A Real Basket Case

by Beth Groundwater

  He withdrew his hand and focused an intense gaze on Claire. “So am I. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to Ellen. Never. That’s why I’ve urged Roger to give you another chance.”

  As Claire digested Dave’s revelation, the front door opened. With a large brown bag in his arms, Roger stood in the doorway and stared at her.

  SEVENTEEN:

  HOMECOMING

  Claire thought she saw a flicker of desire in Roger’s eyes—not sexual, but a cry for comfort—before he turned to close the door. The sight bolstered her courage.

  Dave walked over to Roger. “I’ll take this into the kitchen.”

  As Dave left with the bag of food, Roger cleared his throat and stepped into the living room. He sank into the chair Dave had vacated and said, “What happened to your face?”

  Claire couldn’t help but smile. “I scratched it on a bed frame.”

  Angry eyes glittering, he sneered. “Whose bed frame?”

  Her smile died. “I guess I deserved that. You look tired.”

  “I’m not sleeping well.” Licking his lips, he picked up Dave’s glass, then put it down.

  Yes, a drink might help. Claire recognized the familiar shoulder hunch that came when he was tense. “Why don’t you fix yourself a scotch?”

  “Good idea.” Roger moved to the dining room.

  She chose a neutral subject to ease him into conversation. “Dave told me you were picking up Chinese food tonight. Your usual twice-cooked pork?”

  “You know me too well.” The side of his mouth twitched as he returned to the chair, a generous glass of scotch, neat, in his hand. He took a large gulp, then closed his eyes as he held it in his mouth before swallowing.

  When he reopened his eyes, he said, “Okay, tell me how you got the scratch.”

  Knowing full well he’d lose his temper, she laced her fingers together in her lap and launched into the story of breaking into Condoleza’s apartment.

  Roger’s jaw dropped. “Dammit, Claire, what possessed you to do such a stupid thing?”

  “I was trying to find evidence to exonerate you. Detective Wilson wasn’t doing anything, and Deb wasn’t available.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to stop?” Roger’s face grew splotchy red.

  Claire tried a wry smile. “You should know by now that I don’t always do what you tell me to.”

  “I don’t believe this. You’re lucky no one saw you.”

  “Um, not that lucky.” She described being collared by Travis.

  “You could’ve been killed!”

  She shook her head. “As Leon said, Travis is too smart to do that.”

  “Leon? The drug boss? What makes you think you can believe a word he says?”

  Claire opened her mouth to defend Leon, then shut it. Why defend Leon to Roger? She rubbed her forehead to clear her thoughts. “Let me tell this story in sequence, or we’ll both get confused. Obviously, Travis didn’t kill me. He did something much smarter. He had me arrested for breaking and entering.”

  Roger choked on his scotch. “Breaking and entering? Now we’re both going to jail.”

  “That’s not true. You aren’t a criminal. You didn’t kill Enrique.” Furious at his negativity, she spoke louder than she intended. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Technically, though, I’m a criminal. What I did is against the law, but I won’t be prosecuted.”

  Roger’s eyes widened. “What the hell?”

  “Drink your scotch and let me finish the story.”

  He eyed the glass. “With all the surprises you’re throwing at me, maybe I’d better stay sober.”

  Claire laughed, but when she realized Roger wasn’t laughing with her, she stifled it. She resumed her story, telling him how Leon had forced Travis to drop the charges. When she reached the part where Leon’s henchmen had muscled her into his car, Roger gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white. He opened his mouth, but Claire silenced him with an outstretched palm.

  As she told him about the church parking lot, she shifted in her seat, nervous about how he would react to the damage to the BMW. “Leon’s bodyguard smashed the mirror on the passenger side of my BMW . . . a warning,” she said. Tempted to cringe, she waited.

  “Christ almighty.” Roger leapt out of the chair. He paced back and forth, running his fingers through his hair. “Think what he could have done to you.”

  His reaction was much better than Claire had hoped for. Better not mention the switchblade, she thought.

