The Future Widows' Club

by Rhonda Russell

  “She said she’d been at a meeting,” Mike interjected. “That sounds like an alibi.”

  He’d find out when he talked to her, which he wasn’t going to be able to avoid much longer, and the very idea made his stomach knot with anxiety. He hadn’t actually spoken to her in almost two years, and these were... Hell, these were hardly ideal circumstances. Your husband’s dead and his dick’s cut off--you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would, you, Jolie? Jake swallowed a grim laugh.

  On the rare occasions he’d actually let himself imagine talking to her again, he’d never been quite sure what he’d say. But he knew the coming conversation wouldn’t remotely resemble anything he could have envisioned.

  Leon passed a hand over his face. “Keep me in the loop, okay?” he asked Jake. “Her father and I were friends.”

  Jake nodded. “I will. Why don’t you see if you can round up some coffee? This is going to take a while.”

  “Wonder where Dean’s at?” Mike asked after Leon left.

  Possibly destroying evidence, Jake thought, wincing as the unchecked notion popped into his head.

  Mike hesitated. “You, uh... You don’t think he might have... That he...” He couldn’t bring himself to finish, but Jake didn’t need to be clairvoyant to know what he was suggesting, and the thought had certainly crossed his mind as well.

  “We hadn’t told him yet,” Jake said, shifting uncomfortably.

  “But that doesn’t mean he hadn’t found it out. The guy’s dick’s missing, Jake. That’s pretty damned personal.”

  He knew. And whether Dean knew it before or not, they were damned sure going to have to tell him now. Had planned on it anyway, but what they hadn’t counted on was having to bring it up because of a murder investigation. One that, for the moment, their boss was suspected of.

  “If you’ll wait on Nathan, I’ll go ahead and talk to Jolie.”

  Mike nodded. “Sure.”

  Jake, feeling every muscle in his body atrophy with stress, mentally braced himself for the coming conversation as he made his way back into the living room.

  Jolie looked up and her pale green eyes tangled with his. That phantom sucker-punch hit him in the gut and for all intents and purposes the ground shifted beneath his feet. He cleared his throat, uttered the same words that had ended their relationship.

  “We need to talk.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “I just heard on my scanner that Chris Marshall has been found dead,” Meredith said, her usually cool modulated voice panicked.

  Sophia had filtered the words through the foggy haze of sleep, but sat bolt upright in bed when their implication set in. “What?” she breathed into the phone.

  “Shot,” she said. “Leon estimated time of death four to six hours ago.”

  That ruled Jolie out, Sophia thought, because she’d been with them. Not that she’d truly suspected her, of course--if Jolie had wanted to kill her husband she could have done that a long time ago.

  But she’d need an alibi, which was undoubtedly what had put Meredith into a tailspin.

  “I haven’t called Bitsy yet,” Meredith said. “But I will.”

  “Call her,” Sophia instructed, climbing out of bed. “We’ll need to get over there.”

  “Oh, Sophia what are we going to do?” Meredith asked, her voice weak and wavery with worry. “I don’t mind outing our Officials--they don’t have anything to lose. But what about our Futures? It’ll ruin them. Ruin the club.”

  Sophia wedged the cordless phone between her shoulder and ear, then shimmied out of her gown and blindly groped in her closet for something to wear. “We’ll stick to the same story we’ve told for years. We were playing bridge. They can’t prove otherwise, can they?”

  “No, no, you’re right, of course,” Meredith said. “Still, I just have a bad feeling about this, Sophia. A very bad feeling,” she said grimly.

  Be that as it may they couldn’t afford lose sight of the immediate problem, Sophia thought, and that problem was that Jolie didn’t know what to say, which was why they needed to get over there ASAP before she inadvertently outed them to the entire community.

  Meredith was right--it could be disastrous.

  “Don’t worry, Meri,” Sophia soothed. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Call Bitsy, then come pick me up. We’ll hash it on the way over.”

  She just hoped they made it before it was too late.

  CHAPTER 13

  We need to talk.

