Dying to Get Her Man

by Judy Fitzwater

  Jennifer and Sam exchanged glances. "Why not that one?" Sam asked.

  "Let's just say it wasn't all heaven in paradise."

  "Who was he seeing?" Belle, ever tactful, asked.

  "My mama taught me never to speak ill of the dead. Your mama teach you anything?"

  Kelli took another big draw on her cigarette and then shot Belle a spew of smoke. Score one for Jennifer's side.

  "Don't take the black dress," Kelli said. "For her to wear. That's the one Marjorie told you to get, wasn't it? She bought it for her and Suzanne never once wore it. It hung on her like a sack and Suzanne detested black."

  Kelli disappeared into the bedroom. They all followed, watching as she held her cigarette tightly between her lips and snatched a red polyester with a halter neck from the closet.

  Jennifer couldn't help but feel sorry for Kelli as she accepted the dress. "Did you like Richard?"

  "Never met the man. I always suspected Suzanne was a little afraid to bring him around me." She pulled open her coat and looked squarely at Sam. Smart man that he was, he looked away.

  Kelli was most likely right about Suzanne wanting to keep Kelli away from Richard, but Jennifer suspected not for the reasons Kelli thought.

  "You mentioned the possibility of another woman," Sam reminded her. "Was it his ex-wife?"

  Kelli gave Sam a good once-over and smiled. "You want to come on over to my place?" She sidled up next to him. "We could have us a private conversation."

  "Maybe some other time."

  Maybe some other lifetime.

  Kelli dropped the act, slumped back against the door, and lit another cigarette off the end of the first one. Then she lifted her foot, stubbed out the old one on the bottom of her high-heeled shoe, and dropped the butt to the floor. "Wasn't me that said anything about another woman. That was you." She pointed at Belle. "What I said was that he wasn't treatin' her right. He didn't take her out like he should. Didn't come 'round like he should either."

  Ah, yes. Kelli had demonstrated what a good view she had of Suzanne's house.

  Belle let her gaze sweep the room. "Maybe they preferred to meet elsewhere."

  "What are you implyin'?" Kelli demanded. "You think what we have ain't good enough for a Hovey? Just where do you think Mr. Big-Time Lawyer came from in the first place? You damned smart-ass professional women. The hell with you!"

  And with that, Kelli Byers left, slamming the front door behind her.

  Chapter 14

  Kelli's righteous indignation was still ringing in Jennifer's ears as she unlocked the door to her own apartment. Muffy practically knocked both Sam and her down, whining and yelping, complaining that she'd been left after dark by herself with no lights on. The biggest no-no in any dog's book.

  She hugged Muffy's neck, and then fell, exhausted, into Sam's arms. It was late. How late, she didn't even want to know.

  "We need to talk," he said.

  "I know, but not tonight." They both knew better. They were too on edge, and she didn't want to say anything wrong. "You need to get home. You've got a houseguest."

  He kissed her. "I'll call you tomorrow."

  "I've heard that one before."

  "I promise. Of course that's assuming I can get through to you," he added.

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "Your answering machine. Didn't you notice? It's blinking. Looks like you have a slew of messages and only about four of them are mine."

  She stared at the flashing light and the little number. Normally it was the first thing she noticed when she opened the door to her apartment. But then she'd been a bit preoccupied when they'd been there earlier, and she hadn't thought once to look.

  He kissed her once more, a sweet, yet passionate kiss that held more promise than they had strength to see through. She wished it was Saturday night all over again, that she'd let him say whatever it was he'd wanted to say, that she had never mentioned Suzanne Gray's name.

  Then he pulled back. If he was leaving, he'd better do it now.

  "Let's skip the call and make it lunch tomorrow," he suggested, touching her cheek. "Say about noon."

  She nodded. "I'll meet you at the Bookshop Café around the corner from your office."

  She shut the door after him, barred it, and went directly to the answering machine, hitting the button. The first four messages were indeed Sam's from earlier that day, wanting to know where she was and becoming a little more frantic with each beep. He did grovel nicely. She felt ashamed that she'd ever doubted him.

  Beeeeep!