  “That guy’s dangerous,” Roger continued. “We need to get him arrested, get him off the streets.” He whirled and pointed a finger at her. “You’re calling the police right now.”

  Claire crossed her arms. “I’ll do no such thing. I don’t think the police want Leon arrested. And besides, I promised him I wouldn’t mess with him.”

  “Promised him? How can you make promises to a drug kingpin?”

  “How can I break a promise to him? Please stop shouting and sit down.”

  He sank into the chair.

  “I trust Leon,” Claire continued. “His code of ethics is different than ours, but he has one. He smashed the car mirror, not me. And he helped me. He suggested I investigate the women in Enrique’s class at the gym.” She described her meetings with Brenda, Karla, and Ellen.

  Looking confused, Roger said, “I can understand being suspicious of a cocaine addict, but how could you think Ellen or Jill killed anybody? They’re your friends.”

  “And you’re my husband. I’ll do whatever it takes to clear your name.”

  Roger peered at her. “Any more surprises?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Good.” He picked up his glass and tossed back the rest of his scotch. “I don’t think I could take any more.”

  Claire reached for his hand and traced a finger over his knuckles while she sought the right words. Gazing into his eyes, she said, “Dave told me he didn’t want us to wind up like him and Ellen.”

  Roger flinched and tried to pull his hand out of her grasp. “I’m surprised he told you that.”

  “You shouldn’t be. He’s your friend. He wants what’s best for you.”

  “How does he know what’s best for me? How does anyone know, you and me included?”

  “We don’t, not for sure. But throwing away our marriage over one mistake—” When Roger opened his mouth, Claire held up a hand. “Yes, I know I made a huge mistake, with horrible consequences, but still, it was one mistake.”

  “One? He was the first?”

  She deliberately misconstrued the question. “I’ve had massages before. And that’s all that was going on—a massage.”

  “I’m not a hundred percent convinced of that.”

  “After twenty-six years, you should know when I’m telling the truth.” She leveled a steady gaze at him.

  He stared back, then slowly nodded. “I believe you.”

  “Giving up on our marriage can’t be the right thing to do, not without giving it a chance to start healing first.” Claire paused and screwed up her courage. “You promised you would give me the chance to earn your forgiveness.”

  “You should get used to me not being around.”

  “You’re not going to prison, so I don’t need to get used to anything. Come home with me. I miss you, and we need each other.”

  He leaned forward and traced his finger along the bandage on her cheek. “I guess I’ll have to come home, if only to keep an eye on you. You need protection, someone to keep you out of any more scrapes.” A smile twitched at the edge of his lips.

  Claire saw hope in that smile. She rubbed her cheek against the familiar strong warmth of his palm and felt an answering warmth grow in her belly.

  Dave cleared his throat behind her. “Now that’s what I like to see. A cozy little tête-à-tête.”

  Claire turned and saw him grinning at them. “Roger’s coming home with me.”

  “Good. I was getting tired of him moping around here.”

&nb
sp; Roger returned Dave’s smile with a sheepish grin. “Can I eat my dinner first?”

  ___

  Claire tailed Roger as they drove their two cars home. When they turned onto their street, she spied an unfamiliar vehicle parked in front of their home. Someone stepped out of the strange car as Roger pulled into the far bay of the garage.

  Claire followed Roger’s car up the drive, entered her side of the garage, and cut the engine. As she got out, a voice called, “Mr. and Mrs. Hanover?”

  Roger stepped out of the garage. “Who are you?”

  The man held out his hand, offering to shake Roger’s. “Marvin Bradshaw, reporter for the Gazette. I’ve already met your wife.” He smiled and nodded at Claire.

  She bristled. “It was not a friendly meeting.”

  Roger ignored the reporter’s outstretched hand. “What’re you doing here at this hour?”

  “I’ve been waiting quite some time to see you.” Bradshaw’s gaze flicked from Roger to Claire and back, assessing them. “I thought I’d give you a chance to tell your side before I file my story for tomorrow’s paper.”

