"I don't. My Camaro is at the club."
In for a penny, in for a pound. "My brother and I will see you home."
Ruby brightened instantly. "Thank you, Nat. Can I call you Nat?"
"Um, sure."
"Oh, and you can meet Miss Mame!" Just as quickly, her face fell and her lower lip began to tremble.
"Are you in pain?"
"No. But I feel just awful about that television interview I did. That reporter twisted my words and made you sound really bad."
"I didn't see it." But she could imagine.
"And I'm sorry you were arrested, Nat. I know you didn't kill Ray."
Natalie swallowed. Did Ruby know she hadn't killed Raymond because she'd killed him herself? She obviously had access to syringes, and knew how to use them. Was her little girl facade an act to conceal street-smart cynicism? What was it Tony had said? You always could see only the best in people. She spoke carefully. "My lawyer is certain the charges will be dropped."
"Oh, good. Do you see my clothes anywhere?"
Another act, or was her attention span really as short as her skirts? "Here," Natalie said, retrieving a plastic drawstring bag from a sterile chair. She opened the bag and withdrew a black leather bra, minuscule panties, and a sheer white vest. "This is all you have?"
"Uh-huh."
"What about shoes?"
Ruby frowned. "I had boots. Tall ones."
Natalie found them under the bed. They weighed at least twenty pounds. Each.
"I'm feeling much better," Ruby said, sitting on the edge, swinging her legs. She stood and disrobed in one motion.
In an instant, Natalie's medical sensibilities fled. Pure feminine envy clutched her as she took in the long, lean limbs, the narrow waist, the incredibly full and high breasts reserved for youth. In comparison, Natalie felt like a tall prune with thin hair, and she suspected the tightness in her chest was the precursor to her own breasts caving in, in protest.
"I'll see if I can find you a robe or something," Natalie said, then escaped to the hall, her heart pounding. But Ruby's body was branded in her mind, and all she could think of was Raymond's hands on Ruby's breasts... Raymond lying with Ruby... Raymond impregnating Ruby. Natalie pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. Why had she come? To honor her Hippocratic oath, as she'd pretended, or to satisfy some perverse curiosity about her husband's young lover?
Tony stood when she returned to the emergency waiting room. "Bring the Cherokee around," she said, then informed the nurse that they would take Ruby home. After managing to wangle a disposable sheet from the woman to cover Ruby, she returned to her scantily dressed charge and convinced her to drape the sheet around her shoulders to ward off a chill in her weakened state. The nurse eyed them warily as Ruby signed release papers.
Her brother's expression, on the other hand, was something other than wary when Natalie introduced them. Appreciative. Masculine. Traitorous.
Since Tony was driving, and since the patient was relegated to the comfy bucket passenger seat, Natalie found herself tucked in the back seat, her knees to her chin, feeling very unnecessary. Ruby and Tony chatted like old friends, and although Natalie couldn't hear what they were saying, assumed they were getting along famously from the occasional fit of giggles that erupted from Ruby.
She frowned at the back of her brother's head—an hour ago he'd been ready to lay Raymond's murder at Ruby's feet. Judging from the cocky angle of his chin, he now wanted to kiss them. After he told what appeared to be a particularly hilarious story, Natalie reached forward and discreetly flicked him on the back of the ear. He straightened, then shot her a sheepish glance in the rearview mirror.
He followed Ruby's gesturing directions, and a few minutes later they pulled into the parking lot of Pink Paddy's Dancing Palace, which wasn't a palace, but was surprisingly busy for a Sunday afternoon in the Bible Belt. Tony offered to drive the Camaro and follow Natalie and Ruby to Ruby's home. When Natalie agreed, she told herself she wanted to make sure Ruby didn't return to work before resting, but in reality, she was burning with curiosity over where and how the girl lived.
But she hadn't expected a shabby trailer park. Granted, the double-wide red-and-white trailer Ruby called home was the nicest of the lot, but the desolate surroundings were enough to have Natalie looking over her shoulder as Tony helped Ruby up a set of wooden steps to the front door.
