THE FUTURE WIDOW'S CLUB

by Rhonda Nelson

  Pride was a funny thing, she knew, because it had propelled her to bring Chris home in the first place. God, she'd been so stupid. It was amazing what two years of sheer hell could do to make one see things clearly.

  Jake strolled toward her, stopped, then lazily looked her up and down. She felt that keen caressing gaze move up her legs, over her hips, linger over her breasts, then finally find her face.

  "Nice dress," he said. "Bought that last week, didn't you?"

  It had been in her closet, with the receipt stapled to the bag. He knew exactly when she'd bought it, and now he knew what she'd bought it for. Her breakfast rolled. "I did," she returned, albeit shakily.

  Jake swore and looked away. "I need to talk to you when you have a moment."

  Jolie shrugged, twirled her rose and refused to be intimidated. Dammit, she'd told him she was moving on. What exactly had he expected? "Now's good," she said, pretending to be unconcerned. "Mom will want to go on. Can you give me a ride home?"

  "To which one?" Jake asked tightly. "The one I encouraged you not to sell—which you've put on the market anyway—or the one you just bought?"

  Ah, so that was it. "Neither at the moment, unless you're interested in seeing my new house," she said. "It's on Lelia Street

  . Right off the—"

  "I know where it's at," Jake interrupted, his voice throbbing with pent-up anger. He told her mother that he'd see her home—in a considerably warmer tone than what he was using with her—then slid his hand around her upper arm and propelled her toward his car.

  It was the first time in more than two years that he'd touched her and despite the fact that it wasn't the gentle caress she'd longed for, her body responded all the same. Her breath hitched in her throat, her mouth lost its moisture and a pulsing ache commenced in her nipples and between her thighs.

  He opened the truck door for her, rounded the hood, then joined her inside. He waited for her to finish buckling her seat belt, then started the engine and bolted out of the cemetery.

  "I came into work this morning and was immediately called into Dean's office. His sister works at the bank and she mentioned to him over the weekend that you'd cleaned out Marshall's accounts."

  Jolie swallowed. "That's right."

  His nostrils flared. "The night he died."

  "It was after midnight, so technically it was the next day," Jolie clarified despite his thunderous expression.

  "She also mentioned that you've closed all the business accounts." His tone was edged with disgust. "I saw you putting a sign up in the window last week. I just assumed that you'd put up a notice about Chris's death." He chuckled darkly. "I assumed wrong. You didn't put up a death notice—you put up a damned out-of-business sign!" He wheeled around the square, then waited for a stream of pedestrians to make it across to the corner. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you have any idea how guilty you're making yourself look? Do you even care?" He glanced over at her, moodily inspected her outfit once more and seemed to get even angrier. "So help me God, if you've got on that black corset underneath that, I'm gonna have a friggin' stroke."

  Jolie felt a flash of feminine pleasure hit the tops of her thighs and her lips rolled into a droll smile. "You went through my underwear drawer? Take your detective work seriously, don't you, Jake?"

  Jake edged the car up to the curb in front of her new house, shifted into park, then cast her another glance and let go a seemingly tortured sigh. "Are you wearing it?"

  She smiled. "It matches."

  His gaze dropped to her breasts again and he swallowed. From the looks of things it was taking every ounce of patience he possessed to get through this encounter.

  Strangely enough, she was finding it funny, a fact she knew she'd better keep to herself.

  "Let me paint a picture for you," Jake said. "We've got a dead husband with a wife who A.) has a credible yet curious alibi for the time of the murder, B.) researched pre-burial plans a week before his death, C.) took out one-hundred grand in additional life insurance the week before he died."

  His expression blackened accordingly with his tone of voice as he continued to tick off her offenses.

  "D.) bought the outfit she planned to wear to his funeral the week before he died, E.) cleaned out his accounts before the body had even been moved from the scene, F.) closed his business before the M.E. even finished the autopsy, G.) put the house up for sale, and H.) bought another one." Jake plucked his glasses off and slung them up on the dash. "If you were the detective on this case—or just any regular old citizen, for that matter," he added sarcastically, "what would you infer from this woman's actions?"

