Was her husband really playing poker with his friends, or was he out with one of his nurses or some damsel in distress he’d encountered on the job? She’d had these same doubts for years. She should hire a private investigator to follow him. Problem was, she wasn’t ready to face the truth.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Midge
After a disheartening day on Tuesday—when Georgia had made such hateful remarks about Bennett at tea, and Bennett, in turn, had set off to prove Georgia right by snooping through Midge’s bank account and taking her to a party where they weren’t invited—Midge buried herself in her work as she often did when she needed a distraction. She spent the next three days working with a young couple who were relocating to Charleston from Nebraska. As first-time buyers, they insisted on seeing every house on the market despite the financing the bank had preapproved. Living on the water was not an option, but it took some convincing for the couple to realize that. They finally settled on a small new-construction home on a cul-de-sac in a neighborhood flooded with young families.
Late on Friday afternoon, Midge drove them back to the hotel out by the airport in North Charleston where they were staying. At a table in the corner of the lobby, the couple sipped on coffee while Midge crafted the electronic contract. After submitting the contract, she walked her clients to the elevator and promised to contact them as soon as she heard back from the seller’s agent. As the elevator doors closed on her clients, whisking them away to the fourth floor, the doors on the elevator to her right parted to reveal a middle-aged man and a much younger woman locked in a passionate embrace, mouths pressed together and arms groping at each other. As though sensing an audience, the couple separated and stepped out of the elevator. Midge recognized the man as Lang Murdaugh, but the woman was definitely not his wife.
“Lang!” Midge exclaimed, and took a step back. “What’re you doing here?” She eyed the woman up and down. Were her enormous breasts and curvy hips the reason he had chosen this mousy-looking creature over a classic beauty like Georgia?
Lang’s tanned face took on a burgundy hue. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Midge felt her anger rise. “I’m working with out-of-town clients who are staying here. Looks to me like you’re here on business as well. Funny business.”
“Huh? Oh, that,” he said, as though getting caught making out with a strange woman in a hotel elevator was no big deal. “You misunderstood. Mrs. Jones’s husband is a patient of mine.” His fingers grazed the woman’s elbow. “He’s in critical condition. I was offering her consolation.”
Midge arched an eyebrow. Jones? How original. “Your consolation gives new meaning to bedside manner. I don’t know many doctors who make house calls to the Embassy Suites on Friday afternoons.” She stepped out of their way. “By all means, don’t let me keep you. I wish your husband a speedy recovery,” she said to the woman, before turning on her heel and hurrying out of the lobby to her car.
She drove home on autopilot, barely aware of the afternoon traffic crawling along the interstate. Bile rose in her throat when she imagined what she’d say to Georgia. “By the way, I saw your husband making out with another woman in an elevator at the Embassy Suites out by the airport. She was half your age but not nearly as pretty as you. You have nothing to worry about, though. Lang assured me he was there to consult with her about her husband’s medical condition.”
Would Georgia even believe Midge? Would she lash out at her and call her a liar? Georgia worshipped her husband. This would break her heart.
Two years ago, Georgia had thrown an elaborate dinner party to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Midge considered their marriage rock solid. They had everything—power, prestige, and money. If Georgia and Lang couldn’t make their marriage work after thirty-two years, Midge didn’t stand a chance with Bennett, a man she’d known for only two months.
Midge exited the interstate toward downtown. She was stopped at the traffic light at Market and East Bay Streets when she spotted Bennett helping an attractive redhead out of a car in front of the Market Pavilion Hotel. He took the woman’s hand and pulled her to him, embracing her and kissing her cheek in a manner that suggested they were more than friends. Midge’s heart pounded against her rib cage, and heat flushed through her body. She blew her horn and waved at him. She wanted Bennett to know she’d seen him so he’d feel guilty if he did, in fact, have something to feel guilty about. In response, Bennett waved at her with his pointer finger before placing his hand on the small of the woman’s back and escorting her inside the hotel.
She sped home as quickly as she could navigate the downtown traffic. She changed into her running clothes and took off down the street. When she hit Rutledge Avenue, she forced all thoughts of Lang and Bennett from her mind and concentrated on her breathing as she sprinted around Colonial Lake. When her chest and legs began to burn, she slowed her pace and walked the short distance home.
Stupid, naive Midge. She had only herself to blame if Bennett really was sleeping with the redhead. Aside from her ex-husband, she’d known only one other man sexually. Her lack of experience had made her shy in the bedroom. Bennett had tried to get her to experiment, but so far she’d been unable to lose her inhibitions. Had her self-consciousness driven her fiancé into the arms of another woman? Good riddance if he wasn’t more patient and understanding than that. Maybe he was a dirty rotten rascal after all. Thank goodness she discovered the truth about him before they got married. It made her skin crawl to think how close she’d come to being his fourth ex-wife. She’d believed him when he told her she was different than his first three wives, that their relationship was special and he’d never loved the others as much as he loved her.
