Not in the Cards

by Amy Cissell

  The door opened again, and two officers came in. She recognized them from that morning. “Hello Ms. Franklin,” Roger said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. It’s good to see you again, Roger. Hi, David.”

  “You know them?” Vincent asked.

  “I met them this morning when they arrested Aaron,” Sandy explained.

  “I think I missed part of the story.”

  “She can fill you in later,” Roger said. “Right now, we’ll need everyone to exit the room so we can ask her a few questions.”

  Jezebel, Drew, and Ceri—none of whom had said a word since Sandy’d gotten her eyes open—followed Gabrielle out of the room. Vincent lingered a moment longer, then gave her hand a last squeeze, and glaring at the cops for no reason Sandy could discern, also exited.

  “Can you inform us of the events of your morning after we left the coffee shop with your ex-husband?” David asked.

  “I got another coffee and croissant, then went back to my shop. I opened at ten, like I usually do, and had a busy morning. Between ten and noon, I had a dozen or so clients come in. I was finally getting a break when the door opened. I remember a man in the doorway saying my name. But my real name. That was weird.”

  “Why was that weird?”

  “Most people who come in and can’t quite see because it’s so dim in my shop call me ‘Alexandra’ or even ‘Madam Alexandra.’ That’s what the sign says. This guy called me Sandy.”

  “And then what happened?” Roger prompted.

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember. The next thing I remember is waking up here. I was shot, wasn’t I?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  Sandy scrunched up her face. “I’m not sure. It just seems right.”

  “You were shot,” David confirmed. “Fortunately, he missed his mark, and it passed through about the only path on your shoulder that wouldn’t do any permanent damage. It’s going to hurt like the dickens, though.”

  “Who was that guy? Who shot me? And why?”

  “We were hoping you’d know. Fortunately, we were right outside when it happened. Because your ex-husband hadn’t actually done anything we could charge him with, we were forced to let him go. Roger and I were on our way to your shop to let you know and to help you file for that restraining order. When we heard the gunshot, we rushed in, caught the man complaining about the lighting, and were able to arrest him. He’s not talking, though.”

  “Why would someone shoot me?” Sandy asked again. “I don’t have any enemies.”

  The cops exchanged a look, but neither said anything. “I think that’s all for right now, Ms. Franklin,” Roger said. “You’ll have a continuous guard on your hospital room until you’re released, and once you’re home, there will be regular patrols keeping an eye on things.”

  “You have the shooter in custody, though, right? I’m safe, now.”

  David and Roger shared another glance heavy with meaning. “Why don’t you try to get some rest? I’m sure your friends are worried about you, too, and want to check on you. Thanks for your time.” They tipped their hats and left the room, letting everyone else back in.

  “Well?” Drew demanded. “I can’t stand it. Did they tell you who hired the hitman?”

  Sandy’s jaw dropped. “The what now?”

  Jezebel snorted her impatience. “Did you know the guy who shot you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Do you have a lot of enemies?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Did he try to rob you?”

  “No.” Sandy was getting impatient.

  “I am tired and fuzzy, and I woke up in a hospital. And oh, I was apparently shot today. If you know something, spit it out.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jezebel said, looking contrite. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be pushing right now.”

  “It was Aaron,” Drew said.

  “How is that possible?” Sandy asked. “He was arrested this morning.”

  “I still need to hear that story,” Vincent interrupted.

  “I’ll fill you in later,” Ceri said. “Bill told me the whole story.”

  Hurt and pain flashed across Drew’s face so quickly that Sandy wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it or not. “Anyway,” Drew said, bringing the attention back to him. “You pissed him off. You’ve done nothing but piss him off. And then today, you stood up for yourself, taunted him a little, and got him arrested. Clearly, he hired someone once he was released.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Sandy objected. “How could’ve he found someone that fast? Shouldn’t hiring a hitman to come to Oracle Bay take a little longer? It’s not like you can go on Craigslist and search for a hired gun. Can you? Please tell me you can’t.”

  “I really, really want to find out right now,” Drew said. “But I’m not sure I want my search history to reflect that so soon after this happened to you.”

  “It’s possible he had someone standing by waiting for his go ahead,” Vincent said quietly.

  “This is preposterous,” Sandy protested. “He’s a jerk, and he’s mad at me for divorcing him, but he wouldn’t kill me.”

  “Did you think he’d hit you before today?” Ceri asked quietly.

  “He hit you?” Vincent yelled.

  “No. He did not.” Sandy glared at Ceri.

  “Only because Bill stopped him,” Ceri continued, ignoring Sandy’s pointed looks. “That’s why the cops came and arrested him.”

  “What time is it?” Sandy asked to change the subject.

  “Nearly eight,” Vincent replied. “We’re all going to get kicked out any minute so you can get some rest.”

  “How long do I have to stay?” Sandy knew she was whining, but couldn’t stop herself.

  “A couple days is all.”

  “Will you stay with me? Please?”

  He smiled, and heat flared briefly. “You know, this isn’t exactly how I was anticipating our first night together would go, but I’m happy to stay.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “That’s our cue,” Jezebel said. “We’ll be by tomorrow. The others are back in town making sure Aaron doesn’t show up and trash your place.”