  You're not home. Good! You and Sam must be off somewhere making up. Or maybe you're home and making up and I'm interrupting. Sorry. In that case, just ignore little ole me. Leigh Ann's voice fell to a whisper. I told you he was crazy about you, Jen. Call me. I want details. By the way, I think I should warn you. After you left, Monique went into crisis mode. She's called an emergency meeting for tomorrow night. She adores Sam and she's determined to make you come to your senses. Please show up, Jen. There'll be hell to pay if you don't.

  Beeeeep!

  My house. Tomorrow night. Seven sharp. Monique really missed her calling. She would have made a great drill Sergeant. I expect you here for a strategy meeting, and don't pretend you don't need our help because you do. Oh, yes, and I expect you to have pages from your novel to read next week. No excuses. It's been three weeks since we've heard a word you've written.

  Beeeeep!

  Hey, girlfriend, it's Teri. Make that man crawl. Remember we have a contingency plan, just in case. You know I love Sam, but some things are unforgivable. And that Belle woman... oooweeee. You've got to get her out of the picture now because if you don't, you're going to be one sorry lady. I know I'm going to regret saying this, but I'm here if you need my help in any way. I mean it. Just call. Day or night.

  Beeeeep!

  Sweetie, I hope you haven't done anything rash. Sam's such a good guy. He'll make a wonderful father. Don't throw him away, at least not until we've had time to talk. In the background she could hear little Jonathan calling Mommy, Mommy, I can't sleep, and April saying Go find your daddy, sweetheart. I'm on the phone. Sorry about that, Jen. It gets harder to find the good ones after you've turned thirty, you know. If you start over with some other guy, it'll put you at least two years behind and you'll be pushing into your mid-thirties before you can even consider having children. Love you.

  That April was always concerned about the gene pool and Jennifer's deteriorating egg supply.

  Beeeeep!

  Jen, it's Dee Dee. We've got a catering job scheduled for this Friday night. Don't forget. I'm counting on you to serve. Hope you're all right. I haven't heard from you in days.

  Darn! She had forgotten.

  Beeeeep!

  Hey, pretty lady. Atlanta Eye's boy wonder, Teague McAfee. She should have known he'd show up. How's your love life? I understand it's taken a direct hit. Ouch! Right in the heart. Told you that boyfriend of yours was not the man for you. So now you're available. I'm available. Big surprise. Give me a call, Marsh. Sure, when hell freezes over. I know Belle. I've worked with her. You'll call. Ciao.

  She sighed. Sometimes—no, all the time—she hated that man.

  Beeeeep!

  Miss Marsh, I mean, Jennifer, it's Suzie Turner. I'm calling you from work. I remembered something. You asked about how Mr. Hovey treated my aunt, like you wanted an example of how good he was to her. After she met Mr. Hovey, every Friday she received seven long-stemmed red roses, one for each day of the week. So that's where the roses at Suzanne's had come from. I thought it was so sweet. Anyway, just thought you should know.

  Beeeeep!

  I've got the first report back on Isabelle Renard. It was Mrs. Walker's voice. I think you'll be most interested in hearing what I've found out. Call me immediately, my dear, whatever the time. I hope I need not remind you again that this is more important than whatever is currently occupying your time. The game is afoot.

  "Men are weak, dear. Sure
ly you know that," Mrs. Walker assured her over the telephone.

  "Men are not weak, at least not any more weak than women are," Jennifer insisted, digging a treat out of a bag on top of the refrigerator. Now that Muffy had her alone, she was convinced it was playtime. And why not? While Jennifer had been out running around all day and half the night, she'd been sleeping. One in the afternoon, one in the morning, it was all the same to her.

  "Of course, you're right. We're all weak. That only compounds the problem, doesn't it? As I was saying, you can't let that woman stay under his roof. She'll have her way with him. She's ruthless to the core and, if what you've told me about her and DeSoto is true, she's a self-confessed seductress."

  "Exactly what do you suggest I do? Sam won't turn her out, and I don't intend to take her in."

  "Do you not have hotels in that town of yours? Tell him to move her to one."

  "Believe me, I'm working on it. What have you found out?"