She straightened her shoulders and held her head high. If she could survive twenty years of being single, she would survive breaking up with Bennett. But Georgia was a different story. Georgia would have to face life alone after thirty-two years of marriage. She wondered if Lang had rushed home to confess his affair to his wife after his encounter with Midge. Would he offer Georgia the same lame explanation about his presence at a seedy out-of-the-way hotel on a Friday afternoon? Who did he think he was kidding?
On the upside, if Lang pled guilty to his wife, Midge would be off the hook from having to break the news herself.
Bennett was waiting for her when she returned home. This time, instead of snooping around on her laptop, he was rummaging through her refrigerator.
She held her hand out to him. “Give me the key, Bennett.”
“Ouch! Hostile!” He rubbed his arm as though he’d been scalded. “What’re you so angry about?”
“Seriously? You have to ask? I just saw you going into a hotel with a gorgeous redhead.”
“Come on, babe.” He stepped toward her, but she backed away. “You know me better than that. She’s a business associate.”
“Right, and I’m the Queen of England. I’m not stupid, Bennett. Or blind. I saw the way you greeted her. You really should be more careful, kissing and hugging like that on the sidewalk on East Bay Street for all of Charleston to see. No wonder you couldn’t make your three marriages work, if you can’t cheat on your wives better than that.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Midge. I’ve been working with that woman on a deal for a couple of years. I’ve gotten to know her pretty well, and I consider her my friend, but I promise you we’re just business acquaintances.”
“Oh, really?” Midge cocked her head to the side. “What deal?”
“I can’t talk about it just yet. But soon. And you’ll be the first person I tell.” He flashed an innocent little-boy smile, while the overhead lights in the kitchen made his blue eyes twinkle like the sun reflecting off the ocean. For a weak moment she was tempted to believe him, but then her voice of reason reminded her of his reputation.
“I don’t believe you.” She held her hand out again. “Give me the key. Now. Regardless of who that woman is, I’m not comfortable with you having a key to m
y house. You can’t just come and go as you please. We’re not married. At this rate, we never will be.”
Lines creased his forehead as he pressed the house key into her palm. “I thought our relationship was stronger than this.”
She slipped the key inside her sports bra and went to the refrigerator for a bottle of water. “I don’t know anymore, Bennett. I think maybe I’m better off being alone. I suck at relationships. I’ve managed fine for all these years without a man in my life.”
His wounded expression deepened. “Why would you say that when we’re so good together?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe my trust issues are left over from the breakup of my marriage. Or maybe your reputation for being a scoundrel and a playboy makes me second-guess everything you do.”
“Scoundrel? That hurts,” he said, slumping his shoulders. “I guess I deserve being labeled a playboy after getting married and divorced three times. But, contrary to what you think, I never slept around.”
“Give me a break!” She slammed the bottle of water down on the kitchen counter. “You and Lang Murdaugh are cut from the same cloth.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? What does Georgia’s husband have to do with us?”
“Remember I told you about my out-of-town clients?” she asked, and he nodded. “I saw Lang with another woman at the hotel where they’re staying today.”
He dropped down on the nearest barstool. “So the brilliant Dr. Murdaugh has a girlfriend. Can’t say I blame him, being married to that old cow.”
Midge realized her mistake. She should never have mentioned seeing Lang. There was no love lost between Georgia and Bennett. He would delight in seeing her hurt. “Forget I said anything. It’s none of my business anyway.”
“Consider it forgotten.” Bennett pulled Midge down on his lap. “I snagged a late reservation for dinner at Husk. Why don’t we grab some drinks beforehand, someplace with a view of the sunset?”
“Sorry.” Midge pushed herself off his lap. “But I’m spending the weekend with my brother and his family on the Isle of Palms.”
He narrowed his eyes. “But we have the Ravenel wedding tomorrow night.”
“Sorry,” she said, lifting her shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t know about it until this morning. Keith left me a message. At the last minute his boss offered him his beach house for the weekend. You know me. I never pass up a chance to bask in the sun and sip margaritas.”
Bennett appeared wounded. “What about me? Am I not invited?”
“He included you, but I told him you already had plans. I knew you wouldn’t want to miss the wedding.”
Midge had been too busy with her out-of-town clients to return her brother’s phone call. She’d planned to turn down his invitation, but she suddenly found the idea of spending the weekend away from Bennett appealing. She picked her phone up and shot off a quick text to her brother letting him know she would be there in time for dinner. Alone.
She glanced at her watch. “I need to get going if I want to beat the traffic. If you don’t mind.” She motioned him toward the door.
“Fine.” He jumped to his feet, knocking the barstool over. “Go ahead to the beach without me. I’ll find someone else to spend my weekend with.”
“I’m sure you will. You can take the redhead to the wedding with you.” Her voice quavered as she choked back the tears.
Bennett’s expression changed from anger to sorrow. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it. You know I’m not going to spend my weekend with anyone else but you. Please, don’t go. Stay here with me. We can talk about whatever it is that’s troubling you.”
“I need some space, Bennett. I have a lot of things I need to think about.”
He threw his head back in frustration. “Whatever, Midge.”
She walked him to the door. He leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her cheek. “Don’t forget we have dinner with my family on Tuesday. I trust you’ll be back from the beach by then.”
