.
“No. You’re my friends.”
Debra continued, fondly looking at the young woman. “Heather has a great neurologist and cardiologist keeping tabs on her. They expect a full recovery.”
“But you have your work cut out for you, don’t you?” said Nora.
“Got to get strong,” said Heather with a misty smile. “For my baby.”
I’d been afraid to ask, but since the subject had come up. “How’s the little one doing?”
“Good.” Heather looked motherly and proud.
Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection Page 40
