The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom

by Robyn Harding

  Holy shit! I dropped down on the bottom step, terrified she may have spotted me. Oh my God! It was Jackie Baldwin, my babysitter, Katy’s mom! I didn’t know her well, but I knew enough. She had been divorced for years, and Katy was her only child. Jackie sold real estate or developed property or something similar that afforded her a Mercedes, a country-club membership and a sexy, yet professional wardrobe. She was considered, by most of the mom population, to be the cougar of Aberdeen Mists.

  Keeping my head low, I scurried back toward the street. God, I hoped none of the neighbors were watching me skulk around like some kind of peeping tom. But obviously, there was no way I could have a heart-to-heart with Doug while Jackie Baldwin was giving him a massage! In fact, I felt a little nauseated for having witnessed it. Karen had been gone for… what? Less than two months! And apparently Doug felt sufficiently healed to be getting a rub-down by the neighborhood floozie!

  This changed everything. In a matter of seconds, Doug had gone from a grieving, victimized widower, to a promiscuous dirt bag. Perhaps my instincts were correct and Javier had been telling the truth all along? Doug had somehow fooled the police with his airplane alibi. How, I didn’t know, but it had to be possible. Or he had hired someone to knock Karen on the head—a hit man… or a hit woman? Maybe he had been carrying on with Jackie Baldwin for months and he’d convinced her to murder Karen while he was on the plane? That bastard! Now, I would be out of a babysitter as well. I couldn’t very well continue to use the daughter of the woman who bashed my best friend to death!

  I scurried across the road and was soon on my own doorstep. I hesitated for a few seconds before entering and rejoining my family. My mind was reeling with this new possibility. Just when I thought I had figured out what happened to Karen, some new information cropped up. It was like I was forbidden any peace until the mystery was solved, like Karen was calling for help from the grave! Okay… maybe I was being a little melodramatic, but I knew what I had to do.

  Chapter 22

  My first instinct was to call Detective Portman and tell him what I had seen. Once he knew what a sex-crazed dog Doug really was, he would undoubtedly re-open the investigation into his alibi. But Paul talked me out of it. When I arrived home, my husband had just finished washing the hand lotion out of his hair. I joined him in the bathroom where he was toweling off and considered sharing the scene I had just witnessed. Part of me thought I should keep it to myself—just habit by this stage, I guess. But a larger part of me was bursting to disclose it. Besides, I didn’t owe that pig Doug anything.

  Unfortunately, Paul did not agree with my assessment of the situation. “What’s the big deal?” he asked, rubbing his hair far harder than was necessary. It was no wonder he was thinning. “So he had a glass of wine with one of the neighbors. She was probably trying to sell him a condo.”

  “By rubbing his shoulders?”

  “Hey… apparently she’s one of Boca Group’s top salespeople. Maybe that’s ‘the closer’?”

  “Very funny,” I grumbled. “I know what I saw, and it was not a business transaction.”

  “Well, even if there is something going on between them, it’s none of your business.”

  I recoiled as if slapped. “None of my business? Karen was one of my best friends!”

  “Everyone grieves differently, Paige. Everyone needs a different amount of time to move on. Maybe Doug’s ready.”

  “Really?” I snapped. “So if I died, you’d be getting shoulder rubs from some realtor a month and half later, would you?”

  “No…” he came toward me, a cheeky smile on his face. “I’d never let anyone rub my shoulders again. I’d stay in mourning until I finally died of a broken heart.”

  “Well… that’s good,” I said. “As long as you didn’t let your grief interfere with raising the children.”

  “I’d try my best.” He reached for me, but I pulled away.

  “I’ve got to make some dinner.”

  We sat down to a wholesome feast of spaghetti and salad (I was trying to compensate for a lunch the nutritional equivalent of cardboard). It was nice sharing a meal with my family. Despite his hangover, or maybe because of it, Paul was in a buoyant, almost giddy mood. The lighthearted banter kept me from obsessing about what I had witnessed just hours earlier.

  “So…” Spencer said, pausing to noisily slurp a noodle into his mouth. “Did you know that there is such a thing as worms that live in your intestines?”

  “Not at the table,” I admonished.

  “But it’s really true! And when they get bored in your intestines, they come out your bum!” My fork dropped to my plate with a noisy clatter.

  “Oh my God!” Chloe screamed. “You are so disgusting!”

  “I’m not disgusting,” Spencer argued. “It’s the truth. This one time, this kid had worms in his intestines, and then at night, his dad took a flashlight and he shone it on his butt—”

  “SHUT UP!” His sister howled.

  “Chloe!” I scolded, although I, too, was hoping that Spencer would shut up.

  “But I’m gonna barf!” She protested.

  Paul joined the fray. “Enough! Both of you! Now eat your dinner.”

  Sullenly, Chloe picked up her fork and silently twirled it in her spaghetti. Spencer took a dink of milk then muttered, “Jeez… just ‘cause I mentioned a true thing about butt worms…”

  The fork was almost to my daughter’s mouth when she retched. “Spencer!” I snapped. “One more word about butt worms and you will have all your LEGOs taken away for a month!” Chloe gagged again.

