Hell to Pay (What Doesn’t Kill You, #7): An Emily Romantic Mystery

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  “What are you doing?” I lifted the bag on the table. Aspen Creek Grill. New and a little more upscale than our usual lunch place.

  Wallace turned to me with a smile that didn’t fool me for a second. His eyes looked sad, even a little frightened. “There’s my girl. I got myself the salmon. I told the waiter just to have the kitchen throw together some kind of enormous vegetarian salad for you. They swear it’s edible but I can’t vouch for it.”

  I walked to the back door and let Snowflake in. Apparently there had been a monsoon or a water main break while I was gone, because she was head-to-toe muddy, not a trace of white fur to be seen on her.

  “No, girl! Back. Stop. Oh no!” In five seconds, Snowflake managed to smear mud on my jeans, track it across Wallace’s loafers, and bicycle it into the carpet in the living room.

  “Argh.” I snatched her up and carried her to the hall bathroom.

  Wallace waved a hand in the air. “I’ll keep your food safe. Looks like you’ve got that covered.”

  I laughed. “I’ll bet you make Ethan change the cat box, too.”

  He draped his hand over his sternum. “Who, me?”

  Five minutes later, Snowflake was soaking wet and I wasn’t much better, but her fur was white again. I set her down in the living room and she started running laps up and over the furniture and hearth. I left her to it, then checked my phone quickly, hoping to hear from Jack so I could unload the weight of all the things I hadn’t had a chance to tell him, after I asked him who Paige was and what sexy-voiced woman he was late meeting today. Instead, a notification of a calendar item appeared on my screen. Due date!! it read. At first I was flummoxed. What was due? Huh? And then I remembered. I’d put it on my calendar when I’d learned I was pregnant. It was my baby’s due date, if I hadn’t miscarried last fall.

  All my energy seeped out of me, and it was a struggle not to follow it in a weightless heap on the floor. I stared out the living room window into the backyard, using the sight of the daisies I’d planted by the side fence two weeks earlier to anchor me, imagining picking one and pulling its petals one by one. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. No, I wasn’t going down that unhelpful rabbit hole. I pictured myself in reverse, putting the petals back on the daisy and placing it back in the flowerbed. Don’t think, I told myself. Just breathe.

  “Girl, what in God’s name are you doing in there staring out the window? Come eat with me.” The only thing missing from Wallace’s delivery was a snap at the end of his speech. The man was all about the drama.

  I wasn’t, yet here I was, smack in the middle of it. I needed to just maintain, though what I’d be maintaining I wasn’t sure. Equilibrium? Decorum? Sanity? I walked into the kitchen. Wallace had dug into his lunch.

  “Don’t wait on my account.” I went to the sink and washed my hands.

  “I knew you wouldn’t want me to let it get cold.”

  I took my seat, wiping my hands dry on my jeans. “So, why are you buttering me up, Wallace? I’ve been worried about it ever since you hung up on me.”

  He looked at me with the sad eyes I’d seen earlier.

  “It’s Betsy, isn’t it? Just say it.”

  “I’m sorry, I fought so hard for you—”

  “The Hodges are getting Betsy. Say it.”

  “Yes. They are.”

  I opened my salad, my eyes burning, my hands wooden. Wallace had laid out real silverware, and I stabbed some lettuce with my fork.

  “Emily?”

  I stared at my food and chewed, sending Wallace to my mental voice mail. I’m sorry, but Emily’s not available to hear this right now. The green lettuce and bright carrots, radishes, and squash, the splash of chipotle ranch dressing, all swam together in my vision and became abstract. The islands. Katie’s big yellow house, Annalise, up in the lush rainforest. Yes, that’s where Emily is. The shimmering white sand and turquoise water on the west end. The unbelievable pink and orange bougainvillea at the Peacock Flower Resort, where I’d stayed. That was a happy place. I’d stay there for a while. Away from Wallace and his news, and this house with no Betsy, and Jack with his weird behavior, and my dad the killer, and every other blessed thing mucking things up for me.

  “Emily, are you okay? Say something.” Wallace reached over and took my left hand, pulling me back from the islands.