"Ray built and painted the steps," Ruby said proudly, then pointed to a stack of wood lattice sheets lying near the corner of the trailer. "He was planning to put lattice around the bottom to hide the wheels, but didn't get to it."
Natalie pursed her mouth. Raymond—the same man who once hired someone to come to their condo in St. Louis to hang pictures? She tried to imagine him in a tool belt, lovingly building a set of steps and handrail while his young new wife planted pink begonias in the red clay mud. The image simply wouldn't materialize.
The door swung open to the sound of hysterical yapping. Ruby knelt and swept up a little dog that resembled a dust mop wearing a perky yellow ribbon. "Miss Mame, meet my new friends, Tony and Nat."
Natalie had never been introduced to a dog before, so she allowed Tony to extend their mutual greeting with a quick scratch to the mop's head. Ruby invited them in with an excited wave. "Want some iced tea?"
"Sure," Tony said.
"No." Natalie shot him a sharp glance. "You need to rest, Ruby. I want to check your vitals and your blood sugar level before we go." The interior of the trailer was warm, uncomfortably so, and although the furniture was neat, and the beige carpet showed signs of recent vacuuming, the faint odor of urine—Miss Mame?—emanated from the cramped living room. "We'll wait here while you change into something comfortable. And warm," she added, lest the girl emerge in lingerie.
Ruby pouted, but kissed the mop on the nose and lowered it to the floor. "Y'all have a seat, and I'll be back in a sec. The clicker's on the table," she added, flashing a grin at Tony.
He grinned back, and Natalie elbowed him in the ribs. Ruby disappeared down a carpeted hallway, and while Tony inspected the television that was big enough to tip the mobile home to one side, she scoured the walls and shelves for pictures, knickknacks, anything to prove that Raymond had actually lived there. Her head knew he had, but her heart, stubborn organ, needed some bit of tangible evidence to further torture itself.
The living room featured mass-produced landscape prints in drab colors that complemented the furniture, and a large wall hanging of brass-colored metal leaves with matching sconces. The whatnots around the room consisted of bean bag animals, sea shells, and a Bride Barbie doll on a stand. Nothing of Raymond there. No favorite magazines or videos, no photos, no shoes. The computer, not a brand she recognized, sat silent on an end table.
The kitchen, visible through wooden rails that topped a half wall, had sprouted strawberries on every conceivable surface. No pasta cookbooks, no copper-bottomed pans that Raymond preferred, no gourmet spices he liked to keep handy on the countertop.
Before she could stop herself, she stepped onto the linoleum and opened the refrigerator door. Lots of lunchmeat, plenty of soda... and a half-full jar of the premium brand anchovies that Raymond fancied. She inhaled sharply against the quick pain,
"Did you change your mind about the tea?" Ruby asked behind her.
Natalie whirled. "I, uh... yes."
Ruby smiled. "Good."
She was dressed in a familiar navy sweatsuit featuring the University of Virginia's insignia—Raymond's alma mater. A rip on the left sleeve. Natalie tried to swallow. She'd worn the same sweatsuit herself to lounge around in, although not to the same voluptuous effect.
"I, um... no, thank you," Natalie said, closing the refrigerator door. "I changed my mind again." She inhaled deeply to clear her thoughts. "Did you test your blood sugar level?"
Ruby bobbed her head. "It's in normal range."
"Are you sure?"
"Uh-huh."
"Do you need test strips for your bl
ood glucose meter?"
"Nope." She had pulled her riotous hair into pigtails, shaving another couple of years from her appearance.
And in six months this child would give birth to a child. "Sit down so I can take your pulse and blood pressure."
Ruby obeyed, sitting in a kitchen chair and pushing up her sleeve. Her skin was cool and baby soft, and her vital signs registered normal. Satisfied, Natalie suddenly couldn't get away fast enough. Her own skin crawled, as if she were the unwilling partner in a ménage à trois. Her conscience rebelled, spurring her. She stood and stuffed the blood pressure cuff into the small emergency bag she kept in the Cherokee, her hands flying, her feet moving toward the door.
"Would you like to see the nursery Ray and I worked on for the baby?"