  Jolie looked up, her gaze tangled with Jake’s and for the first time since she’d walked into that nightmare in the bedroom, she felt the hot rush of tears hit the back of her eyes. If her legs would have supported her, she would have launched herself into his arms. Someone had walked into her house--the place where she normally slept--and killed Chris. She kept seeing his face, his eyes, in particular, and though she’d honestly hated him, she couldn’t--would never--wish death upon anyone. Life--any life--even his misbegotten one, was too precious.

  Jolie cleared her throat. “Okay,” she said.

  Looking somewhat grim, Jake came around the sofa and sat down in front of her. “I need to ask you a few questions, and later, if you’re up to it, we need to go down to the sheriff’s department and do an official report.”

  She swallowed, nodded.

  Jake’s gaze darted over her shoulder and she heard the scuff of footfalls hit the hardwood floor. She followed his gaze and discovered Sheriff Dean and another man, one she vaguely recognized but couldn’t name, standing in the room. Looking solemn, the sheriff nodded at her, but didn’t speak.

  “Excuse me just a minute,” Jake told her, pushing up from his seat. He walked over to where they stood, briefing them, she supposed. She heard phrases like gunshot wound, time-of-death and odd trophy, the last of which she didn’t understand, but couldn’t make her numb mind process anything beyond breathing at the moment.

  After a bit he returned, then took the seat in front of her once more. He braced his elbows on his knees and let his hands dangle in the deep vee in between. His bleak expression didn’t match the kind, concerned and somewhat helpless look in those silvery gray eyes. “Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Maybe some coffee? Water? A soda?”

  Jolie shook her head. Her mouth was dry as dust, but her stomach would undoubtedly protest so much as a grain of salt at this point. “No, thanks.”

  He nodded. “All right. Mike gave me the abbreviated facts, but I need you to start at the beginning and tell me everything, okay?”

  Jolie chewed her bottom lip and with difficulty, found her voice. “He was home when I left, in the shower.”

  “What time did you leave?”

  “Er...a little before six. I was running late.”

  “Did you notice anything odd when you left? An unfamiliar car? Anybody walking a dog, or hanging around?”

  She thought back, tried to picture the scene when she’d walked to her car, then shook her head. “No, nothing, but I... I didn’t really look. I was in a hurry.”

  Jake shifted. “Mike said you didn’t think you’d locked the door.”

  That was the thing that really bugged her, Jolie thought. She was almost certain that she hadn’t. In fact, she rarely locked the doors. There’d never been a need. Bless Her Heart had always been a safe place, one untouched by the ugly violence of bigger cities. “I can’t say beyond a shadow of doubt that I didn’t lock the door, but I’m 99.9% sure that I didn’t. I’m not in the habit of it.”

  He arched a brow. “But it was locked when you got home?”

  “Yeah.” She moistened her dry lips. “I thought he’d been out.”

  “And what time did you get home?”

  “A little after eleven. After my meeting, I called Sadie and dropped by her house to visit with her and the girls. Rob was pulling a double shift. She was lonely and...” Jolie hesitated, then she looked up, met his gaze and managed a ghost of a smile. “And I didn’t want to come home,” she admitted truthfully. “It’s n
o secret that my marriage hasn’t been a happy one.”

  Another flash of unreadable emotion lit his gaze, but he quickly blinked it away. “So you unlocked the door. Then what?”

  Jolie thought back, replayed the memory, but had a hard time focusing on anything prior to finding Chris. That image--the absolute horror--was so stark it made everything else seem muted and unimportant in comparison. She closed her eyes tightly, hoping her lids would erase the vision.

  Evidently sensing her train of thought, Jake cleared his throat. “You came in the living room,” he coaxed softly. “Tell me what you saw, Jo. What you heard, what you noticed.”

  “I, uh...” Jolie scrubbed a hand over her face. “I noticed that Chris wasn’t on the couch. He usually is, if he’s home.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I heard the shower,” she said woodenly, feeling the dread creep into her belly, infect her bones. “I thought it was odd because he’d been in the shower when I left. He showers in the morning as well, so I thought three showers? What’s he gotten into this time? And I set my purse down and walked back to his bedroom.”

