Mr. and Mrs. Wrong

by Fay Robinson

  “Back hurting again?” Cal asked.

  “A little. If I go for a walk at midmorning, it seems to help, but I didn’t have a chance today. Last night I got down to do my exercises, and Jack had to hoist me up. I couldn’t get off the floor.”

  He laughed. “He’s really getting excited about your delivery. When we played golf, it was all he talked about.”

  “Don’t remind me. He’s driving my doctor nuts. I finally told him he couldn’t come to any more of my checkups. He asks a thousand questions and gets mad if I have to wait more than ten minutes. He bullies the nurses.”

  “Better than him not being excited, isn’t it?”

  “Of course, but he’s really going overboard. I feel like I’m living with a prison guard. He doesn’t like me to eat any sweets, even though the doctor said it was okay within reason. He watches me exercise and writes down how many pelvic tilts I do, making me increase them every few days. Did he tell you he’s bought this elaborate video camera to record the delivery?”

  “He mentioned it a couple thousand times.”

  “The last thing I want when I’m in labor is him with a camera. He’s already showed that grainy black-and-white ultrasound photo of the baby all over town, even to people he hardly knows. Imagine what fun he’d have with a video of the birth.”

  Cal got a good chuckle out of that.

  She stretched again and winced.

  “How about we walk down to Turner’s and get a lemonade?” he suggested. “We haven’t done that in a long time, and it might help your back.”

  “That sounds wonderful. And I can pick up Jack’s shirts on the way.” She clipped the negatives she wanted the new guy to process that night and slung her camera over her shoulder.

  “Do you need that?”

  “Where I go, it goes.”

  TURNER’S DRUGSTORE had been on the corner as long as Lucky could remember and still looked much as it had when she was a kid. Mr. Turner still filled prescriptions in the pharmacy. Mr. Byrd, who liked to be called simply “Byrd,” still hand-squeezed the lemonade and made the sandwiches and homemade soups at the lunch counter.

  Cal ordered two lemonades, a piece of pecan pie to share with Lucky and a second piece wrapped to take back for Leigh. They’d stopped by her office to invite her, but she hadn’t been there. Lucky found them a booth next to the window.

  “Don’t you dare tell Jack I ate this,” she said, sticking her fork in the pie for a bite.

  “I don’t need to be eating it, either. Pretty soon my waistline is going to look as bad as yours. No offense.”

  “None taken.” She looked around. “This old place never seems to change. Do you think Byrd will ever retire?”

  “Probably not. He’ll die squeezing lemonade. Remember how we used to beg to visit Dad at the paper after school, but it was really because we wanted to sneak off down here and talk to Byrd?”

  Lucky smiled. “I remember you also wanted to peek at the men’s magazines, until Mr. Turner got wise and put them behind the counter.”

  “How else was I supposed to learn about women?”

  Sometimes she wondered if he ever had learned about women. He had such horrible taste in them. As attractive and intelligent as he was, surely he could find some nice woman his own age to date. Someone with class. The last two or three had dressed and talked like hookers.

  But that was Cal’s business, and she’d always tried not to meddle in it.

  They spent a pleasant and relaxing thirty minutes eating pie and talking about the fun they’d had at the drugstore as teenagers. “You’re right—we haven’t done this in a long time,” Lucky told him, gazing out the window at the people passing on the street. “Maybe we should do it more often.”

  “Things have been pretty hectic for both of us.”

  “That’s true.” A man she’d noticed earlier as they came out of the Register was now across the street, smoking a cigarette. His red plaid shirt had caught her attention. Out of habit, she looked through the viewfinder at him, but she had her standard lens on and he was too far away. She stood and pressed the lens to the window to reduce the glare and took a couple of shots.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Messing around.” She sat down again and put the camera aside. “You’ve really done a great job getting the paper back on its feet, Cal. Leigh says the money we saved on overtime from computerizing production has already paid for the equipment. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  “I enjoy it, and I like seeing us make a profit for a change. How about you? Do you think you’ll come back to work after the baby’s born?”

  “Of course I will. I love taking photos. You know that.”

  “Sure, but I also know Jack’s been bugging you about setting up your own business so he won’t have to worry about you.”

  “He’s only mentioned it once since he moved back in. Besides, I’ve stayed out of trouble lately. I haven’t found a body in months.” Superstitious, she knocked on the wooden sill.

  “What about that ruckus at the convenience store a few weeks ago? You don’t call that trouble?”

  “I went in to buy a pack of gum.”

  “Yeah, and ended up in the middle of a robbery.”

  “And getting photographs of the robber. That’s why I always carry this little sweetie.” She patted her camera. “You never know what’s going to happen.”

  “Jack worries. I worry. You do seem to get yourself in bad situations. Hell, Lucky, you chased the guy. That was pretty stupid.”

  She glanced across the street. The man smoking the cigarette had moved off, so she relaxed.

  “I was in no danger. I promise you. He had a tiny little penknife and didn’t weigh one-twenty. He was scared to death. The whole thing was funny more than anything. I ran after him and he was sprawled on the pavement, out cold. Must’ve slipped and hit his head.”

