The Widow's Husband

by William Coleman

  “He will be staying at our ranch,” Mrs. Cutter said. “As long as he likes.”

  “Very well then,” Philip said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  The blackened wood of the cabin held Allan in a trance. He had officially lost everything now. His home, his wife, his cabin, and his life. He was left with nothing but the clothes he wore. And those belonged to Henry who paid for them. All he wanted to do was go somewhere, curl up and fall asleep.

  “Let’s go,” Henry said. “Nothing takes the mind off your woes like a hard day’s work.”

  Chapter 25

  (Det. Philip Smalls)

  Detective Smalls was a young man if you asked his partner. Only thirty-two he was one of the youngest to achieve detective on the force. He was still green. ‘Rough around the edges’, Dave’s old partner would have said. But you don’t become detective easily. Philip possessed the smarts, both book and street, to get the job done. Dave took it as his duty to teach the new kid everything he knew. Unfortunately, Dave was an instincts kind of detective and Philip was analytical with a lot of skill; no instincts. At least none Dave could identify. Give him all the clues, he could put them together correctly. Leave one out and he wouldn’t even try to apply a gut feeling. Dave didn’t know how to teach instincts.

  “What is your take on Bolder?” Dave asked as they drove away from the scene.

  “A first-class candidate for the nut house,” Philip said. “I think he really believes he’s Allan Tuttle.”

  “You don’t think he’s trying to play a con?”

  “I guess he could be,” Philip said. “If I hadn’t seen Tuttle’s body in the morgue with my own eyes, I might have bought his story. I don’t think a con man could pull that off.”

  “Why do you think they call them con men?” Dave said. “Because they con others into believing their stories.”

  “Yea, but how could a con man think he could convince a widow he is her husband?” Philip said. “No con man would try that, not unless the woman had amnesia. This guy went to her house claiming to be the man she’s been sleeping with for nine years. He has to believe it himself to do that.”

  “True,” Dave agreed. “Do you think he believed it enough to kill the man who came out of the house that night? The house he believed to be his. After being with the woman he believes is his wife.”

  “Kill the man you think your wife is cheating with?” Philip considered the idea. He was convinced Bolder was nuts. He was even positive Bolder might cause Sarah Tuttle harm if nothing was done about him. Giving him credit for killing a man was not so easy. “I don’t know. Tuttle was a big man. Bolder looked pretty much like a wimp. I don’t think he could have strangled Tuttle.”

  “Could explain why Tuttle was hit in the head before he was strangled,” Dave offered.

  “Maybe,” Philip said. “I just have trouble seeing a man who faints at the sight of his home burned down as the killer type.”

  “You can’t always go on what you see can you?” Dave said. “Are you forgetting Justin Claymore?”

  “How could I?” Philip said.

  Justin Claymore was the sweetest old man either detective ever met. He was a charmer from the time he opened the door. They were questioning all the neighbors of a missing teenager. The boy disappeared from his garage where he was working on his bike late one night. It wasn’t a homicide case. Dave and Philip were called to help because the kid’s age made it ‘all hands on’. They were asking everyone if they had seen the boy that night. Mr. Claymore was very kind and very helpful. What they discovered a couple of days later was the old man had buried the teen in his backyard. Apparently, the boy played his stereo too loud for sweet Mr. Claymore's sensitive ears. When the authorities started digging up the body they found the remains of five other people including Claymore’s wife, who was supposed to have moved returned to Canada to care for a sick relative three years before.

  “That was quite a mess,” Philip said.

  “It sure was,” Dave said. “And it should always remind you that a con man is a con man. He lies for a living and can do it anytime, anywhere and to anyone.”

  “I know,” Philip said. “And I know Bolder is not Tuttle. I’m just not so sure he knows.”

  They drove the distance between the cabin and town in just under half an hour and turned onto Sarah Tuttle’s street. They needed to inform her of the destruction of her property. There were also questions to be asked and there was no time like the present.

  Approaching the door, Philip saw the curtain move and wondered if she heard them close the doors or if she was waiting for someone. Either way, he found it strange she did not meet them at the door. They rang the bell and waited. Sarah opened the door and led them to the living room.

  “What can I help you with today?” Sarah asked.

  “We have some more bad news for you,” Dave said.

  “Don’t you ever have good news?”

  “Not often,” Dave said. “They don’t call us when it’s good.”

  “I suppose not,” Sarah half grinned. “Now, what’s this about?”

  “We’re here about your cabin property,” Philip said.

  “What about it?”

  “We just left there,” Philip said. “It has been burned to the ground.”

  “Burned?” Sarah said. “How?”

  “Looks like arson,” Dave said.

  “Arson?” Sarah sat up suddenly. Ray was supposed to make it look like an accident. “Are you sure?”

  “Almost positive,” Philip said.

  “But why?”

  “We were hoping you might shed some light on that,” Dave said.

  “Do you know a Jack Bolder?” Philip asked.

  “Who?” she said, taken aback by Allan’s penname.

  “Jack Bolder,” Philip repeated. “He’s a writer.”

  “No,” she said. “Should I?”