  Yes, well, when you put it like that, she would admit that she looked a little guilty, Jolie decided. Nevertheless, she wasn't guilty and regardless of how bizarre her alibi looked, the fact remained that she had one. Furthermore, she was innocent.

  "I'd infer that this wife had been married to a miserable SOB who'd delighted in making her wretched, and who'd stolen money from her mother and other hard-working citizens. I'd infer that the bastard had absolutely no redeeming qualities and that the wife—who'd had her life on hold for the past twenty-four months—was ready to move on as swiftly as possible, to wash the stench of her nasty, sorry-assed husband's life out of her own and endeavor to create a new one as soon as possible." Her veil quivered as she bobbed her head. "If I knew her," she said pointedly, "that's what I'd infer." She paused, punctuating the thought, then let herself out of the truck and, head held high and stilettos clicking, made her way up the sidewalk.

  Gratifyingly, she felt his gaze on her backside as she made her way to the door … and she liked what she could infer from that.

  Jake slammed his palm against the steering wheel, then snagged the keys and met Jolie on the porch. He did know her and, dammit, he did understand. He just wished that she could use a little bit of discretion. He'd walked into that meeting with Dean this morning and, for all intents and purposes, might as well have had his pants down.

  Not only had Dean informed him—the damned Detective, by the way—that Jolie had cleaned out the accounts, but he'd also known that she'd closed the business, put the house up for sale and bought a new one. Things weren't looking good, Dean had said. Did Jake want to let this one go?

  Not no, but hell no.

  In light of everything that had been uncovered—and, dammit, he knew there was more—he couldn't afford to let it go. Guilty or not, she'd go to jail. There was too much circumstantial evidence floating around to prevent otherwise. It wouldn't matter that she had an alibi and the thick-headed, stubborn… Jake's gaze drifted over the backs of her legs—her fishnet hose, specifically—up over her gorgeous rump and slim back, and he felt another blast of heat detonate in his loins. He blinked. Aw, hell … what had he been thinking?

  Oh, yeah.

  "Jolie, I didn't say that I didn't understand it," he said with an exasperated sigh. "I'm just asking you to at least consider how it looks."

  She inserted a key into the lock and, smiling, let herself inside. "That's just it. I don't care how it looks."

  And therein lay the rub, he thought, exhaling a weary sigh. She'd made up her mind and that was that. Jake followed her into the living room, noting the worn heart-of-pine floors and custom built-ins. The spacious room had lots of nice molding, plenty of architectural detail. He caught her gaze and nodded. "It's nice."

  She pulled that femme fatale hat off, ruffled her hair and let it fall loose around her shoulders. "I thought so," she said with a satisfied sigh.

  It was certainly homier than that sterile colonial she'd called home on Poplar Street

  , that was for damned sure. She gave him the guided tour, getting more and more excited as they moved from room to room. Other than her bedroom suite and office equipment, she had no furniture to speak of. She ticked off decorating ideas, and mentioned several improvements and upgrades she'd like to install.

  "It needs a little TLC, but I can see myself here," she said, rubbing a ha
nd over the mantle. "I can see myself calling it home."

  A curiously unpleasant sensation twisted like barbed-wire in his chest and an awkward moment passed between them. There'd been a time when they'd both assumed that they'd make their home together, namely the one he'd built after she'd married Marshall.

  Though Mike had called him a fool and his mother had asked him to stop torturing himself, when it had come time to build his farmhouse, he'd carried on with the plans that he and Jolie had put together. Granted, building it without her—not to mention living in it without her—had never been part of the plan, but Jake had genuinely liked what they'd put together and he couldn't see changing it simply to avoid thinking about her.

  That, he knew, was never going to happen.

  Furthermore, there was no point in being unsatisfied with a house just because every time he pulled into the driveway he'd think about her.

