Our Husband

by Stephanie Bond

  Ruby stared, then squealed with joy.

  Chapter 38

  Natalie sneezed from the motes she stirred with a feather duster as she moved around her office. Patients were few and far between, so she decided to take advantage of the opportunity to clean. Tony kept telling her things would pick up, but things hadn't, even though Mrs. Ratchet had run notice of the state medical board reinstating her license on the front page of the paper, in return for an exclusive interview at some point in the near future. Still, patients stayed away. Being an urban legend was great if someone needed a dinner guest, but not if they needed a doctor.

  A buzzer sounded, alerting her to visitors. Since she couldn't afford to hire a receptionist or a nurse, she was handling all duties. When she walked into the waiting room, Brian stood between his nieces, one towheaded, and one brunette, chained together by their disproportionate hands. Both the girls had been crying, and he looked close to a breakdown himself.

  She was careful not to betray her cheer at seeing him again. She'd scrupulously avoided his calls for a week, determined to disentangle herself from everyone until she could come to grips with the fact that Beatrix had murdered Raymond. On the one hand, she should have been furious, but knowing the extent of his betrayal to all of them had tempered her reaction to numbness. She simply couldn't believe the woman she'd come to know—or thought she'd come to know—could plan and execute a murder.

  Which was further proof her judgment of character was enormously skewed.

  "Hello," she said.

  "Hi. I heard the doctor was back in."

  "And this must be Ally and Jeanie."

  The girls nodded and huddled closer to Brian's legs. "I think they picked up a bug while they were at Mom's," he said.

  "Ah." She smiled at the girls. "I'm Dr. Natalie, and I'll do my best to make you feel better."

  "How come no one else is here, Uncle Brian?" Ally asked, looking around the empty waiting room.

  "Because no one else is sick. Isn't that nice?"

  Natalie gave him a wry smile. "Bring them back to the Blue Room—I think you know the way."

  His mouth quirked to one side, then he herded them along. The girls were a wriggling, giggling, runny-nosed mess, but she was finally able to ascertain they both had mild respiratory infections.

  "Are you going to give us a shot?" Ally asked, her eyes welling up.

  "No." Natalie tugged on her pigtail. "Just some pink medicine you'll have to take for a few days."

  "She's pretty, Uncle Brian," she whispered loudly behind her hand.

  "Yes, she is," Brian said, locking gazes with her over the girls' heads.

  "Why don't you bring her home sometime for spaghetti?" Jeanie suggested.

  "Um, girls," he said, lifting them from the examination table to the floor. "I think I saw a bowl of lollipops in the waiting room. Why don't you each get one and wait for me there? And don't run," he added, his words drowned out by their tennis shoes pounding on the carpet.

  Natalie squirmed, dreading the conversation.

  "So how's business?"

  She laughed softly. "It isn't."

  "Things will pick up again."

  "I'm moving."

  He blinked. "You're moving? I hope you mean across town."

  "I've been sending résumés to Florida. I'm putting my house up for sale."

  "Just like that, you're leaving?"

  She scowled. "Not just like that—I've given this decision some thought."

  His jaw hardened. "Did I imagine there was something between us?"

  "Friendship," she said quickly, then busied herself with the girls' files.

  His fingers curled loosely around her wrist. She lifted her gaze and swallowed. "What happened was a mistake, Brian. My life has been a roller coaster, we were both lonely—"

  "Don't give me that crap, Natalie. We're good together."

  She pressed her lips together, not wanting to hurt his feelings. "We're moving in different directions. You're a family man. After everything that's happened, I need to acclimate."

  "You mean you want to be alone."

  "Can you blame me?"

  He sighed. "No. But I don't like it."

  "I'm sorry, Brian. I appreciate the way you've helped me and Tony. And I'll make sure you get the money Raymond owed you as soon as I sell the house or receive the life insurance settlement."

  At the mention of the money, his mouth turned down. "Is Tony going with you?"

  "I think so."

  "How soon are you leaving?"