  “But he could just as easily have been a two-hundred-pound thug with a gun who turned around and shot you. Have you thought about that?”

  “Now you’re sounding like Jack. He thinks a studio will keep me safe.”

  “Actually it’s not a bad idea from a financial, as well as a safety, standpoint. Local people have nowhere to go to get portraits taken except when that guy comes to the mall a couple of times a year. You could make some really good money.”

  “Taking photographs of babies all day? No, thank you. I like getting outside. I like being in the middle of what’s going on—not robberies. And the Register needs me. Don’t you?”

  “Sure we do. But I’ve come up with an idea, a way to help you out, bring something new to the community and also make a profit for the newspaper.”

  “How?”

  He outlined his plan. Renovate the upstairs area in the Register they weren’t using and turn it into a portrait studio. Expand the darkroom to better handle color processing and let Lucky manage the complex.

  “You could hire another photographer or two to take the portraits if you don’t want to fool with those, and we could contract with your business to provide photos for the paper. You’d be doing some of what you do now.”

  “Then what’s the advantage of your plan?”

  “You’d have a staff. You could give them the late-night assignments and stop chasing ambulances and fire trucks. You’d be in charge.”

  “Could I still do assignments?”

  “If it makes you happy. But I’d suggest you take the feature work and give the rough stuff to someone else.”

  “A man, you mean. Shame on you, Cal.”

  “Sis, you know I’m not sexist. I think that creatively you’re as talented as anyone out there, man or woman. But like I said, sometimes you put yourself in places and situations that are inherently more dangerous for a woman. You can be a great photographer without risking injury, can’t you?”

  “I’m careful.”

  “I know you think you are. All I’m saying is this could be a good option for you and for us.”
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  “I still don’t see what the advantage is to the Register.”

  “We’d be utilizing that space, bringing in new revenue and sharing staff. I’m thinking we might also create a day care for our employees and extend it to the children of people who work downtown. We could include it as part of the complex.”

  “I love that idea, but what about an entrance? You couldn’t expect people to go in the front door of the Register and up those stairs, especially older people and the handicapped.”

  “We could open up the entrance on the side that’s closed off and have a lobby area on the main floor.” He drew a sketch on his napkin. “We can put the service elevator back into use and locate the day care right here in this big space on the main floor. We’d add a separate door so parents can pull up off the street and load and unload.”

  “You’d need a kitchen.”

  “True, but we already have bathrooms, so that eliminates one major expense. And we have plumbing on the other side of this wall—” he pointed to it on his sketch “—so putting in a kitchen won’t take much.”

  “What about a play area? Kids need swings and sunshine and a safe place to run around.”

  “We’ll buy that empty lot across the back alley. I’ve already done a little digging, and we can get it at a fair price. It’s plenty big enough, and with fencing and grass, it’ll be ideal. The kids can walk right out the back door into the playground.”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “I’ve been working on the plan ever since you told me you were pregnant.”

  She sat back in the booth. “Cal, I have to admit I like the idea the way you’ve presented it, but I wouldn’t want you doing this only for me. You’re talking about a huge commitment of company money.”

  “Sis, it’s not only for you. The space has been sitting empty for years and should be rented, but renting to an outsider opens up problems I’d rather not deal with. Sure, it’s a big investment of cash, but the return would be good. I’ve researched the market and run the numbers. The profit’s right there, ready to be plucked. You’ve got the know-how to run the studio and the darkroom, and we can hire an experienced manager for the day care. Will you consider it?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  They talked about it more as they crossed the street and walked to the cleaners in the middle of the next block. “You haven’t discussed any of this with Jack, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because I want to think about it without him pressuring me.”

  “I understand. This will stay between us, although I’ve outlined the idea to Leigh, so you’d better tell her not to spill the beans.”

  “How does she feel about it?”

  “She was hesitant at first because of the expense, but after I showed her the figures and a rendering of what it could look like, she really went for the idea.”

  “I’d like to see that rendering.”

  “I’ll show it to you when we get back.”

  At the cleaners both the female clerk and Joe Tagliotti were at the counter. Lucky took advantage of the opportunity. She handed the woman her ticket, but it was to Tagliotti she spoke. “Hello, Mr. Tagliotti. Good to see you again.”

  He nodded and smiled, but clearly didn’t know her.

  “Wasn’t it a tragic thing about Mr. Bagwell?”

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes narrowing. He spoke with a thick accent. Italian. Greek maybe. She couldn’t tell. “Tragic. I’m sorry, your name is…?”

  “Oh, Lucky Cahill. I’m the one who found Mr. Bagwell.”

  “Yes, from the newspaper. I read the story.”

  “This is my brother, Cal Mathison. He also works for the paper. You and I don’t know each other, but I saw you at the funeral and wondered if you and Mr. Bagwell were friends.”

  “Acquaintances is all. He coached my son.”

  “I see. He seemed like a very nice man.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he was.” Joe Tagliotti didn’t sound as though he really thought so.

  “There were rumors you and he got into an altercation. I wondered if there were any hard feelings resulting from that.”

