MADIGAN'S WIFE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  The cops would never even suspect foul play, as long as no one looked too close, as long as no one listened to that damn woman who’d seen him yesterday.

  A man in sweats jogged past, smiling and nodding, offering a friendly “good morning.” Freddie returned the smile and muttered his own greeting. There were no other runners on the street, no nosy dark-haired woman who could ruin everything for him and for his client.

  Once things calmed down a bit and the cops dismissed her claim as fantasy or fabrication, she might have to meet with a tragic accident of her own. Just as a precaution.

  But first he had to find her.

  *

  Sensing a presence, Grace spun away from her computer and saw Ray lounging in the doorway of her office, that smug you-can’t-fool-me grin in place.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to stay calm. Last night’s near disaster on her couch lingered with her, still. She’d been so close to giving in, to forgetting why she couldn’t love Ray anymore.

  “I thought I’d come by and check on you, maybe buy you lunch.”

  “I’m not very hungry,” she said in a small voice.

  His grin faded. “Come on, Gracie. You gotta eat.”

  The truth of the matter was, she felt secure here in her office. She’d felt safe last night, too, with Ray sleeping on her couch while she hid under the covers and remembered what he tasted like, what he felt like. She’d lain in bed and relived the moment his mouth had finally touched hers, the weight of his body, the warmth of his arms and his hands.

  It didn’t make a lot of sense that Ray’s presence had made her feel safe from danger. A sleeping man in another room didn’t provide much protection, but knowing he was there, a few steps away, comforted her … and kept her awake at the same time.

  “I’ll buy,” she said, reaching into the bottom drawer of her file cabinet for her purse.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked softly, taking her arm as she reached the doorway. “Afraid I’ll start counting?”

  “Ray…” She balked, just a little.

  “Never mind,” he said, leading her down the hallway, past rooms occupied and unoccupied. “Forget I said anything about counting. This is not a date, it’s business.”

  “Business?”

  The waiting room was crazier than usual. A harried mother and her triplet toddlers were here to see Dr. Dearborne for their first checkup. A crew from a local television station was covering the human interest story.

  Shea Sinclair was one of the few friends Grace had made since returning to Huntsville, She was a friend of Nell Rose’s, and the three of them had had a girls’ night out a couple of times. A movie, a sandwich and a daiquiri, a little girl talk and then home well before midnight.

  Grace stopped to say hello. “Looks like you have your hands full.”

  Shea, professionally crisp in her bright blue suit and flawlessly applied makeup, turned her back on the mother of the triplets, crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. So much for her professional image.

  “Yeah,” she said softly. “This is hard news. My dream come true.”

  “Gotta start somewhere,” Grace said with a wide smile. Shea shook her head. “They have me doing the weekend weather now, can you believe it?” she said in a lowered voice. “I’m not a meteorologist, I have no experience, and they want me to stand there and read about fronts and airflow systems like I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Sorry,” Grace said with a sympathetic tilt of her head. She turned to Ray, noted the sour expression on his face, and introduced him anyway. “Shea, this is a friend of mine, Ray. Ray, this is Shea Sinclair.” She didn’t say Ray Madigan, not wanting to answer questions about the shared last name right now. And curious Shea would definitely have questions.

  She waited for Ray to turn on the charm. He didn’t.

  “Nice to meet you. Grace, we need to go.” He took her arm and headed for the door.

  Once they were outside, he picked up their conversation as if it had never been interrupted. “Strictly business. We can talk about the murder you witnessed, if you feel up to it.” Ray led her into the sunshine and to his car, opening the passenger door for her.

  “Why were you so rude to Shea?” she asked as she sat down.

  He didn’t deny it as he leaned forward, placing his face close to hers. “I hate reporters,” he drawled softly. “All of them.”

  “Well, that’s not fair…” He slammed the door on her protest.

  When Ray sat behind the wheel and they headed out of the parking lot, Grace turned to study his profile. Already his rare moment of displeasure had faded. You’d think he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Have you talked to Luther today?” she asked.

  He glanced at her quickly, then returned his eyes to the road. “Yeah. They still haven’t found anything.”

  “Have they looked?” she snapped.

  “Where are they supposed to start?” he answered without malice.

  She settled back into her seat and accepted the fact that Luther didn’t believe her, that they didn’t have enough clues to even begin an investigation.

  “I could always go to Shea and see if she can get it on the news. If I go public, the police will have to do something.”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Because you hate reporters? And when did you develop such an aversion…”

  “If the man you saw is still in Huntsville,” he interrupted, “why provide him with your name and another good look at your face?”

  Grace slid lower in her seat. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ray said in a soothing voice. “Eventually a body’s bound to turn up, or else someone will file a missing persons report on a man who matches your description of the victim, and then Luther will have something to go on.”

  Eventually wasn’t very comforting. “Well, if we don’t have anything, what kind of business are we supposed to discuss over lunch?”