  “The master bedroom?”

  “His bedroom,” Jolie repeated. “We didn’t share a room. Haven’t since about two months into the marriage. Like I said,” she repeated. “It’s no secret we weren’t happy.”

  Jake chewed the bottom corner of his lip, nodded, silently encouraging her to continue.

  She cleared her throat, hugged her arms around her middle trying to stave off the chill residing there. She looked out the window, dimly noted the throng of cars parked in front of the house, heard the icemaker in the kitchen kick on, a wholly ordinary sound compared to the surreal gruesome reality playing out around her. “The clothes he’d worn this afternoon were in the floor and his wallet was on the dresser. The bathroom door--“ Jolie stopped short, resisted the image. She didn’t want to see it again, never wanted to see it again.

  “Was it open or closed?” Jake asked gently.

  “Open.”

  “Had it been open?”

  “No,” she said, giving her head a small shake. “It had been partially closed. Just barely open. I’d glanced in there as I was leaving.” She let go a shuddering breath. “There was no steam and... And it was cool.” Nausea welled into the back of her aching throat. “Then I saw his leg. It was hanging out of the shower door and there was...there was b-bloody water on the floor.”

  Jake massaged the bridge of his nose. “Did you go into the bathroom, Jolie?”

  She shook her head, forced herself to look at him hoping that if she focused on his face she could push the other image away. She let go a stuttering breath. “Just to the door, close enough to realize that he was beyond help. T-that he was dead. I saw the hole in his chest.”

  “What did you do next?”

  She plowed a hand through her hair, tugged until it hurt to feel something besides the bizarre numbness that had invaded every nerve ending. “I got the cordless phone from the bedside table, then ran outside and called 911. I stayed on the porch until Mike got here. I didn’t want-- I couldn’t be alone in here.”

  Jake nodded, seemed to be mulling over everything she’d said. He glanced up and caught her gaze. “You said you’d been to a meeting. What kind of meeting? Who were you with?”

  Jolie let go a tired sigh. “I was at-- I was with--“ She blinked, stopped short and stared at him as a stark truth emerged through the fuzzy confines of her brain. She couldn’t tell him where she’d been, she thought faintly. It was against the FWC rules.

  Furthermore, even shell-shocked as she was, she had enough wits about her to realize that telling Jake she’d been to a Future Widows’ Club Meeting, of all places--when her husband lay dead in the next room--was going to sound...incriminating.

  Her heart tripped and a new kind of fear, one borne of self-preservation rocketed through her veins.

  She’d undoubtedly be an initial suspect, Jolie thought weakly as more implications clawed their way through her foggy mind. She’d read enough suspense novels to know that, had watched enough Law and Order to know how this would play out. She was closest to him, had the most to gain.

  Oh, God. The life insurance. The outfit. The pre-burial plan. She was going to puke. Or faint. Either way, she needed to be closer to the floor. She leaned forward.

  Jake wore an odd frown and his gaze had sharpened. “Jolie, who were you with?”

  “She was with us,” Sophia said briskly as she hurried into the room. Looking harried and sympathetic, Meredith and Bitsy followed in her wake. “Jolie’s part of our bridge club. We get together and play once a week.”

  Jolie wilted with relief. She’d never been more thankful in her life to see another person.

  “We just heard, dear,” Sophia said, coming around the sofa, shunting a startled Jake aside. She sat down next to her, draped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “We’re so sorry,” she soothed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I called your mother. She should be here any minute.”

  Jolie nodded. The thought of her mom made the backs of her eyes burn. She’d missed her so much, but being around her after Chris had stolen her money had made Jolie feel so terrible, so unworthy, and so at fault she hadn’t been able to stand the guilt. Until the debt was paid, it had been easier to avoid her. She knew her mom saw through the ploy, knew that she worried more about the money than her mom did, but that hadn’t lessened the sizable weight of guilty responsibility she’d felt.

  “Is there anything we can do to help?” Bitsy asked. She tutted sympathetically. “Do you need a place to stay?”