  “What story?” Roger frowned.

  Bradshaw grinned and rocked back on his heels. “The one about your wife’s arrest for breaking and entering.”

  “Those charges were dropped!” Claire shouted.

  Roger grabbed her hand. “Shush.”

  He spoke to the reporter in a low, ominous voice. “You aren’t welcome here. Leave.”

  “I’m just doing my job, Mr. Hanover. If I don’t get a statement from you, I’ll have to go with what my other sources said.”

  Oh, God, what will he write? Claire’s head pounded. “Roger, maybe we should talk to him.”

  Roger’s face reddened. “We’re not letting this guy blackmail us.”

  Bradshaw glanced at Claire, as if looking for an ally. “But—”

  “If you aren’t off my property in three seconds,” Roger said, clenching his fists, “I’ll throw you off myself. One.”

  Bradshaw stood his ground. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  Roger stepped forward, forcing Bradshaw to stumble back. “Watch me. Two.”

  After a last beseeching glance at Claire, Bradshaw’s shoulders slumped, and he walked down the driveway.

  “Three!” Roger shouted.

  Bradshaw’s steps quickened. When he reached his car, he yanked open the door, climbed in, and roared off.

  Claire ran her hand across Roger’s ramrod, angry back. “Thank you. He’s been a real pest. This is the first time he’s come to the house, though.”

  “He’d better not return.”

  Claire’s lips curled. “I doubt he will after your performance. C’mon, let’s go in.”

  Once inside, she hung up her coat while Roger carried his bag up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she saw him standing stock-still at the threshold of the master bedroom. Reaching past him, she flicked on the light.

  A tranquil, domestic scene awaited them, complete with a fresh spray of miniature roses Claire had bunched in a small vase on the nightstand. She placed a tentative hand on Roger’s arm. “What do you think?”

  His gaze traveled around the room, then returned to the spot where she had stood when he’d last entered the room. He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out hoarse. “I still see you there, covered with blood and staring at me in terror. I was so afraid for you, Claire. My gut wrenched when I thought you were hurt.”

  She squeezed his arm.

  He stared at her. “When I realized you were afraid of me, you have no idea how desolate I felt.”

  Fiercely, Claire hugged him.

  His arms slowly encircled her.

  She nuzzled her face against his chest and breathed in his familiar scent, a combination of musky maleness and his favorite shaving cologne. She lifted her head. “I’m not afraid of you now.”

  He stroked her hair. “I’m glad.”

  When he bent his head, Claire pursed her lips, expecting a kiss.

  “It’s late.” He grazed her cheek with his lips as he released her. “We need to get ready for bed.”

  Disappointed, but determined to let him set the pace, she pulled away. “I guess you’re right.”

  As she brushed her teeth and combed her hair in the master bathroom, she waited for Roger to join her at his sink, but he didn’t appear. She heard him moving about the bedroom, taking things out of his bag and putting them away.

  She changed into the blue silk nightgown Roger had given her for their anniversary two years ago. It was one of his favorites. Feeling as awkward as if it were their wedding night, she stepped into the bedroom. Her restless hands flitted about, smoothing her gown, until she locked them together in a tight clasp before her.

  Roger’s gaze softened. “You look beautiful. I won’t be long.” He walked into the bathroom.

  Claire climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up tight over her shoulders. She shivered but not from the cold. Resolutely, she pushed gory memories from her mind. Enrique’s death would no longer keep her from her bed. Determined to take this step to restoring normalcy to her life, she focused on how she should act with Roger.

  He returned a few minutes later, lay down, and rolled on his side to turn off the light on his nightstand. He didn’t face her but lay silently with his back toward her.

  She inched over and spooned her body against his, her breasts brushing against his back through their bedclothes. His warmth seeped into her. She cleared her throat. “Roger . . .”

  He moved away and flopped on his back with a sigh. “I can’t do this. It’s too soon.”