  "As soon as I can sell the house. A real estate agent is coming by this weekend."

  He ran his hand down over his face. "Can we at least spend time together until you have to go?"

  She shook her head. "It'll only make things harder."

  "For you?"

  Yes. "No."

  He pursed his mouth, then laughed humorlessly. "Okay, I'm hard-headed, but I think I'm getting the picture here."

  Her heart squeezed. Another time, another place...

  Suddenly his face rearranged into a smile. "But, hey, we can still be friends, right?"

  Relieved, she nodded. "Absolutely."

  He leaned back against the exam table and crossed his arms. "How is the case going?"

  "Against Beatrix? Full speed ahead, I assume. My lawyer says I'll have to testify."

  "Do you think she'll be convicted?"

  "I honestly don't know. Her lawyer will bring up the fact that Ruby and I were both arrested for the murder—that's bound to create some doubt in the minds of the jurors."

  "But I thought she confessed."

  Natalie shook her head. "After they presented her with evidence about the poisoned cologne, she simply told the detective and the district attorney that she had planned to kill him, but someone else beat her to it."

  "But no one believed her."

  She sighed. "No. They dropped the charges against me and Ruby because we passed a polygraph test."

  "Did Beatrix take one?"

  "No." She straightened the folders, then straightened them again.

  "Something's bothering you."

  Natalie chewed on the inside of her cheek, wondering how crazy she would sound if she voiced her opinion. "I don't think she killed him."

  "Of course she killed him. Who else is left?"

  "The mystery woman."

  "But you told me that Beatrix was the mystery woman."

  "I thought so the day we were all talking to Aldrich and Keane, with the evidence against her piling up in my mind. But I've had time to think about our little road trip, and when that maid told us that Raymond was going to propose to someone else, I swear she was as shocked as I was."

  "Maybe she's a good actress. She probably paid the maid to say all that."

  "Then the maid was a good actress, too."

  "But Beatrix had made some kind of murder to-do list, hadn't she?"

  She nodded. "But like I said, she doesn't deny wanting to kill him."

  "And you still think she didn't do it?"

  "It's just a gut feeling."

  "Have you talked to her lately?"

  "I left a message yesterday, but she didn't return my call."

  Brian straightened. "Mom came back with me to help with the girls. After I fill their prescriptions, let's you and I drive to Northbend."

  She frowned. "I don't know—"

  "I tracked down a set of silver candlesticks that belonged to Beatrix but were already gone when she came by the shop. I was going to mail them, but Northbend is only an hour and a half from here."

  Natalie hesitated. The last time she and Brian had taken a drive, they'd ended up rolling around in the back of the van. "On one condition."

  "What's that?"

  "We take my car."

  Chapter 39

  The bad thing about driving, Natalie realized about a mile down the road, is that it allows the passenger free license to stare. "Do I have something on my face?"

  "Yes," Brian said
. "Freckles."

  "I've been gardening, trying to get the back yard in shape to sell."

  "Such a shame, seeing as how you love that house."

  Tears on her pillow every night. "I have to be able to practice medicine, and I can't do it in Smiley."

  "I think you're giving up. Too soon."

  "Yeah, well you don't have to endure the stares and the whispers at the grocery."

  "Oh, I get stared at and whispered about a lot. People seem to think I'm a gangster or something."

  "It's the scar," she said. "How'd you get it?"

  "Brother," he said simply. "We were kids, playing war or something. He threw a half brick, and I looked up to meet it."

  "You could have been killed."

  He laughed. "Between me and my brother, I think my mom had a reserved seat in the emergency room."

  "Where is your brother?"

  "In Germany. Career military man."

  "And your parents?"

  "Pop died when I was a teenager. Mom remarried after I left home and moved to Key Valley."

  "On the other side of St. Louis."

  "That's right, your brother told me you and Raymond lived there for a while."

  She swallowed.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

  "His name? Don't be silly. Raymond was a big part of my life for a long time. I can't expect not to think about him, or for other people not to mention him." She glanced sideways. "What did you think about him?"