  “He says he’s been living in the cabin,” Dave said. “Also claims to be your husband.”

  “He says that?” Sarah said.

  “Yes,” Philip nodded. “You don’t know him?”

  “No,” she said. “Was he there when it burned?”

  “No, he wasn’t,” Dave said.

  “Oh,” Sarah said. Ray hadn’t gotten anything right. “What happened?”

  “Do you know a Ray Morrison?” Philip asked.

  Sarah had not expected them to know Ray's name and she struggled to keep her surprise from showing on her face. “Was he living there too?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Dave said. “Do you know him?”

  “No,” she said. “Does he claim to be my husband too?”

  “No, ma’am,” Philip said. “He died in the fire.”

  Sarah’s hand went to her mouth with a gasp. “How awful,”

  “You don’t know why he might be in your cabin?”

  “No,” she said. “I mean it was my husband’s cabin. I never went there myself. I have no idea who he let stay there, if anyone.”

  “You haven’t had any plumbing work done recently have you?” Philip asked. “Here or at the cabin?”

  “Plumbing?”

  “Mr. Morrison was a plumber,” Dave explained. “Thought it might be a connection between him and you or your husband.”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” she said.

  “What about books?” Philip asked.

  “Books?” Sarah asked.

  “Books?” Dave turned to his partner.

  “Bolder is a writer,” Philip said. “You said your husband sold books. Is there any chance of a connection there?”

  “I don’t think so,” Sarah said. “He didn’t sell new books. I don’t see why they would know each other. I can’t be sure though.”

  “Okay, well if you think of something, call us immediately,” Philip said.

  “I will,” she said.

  The two detectives rose and headed for the door. Philip, leading the way, stopped suddenly and turned back to Sarah. He made the motion so
fast Dave had to side step to avoid running his partner down.

  “One more thing, Mrs. Tuttle,” Philip said.

  “Yes,” she said with anticipation.

  “Do you have a recent photo of your husband?”

  She hesitated before saying, “No. I’m afraid I don’t have any pictures of my husband. He didn’t like having his picture taken.”

  Philip nodded and waited a full minute before turning away again. Outside, he walked briskly alongside Dave all the way to the car. Inside, they sat looking back toward the house.

  “Do you find that odd?” Philip asked.

  “That she has no pictures of her husband?” Dave said. “I suppose.”

  “I wonder why he didn’t like having his picture taken.” Philip asked. “Think maybe we were right? He was dealing in something other than books? Maybe he had a record or something. Allan Tuttle may not even be his real name.”

  “Could be,” Dave said starting the car. “But his prints didn’t come up when we ran them.”

  “Still might be worth circulating his photo,” Philip suggested.

  “Be my guest,” Dave said. “With no other leads, my thoughts are we need to concentrate on this Bolder guy. He seems to have an agenda. And it seems Allan Tuttle’s death only helped him.”

  “You mean it helped him be able to claim to be Tuttle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not much help.”

  “True,” Dave said. “It would be even harder to say you’re Tuttle if the man was alive.”

  “What about Mrs. Tuttle?” Philip asked.

  “What about her?”

  “The spouse is always a suspect.”

  “I know,” Dave said. “She’s still on the list, but I really think she’s harmless.”

  “You concentrate on Bolder,” Philip said. “And I’ll look for the drug angle.”

  “Go our separate ways?” Dave said. “We are partners remember.”

  “Just ask our questions with different focus,” Philip said. “Cover more territory that way.”

  “Okay. I go first.”

  “No problem. Where do we start?”

  “I want to go to S & J Plumbing and see what we can find out about Mr. Ray Morrison,” Dave said. “See if they know why he was at that cabin in the middle of the night.”

  Chapter 26

  (Strike Three)

  Sarah watched from the window as the detectives drove away just as she had done when they arrived. She had been watching for Ray, who she expected to stop by, against their agreement to lay low for a few weeks. She was not expecting to learn that Ray was the one killed in the fire at the cabin.

  The detectives caught her by surprise asking her about Jack Bolder. Realizing they thought Allan was Jack, which was true in a way, shock turned to relief. She was also pleased with the suggestion that Allan, a.k.a. Jack, might have something to do with the fire. She wasn't sure how Ray being in the cabin would be explained. As long as they didn’t know her connection to the man, she wouldn’t be the one trying to explain it.

  She had called and if they checked Ray’s phone records they would find her number among his final contacts. She had to prepare a story to explain why she spoke to a man she claims not to have known before the detectives came to ask her. Otherwise it was just one more reason to get out of town in a hurry.

  What worried her was Ray’s mouth. He liked to talk. He obviously wouldn’t be able to tell the police anything at this point. What concerned her was what he may have said to someone before he went to the cabin. She didn’t know if Ray ever talked to his friends or family about her. She didn’t even know if he had any friends to tell. Her knowledge of the man was limited to what he did for a living and what talents he had in the bedroom. If they started questioning people in his life and her name came up, it would all be over.