  Hell, that had always been a foregone conclusion. They'd grown up together, had been through every first together. There wasn't a spot in this county that they hadn't explored, a place on the planet where he could escape from her. No matter where he lived, what he did, he couldn't outrun his memories. She'd had his heart since third grade and he didn't anticipate ever getting it back.

  Jake finally swallowed. "I'm, uh … I'm sure you'll be happy here."

  Jolie toyed with the netting on her hat, and glanced up at him. "I'm sorry I put you in a bad position with Dean," she said. "That was not my intention. I just knew I had to get the money out before the accounts were frozen. That's what I'd been working on, you know. Why I'd stuck it out. It was to return Mom's money, and the other investors, of course. If Dean's sister mentioned that I'd cleaned out the accounts, then she had to have mentioned what I'd done with it."

  Jake nodded. He couldn't fault why she did it—noble intentions, he knew—but that didn't change the fact that he wished she'd just confide in him now.

  Dammit, he hated being out of the loop. She needed to let him know what the hell was going on. How did she expect him to protect her otherwise?

  "She did," he admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that I looked like a fool. I can't afford those kinds of mistakes—and neither can you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  He watched her chest flutter with an awkward breath. "Yes."

  Jake pinned her with the full force of his gaze. "Then tell me what I need to know."

  Jake waited, watched a host of emotion race across her face, her mouth work up and down. "I—"

  His cell chirped at his waist. He swore and checked the read-out. It was Mike, so he had to take it. "What's up?" he asked, cursing the timing of this damned call.

  "We've got a twenty on the penis," Mike said grimly.

  Jake blinked. "Come again?"

  "We've found Marshall's dick." Something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle sounded into his ear. "You'll, uh… You'll have to see it to believe it."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ten minutes later Jake, Jolie, Mike, Dean and Todd, as well as a crowd of morbidly curious onlookers, stood at the base of the statue of Jebediah Moon and, dour faced, stared in abject fascination at the sight in front of them.

  "Somehow I don't think this is w-what the City Council would c-consider an improvement," Mike commented, once again sounding perilously close to laughter.

  Dean shot him a firm look and Mike flushed. "Sorry," he muttered.

  Marshall's apparently semi-frozen penis had been glued—with what, Todd would have to determine, thank God—to Jebediah in a position that, if not anatomically correct, was at least in the general vicinity of where a penis should belong.

  This case had just left Interstate Weird and exited onto Highway Bizarre.

  "Who noticed it?" Jake asked, passing a hand over his face.

  "Martin Mashburn," Mike told him. "He said he was just strolling by and noticed a part of Jeb that wasn't tarnished. Said he almost fell down when he realized what it was."

  He supposed so, Jake thought, still shocked. He'd had advance knowledge and it was still pretty damned hard to believe. Who in the hell could have done such a thing? he wondered. And more importantly, why?

  Though he dreaded it, he knew he had to ask. He shot Jolie an uncomfortable look. "Is this—" He cleared his throat. "Is this Marshall's—"

  Thankfully, she didn't let him finish. "Limp and little," she said coolly. "That's definitely his."

  The comment drew a shocked chuckle from them all, most especially Dean, who smothered his laugh with an unconvincing cough. "Well, Todd," said the Sheriff, "I don't envy your job on this one."

  Looking distinctly unenthusiastic, Todd grimaced. "Yeah, me neither."

  "What are you going to do with it?" Mike wanted to know. "They've already buried him."

  Todd shifted uncomfortably, darting a hesitant look at Jolie. "I guess it needs to be given to Mrs. Marshall."

  "It's Caplan," Jolie corrected, much to Jake's surprise. "I've taken back my maiden name. And I don't want it," she said. Her face had folded into a frown of disgusted distaste. "I don't care what you do with it."

  Jake slid a veiled glance at Dean. He had a grim suspicion what fate awaited Marshall's severed penis. "Er … don't you need to process it first? Maybe see if you can figure out what was used to—"

  "Yeah, I'll do that. Though frankly, I don't think I'm gonna find much."