  He shrugged. "Seemed like a nice enough guy, but I knew he was in a money bind. He was desperate, making crazy bets."

  "Trying to win enough money to juggle three households. He was robbing Peter to pay Paul. Did you think he was a—" What were the words Tony used? "A player?"

  "Oh, sure."

  Her hands gripped the wheel tighter. "How?"

  "I don't know. It's like you said about thinking Beatrix is innocent, just a gut feeling."

  She wondered why she hadn't interpreted the stone in her stomach at the time she took her vows as uncertainty rather than nervousness. She'd been so caught up in the momentum of her husband's spirit. There was nothing casual about Raymond—no puttering in the garden, no estate sales and roadside picnics, no lovemaking on yellow shag carpet in the back of a van.

  Really coarse yellow shag carpet that smelled of a citrusy cleaner and felt rather remarkable on bare skin.

  "Natalie?"

  "Hmm?"

  "I asked if you've talked to the other wife, the young one?"

  "Ruby? Yes, I called her a couple of times, to make sure she's getting prenatal care."

  "How does that make you feel?"

  She ignored his question. "Like a doctor."

  "I mean, how does it make you feel that she's having Raymond's baby?"

  She sighed. "Sorry for her, actually. She's so young, and she has no family around that seems to care. I hate Raymond for betraying me, but I don't think I'll ever forgive him for what he did to that girl. Her life will always be a struggle. She was even fired from her dancing job."

  "I think Tony mentioned it."

  "He has a crush on her. Anyway, I can't imagine how she's going to make ends meet and take care of that baby."

  "Won't she get life insurance, child support, social security?"

  "Since the policy was so new, the company opted to refund the premiums instead of paying the death benefit. I doubt if there will be anything left of Raymond's estate once the bills are paid, so the baby stands to inherit very little. She might get social security, though, or welfare. I wish I could help her, but I have to get my own affairs in order first."

  "Did you ever want children?"

  His voice was innocent enough, but his sudden preoccupation with the passing scenery betrayed his interest.

  "No," she said honestly. "I never wanted children. With Raymond." Now why had she added that little disclaimer? "Where do I turn next?"

  He consulted the map. "Two miles up, take a left onto Willoughby, then a right onto Saddlebrook. Her address is 2525."

  "I might recognize her house when I see it, although I was pretty out of it the day of the funeral." God, that horrid day seemed like a lifetime ago.

  The house was relatively easy to find since it was the size of a city block. Five garages. Unbelievable landscaping. And not a sign of life anywhere.

  "Maybe she still isn't home," she said as she put the Cherokee into park. She'd called before they left, but got the voice recorder again.

  "The Mercedes is here," Brian said, peering through the tiny window slits on the garage door. "Parked crooked and the driver side door is open. Battery's bound to be dead if it's been like that long." He turned. "She was in a hurry when she got home."

  Or drunk? Still, Natalie's pulse picked up.

  Brian pointed. "Newspaper is still on the stoop."

  "Something's wrong," she said. "You ring the doorbell, I'll try to call again."

  She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Beatrix's number. "Beatrix, it's Natalie. Pick up. Brian Butler and I are in your driveway, and we're worried that something is wrong. Please pick up."

  "No answer," Brian said, moving to a window and shading his eyes. "The windows are shuttered, can't see a thing."

  Together they moved around the house, but all the windows and doors were shuttered. Morbid thoughts ran through Natalie's head. Had she committed suicide? Died in her sleep? Fallen down the stairs? Passed out?

  Natalie was dialing 911 when the front door suddenly swung open. Beatrix stood in the doorway wearing a muumuu—an expensive muumuu, no doubt—and very obviously hung over. "Boy, am I glad to see you," she slurred. "Come on in. Quick."

  She and Brian entered the house—a palace, really. The scent of live flowers in the foyer was overwhelming—dozens of vases, with white florists' cards springing from the arrangements. Beatrix slammed the door behind them, then turned the deadbolt.