  “Thanks,” Sandy said. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open. “Bye.”

  Vincent squeezed her hand. “Are you sure you want me to stay?”

  Her eyes shot open, and she found his face. “Please. I need you.”

  “I’ll be here. I promise.”

  For the second time in a week, Sandy sat on the hard bench of a Multnomah County Courtroom hoping to get divorced. Her arm was in a sling, she was in more pain than she wanted to be—thanks ibuprofen—and not looking forward to seeing her almost-ex-husband at all. The investigation into her shooting was still proceeding, as far as she knew, but they weren’t giving her updates. Having never been the victim of a crime before, she didn’t know if that was common, or if people who’d been almost murdered got more information. Either way, she was frustrated, jumpy, and more than a little afraid.

  Vincent was waiting outside, there were more cops than you could shake a stick at in the building and a lot of witnesses, but she was still scared.

  Aaron strode in the room with his lawyer, sneered at Sandy, and sat down. The knot in her stomach tightened painfully, and her shoulder began to throb. Bela patted her leg and whispered, “It’s okay. We’ve got this.”

  Sandy pasted a smile on her face and tried to look more nonchalant and less like she was in danger of losing her breakfast everywhere. She was concentrating so hard on projecting an aura of serene confidence that she missed the judge’s entrance until Bela hissed “Stand up,” in her ear.

  Sandy got to her feet, winced at the pain caused by her too-fast movement, and reached for her inner calm again.

  “Please, sit,” the judge said. “Ms. Franklin, if you need a break at any time, please let me know.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  The judge
nodded at her, then looked at her clerk. “My goal is to get this over as quickly as possible so Ms. Franklin can get home and rest. I’ve reviewed all the documents forwarded to me. Mr. Bell, Ms. Franklin, have you had a chance to review everything?”

  “Yes,” Sandy said.

  “Mr. Bell?”

  His lawyer answered for him. “We would like the new financial arrangements proposed by Cassandra Franklin Bell to be discarded and the arrangements reached in mediation to be used instead.”

  “But your client has significantly more assets than he disclosed, making that negotiation entered into under false pretenses,” Bela pointed out. “My client and the mediator were both misled. Why should that stand?”

  “I agree with Ms. Naman,” the judge said.

  “As of last week, my client no longer has a steady income,” Aaron’s lawyer pointed out. “Unlike Ms. Franklin.”

  The judge looked at the lawyer. “Mr. Bell quit his job and is trying to convince me that Ms. Franklin’s seaside psychic shop makes her financially independent?”

  Aaron’s lawyer squirmed uncomfortably. “She’s dating a wealthy man and won’t need to keep working.”

  “How long have you been dating?” the judge asked Sandy.

  “Only about a month. Maybe five weeks.”

  “That’s pretty early in a relationship to determine that she’s going to receive financial support from someone else. That’s a weaker argument than your previous one. Anything else?”

  No one said anything, and Sandy started to relax.

  The door behind the judge’s bench opened, and a man in a green uniform walked into the room. He approached the bench, leaned over, and spoke quietly to the judge. Her eyebrows invaded her hairline, and she glanced quickly between Aaron and Sandy before returning her attention to the Sheriff’s Deputy. “Can you wait about ten minutes? I’d like to finish up in here.”

  He nodded and left the room.

  The judge looked down at the stack of papers in front of her and then out into the courtroom. “I am accepting the terms submitted by Ms. Franklin. The house will be sold and the profits split evenly between both parties. In addition, Ms. Franklin is entitled to fifty percent of Mr. Bell’s 401(k). All debts incurred during the marriage will similarly be split evenly. Finally, Mr. Bell will owe Ms. Franklin five hundred dollars a month for alimony for the next three years or until she remarries. The proposed split of possessions from the mediation will stand as written. The balance of the primary checking and savings accounts will also be split. Mr. Bell will retain possession of any cars purchased after separation, and Ms. Franklin will retain the car she currently uses as her primary mode of transportation.”

  “You can’t give her half!” Aaron gasped. “That’s not fair.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about the fairness of this ruling,” the judge said. “You have bigger things to worry about.” She looked over at the clerk. “Please prepare this for signature today so we can get it filed as soon as possible. In the meantime, can you please let the deputy know that we’re done here?”

  Aaron stood up and stomped towards the door.

  “A moment, Mr. Bell,” the judge said. “I think there are some people arriving who’d like to have a word with you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Aaron stared at the judge, clearly confused.

  The Sheriff’s deputy returned, accompanied by a few other officers.

  “Aaron Bell, you are under arrest for felony embezzlement, attempted murder, and conspiracy to commit murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

  “You can’t arrest me.”

  “Please place your hands behind your back.”

  For the second time in a week, Sandy watched her almost-ex—no, actual ex-husband—be led away in handcuffs, this time followed by his lawyer. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes and traced mascara paths down her cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” Bela asked.

  “No. No. My ex-husband tried to have me killed. How many more hitmen are in place to follow through? How long will I have to wonder when the next attack will come?”