Natalie jerked her head up in synch with her heart dropping to her stomach. What she would like was to break the speed barrier going home, but Ruby's hands were clasped beneath her chin and her eyes shone like a child's on show-and-tell day.
No, no, NO! I don't want to see the nursery that my husband and you created for your child! But once again she was consumed with raging curiosity. "Of course."
Chapter 23
Detective Aldrich smirked. "I didn't realize you smoked, Mrs. Carmichael."
Beatrix leaned back in the metal folding chair and exhaled three smoke rings that twirled to form perfect figure-eights. "I don't. Where the hell is my lawyer?"
"He must be caught up in that snag out on Bridges Highway," the assistant district attorney, Peter Keane offered. "Tractor-trailer jackknifed. Want to call him?"
Her cell phone service had been cut off for nonpayment, and she didn't want to use a phone that half the hillbilly cops in western Kentucky had handled. "No." God, this unfiltered Camel tasted better than any morsel she'd ever put in her mouth. "But I suppose I don't need Gaylord here for this."
Aldrich stabbed a button on the recorder at her elbow and spouted the preliminary info, time, place, purpose, then smiled. "A confession, Mrs. Carmichael?"
She laughed and snubbed out the butt in a battered ashtray. "A clarification, Detective, that's all."
"The tape is running."
Beatrix cleared her throat. "Over the weekend, I remembered something I said in my earlier statement that might have been misleading."
"Misleading how?"
"By making the doctor look bad."
"Which doctor, Mrs. Carmichael?" Keane asked.
"The second woman that Raymond married, Dr. Natalie Blankenship."
"Yes, go on."
She cleared her throat again and drank from a plastic cup of water, trying not to touch her lips to the rim that was probably crawling with germs. "I would like to see the statement I made last week."
Aldrich pulled three sheets of paper stapled together from a bulging accordion file folder.
She scanned the pages, stopping when she got to the part about seeing Natalie go into the ICU by herself. "Here. I recalled that I did not see Natalie go in alone."
"The visitor log for the ICU says different."
She shrugged. "I'm not saying that she didn't go in alone, all I'm saying is that I didn't see her."
"And what am I supposed to do with this information?" Aldrich asked.
"I don't give a monkey's ass what you do with it, I just didn't want to be responsible for incriminating the woman, that's all."
"Natalie Blankenship incriminated herself," Keane said. "She was growing the plant the drug comes from in her back yard."
"I read that in the paper," Beatrix said. "She seems smarter than that, don't you think?"
Keane shifted forward in his seat. "You're not angry with the woman accused of killing your husband?"
She shifted forward in her seat, mocking him. "One woman on the jury, and it's hung, Mr. Keane. Raymond Carmichael was a three-timing bigamist bastard."
"Who deserved to die?" he pressed.
She sat back in the chair and withdrew another cigarette. "Don't put words in my mouth."
"Are you saying we should let her go with a slap on the wrist?"
"Turn up your hearing aid, counselor. I'm saying I didn't see her go into the ICU alone."
Keane cracked a couple of knuckles—a weak attempt at intimidation? "And maybe you're covering for her."
Beatrix laughed. "What?"
"Maybe you and the good doctor are in on this together. What do you think, Detective? Think we have a conspiracy on our hands?"
"Maybe."
"A conspiracy?" Beatrix scoffed. "I don't even know those women!"
"Yet you're coming to the doctor's rescue. Curious, don't you think, Keane?"
"Very curious."
Beatrix scowled. "I don't even like those women."
"Yet you allowed them to attend your husband's funeral, even ride in the limousine with you to the gravesite."
"I had no choice. They promised to keep their mouths shut—" She stopped, thinking perhaps she should wait for Gaylord after all.
"Go on, Mrs. Carmichael," Keane urged. "They promised to keep their mouths shut about what?"
"About the murder?" Aldrich goaded.
Beatrix gritted her teeth. "No. About their involvement with my husband. I was trying to keep all of this as quiet as possible. I'm certain even you blockheads understand why."
The detective narrowed his eyes. "It's your statement that you had no knowledge of Natalie Blankenship and Ruby Hicks until you met them in Raymond's hospital room?"