  “We don’t need to make love. I just want to hold you.”

  “I don’t mean that.” He threw back the covers. “I can’t sleep in this bed. I’m going to Michael’s room.”

  As Claire listened to his bare feet pad down the hall, a crazy thought popped into her head. Why had she chosen Judy’s bed, while Roger chose to sleep in Michael’s bed?

  Do we find solace in retreating to a time of innocent childhood?

  She debated if she should go to Judy’s room, but she was here now and had to get used to sleeping in this bed sometime. She lay rigid, arms by her side, and stared at the dark ceiling.

  Maybe he’ll return.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, soaking her pillow.

  EIGHTEEN:

  DEATH THREAT

  Claire grunted and fought. She struggled to push something heavy off her body, but her hands couldn’t grab hold, getting tangled in the sheets. Panic welled up as the weight crushed her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  Her eyes flew open, and she gasped for air. Frantically, she glanced around. The early-morning sun streamed in the bedroom window, highlighting the yellows in the new bed linens.

  She clutched her chest. Oh, God. It was all a nightmare.

  She swept a quaking hand over her damp forehead and took a deep breath to slow her racing heart. Below, a chair slid on the kitchen floor. Her heart pounded again. What was that?

  Then she remembered Roger was home. He must have awakened and gone downstairs. She got out of bed, splashed cold water on her face, and threw on a robe.

  When she walked into the kitchen, she inhaled the rich aroma of fresh-brewed French roast coffee. She noticed Roger had already poured himself a bowl of cereal. “You should have wakened me. I wanted to make you breakfast.”

  The words sounded strained to her. The whole situation felt awkward. Normally his getting out of bed would have awakened her.

  Roger looked up from the newspaper. He seemed uneasy, too, his eyes reluctant to focus on hers. “I didn’t want to disturb you, but I almost did when I had a hard time figuring out the newfangled pot that grinds the beans.” He cracked a goofy, unnatural smile.

  That pot was over a year old. Claire realized she had made coffee for him every morning since then. She returned his smile, trying to put them both at ease. “I guess it’s about time you learned how to use it.”
>
  She poured herself a cup and sat across from Roger, who returned to reading the paper. At first, she felt shunned, isolated by the wall of newsprint. Then she chided herself for being selfish. If he needed solitude now, she could give it to him. She sipped her coffee and watched him read, back home where he belonged.

  Finally, he glanced at her. “Sorry about last night.”

  “I understand. For most of the week, I’ve been sleeping in Judy’s bed. Even so, I had a nightmare last night.”

  With a look of concern, he laid down his spoon. “About the murder?”

  A memory of Enrique’s bloody body lying across hers popped unbidden into her mind and she shuddered. “I don’t want to talk about it. How did you sleep?”

  He folded the paper. “Not well. I had a lot on my mind. Ned told me to come back into the office today. Probably so he can do the equivalent of firing me.”

  “Don’t go, then.”

  Roger ran his hand through his already mussed hair. “What do you mean, don’t go? I can’t just blow him off, even if my whole career is flushing down the toilet.”

  Claire cringed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Might as well throw myself in the toilet, too.” He blinked hard a few times and picked at the newspaper. “I don’t have much of a life left. My marriage and career are in shambles.” His other hand lay on the table, clenched tight.

  She covered the hand with hers and tucked her fingers inside the fist. “I’m here. We’ll get through this together.”

  Roger didn’t look convinced.

  “Did Ned set a time for you to come in?”

  “I assumed he meant at the start of the day.” His tone conveyed puzzlement with her question.

  “Then wait.” Claire got up and paced the kitchen. “I have aerobics class today, so I can find out more about the women who had affairs with Enrique. And Deb should be able to come down from Denver. We three can go see Detective Wilson with the new evidence I’ve found. She can help us convince him to expand the investigation.”

  “What new evidence?”

  “About Brenda, Patti, Karla, Jill, and Ellen.” Claire ticked the names off on her fingertips.