  “You’ll be assigned protection,” the judge said. “But he’s going to lose most of his assets, and unless he’s an even bigger idiot than expected, he didn’t pre-pay anyone more than the standard down payment. If there are others, they’ll take what they have and walk away. There’s too much attention on him now.”

  “That sounds logical,” Sandy admitted. “But it’s not helping.”

  “I’m not surprised. You’ve been through a lot. Try to remember, though, when you’re anxious. At least your assets will be protected now, since the divorce was finalized before he was arrested and will be in the system before the charges are formally filed.”

  “Is that why you asked them to wait?” Bela asked.

  The judge grinned. “Our time together is over. Best of luck in the future, Ms. Franklin.”

  Sandy stood alone in the middle of her shop trying, but failing miserably, to summon her satisfaction at being officially divorced for almost twenty-four hours. It was the first time she’d been back since she’d been shot. Someone had been by to clean up, although the ever-present dust and grime had already reappeared, but something still felt off. She knew she’d have to get back to it eventually, but wasn’t sure when she’d be able to work here again. Just standing here made her stomach knot up, and the weight pressed against her chest made breathing difficult.

  Someone knocked on the front door, and she jumped, even though she knew that logically, it was Vincent. He’d dropped her off at her behest, giving her a half hour alone

  Sandy unlocked the door and pulled it open. “That didn’t feel like thirty minutes.”

  “It was about fifteen,” he admitted. “Do you want me to leave and come back in fifteen more?”

  “No. That was enough for today, I think. I can’t sleep here tonight. I don’t know when it’ll be okay.”

  A buzz broke the relative silence in the room. Sandy looked around for the source of the noise and saw the neon sign was on. She shook her head and turned it off. The window was a little less greasy looking today. She could almost see out. Sandy dismissed the window and turned back to Vincent. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

  “If that’s you want, you can stay in my hotel room tonight. If you’d rather not, I’m sure one of your friends has a guest room.”

  “Only tonight?” Sandy asked, the corner of her mouth twitching a bit.

  Vincent pursed his lips and gave her some serious side eye. “You can stay with me every night for the rest of our lives. But don’t expect hotel rooms all the time.”

  Sandy smiled at him, then sobered. “Where will you live, though? This is my home.”

  “I’d never ask you to move. You’ve spent too much time fulfilling someone else’s wishes. It’s time for you to put yourself first. I’ve been looking at places in town. I’ll probably keep my house in Portland for the time being and rent it out, but I’m going to stay in Oracle Bay as long as you’ll have me.”

  “What about your job? Crystal Corp offered it back, didn’t they?”

  “They did, and I politely told them to shove it. I’m going to take some time to think about my next steps. Now that I don’t have to liquidate all my holdings to pay for a crime I didn’t commit, I’m in a lot better place financially than I thought I’d be. We’ll be okay.”

  “I don’t need your money,” Sandy said, stiffening and moving away from him.

  “I know. Once your house sells, you’ll be in good shape as well, even if you never do see a penny of the alimony. I don’t want to provide for you. I want us to be partners. We’ll pool our resources and share what we have. You’ll do tarot card readings or whatever you want. Maybe I’ll stay home and take care of the house and kids.”

  “Kids?”

  �
��Oodles of them,” Vincent said, grinning mischievously. “A dozen at least.”

  Sandy relaxed and leaned back into him, bumping his hip with her own. “I am not having a dozen children. I draw the line at two. And that’s the maximum.”

  “Nothing wrong with raising an only child,” Vincent said. “We both turned out okay.”

  “Not yet, though. I’m not ready.”

  “Agreed. We should know each other for at least three months before having children.”

  “I’m ready to go, now,” Sandy said. “Although I don’t feel as weird about my shop as I did before. Thanks for bringing me.”

  “Your wish is my command. Let’s go back to the hotel and have some dinner. It’s been a long day, and you deserve some celebratory champagne.”

  Sandy hoisted the small backpack she’d stuffed with clothes and opened the door, wincing as it screeched and groaned. “After you.”

  Two hours later, refreshed from a long shower and flushed from dancing around the hotel room trying to get dressed without exposing herself to the man who still hadn’t seen her naked, Sandy walked into the bar of the Sleeping Inn and snagged a table for two overlooking the ocean. She smoothed the lines of her black dress across her hips and glanced worriedly down at her cleavage, hoping she wasn’t sharing too much with the world. She’d barely sat down before Russell was at her table with a glass of champagne. “Your man called down and told me that you needed a glass of champagne. This is on the house. I’m so glad you’re okay and that those responsible have already been arrested.”

  Sandy took the glass. “Thank you,” she said and took a small sip.

  “If you ever need anything at all, please let me know. Oracle Bay is lucky to have you.”

  Sandy blushed and hid her embarrassment behind her glass of bubbly.

  “Just wave if you need anything else. I’ll send a waiter over with some food menus and a glass of Scotch when Mr. Bryson appears.”

  “Thank you,” she said again. “For everything.”

  Russell sketched a salute and went back behind the bar. She was about finished with her glass when Vincent showed up. He was dressed in a dark suit that hugged the hard lines of his body, a light shirt, and a black tie that glinted in the low light of the bar.