  “Jesus Christ,” Paul growled. It was unlike him to lose his temper with the kids, but obviously, butt worms were not appropriate dinner conversation. “Just be quiet and eat your Goddamn dinner!”

  There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of Paul’s and Spencer’s forks on their plates. My husband looked up, his eyes meeting mine across the table. “What?”

  “I can’t eat this now.”

  “Me neither,” Chloe agreed.

  I stood up. “I’ll make us a couple of grilled cheeses.”

  The next morning, I drove the kids to school and headed directly to the Willowbrook mini-mall, home of Boca Developments. Paul was probably right: it was too soon to go to the police with my suspicions about Doug and Jackie. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t do some investigating of my own. I had dressed professionally, in a pair of black slacks and my new blazer. I planned to meet with Jackie Baldwin under the auspices of business. Then, if she rubbed my shoulders, I’d know her encounter with Doug was entirely innocent.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked, when I requested Jackie.

  “No, but I’m a friend of hers from the neighborhood. …Her daughter, Katy, babysits my children,” I added. The receptionist showed no signs of recognition and I realized that Jackie probably didn’t advertise the fact that she had a teenaged daughter. But she picked up the phone and called Jackie’s office.

  “Hi, Jackie. There’s someone here to see you,” she said, into the receiver. Then, to me: “What did you say your name was?”

  “Paige Atwell. I’m interested in buying a condo… for my mom.”

  Jackie had obviously heard my voice through the receiver, or possibly, through the thin, partitioned walls, because she appeared moments after the receptionist hung up.

  “Hi Paige,” she said, walking toward me with a broad smile and her hand extended. “Nice to see you.”

  “You, too.” I pasted on a false smile and took her hand. Jackie was an attractive woman in her early forties, but she had the look of someone trying too hard to hold onto—or, more appropriately, recapture—her youth. Her hair was a little too big, her tan was a little too dark, and her business suit, while expensive, was a little too snug. Although, if I spent as much time working out as she did, I’d have been tempted to show off the results, too.

  “Katy’s always talking about how great your kids are,” she said, brightly. />
  I highly doubted that. “She’s wonderful. They really love her.”

  “So…” Jackie said, getting down to business. “Your mother’s interested in buying a condo in the area?”

  “Yes, yes,” I lied. “She’d like to be closer to me and the kids.” Nothing could have been further from the truth. Not that my mother had anything against me or my children, but she was living the life she’d always dreamed of in Scottsdale. She and her second husband, Barry, a retired dentist, lived on the edge of a golf course and spent every day alternately on the links or in the pool. It was difficult to get her to visit us in frigid Denver, let alone move here.

  “Let’s go into my office.” I followed her a short distance down the narrow hallway, until she stopped and ushered me into a tiny room. It was a typical, generic space with no personal touches—not even a framed photo of Katy. The desktop and credenza were immaculate and organized. I pulled out the fabric covered chair and took a seat across from Jackie.

  “We’ve got some great smaller units being built right now in the Cascade Development,” she said, digging for a brochure in the filing cabinet at her side. “Is your mom alone?”

  “No. She’s with her husband.” I paused a moment before proceeding. “I’d like to know more about the condos that Doug Sutherland is interested in.”

  There was only the slightest hesitation before she answered. Still fishing in her drawer, she said, “At this stage, Doug isn’t looking at anything specific. He’s considering downsizing at some point, so he just wants to know what’s out there.”

  “Yes… well… I guess that makes sense,” I said. “Now that he’s single.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, righting herself. “Here’s the brochure for the Cascade project.” She slid it across the desk. “These units are being built with people just like your mother in mind. The complex has all the amenities that age group wants: whirlpool, gym, access to the new golf course being built at Sun Valley…”

  “Great,” I nodded and pretended to look at the brochure. “So… did Doug call you and tell you he was thinking of moving?”

  “Uh… no,” she was obviously taken aback by my bluntness, “I ran into him at the gym. He mentioned that he was interested in some of the new developments just south of us.”

  “So you two go to the same gym? Do you see him there often?”

  “Once in a while,” she said, nervously fishing in her drawer full of brochures again. “We’re both very busy, so we sometimes work out early in the morning.”

  I noted the use of we. She was sounding very couple-y, all of a sudden. “I’m glad he’s exercising. It must help him deal with the enormous grief he’s experiencing after losing his wife so suddenly… and so recently.”

  Jackie placed another brochure on the desk, but her eyes were slightly narrowed when she spoke. “I think Doug seems to be doing quite well, actually. He’s healing nicely.”

  “It’ll take years for him to really get over Karen.”

  “Of course. But that doesn’t mean he has to stop living.”

  “No, but it doesn’t mean he should be jumping into a relationship any time soon, either.”

  “Well… I’m sure he’ll do what’s right for him.”

  “As long as he’s not pressured into something before he’s ready.”

  Jackie looked at her watch. “I’ve got another appointment,” she said, coldly. “Perhaps you’d like to pass these brochures on to your mother—if she is, in fact, interested in buying a condo.”