  "Well, Isabelle graduated from UNC the same year as your Samuel. She was no more than an average student, but not because she lacked intelligence. Her SAT scores were outstanding. She's high energy, very aggressive. She landed a job at a newspaper in Raleigh because she simply refused to leave the office after she was told they had no openings. She even slept overnight in their waiting area and then wrote up a feature article about her experience and turned it in the following morning. She likened the newsroom to a hospital emergency room, very flattering to the paper involved. And with her demonstrated tenacity, the editor felt she'd make a good reporter. She worked there for two years and then moved to Charlotte, where she was employed for another three years by a paper with a larger circulation. From there she went on to an even bigger newspaper in Philadelphia. More pay, definitely more notoriety. She had her eye on the Washington Post next I'm told, but then there was a most unfortunate incident."

  "You don't say?"

  "Oh, I do say. Isabelle wrote an article that garnered a good deal of national attention. It was about an elderly woman who set up a house of prostitution with her bridge club friends so they could make enough money to pay for their prescription medicines."

  "You're not serious," Jennifer interrupted.

  There was a lengthy pause on the other end of the line. "Sex doesn't exist only among the young, my dear. Is that what you think?"

  "No, I... I just meant..."

  "That's quite all right. Apology accepted. There were rumors of a possible Pulitzer nomination. It looked as though she would have her pick of newspapers to work for."

  "What happened?"

  "That article she wrote... It seems it was a suspected work of fiction."

  "Really?"

  "Oh, I'm afraid so, dear. She crossed the ethics line. She had no sources whatsoever for her depiction, only a bunch of little old ladies who denied everything. Her editor bounced her fanny right out on the sidewalk. Didn't even give her the option of resigning."

  "Oh, my." That was quite an image that formed in Jennifer's mind. Belle sprawled on a sidewalk. She rather liked it. "Did she ever admit any wrongdoing?"

  "Goodness, no. She's still insisting her sources recanted because they were too embarrassed to have their little enterprise examined publicly. When the police investigated, they found nothing. Either the operation never existed, or once the article saw print, it was closed down and all evidence of it erased. So you can see that she stops at nothing to get what she wants. And I'm most afraid that what she wants is your Samuel."

  Jennifer opened her mouth to protest, and then stopped. "What should I do?"

  "Easier to tell you what not to do. Don't try to convince Sam of her danger. You'll only come across as a shrew, which will give her more of an advantage than she already has. The only way to win him—"

  "I'm not sure I'm ready to win anybody."

  "Of course you are, dear. If you're not, you'd best be prepared to lose him."

  Lose Sam? She'd had one night and two days of feeling as though she'd lost him, and she didn't like it one bit.

  "There's a reason, dear, that a young, vigorous—I'm assuming that he is vigorous."

  Jennifer blushed even though Mrs. Walker couldn't see her.

  "I'll take your silence as acquiescence," Mrs. Walker continued. "There's a reason a vigorous male such as your Sam Culpepper isn't and has never been married. Did it occur to you that reason might be Isabelle Renard?"

  No, it hadn't.

  "Are you still there, dear? She could be the one, you know. The one from the past, the one who's prevented him from moving forward, at least until he met you. One mustn't toy with this idea of a past. It creates strong emotional ties. You're not working on a level field when two of the parties have a history, regardless of what that history may be. Are you understanding anything I'm saying to you?"

  Jennifer cleared her throat. "I'm hearing you. I don't suppose your investigator turned up anything about Belle's involvement in the Simon DeSoto case?"

  "No, but that doesn't surprise me if, as you've said, the police were keeping it quiet."

  "She implied that she cohabited with DeSoto, or at least had access to his home. There must have been neighbors, friends of DeSoto, someone who saw her at his place."

  "I'll get my agent right on it. And you know what you must do."

  "Okay, I'll see if I can get Belle to a motel."

  "Tonight, my dear."

  No way could she march back over to Sam's apartment at that point. "As soon as possible."

  "Tonight, my dear." Mrs. Walker hung up, and the phone buzzed in Jennifer's ear.