  “I hate to be rude,” Jake interjected, “but you can help by leaving. You’re not supposed to be here, ladies. This is a crime scene.”

  “But we just got here,” Bitsy protested, shooting Jake a wide-eyed look.

  “Nevertheless, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”Bitsy looked distinctly disgruntled, but Meredith merely nodded understandingly. “Of course. We just wanted to comfort Jolie.”

  Jolie thanked them, sent Sophia a significantly grateful look. “I’ll go to Mom’s,” she told Bitsy. “But I appreciate the offer.”

  Smelling like cold cream and fabric softener, Sophia gave her another squeeze. “We’ll be in touch tomorrow then, dear, okay? Don’t worry. We’ll help you get through this.”

  To the casual observer those words seemed innocuous, but Jolie knew they held a double meaning, one she desperately appreciated. She nodded, managed a grateful nod.

  Sophia stood, and Bitsy and Meredith fell in next to her. “Sorry to be in your way, detective,” Sophia told Jake with a sweet smile. “We just wanted to be here for our friend.” The three trooped out as coolly as they’d trooped in and even Jolie recognized the fact that it looked odd.

  Jake shot her an inscrutable look, one that led her to believe that he wasn’t completely buying her story. “You play bridge?” he asked.

  “I’m learning,” she hedged, making a mental note to brush up on the particulars. She’d be in big trouble if he asked her any questions regarding the rules of play. She’d never been much of a card player, a fact he was perfectly aware of, she knew.

  Jake continued to study her, then after a prolonged moment in which she’d suddenly developed a keen interest in the pattern on the sofa, he finally nodded. “You were learning to play bridge at--“ He looked up, waiting for her to fill in the blank.

  “Meredith Ingram’s,” Jolie said, quietly relieved that they were moving on.

  “What time did you get there?”

  “At six.”

  “And about what time did you leave?”

  Jolie squinted, trying to remember. “Around eight, I think.”

  Jake chewed his bottom lip, gave another thoughtful nod. “Then you went to Sadie’s, right?”

  “That’s right. I called her from my cell and she invited me over.”

  “What time did you leave her house?”

  “Around ten-thirty. The news wa
s going off.”

  “And you came straight home?”

  She nodded, slid her nerveless palms against her thighs in a vain attempt to warm them up. “I did.”

  Jake leaned back, passed a hand over his face. “Are you up to doing a formal statement tonight?”

  Initially she’d planned on getting it over with, knew the chances of her being able to sleep were slim to none. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Chris’s lifeless body behind her lids. It was awful. But now that she’d begun to partially overcome the shock, she thought it would be best if she had a little time to think about things first. She needed a plan. Her involvement and recent actions with the FWC was going to make things very...difficult. Now that was an understatement, Jolie thought, suppressing the hysterical urge to laugh.

  She shook her head, struggled to pull it together. “If it’s all right, I’d rather just go with Mom when she gets here. Could I come by in the morning?”

  Jake inclined his head. “In the morning will be all right, but we really don’t need to leave it any longer. We’re gonna need to search the house and surrounding area.”

  “That’s fine,” she said, thankful that her handbook and the pre-burial plans were safely stowed in her purse. Jolie stood, gestured tiredly toward her bedroom. “If we’re done for now, I’ll, uh... I’ll go ahead and pack a bag.”

  “Make sure you get whatever you’re going to need for the next couple of days,” Jake told her. “You’ll need to stay out of the house until we’re finished up here, okay?”

  That was fine with her. Other than a few personal mementos, she wasn’t interested in taking anything out of this house. Wouldn’t care if she ever came back. It had never been a home--more like a prison. Jolie nodded, made her way down the hall to her bedroom. She packed her toiletries and enough clothes to last for a couple of days as he’d suggested, then made the return trip to the living room.

  Looking pale and worried, her mother stood talking with Jake when she walked in. Jolie’s heart squeezed, the tears she’d been holding back finally welled, everything she’d been holding back came to a head, and in that moment she might as well have been five again with a scraped knee. She didn’t want to feel guilty or responsible, didn’t want to be brave or in charge or anything else for that matter.