  He stiffened. “Are you asking this for some kind of article?”

  “No, just curiosity.”

  “Then excuse me. I’ve already been questioned by the police and I don’t have time for silly gossip.” Turning, he strode to the back of the store.

  “Well, that was absolutely no help,” she said under her breath, feeling foolish.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Cal asked. “I’ve never known you to be so rude.”

  “I was trying to extract information. Sometimes you have to be blunt.”

  “Information for what?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  The woman returned and Lucky paid her bill. When she stepped out the door, she saw the same man who’d been at the drugstore now loitering across the street. He tossed down his cigarette and started to walk away.

  “He is following us,” she said to Cal, and then shouted to the man, “Hey, you!”

  By the time she’d waddled across the street, he had turned the corner and vanished. She looked in through several storefront windows, thinking he might have ducked inside. She saw no sign of him. Maybe he’d cut down the alley.

  Cal had arrived and he grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

  “Did you see the man in the plaid shirt? He’s been following me.”

  “I didn’t see anybody. Why would anybody be following you?”

  “Because…” She couldn’t think of a single reason. “I don’t know why, but he is. At least, I think he is. I saw him outside the paper and then the drugstore, and he was watching us while we were in the cleaners.”

  They started back toward the office, Lucky peering in every doorway and window.

  “You’ve lost it, little sister. There wasn’t any man.”

  “He was there. I saw him. And I can prove it.” She smiled and pointed at her camera. “I got his picture.”

  BACK AT THE OFFICE Lucky developed her film, but was disappointed it didn’t show more. There was a man, but even after she’d blown up the negative as much as she could, his features remained indistinguishable. The print was grainy. Shooting through the window without a filter hadn’t helped the clarity, either.

  She put the print on the dryer, anyway. If nothing else, it was proof that she’d seen someone.

  Leigh was in her office when she went downstairs to show it to Cal, and she popped in there a minute first. “Cal said you were looking for me earlier. What’s up?”

  “Close the door.”

  Lucky closed it and sat down. Leigh wasn’t smiling, but with Leigh that was pretty normal. “Am I in trouble?”

  “I have something you need to see.” She pulled an envelope from her desk drawer and handed it to her. “I called a friend from college who works for a newspaper in Mississippi. As a professional courtesy, he looked this up for me. No John Thomas Cahill was born in Biloxi on March 10, 1967.”

  Lucky stiffened. “Then your friend made a mistake. He didn’t look in the right place.”

  “No, Lucky, it’s not a mistake. He checked two years before and two years after that date and still found nothing. No John Thomas Cahill was born in Biloxi, period. Jack’s lying to you.”

  Lucky took the printout from the envelope and read it. Listed was a John Thomas Parsons born on that date, the son of Ella and Walter Parsons, and a John Thomas Webster, son of Raymond and Grace Webster.

  “I must’ve misunderstood him when he said he was born in Biloxi.”

  “Biloxi isn’t a name you’d misunderstand. Go to him and confront him. Ask him why he lied. Ask him why his past is such a mystery.”

  Overwhelmed with hurt and anger, she shook her head. “And have him know what you’ve done? Why did you do this, Leigh?”

  “Because I love you.”

  “Love me?” She stood, but her legs felt weak, and it was all sh
e could do not to burst into tears. “You don’t love me. You’re so eaten up with anger about Keith’s deception that you don’t want anyone else to be happy, even your own sister.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “My God, I can’t believe you could be so uncaring. When I think of all those nights I sat with you after Keith left, when I cried with you… Is this how you pay me back? Well, I’ve had it with all your caustic remarks and whispered suspicions. I will not allow you to undermine my relationship with my husband.”

  “Lucky, I didn’t do this to hurt you. Look at the paper. The truth is right there in black—”

  “Don’t.” She hit the desk with her fist. “No more. I don’t want to hear it. And I swear if you say anything about this to Jack—or anyone else—you and I are finished. I’ll never, ever speak to you again.”

  LUCKY WANTED to leave work, but she had too much to do and she didn’t want to give Leigh the satisfaction of knowing how much she’d upset her. She hid in the darkroom, crying. Jack showed up at three, beating on the locked door, wanting to know if she was okay.

  “Cal called and told me. Let me in.”

  She opened the door. “Cal told you?”

  “Yeah, he said you went nuts chasing some guy you thought was following you.”

  “Oh.” Thank goodness. For a moment she was afraid Cal had overheard her fight with Leigh. “I’m okay now.”

  “Then why are you in here crying?”

  “I guess it scared me a little bit.”

  He held her. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to curb your imagination. You’re not helping yourself or the baby.”

  “But there was a man.” She showed him the photograph. “It’s not very good, but see?”

  He looked at it and frowned. “So some man was standing on the sidewalk. That doesn’t mean he was following you.”

  Obviously, like her brother, he thought she was a hysterical pregnant female.

  “I’m sorry Cal bothered you about this.”

  “No, I’m glad he did. I needed to know.” He tilted her chin up and smiled tentatively. “Hey, call my cell phone if you suspect anyone’s following you, no matter how silly you think you’re being. Okay?”