  "Natalie," Brian whispered, then nodded toward a table.

  Natalie's eyes widened at the sight of a revolver. "Beatrix, what's going on?"

  "Wish I knew," she said, holding her head. "Been trying to figure it out all night."

  As evidenced by the empty bottle of gin next to the gun.

  "Did something happen?"

  In the light of day, with no makeup, she was still a beautiful woman. She winced, then appeared to be trying to concentrate, or to remember. "Yes. I distinctly recall that something did happen. And whatever it was, it scared the shit out of me."

  "Beatrix, why do you have a revolver?"

  Her expression lifted. "Ah, now I remember. Someone shot at me last night."

  Natalie put her hand to her heart. "In this house?"

  "No, I was driving."

  "Maybe we'd better sit down," Brian urged.

  "Oh, how rude of me," Beatrix said. "Yes, please, sit down."

  Natalie sat next to Brian on the sofa, Beatrix in a chair. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

  "There was a gala at the club last night," Beatrix said in a calm voice. Then she smiled. "They were giving away a service award named after my father. I always present the award, but last night they wouldn't even let me through the damn doors, can you believe it?"

  When she lapsed into thought, Natalie asked, "Then what happened?"

  Beatrix snapped back to attention. "I left, of course. Sons of bitches. Decided to take a long drive, to clear my head." Her eyes clouded. "I found a rotted apple under my seat and tossed it out the window. A car came up behind me and turned on its bright lights. I thought perhaps the apple had hit the car and the driver was angry." A fine sheen of perspiration appeared on her brow. "But it kept tailing me, wouldn't pass. Finally I slowed way down, and the car pulled up alongside me." Her throat convulsed. "The person driving was wearing a mask and pointing a gun at me. I screamed, and luckily, the bullet went through the car without striking anything. I ran off the shoulder, and the car sped away. After I collected myself, I drove home, scared sill
y."

  "Did you report the incident to the police?" Brian asked.

  "No."

  "Why not? That was a pretty insane reaction to a rotten apple."

  "I didn't report the incident because I think the person driving was the rose lady."

  Natalie's jaw dropped. "What?"

  "They were driving a red Ford Taurus."

  "All the more reason to call the police," he said.

  "They wouldn't believe me," Beatrix said softly, her eyes glazed.

  Brian shot Natalie a look that said, She's gone mad.

  "Beatrix," Natalie said gently. "Were you drinking when this happened?"

  The woman shook her blond head. "Sober as the Pope." Then she frowned. "Why are you two here?"

  "Brian brought you candlesticks he recovered, and frankly, I was worried about you."

  Beatrix tilted her head and smiled. "Ah, that's sweet. But there's no need to worry about me—I got Clarence over there on the table to protect me." She nodded toward the revolver.

  "First, we're going to get some coffee and food into your stomach," Natalie said, "then we're going to the police."

  After she herded the woman into an upstairs shower, she joined Brian in the kitchen where he had one of—four?—coffeemakers going.

  "Look at all this stuff," he said. Appliances lined the counters. "She's a pretty eccentric gal, you have to admit."

  Natalie accepted a cup of coffee. "Do you believe her story?"

  "You're the one who said she was innocent. If that's so, then the rose lady is still out there somewhere."

  "But why would she be after Beatrix? If Raymond's murderer is still out there, their best chance of getting away with it is if the police think Beatrix is guilty."

  "Yeah, but if Beatrix is dead..."

  "A suicide might close the case, but a shot from a moving car? The police would know the killer was still out there." She shook her head. "I don't think it happened. Else, why wouldn't she have gone to the police?"

  "I usually don't try to figure people out," he said, then one side of his mouth drew back. "There's one people in particular who's giving me fits."

  She ignored his bait with an eye roll, then sighed. "I'm starting to believe Beatrix hallucinated this entire rose lady thing. I remember her saying her mother had mental problems, so maybe she inherited schizophrenia."