  But what was there to say? Betsy would never be mine. The Hodges had won. I had failed. But why? That. That was something I could say. “What could I have done differently?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. You did great. The Hodges just have an incredibly good track record with the state. I don’t know if anyone could have beat them head-to-head.”

  I spoke through the food still in my mouth. “They’re freaking nutjobs, and I don’t give a flying fig about their track record with the state.” A screech came out of nowhere at the end, along with some lettuce and carrot, but I didn’t care. I jumped up, ramming into the table and knocking my silverware to the floor.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” Jack’s voice from behind me was the final straw.

  I wheeled on him with the sharp edges of my anger and disappointment. “NICE TO SEE YOU, JACK ASS!”

  I burst into tears and ran into our bedroom. Belatedly, I registered that Jack had been holding a small dog with a red bow around its neck, and that Snowflake was going nuts, but I didn’t falter. I heard Wallace protesting that he would leave, then explaining what had happened, but I tried to block out the sounds of their voices. I grabbed the biggest suitcase in our closet and threw things in it helter-skelter. Underwear and bras. Boots. Socks. Sandals. Nightgowns. Shirts. Jeans. Skirts. A light jacket. In the bathroom, I filled a smaller bag with toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, comb, hairspray, deodorant, perfume, and my makeup bag.

  Footsteps behind me, the front door closing. “Emily, I’m sorry about Betsy,” Jack said, his voice soft and warm. The blue heeler puppy—because I could now see that’s what it was—in his arms looked soft and warm, too. It wriggled and whined, messing up the red bow. Snowflake continued to demonstrate that the entry of a puppy into her house had fried her brain cells as she yipped crazily and jumped around Jack’s feet.

  Puppies would not sway me. I kept working, my eyes away from puppy cuteness and Jack’s golden eyes. My face cleaner and moisturizer. A handful of scrunchies to hold back my ponytails. “Yeah, I’ll bet you are. You don’t get to put yourself a little family together after all. But at least you don’t have to marry me.”

  “What?”

  I turned to him, hands on my hips. “So, where have you been lately?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why have you been avoiding me and leaving me out of things at work?”

  “I—” The puppy yelped. Snowflake echoed it.

  “Who was the woman that called looking for you at the office today?”

  “Uh—”

  “Did you know today was the due date for the baby I lost?”

  “Oh man—”

  “Who’s Paige, and what are you doing Thursday morning?”

  He stared at me, but he didn’t answer.

  I grasped the teardrop-shaped diamond ring on my left hand and started to twist it off.

  “No, that’s yours.”

  I quit twisting. “I’m not marrying another man who’s only marrying me to get what he wants. I was a green card and a beard. Now I’m supposed to provide a wife and child to replace the ones you lost, but I’m not doing it. You’re on your own, free of me.”

  “That’s not fair. You’re wrong.”

  “I don’t even care what’s fair or right anymore.” I zipped my smaller bag, threw it into my bigger one and zipped it, too. “I only care that you don’t love me.”

  I dragged my luggage out with what little dignity I had left to muster, leaving a speechless Jack with an arm and leg full of dogs.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I snuck my bags into my old room at my parents’ and snuck myself back out ag
ain. For the millionth time in my life, I thanked God that my mother had never installed a security system that would chime every time I came and went. I wanted to be alone, to wrestle my emotions down, to figure out which way was up and which was down. I needed to fetch Wallace so we could pick Michele up at the airport. But that left me a few hours, and I filled them by driving out to Palo Duro Canyon, down a few million years to its bottoms, over its river crossings, and back again, barely taking in the rock formations with their spectacular striations of color, the wildflowers, or the lushness of the spring vegetation. As I crested the edge of the canyon on the way up, I couldn’t even remember the drive out there. I drove back to Amarillo on the smaller roads, then aimlessly coasted along residential streets in neighborhood after neighborhood on the south side of town. Finally I could stall no longer and drove to pick up Wallace at his office as he’d requested earlier. I hadn’t figured anything out by then. In fact, I had come to the conclusion that I had rendered myself homeless and jobless that day when I left Jack, in addition to everything else.

  “Do you want to talk?” Wallace asked, as he buckled his seat belt.

  “No.”

  “Okay, then.”