  Belle had won this round. She'd stay in Sam's apartment one more night. Jennifer could only hope that wouldn't be one night too long.

  Chapter 15

  "See anything yet?" Teri demanded, stomping her feet loudly and shivering so much that Jennifer's couldn't possibly miss it. Earmuffs and double-layered mittens were not enough to keep out the cold.

  "Not yet, but she'll be here," Jennifer assured her. She peeked past the crypt. The moon offered just enough light so that no one could approach Richard Hovey's grave undetected.

  "So you think Hovey's wife is the one who's leaving the roses."

  "Ex-wife, Ruth Hovey. She wanted him back, that much we know. And at this point, we don't have any other women in the equation."

  "That man was hot," Teri offered.

  "And scruple-free," Jennifer pointed out.

  "Girl, put that bad boy in a suit, make him controversial, and throw in a million or two in his bank account, and no telling how many women he had after him."

  "The only one I'm interested in at the moment is the one buying the flowers."

  Terry rubbed her hands together again. "I can't believe I let you drag me out of bed before daylight."

  "At least you got more than three hours of sleep last night. Besides, you said you wanted to help. I think your exact words were 'if you need my help in any way, day or night'..."

  "I think that was call me day or night. The part of my offer concerning my actual body only applied to daylight hours. Do you know when I last saw the sunrise?"

  "Easter morning?"

  "Seven years ago when my grandmother dragged me to services. Once a year is way too often, especially for something that happens every day." Teri shifted back and forth on the balls of her feet. "It's too cold for this. Why do you think I live in Georgia? It's supposed to be warm here."

  "You were born here," Jennifer reminded her.

  "That, too. A fortunate coincidence. But I still don't see why we had to trek all the way over here from the gas station. Why couldn't we just park on the road like everybody else?"

  "We don't want her to see our car and get scared away. Look, I told you I'd buy you breakfast. I didn't ask you to come, you know."

  "Right. You just called me at midnight to 'inform' me you were going. What kind of person leaves her nutty friend to go alone lurking in some graveyard where bodies turn up? This woman had better hurry up and make her appearance.
I do have a job to go to and I'm going to have hat hair all day." Teri tugged on her knit cap.

  "She'll be here. She hasn't missed a morning yet. Which means she must have seen Suzanne Gray's body before the groundskeeper found it."

  "That's assuming she didn't have something to do with putting her there," Teri pointed out, "if your assisted suicide or murder theory is true."

  "Exactly," Jennifer agreed.

  "Why are you doing this?"

  Jennifer stole a sideways glance, but it was too dark to read Teri's features. She didn't like where that question might lead. "To find out who's putting the roses on Hovey's grave."

  "That's not what I mean. Why are you trying to find out what happened to Suzanne Gray?"

  "Because I don't believe she committed suicide. And because her niece doesn't either."

  "Yeah, but there's more to it than that, and, if you don't admit it, you're not being honest with me or yourself. Knowing you, it's probably both. You don't go chasing after suspects."

  "I never said this woman was a suspect."

  "Let me finish. You're a writer, not an investigator. If your involvement in this case has to do with proving to Sam—"

  "I'm not proving anything to anybody," Jennifer snapped.

  "Damn it, child. You are so out of touch with your feelings, you don't even know why you got yourself out of bed at six in the morning. Belle has moved in with Sam. According to you, she's even stated she intends to 'help' him with his work while she's living there. If you want him to know how essential you are to his life, you don't have to do it this way. Sam loves you because he does. Because you're a woman and he's a man. Because you're who you are, which—except for moments of insanity like this one—is a pretty terrific person."

  "Thanks for the testimonial."

  "Would you please just be quiet for two minutes? You don't have to show him you're some super duper—"

  Jennifer slapped a hand warmer into Teri's hand.

  "What am I supposed to do with this?"

  "Whatever you want. Just be quiet." Teri didn't understand. She couldn't. This had nothing to do with Jennifer and Sam. Murder or suicide, Suzanne Gray loved her man—died for her man—and nobody cared, nobody except for a young woman who worked in a convenience store and adored her. Worse than that, the Hoveys were bent on belittling what happened to Suzanne. It wasn't fair.