"That's correct."
"That's strange, because we have a witness who says she saw you and Natalie in the ladies' john chatting. She knew the time because she asked the doctor for it. Turns out, it was before Raymond even had his heart attack."
She'd completely forgotten about their chance meeting prior to the scene in Raymond's room. "I gave Natalie a breath mint—I had no idea who she was."
Aldrich grunted. "If you say so." He studied a gnawed-down number two pencil as if he were a bored student. "Did Natalie and Ruby know each other before that night in the hospital?"
"I couldn't say for sure, although they seemed as surprised as I was."
He bounced the eraser end of a pencil against the table, tripping on her nerves. "Have you talked to either of the two women since Natalie was arrested?"
"No."
Tap-tap-tap. Tap-a-tap-tap. "We can check phone records, Mrs. Carmichael."
Beatrix sighed. "Natalie called me last night to give me a list of items Raymond pawned in the city where she lives. She thought some of the things might belong to me."
Tap-a, tap-a, tap-a-tap-tap. "Mighty nice of her, being a stranger and all. Did you discuss the statement either of you had made to the police?"
With a smack of her hand, she captured the pencil against the table. "No."
He conceded the pencil with a hateful little smile.
"Did you discuss your mutual husband at all?"
"Only as it pertained to the items he pawned."
"And did some of those items belong to you?"
"Yes, many were family heirlooms."
"Raymond took them without your permission?"
She hesitated, realizing she was handing him motivation for her participation on a platter.
Aldrich leaned closer. "Did Raymond steal and pawn your family heirlooms, Mrs. Carmichael?"
Beatrix tried to smile. "'Steal' is a very strong word. Perhaps he was planning to buy the things back, thinking I would be none the wiser."
"Did your husband think you were stupid, Mrs. Carmichael?"
She looked away from the detective to collect herself, trying to remember why she'd come in the first place.
Keane cleared his throat. "Mrs. Carmichael, do you have the list with you?"
She did because she'd planned a drive to Smiley to pick up as much as she could afford with the scant cash she was able to scrape together. With a trembling hand, she withdrew the list from her handbag and slid it across the table to the district attorney, the lesser of the two evi
ls, but Aldrich picked it up.
"Ah, our old friend, Mr. Butler."
"You know this man?" she asked.
He returned the list, nodding. "He's been hanging around Natalie Blankenship. We believe they're involved."
She frowned. "An affair?"
"Looks like it. Her ex-con brother is working for him."
"I... I didn't realize Natalie had a brother. What was he in prison for?"
"Armed robbery," Keane piped in. "He was paroled about a month ago. Interesting timing, eh?"
Her mind spun. "Are you saying that Natalie's brother might have killed Raymond? Or this Butler person?"
He shrugged. "We're still investigating."
"Then why did you arrest Natalie?"
"Because we're pretty sure she has knowledge of the murder, even if she didn't commit it herself. And sometimes an arrest causes others to come forward—like yourself."
She simply couldn't reconcile the image of Natalie with a cold-blooded murderer, but maybe her judgment was slipping, like everything else...
"Did you know that Ruby Hicks was a suspect in the death of her mother's boyfriend when she was sixteen years old?"
That little idiot—a murderer? She swallowed a smile. Things were definitely looking up. "No, I didn't."
"The man was injected with rat poison."
"Injected?"
"Yep. Just so happens that Ruby is a diabetic, handy with a syringe. But maybe you already knew that."
He was studying her for a reaction. She quickly transformed her jubilation into a shocked expression. "No, I didn't." Beatrix lifted a hand to her chest for effect. "Was she convicted of the murder?"
"Nope, not even arrested. She had a watery alibi. Everyone thought she did it, but the guy was such a bad seed, there wasn't much of a public outcry for justice."
She wet her lips. "You think that... other woman killed Raymond?"
Keane shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe she and Natalie pulled it off together."
"Why?"
Another shrug. "Maybe Natalie found out about the bigamy, and knew that without a child, she had no claim to any of Raymond's money. Maybe she and Ruby conspired to get rid of Raymond so they could split the life insurance and estate money."
Our Husband Page 17