  We drove in silence. My cheeks burned. Wallace was witness to my meltdown and humiliation, and he was a party—even if an unwilling one—to me losing Betsy. I loved him, but he wasn’t the person I needed right now. I needed . . . Katie? Maybe . . . Jack? Sadly and definitely. I had to get over that. We parked and got out in the parking garage, still without speaking.

  “Not the world’s best timing.” I walked beside him into the lower level of the terminal. My phone chimed with a text from Jack: Are you okay? Where are you? I’m worried about you. I put my phone in my purse.

  “What did your parents say when you showed up at their house?”

  “Nothing, because I hid from them.”

  “Chicken.”

  I tried to muster a smile, but it was as flat as my voice. “Bwock bwock.”

  As we arrived at baggage claim, a tiny Hispanic woman in a red tank top and jeans was hefting a shoulder bag from the conveyor. Muscles carved lines in her arms and shoulders. When she turned, her eyes met mine and she smiled and waved.

  “Wallace! Emily!”

  “Hey, Iron Woman,” Wallace said. He grabbed her bag and kissed her cheek.

  “Michele, it’s great to see you.” I patted her and we hugged. She was tight and muscular like a gymnast, different than when I’d last seen her.

  “You’re doing your teeth.” She pointed at hers.

  “Not for much longer.” My appointment to get these darn things off was bright and early the next morning.

  “Have you eaten?” Wallace asked.

  We began walking to the car.

  “Yes, before the flight. Pappasito’s barbecue.” She patted her flat stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

  “Are you up for a drink?” he asked her.

  “I am,” I interjected.

  Michele laughed. “I’m game for anything.”

  “Don’t ever say that around Wallace,” I warned.

  We piled into the red Mustang and swapped life updates on the way to Hummers. The sun had sunk low on the horizon by then. I skipped my lowlights so as not to be Debbie Downer, and recited highlights in a perky voice.

  Wallace flipped down the passenger-side sun visor. “You can’t imagine how excited everyone is for you to just be at our club meeting tomorrow night. You’re a big celebrity now.”

  In the rearview mirror, I watched Michele as she held up both her hands and shook her head. Her fingernails were bitten to the quick. “It’s hard for me to understand how a mediocre-at-best athlete could generate this recognition. I married well. We wrote a book together. That’s about it.”

  “You’re an inspiration. You showed that anyone can do an Ironman if they want to bad enough. It’s about will and preparation.”

  “And missing six months of your life.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. But it’s not just that, and you know it. You showed people what it looks like to face tragedy, to keep your family together. Even to be a kickass magazine editor. People feel for you. I feel for you. I’m just so sorry about Adrian.”

  “Thank you.” I glanced at her face in the rearview mirror in time to see her close her eyes and breathe in slowly. “The truth is, I didn’t keep it together much, not for a long time, so if you thought I did, that’s awesome. I still wake up most days and feel like a bad version of Fifty First Dates. I expect Adrian to be there and he’s not, and the whole thing replays in my mind before I can believe that my husband is dead.”

  “I’m very sorry, too, Michele,” I said, feeling like my words were inadequate but needed to be said.

  “He was great, and I miss him every second. But at least I have the kids. Belle is off to UT next year and Sam has one last year with me before college. I don’t know what I’d do without them.” She exhaled, blowing air slowly through pursed lips. “Hug your loved ones every chance you get.”

  I ended up in the farthest possible parking space from the entrance to Hummers. Our car doors slammed, and we walked together, still chatting.

  “I wish I’d met him.” When I was first introduced to Michele, Adrian wasn’t yet in her life.

  “I only knew Michele and Adrian through triathlon club when I was still in Houston, but he was easy to like and easy on the eyes,” Wallace said. “Talented, too, not just as a triathlete but as a writer. And he absolutely doted on Michele.”

  “Yeah,” Michele said, “He had good taste.”

  My laugh was hollow. Listening to Michele talk about Adrian made me long for what she’d had. Jack was the closest I’d come, and I had thought we would make it there eventually. I needed to pull my head out of my butt, though, because Michele’s loss dwarfed mine. If she could carry on, I had to, at least for tonight.