  “Of course she is!” I cried. She could not dismiss me until I’d gained more insight into Jackie and Doug’s relationship! “Mom was just telling me on the phone how much she misses us and can’t wait to move into her own place out here.” Pausing, I began to rub my neck. “Man, my shoulders are so tight.”

  “Well,” she smiled falsely, “when your mother gets to town, why don’t you ask her to come see me?”

  “I will. Ooh… my neck is killing me.”

  “I’ve got to go, Paige. I’m meeting a client in ten minutes.”

  “Okay,” I said, dejectedly. “Thanks for your time.”

  As usual, my sleuthing had revealed nothing concrete. All I knew for certain was that Jackie was interested in Doug, and that she definitely did not rub the necks of all her potential clients. But I didn’t know how intense their relationship was, how long they’d been seeing each other, or any of the other important questions I had hoped to clarify. I certainly hadn’t discovered that Doug had brainwashed her into killing his wife so they could be together. Maybe it was time I admitted to myself that my detective work sucked?

  Twenty minutes later I pulled into my driveway. Getting out of the vehicle, I stopped and stared down the street at Karen and Doug’s empty home. I felt a bubble of emotion building in my chest. “Sorry, Karen,” I whispered. “I guess I’m just not very good at this.” Turning away before I dissolved into tears, I hurried toward the house.

  After pausing to collect the mail from the brass box affixed to my house, I let myself inside. There were a number of missives—a good distraction from the despondency now setting in. As I walked to the kitchen I sorted through the pile: bill, bill, low interest credit card offer, bank statement, pink scented envelop addressed to me…. I flipped it over. There was no return address. Eagerly, I tore into it. At first, the envelope appeared to be empty, but as I tipped it on end, a single, pressed red rose fell onto the counter. Confused, I stared for a moment at the delicate flower lying there before me. It had a white, satin ribbon tied around the stem, and a tiny card affixed to it. I opened it. It said only:

  Coffee?

  J.

  Damn him! I grabbed the torn envelope and looked at the top right corner: there was no stamp! He had been here, again. Javier had hand-delivered this flower to my home. This was way too much! Why did he want to see me so badly? Why did he drive all the way out here to drop this note off? I had to admit, I’d been looking pretty darn good those nights I’d gone to see him at the coffee shop. And of course, Javier was under the illusion that I had perky, voluptuous breasts thanks to the water bra, but still… It was like he was in love with me or something. I mean, I didn’t look that hot… did I? Sheesh! It was enough to give a girl a big head.

  But I was not going to go see him. If I ignored him, he would go away, eventually. Like a pimple… a very attractive pimple. I couldn’t deny the fact that I still found Javier incredibly alluring, but I was committed to my marriage. Things were better between Paul and me lately. We had reconnected, at least a few times, and I was hopeful for more. Besides, I didn’t know what, if any role Javier had played in Karen’s life… and death. It would be irresponsible, and just a bit twisted to see him again.

  The phone rang, startling me. For some reason, I scooped up the dried flower and tossed it in the trash before answering. It wasn’t like the caller could see through the phone, but I felt better with it safely disposed of. If it turned out to be Paul on the line I didn’t want that stupid rose staring at me and making me feel all guilty and flustered.

  “Hello?” I answered, forcing a light and airy tone. It was Jane.

  “I’ve been thinking…” she said. “We should get together for coffee again soon. I think we should make it a regular occasion, like we used to.”

  “Sounds good. We could do it at my house next.”

  “Okay. Do Wednesday mornings still work for you?”

  “Uhhh…” I said, checking the calendar for dentist appointments or volunteer field-trip supervision. “Yep. Wednesdays look good.”

  “Great. I’ll call Trudy and Carly. And umm…” she hesitated. “I thought I’d invite Margot Bauman, as well.”

  “Who? My voice was a high-pitched squeak.

  “Margot Bauman,” Jane explained. “I’m sure you’ve seen her around. Tall… darkish wavy hair, quite attractive… Her daughter goes to pre-school with Ainsley, and she has a son in third grade at Rosedale.”

  “I don’t know her.”
>
  “She’s really great. I’ve spent some time with her over the last few months and I thought she’d be a great addition to our group.”

  Why was everyone so eager to replace Karen? First Doug and now Jane! “Well…” I said. “I don’t know that our group really needs an addition, does it?”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” my friend replied. “It was great getting together last time, but it was a little… maudlin. If we get some fresh blood, it’ll shift the focus. We can start living in the present again.”

  I couldn’t believe she was talking this way. Did she think we could just plunk this Margot person into Karen’s seat and move on as if she’d never been here? This coffee klatch was supposed to a tribute to her memory. A special time dedicated to reminiscence. It was just wrong! Hopefully, Trudy and Carly would agree with me. “I don’t know, Jane…”

  “I’m not trying to replace Karen, for God’s sake,” she said, seemingly irritated by my reluctance. “But we have to go on with our lives. Do you really think it’s healthy to spend every Wednesday morning reminiscing about our dead friend?”

  “It’s only been a month and a half!” I cried.

  “It’ll be two months on Monday.”

  “Oh… well then, we should just forget all about her.” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “We will never forget her,” Jane said, emphatically. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t make new friends.”

  “How would you feel if Doug was making a new friend, already?”