She hesitated before answering him. She’d been looking forward to meeting his parents. “I’ll go, but that’s the only promise I’m making for now.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lula
Lula was putting the finishing touches on her flower arrangements when Phillip came downstairs for breakfast.
“What’s all this?” he asked about the mess spread out on the kitchen counter.
“I’m making these for Lizbet to sell at the store where she works. What do you think?”
He examined the arrangements from several angles. “I think they’re very nice. But you won’t have any flowers left in your garden if you’re not careful.”
“That’s exactly what I told our daughter.” She straightened his tie and thumbed off a smudge of shaving cream near his ear. “Sit down and I’ll get your breakfast.”
She ladled two scoops of oatmeal into a bowl, tossed in a handful of blueberries, and sprinkled brown sugar on top. She set the bowl, a glass of orange juice, and a cup of coffee in front of him. Her husband ate the same thing for breakfast every morning, and Lula packed the same turkey and swiss on wheat sandwich for his lunch every day. He seldom deviated from his work attire—crisp white shirts, striped ties, and dark-gray suits—even though his accounting firm had long since adopted a more casual dress code. He celebrated his success modestly and took life’s hardships in stride. He was as happy staying home on a Friday night curled up in his favorite leather chair with a good book as he was having drinks with the neighbors or going out to dinner with friends. His steady demeanor balanced out Lula’s high-strung temperament. Although his methodical way of thinking often irritated her, most of the time she was grateful for his calming presence.
Pooh came over and sniffed Phillip’s shoes. Lula lifted the little dog into her arms and sat down at the table across from her husband. “I’m meeting with Heidi, the caterer, about the menu for the party. Do you think we should have froufrou food or keep it simple?”
“I’ll leave that to you, Lula. Just make sure you have enough of whatever you decide.”
“We’re calling the party a summer supper,” Lula said. “I think the name suggests more than burgers and dogs.”
He dragged his spoon around his bowl, mixing the berries and sugar with the oatmeal. “Don’t get yourself worked into a tizzy over this party. We haven’t seen Brooke in a very long time. Spending quality time with her is more important than entertaining a bunch of folks we hardly ever see.”
“That’s why I’m hiring a caterer.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said, slurping on his coffee. “Not having to worry about the food will free you to fuss over the rest of the details.”
“Now that you mention it, if we have Heidi supply the alcohol and bring in a couple of bartenders, we won’t have to worry about anything but making the house and yard look nice.” A mischievous smirk played on her thin lips as she waited for his response.
He pointed a bony finger at her. “You set me up for that one.”
Lula waved Pooh’s paw at him. “Let’s just say you fell into my trap.” Phillip seldom denied her anything. Then again, she rarely asked for much. She wasn’t high maintenance like many of her middle-aged friends. She didn’t buy expensive shoes and clothing or visit the plastic surgeon for monthly injections.
“I’m looking forward to seeing Brooke. I’ve missed her more than I realized.” He removed his horn-rimmed glasses and dabbed at his eyes with his napkin. The simplest things caused him to tear up. Lula teased him about being sentimental. Although she’d never admitted it to him, she found his tenderheartedness endearing.
Lula set Pooh down on the floor and returned to her flowers, talking on about the party while Phillip finished his breakfast. He placed his plate in the dishwasher and poured his coffee in a to-go cup.
“Do you mind helping me to the car with this on your way out?” She gestured at the large metal tray she was using to transport her arrangements.
“Of course
,” he said, and handed her his coffee. “You hold this while I get the tray.”
She held the back door open for him and then followed him out to her minivan. He stored the tray of flowers in the back, slammed the rear door, and kissed her cheek like he did every time they parted, whether he was leaving the room or leaving for work.
Lula locked up the house and drove the few blocks to Tasty Provisions. Lizbet had recommended she park in the small lot behind the building, but Lula was fortunate to find a parking space directly in front of the store. She tried the door but found it locked and then noticed the sign in the window that indicated a ten o’clock opening time. Cupping her hand over her eyes, she peered inside and saw Georgia rearranging a display of stemware near the back. She pounded on the door. Georgia looked up and waved.
Georgia opened the door and stepped aside so Lula could enter. “Good morning. Welcome to Tasty Provisions.”
Lula entered the showroom and wandered around, examining the gourmet cookies and assortment of fresh-baked breads. “So this is where one comes to shop when they don’t like to cook. It’s right up your alley, Georgia.”
Georgia’s smile fell into a thin line. “We’re not all blessed with your talents, Lula.”
Lizbet emerged from the back. “Hi, Mom. I thought that might be you. Heidi called a minute ago. She wanted me to tell you she’s running a little late.”
“I hope she won’t be long. I have a busy day ahead of me.” Lizbet and Georgia exchanged a look that made Lula’s stomach harden, just as it did whenever she saw her daughter and her friend drinking icy glasses of lemonade and nibbling gingersnap cookies on Georgia’s front porch. She’d never understood what they found to talk about for hours. Or why her daughter felt more comfortable talking to Georgia than her own mother. She often wondered if they were talking about her.
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