  We entered the bar. Hummers had been the hotspot since before I was of legal drinking age. I’d come in high school to hang out with older friends. I’d order a burger since I’d been an omnivore back in the day, and pray some poor waiter would accidentally serve me alcohol. Apparently they were playing the same music as back then, because tonight Jimi Hendrix’s “Foxy Lady” was blasting from the speakers. It looked much the same as circa 2000, too. The bi-level bar was decked out in sports pennants: Dallas Cowboys, Texas Rangers, West Texas A&M Buffs, Texas Tech Red Raiders—my alma mater—University of Texas Longhorns, Texas A&M Aggies, and local high school teams. They had a spacious patio for those nights when the weather was mild and the smell of cow manure was bearable. Inside, you could play shuffleboard or pool on the left, belly up to a bar in the back, or choose a table on the right. We selected an outside table. Wallace ordered a bucket of beers and I requested a flight of Jell-O shots.

  “You don’t expect me to help you with any of those on a school night do you?” Wallace raised his eyebrows.

  “Help or don’t help, I need to be numb.”

  “Emily, Jack bought you a puppy. You’re going to—”

  I couldn’t let him placate me. “I lost Betsy, broke off my engagement, became homeless and jobless, and today was the due date for the baby I miscarried, the one that cost me ninety-five percent of my only ovary. Six shots won’t even begin to cover it.”

  “Ah, shit. This is your babyversary date? I didn’t know that, Em. I’m sorry as hell.”

  “Whoa, I thought you said you were fine?” Michele said.

  Wallace translated and explained my pronouncements for her, which gave me a warmer flicker toward him again, for saving me from it.

  Michele put her hand on mine. “I know all too well what it’s like to put on a brave face for the crowd. But you don’t need to do any of that caca for me, comprende?”

  My Jell-O shots had come while she was talking, bright green squares in little white paper cups like the ones people use at ketchup dispensers in burger joints. I slurped one shot down, lifted another, and toasted Michele. “Comprendo y
gracias. I should be more worried about Phil and Nadine anyway.”

  Michele’s face rearranged itself upward. “Phil and Nadine?”

  I sucked in another Jell-O shot. It went down so easily. “My friend Nadine is engaged to our client Phil who’s in a diabetic coma and charged with murdering his best friend.”

  Michele lifted a Jell-O shot and tossed it back. “Oh my.”

  “Yeah.” A pang of guilt stabbed me for wallowing in my own stuff. “But the doctors are optimistic about Phil’s recovery.”

  Wallace leaned in. “Emily will break the case. She’s absolutely tenacious about rescuing the underdog. Which is probably why she’s been running an investigation into the family that is adopting Betsy.”

  I brandished my third Jell-O shot at Wallace. “Not to the detriment of my work on Phil’s case. And they’re religious wackos with extreme ideas. You’ll see. I’m doing a public service.”

  Wallace conceded the point, and soon he and Michele were chatting with great enthusiasm about Ironman training and race strategy and leaving me to get serious about my remaining shots. I studied them critically and poked at my bottom lip, which I couldn’t feel anymore. The shots were an unnatural green color. I had two left, since Michele had stolen one. I sucked one down. The last time I’d had Jell-O shots I was at Tech. They were cherry flavored and a deep, rich red. I remembered them as super yummy going down, but no better coming back up than anything else tasted on the return trip. These were lime, maybe, but they didn’t taste like lime. What else edible came in green? Avocados. Lettuce. Zucchini. Horrible flavors for Jell-O. Oh, but there was green apple and pears. They wouldn’t be too bad. Definitely edible, even if these didn’t taste like apple or pear or lime. But then was Jell-O edible? It had to be, otherwise the USDA wouldn’t allow it to be sold as food. Or was it the USPA? Or the FDA or the FCC or something? I wiggled the Jell-O with my finger and giggled. Some of the stuff at the grocery store was so unnatural it should never have been approved by the SPCA anyway, so what did it even mean to be approved? Jell-O didn’t seem natural, that was for sure, although that had never stopped my mother from serving it at every meal, only she never served green. God didn’t make green Jell-O. Martians might have, because they were green. Or these might be Martians. Baby Martians. Or Martian eggs, although maybe they didn’t hatch from eggs or their eggs weren’t green. It was all so confusing.