  He turned into a bumpy parking lot, pulled into a space, and brought his car to a stop. Grace looked through the windshield to see The Hamburger Shack, affectionately called The Shack by those who dared to brave their big burgers and greasy fries. The building hadn’t changed, except perhaps to become more weathered over the years. The concrete block building had been painted yellow years ago, and the door was a bright red. Wooden picnic tables sat randomly on a cracked brick patio.

  “Lunch first, business later,” Ray said, opening his door and crossing to open hers. “Grab us a table and I’ll get the food.”

  She started to reach into her purse, but Ray stopped her. “If I count it as a business expense it’s not a date, so hang on to your money, all right?” He sounded annoyed, like he was seconds from losing his temper. And Ray never lost his temper.

  “All right.”

  She sat at a picnic table in the sun, her back to the parking lot where she could see the door Ray entered. Two other tables were occupied, but they were on the opposite side of the patio. Here she and Ray would be relatively alone. She wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or not.

  When school was out you couldn’t find a parking space at The Shack, much less a table. How many meals had she and Ray eaten here? Too many to count. She wondered if he’d brought her here on purpose, to remind her of better days, or if he just had a hankering for a really good burger. You could never tell with Ray.

  She slipped off her plum jacket and placed it on the bench beside her, and rolled up the sleeves of her white blouse. It was a warm day. Besides, with the jacket on the bench beside her Ray would be forced to sit across the table, not right next to her like he used to. After last night she knew she was going to have to be careful. Very, very careful.

  She lifted her face to the sun, momentarily taking it in, allowing herself to relax. It was a beautiful day, even with all that had happened. How did Ray know that a simple lunch in the sun would make her feel this way? Free and light, unafraid.

&
nbsp; Ray wasn’t long getting their food. He backed through the red door, a tray laden with two baskets and two tall paper cups in his hands. “I hope I remembered right,” he said as he placed the tray on the table. “Medium well, no onions, fries extra crispy, strawberry shake.”

  She glanced into the basket he placed before her. “I don’t remember the burgers being this big. And there are enough fries here to feed a small family. I can’t possibly eat all this.”

  He looked down at the jacket on the seat beside her, and without comment sat on the opposite side of the table. “Sure you can,” he said.

  She did her best, but there was no way she could eat everything Ray had brought her. Besides, she didn’t eat like a nineteen-year-old anymore! Ray did, though. He didn’t leave a speck of food in his basket.

  When she pushed a half-full basket away Ray lifted his eyebrows and grinned. “That’s pathetic,” he said lightly. “I remember a time when you wouldn’t leave so much as a crumb of one of Arthur’s burgers untouched. His feelings are going to be hurt when he sees this.”

  “Arthur’s still here?” The owner of The Shack had been elderly when they’d first come here, twelve years ago.

  “Some things never change,” he said in a low voice, and she remembered last night, the way she’d been tempted by a kiss. Did he intend to remind her?

  “Can we talk about the murder now?” Grace asked, trying to turn the discussion around. She’d rather relive that terrible morning than sit here mooning over her persistent and troublesome attraction for her ex-husband.

  Ray’s smile faded, and he placed his forearms on the table and leaned toward her. “Gracie, are you absolutely sure what you saw was a murder?”

  Not him, too! “No,” she snapped. “I made it up. That’s how I get my kicks these days.”

  She started to rise, but Ray reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding her in place.

  “Sit down.”

  She did. “Just forget it,” she said lowly, shaking off his grip. “If you don’t believe me…”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” he said in a soothing voice. “But we have to consider the possibility that what you saw was … shall we say, less fatal than you think. Maybe it was a fight that got out of hand, but no one’s dead. Maybe the guy you saw jump or fall out of the car was hurt, but not murdered.”

  “And the man who chased me?”

  “Maybe he wanted to explain what had happened, so you wouldn’t panic.”

  “He didn’t look like he wanted to explain anything, Ray,” Grace said. “He looked … he looked…” Deadly. Downright mean.

  “I know.”

  She’d been an idiot to think he believed her!

  “Would you stop speaking to me like I’m a child?” She looked him square in the eye across the table. “I know what I saw.”

  He gave up. Leaned back and relaxed. “Okay. I just had to be sure you didn’t have any doubts.”

  “None,” she said tersely.

  Ray’s gaze flitted past her to the parking lot, and he groaned softly.

  Grace looked over her shoulder to watch a middle-aged man in an ill-fitting suit headed toward them from the parking lot, his eyes unerringly on Ray. The badge and gun on his belt identified him as a cop.

  “Madigan,” the man said as he reached the table. “How the hell are you?”

  Even though Ray worked up a smile, Grace could tell he didn’t like this particular cop much. “Daniels. I’m fine. What drags you out of the office?”

  “Arthur’s burgers, what else?” Daniels answered with a smile of his own. His eyes landed on Grace and he looked her up and down in a calculating way. That smile changed, turned predatory somehow. She expected a lecherous wink at any moment. “Is this the lady who allegedly saw a murder yesterday?”