  "Yeah, that happens when you don't have much to work with, eh?" Mike jibed.

  Dean's brows lowered again, prompting Mike to make another red-faced apology.

  "Mike, you want to help me start questioning?" Jake asked, looking around the square. "I'll take one side, you take the other."

  Surely to God, this time they'd find some sort of witness. No one could have possibly walked into the square and glued Marshall's dick to Jebediah completely unnoticed. Someone had to have seen something. The square was the hub of Moon Valley commerce. It was usually packed, Monday being especially busy.

  Though looking at the slowly thawing grayish penis made his stomach roil, this could actually end up being the break in the case that he needed.

  Mike nodded. "Sure. So long as I don't have to look at it anymore—or touch it—I'll do whatever you ask me to."

  Jake turned to Jolie. "Do you need a ride to your Mom's?"

  "I'll call her," Jolie told him.

  "No need," Dean interrupted smoothly. "I'll give you a lift."

  Though Jake didn't particularly like the idea, he couldn't very well object, and if Jolie was the least bit intimidated by riding with the Sheriff, she didn't betray so much as a blink of disquiet.

  "I'll be in touch later," he told Jolie, a subtle warning that their interrupted conversation was by no means over.

  She nodded and walked away with Dean. Jake looked back at Marshall's drooping dick and shuddered. Whoever did this was either really sick … or had one supremely twisted sense of humor.

  For whatever reason, he suspected the latter.

  Jolie didn't know exactly what she'd expected Dean to say to her when they were alone in the car, but the apology she got on behalf of his estranged wife was definitely not it.

  "I know there was no love lost between you and your husband, but as far as my wife's—soon to be ex-wife's," he corrected "—part in it, I'm really sorry."

  Jolie blinked, somewhat stunned. "Well, I'm sorry for Chris's part in it as well." She stared at the radio, pretending to be interested in the other gadgets and gizmos she wasn't accustomed to seeing in her own car. For reasons that escaped her, something about his sincerity made her feel worse instead of better. Then she knew why. "I should have come to you as soon as I found out, but…" Somehow telling him that shoring up her grounds for divorce was more important to her than his right to know didn't seem very palatable.

  "Jake explained," Dean told her, letting her off the hook. "Don't worry about it. It's done."

  "Still … I'm really sorry."

  "No hard feelings." He negotiated a turn and h
is dark brown gaze shifted to her. "I guess Jake told you she moved out."

  "He did."

  "Ah, well. It's for the best."

  He was probably right, but agreeing felt like bad form, so she kept her mouth shut.

  "He's still in love with you, you know," Dean said conversationally.

  Jolie felt her heart trip, then race.

  "It was against my better judgment to leave him on this case, but he's convinced that you're innocent and any other detective may might not be so inclined to keep your best interests at heart."

  "I am innocent," Jolie felt compelled to point out. "And I'm very thankful that he believes me."

  Dean flicked her a glance. "A thankful person wouldn't let him get called on the carpet for things that he's too close to the investigation to see." He pulled into her mother's drive, shoved the gearshift into park, then turned to face her. "I don't think you killed Marshall, Jolie. Aside from your alibi, you were working too hard to get away from him legally without having to resort to murder." A weak smile caught the corner of his mouth. "Besides, you protested dissecting a dead frog in biology—I can't see you having the wherewithal to shoot Chris." He shifted. "That said, there are other issues that make you look damned guilty and if there's anything else that's likely to crop up, you ought to have enough respect for Jake to let him know. He's not the enemy. He's trying to help you." He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug and smiled. "Just think about it. End of sermon."

  Slightly surprised by the unexpected lecture, Jolie nodded and moved to get out of the car. "I will. Thanks for the ride home."

  "Anytime," Dean told her.

  Her stomach knotted with tension, she straightened and watched him drive away. Good grief, what a damned mess, Jolie thought, wishing she had some idea as to how to fix it. She could either betray the FWC, or betray Jake.