  Sarah needed a backup plan; a place to go, a new name for a fresh start. She needed to be ready in case she had to go quickly with an escape route mapped out. The key was money. She had drained their savings, but they had been living on that since Allan had published his last novel. There just wasn’t enough to start a life with. She needed real money and the only chance she had at that was Allan’s life insurance or the novel. If she could stay long enough to collect on one of those she would be home free. However, she had no idea how long it took insurance to pay and in the case of the latter, Mike’s death placed her back to square one.

  She needed to contact a new agent, or possibly a publisher. She considered contacting the Hollywood people and explaining what happened to Mike, the plane crash version, and setting up an appointment to meet with them on her own. She knew nothing about negotiating movie deals and would probably be taken to the cleaners. Anything at this point would be better than nothing.

  Reality slapped her in the face hard enough to leave a mark. The Hollywood people were excepting a novel by the previously published author, Jack Bolder. If she presented them with a Jack Bolder novel, Allan would be able to claim the proceeds because everyone thought his name was Bolder. His picture is on the back of his novels.

  She would have to sell it as her own novel. She could choose a penname, and in time assume the identity of the penname, just as Allan was unwittingly doing now. A new name. A new city. A fresh start. The corner of her lip curled. She had never liked her name. Sarah was just too common, too plain. She wanted a name that would match her personality. Possibilities flooded her mind and the memories of every person she had ever met presented themselves for consideration.

  If Ray had kept his mouth shut, she might be able to get through this. If not, the possibility of landing behind bars became greater the longer she stayed. It was an easy decision. She started toward the back of the house. She took a small bag from the closet and packed an emergency bag. She placed it back in the closet where she could grab it in a hurry if the need arose.

  She started thinking about what it would mean to be able to start life anew. With luck, she would find a man who could satisfy all her needs; someone like Brian.

  There had been few men in her life who affected her like Brian. If not for him, she would probably still be satisfied with her marriage to Allan. For a long time, she thought meeting Brian in the produce department of her grocer was chance. Eventually she discovered nothing Brian did was left to chance.

  He spoke to her the first time over a bin of cantaloupe. He asked her how she knew they were ripe. She helped him choose a melon. The smile he gave her sent a chill down her spine. After that, every isle she walked down, he appeared. Each time he stopped to look at an item very close to whatever she was looking at. Each time he smiled that smile before moving on and every part of her tingled.

  She started looking for him, anticipating him. She felt a sense of relief seeing him round the corner at the far end of each isle. On the last isle, she began dreading the end of their brief encounters. Approaching the registers, Sarah saw him already checking out. He did not look her way, maintaining a friendly conversation with the cashier. It wasn’t until he was making his way out of the store that he looked back at her, making eye contact and giving her that same alluring smile. She watched longingly as he left the building, disappointed when the door closed behind him.

  In the parking lot Sarah looked for the man before starting to load her groceries into the car. As she closed her trunk, he spoke. He stood close, just behind her. She should have been afraid, but his voice was soothing and the idea he might be a dangerous predator never crossed her mind.

  He took her hand and led her to his car, driving her to a motel. He didn’t care that she was married, didn’t care that she had never done anything like that before. Inside his room, he pushed her up against the wall and began unbuttoning her blouse. He pulled out a length of rope and began binding her hands and she entertained the thought that she may have made a serious mistake. Moments later she knew she hadn’t as she experienced the most exciting encounter of her life.

  Brian dropped her at her car, kissed h
er deeply, thanked her and drove away. For weeks after that day, she went to the store almost every day, some days twice. She never saw him again. She never knew his last name. She knew he had stirred something inside her, something she did not even know existed. She was hooked, addicted to what Brian had introduced her. She spent the next year collecting. She collected Ray, Jimmy, and Mike along with a few others who had already moved on.

  She wasn’t ready to start collecting again. She wasn’t sure she ever would. What she really wanted was one man, one perfect man to fulfill her every need. She sat in her favorite chair wondering if that man was out there somewhere.

  Chapter 27

  (Back at the Ranch)

  Returning to the ranch, Allan walked into the living room sat in a chair and lowered his head to his hands. He remained there, motionless, for the better part of the afternoon. The Cutters gave him space, only popping in from time to time to check on him.

  “Do you need anything, dear?” Mrs. Cutter asked each time she entered the room. He never did.

  As the day began to give way to evening Henry walked in and sat in a chair not too far from Allan. He sat and watched the younger man for several minutes. Henry was at a loss for words, which was not like him. He wasn’t sure if he should try to comfort the man or offer advice. He was sure he had to say something or Allan might slip into a coma.

  “You know what would be good for you?” Henry said. “You know, to help you get your mind off things?”

  Henry waited for Allan to respond, requesting him to dispense his wisdom. Greeted with silence, Henry answered his own question. “You should get back out there and work. Work hard. Nothing clears the mind like good, hard labor.”

  “You just leave the poor man alone,” Mrs. Cutter said. “He doesn’t need to get out there unless he wants to. He just lost his home for pity’s sake.”

  The words she spoke were meant to express her sympathy for his loss. For Allan though, the words meant a great deal more. They were a sum of the state of his life at that moment. He was poor. Completely broke. Despite everything he owned he was penniless. He couldn’t go to his house. He couldn’t access his bank account. And now his cabin and everything in it was gone.