  Grace didn’t like the way he threw the word “allegedly” into the sentence, any more than she liked the way he leered at her.

  “This is no lady, Daniels,” Ray said, his grin fading. “This is my wife, Grace Madigan.”

  “Ex-wife,” she said automatically.

  “Ex,” Daniels said with a widening grin. “Yeah, that’s what Luther said. Ms. Madigan,” he said, turning his full attention to her. “If you need any help during this time of crisis, any help at all, you give me a call.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card he placed on the table before her. She got that lecherous wink after all.

  “Thank you,” she said, glancing down at the card but not touching it. “I have all the help I need at the moment, but if the situation changes I’ll certainly call you.”

  He winked at her again before telling Ray goodbye and heading for the red door.

  “What an ass,” Ray said, snatching the business card off the table and tossing it atop her unfinished burger.

  “A homicide ass I assume, since he works with Luther,” Grace said. She made no move to take the card from the remains of her lunch basket.

  “Yeah.”

  She placed her elbows on the table and leaned slightly forward. “I thought Ray Madigan never met a cop he didn’t like.”

  “Daniels is lazy,” he said in a low voice. “And stupid.”

  “Then how’d he get into homicide?”

  He laid his eyes on her, hard. Ah, he definitely did not like this line of questioning.

  “Daniels wasn’t always lazy and stupid. Somehow that makes it worse.”

  No one knew more than Grace how diligently Ray had taken his career in law enforcement. It hadn’t been a job, it had been his calling. He’d loved being a cop. The profession had defined him, it had ruled his life.

  “Why did you quit?” she whispered.

  He left the picnic table without answering her question. “Come on. If you’re late getting back to work Dr. Doolittle will blame me.”

  She followed him to the car, silent but more curious than ever.

  *

  He’d promised to pick Grace up at five-thirty and take her home, since she was obviously still shaky about being alone. Ray wondered how many nights he’d have to sleep on her couch before he ended up in her bed. He was more certain than ever that he would find his way there.

  Her question about why he’d quit his job had come out of nowhere, had taken him completely by surprise. She hadn’t asked before now, during one of their friendly lunches, probably deciding the question was too personal for the boundaries she’d set.

  But last night the boundaries had changed, hadn’t they? He pulled to the curb and looked over the park. In the early afternoon all was well, here. The grass was green, the pond peacefully calm but for the wake of three ducks paddling in the sun. Mothers pushed baby-laden buggies and played with toddlers, men in business suits and women in prim dresses sat on park benches shaded by dogwoods, daydreaming and reading and eating out of paper bags. Women lifted their faces to the sun and a few joggers braved the afternoon heat. It was a tranquil place.

  Deceptively tranquil. Right here was where Grace had seen a man jump out of a moving car, the car come to a lurching stop, the driver commit murder.

  And then the killer had chased her. That was the one part of her story he couldn’t easily explain away. Grace Madigan wasn’t the type of woman to panic. She didn’t scare easily, she never overreacted. If she said the man was chasing her and she had to defend herself to escape, it was the truth.

  So where was the victim? More than a day had passed. The body could be buried in a basement or a rose garden by now, or resting at the bottom of the Tennessee River. It could be anywhere.

  He forgot the murder and the unanswered questions and watched the people in the park. If he and Grace had been able to make their marriage work, she might be one of the women playing in the sun with a baby. He could almost see it, Grace with her hair in a ponytail and wearing jeans and a T-shirt instead of a business suit. Grace laughing and swinging that baby around, without a care in the world. Of course he could see that ideal picture in his mind; he still dreamed about it
on really bad nights.

  Whenever he got a case of the “might’ve beens” he reminded himself that she was the one who’d left, that she was the one who’d decided the marriage was over. He reminded himself now, as he drove away from the park.

  Doris was waiting with messages in hand when Ray walked into his office. He made sure the smile on his face gave away nothing. Nothing at all.

  “Did you miss me?” he asked, winking at his secretary as she came to her feet and grabbed her purse.

  “No,” she said kindly. “Not at all.”

  “You could lie, just to be nice.” He took the offered messages and scanned them quickly as Doris made her way to the door.

  “You have kids, don’t you?” he asked casually, looking down at the messages in his hand.

  Doris stopped at the doorway, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her squint suspiciously at him. “Three boys and a girl.”

  “Grandkids?”

  “Two. Both boys.”

  “I’m guessing those are the kids in the pictures on your desk.”

  She rolled her eyes wearily. “Of course.” All of a sudden her expression changed, and those all-seeing eyes narrowed. “Where are these questions coming from? You’re not thinking about getting married again, are you? And having kids? Heaven forbid.” She came toward him, her step solid and practical, her lips pursed. “Ray Madigan, any man who’s been married and divorced three times should know better than to try again. You have your good qualities, I’ll give you that, but marriage just doesn’t work out for you.” She nodded her head once in finality.