The Soldier's Wife

by Sirena N. Robinson

  Savi embraced Beckett as she came through the door, grinning when Harlow and Rhys took off after Lyla, the three kids tromping up the stairs on their way to Lyla’s bedroom. Taking the pie from Beckett, she looked at her friend with a critical eye.

  “You look tired.”

  “Just stressed. We still don’t have the DNA back. I just want to know.” Sighing, she shrugged out of her jacket and hung it next to the door. “Are Cassie and Alan here yet?”

  “Not yet. Jax and Caleb are in the kitchen scarfing down the appetizers I made, so if lobster stuffed mushrooms are your thing, I’d move fast. There’s more than an hour yet on the turkey.” Savi grinned when Murphy bent to hug her. “There’s my favorite brother.”

  “You just say that because I fixed your sink last week.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and made a beeline for the kitchen, his brothers, and the dwindling tray of mushrooms.

  Beckett rolled her eyes and held up the bottle of wine. “Want to taste with me?”

  “When have you ever known me to turn down wine?”

  Despite herself, Beckett was having a good time surrounded by her family for the holiday. The boys ate too much and yelled about football with Alan riding herd to make sure the good-natured arguments didn’t turn into physical altercations. Cassie had settled herself into one of the chairs in the kitchen and sipped wine with Savi and Beckett, the three of them chatting about the opening of the Vive Café the following week.

  Laughing over the retelling of a debacle with her liquor license, Beckett paid no attention when her phone rang. Fishing it from her pocket, she swiped to answer without looking at the number, pressing it to her ear with a grin on her face.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. McKenzie? This is Sheriff Rogers. I’m sorry to bother you on Thanksgiving, but I had to come in to process the Devlin boy for a DUI and had a fax in the machine. It came through late last night after I’d already left. It’s the DNA results from Ryan’s exhumation. Do you want to come down and look at them, or would you like me to just tell you?”

  Beckett’s smile faded and she gripped the counter with her free hand. “Just tell me, Sheriff, please.”

  The din in the room died down to absolute quiet. Sheriff Rogers took a deep breath before speaking.

  “The DNA provided to the lab from the remains of Ryan McKenzie was not consistent as being a full-sibling with the comparison DNA provided by Murphy. It was also not consistent with being a half-sibling, or any other type of relative. Says here there are no more markers in common than they’d expect in any two random samples.”

  Her voice a squeak, Beckett forced herself to talk. “What do we do now?”

  “Well, I’ll notify the Army and the FBI we got the results, and I’ll open up an official investigation into this Robbins kid who’s been hanging around. Seems to me I ought to put out an APB on your husband since he’s got a lot of explaining to do. As for the remains, we can have them reburied or cremated if they can’t be identified. We’re working on it now, but given that this happened in Colombia, I wouldn’t hold out much hope we get an identification. Their record-keeping isn’t good under the best of circumstances, and my gut tells me Ryan didn’t pick someone who would be missed to replace him in that casket.” Rogers took another breath and sighed deeply. “If you know now what you want to do with the body I can make the arrangements.”

  “The second one.” Beckett’s voice wavered and cracked. “Just burn him. I don’t want to deal with it.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements. I figure you need to come in tomorrow and give me the keys to your storage unit. We’re going to have to go through everything. Pack up all his stuff you have at the house, have the boys and Cassie and Alan do the same. Murph still spending most nights at your place?”

  Embarrassment warring with the shock, she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’d see he keeps doing that. Do you have a gun, Beckett?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Might suggest you get one. I’ve got some literature I can give you on a concealed carry class. If you go take it, I’ll speed through a permit for you. Until then, I’ll tell my boys to look the other way on you carrying yourself a pistol. Get something you can handle but that carries a punch. .38 or a nine millimeter. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow with the stuff. Should I call the others, or do you want to tell them?”

  “I’ll handle it. We’re all at Savi’s for dinner anyway.”

  “Good. Tell Savi the same on the gun. I know she registered one through here when she moved up, but tell her it does her no good if she doesn’t have it with her. I’ll tell the boys to do a few extra sweeps of the houses during the night, just to make sure.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll be down tomorrow.”

  “Good girl. Enjoy the rest of the holiday if you can.”

  “You, too. Thanks again.” Pressing the button to end the call, she looked up to find six pairs of eyes on her. Her voice still trembling, she managed to tell it. “The DNA is in. It doesn’t match. It’s not Ryan we buried. He’s still alive.”

  Cassie reached over the island and gripped Beckett’s hand in her own. Tears shining in her eyes, she blinked them back and spoke, her voice strained with effort from not crying. “Okay. Now we know. Nothing’s changed.”

  Jax stood and walked into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around his mother. Cassie held strong for several moments then dissolved into sobs, her hands gripping her son’s shirt tightly and her face pressed into his chest.

  Beckett swiveled and met Murphy’s gaze, his hot with anger and hers filled with sadness. Standing, he reached out, pulling her into his arms and tucking her head beneath his.

  “I’m not a widow.” She glanced up at him. “I’m still married. I have to get a divorce. I don’t want the kids to know I cheated on their father.”

  Savi’s head snapped up, fire flashing in her eyes. “You’re doing no such thing! We are talking about a man who abandoned his children, faked his own death, and left you, his second wife, at the same time, might I add, to clean up the mess he made. You can’t get a divorce if you were never married, and you can’t cheat on a man you were never really with. Cassie, Alan, I’m sorry for all you’re going through, but your son deserves to rot in a cage for everything he’s done.”

  Caleb cleared his throat. “Let’s table this for when little ears aren’t right upstairs. Rhys knows too much as it is, and the girls aren’t old enough to understand any of this at all.” He gripped Beckett’s shoulders and pulled her from his brother, staring down at her. “I will say one thing to you, though. No one here begrudges you one moment of happiness. No one here doubts you loved Ryan.”

  He rubbed her shoulders gently, continuing to stare down at her. When tears spilled from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks, he gently wiped them from her face. Reaching down, he took both her hands in his and held them securely.

  “I saw you at his funeral; I saw the way you crumbled when they brought his coffin covered in a flag off the plane. We all watched you raise Rhys on your own, then Harlow, too. I’d have never thought it was Murphy who would make you happy, but even with all this going on, I like seeing you smile. No one here is going to think any less of you for anything that’s happened. We love you. You’re more our family than he ever was.”

  With a glance around the room at the faces she loved so much, Beckett wrapped her arms around Caleb and laid her head on his chest.

  “How do we find the son of a bitch?”

  ****

  Murphy woke in the middle of the night with Beckett wrapped in his arms, her head crammed onto his pillow with his own. Smiling at the feel of her sleepily pressed against him, he blinked to clear his eyes and squinted at the clock. Scowling at the numbers, he shifted to get more pillow real estate and closed his eyes to go back to sleep. An entire day dedicated to providing the sheriff with all the information they possessed had exhausted them both
and four forty-three a.m. was entirely too early to be awake.

  A noise downstairs ended any aspirations of additional sleep.

  Bolting upright, he threw back the covers and went to the window, moving the curtains and looking down. Seeing no cars on the street, he went to the lockbox in the nightstand drawer and keyed it open to remove the pistol inside. Holding it in one hand, he slowly crept into the hallway and peeked in on first Rhys, then Harlow, making sure both were asleep in their beds.

  Descending the steps, he turned left to check the kitchen and dining room, his eyes well-adjusted to the dim light. Catching a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, he pivoted, lifting the gun. Something heavy slammed into his head and Murphy crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

  ****

  The man looked up the stairs when Murphy hit the floor, listening hard for sounds indicating anyone else was awake. Sensing nothing, he stepped over Murphy and dropped onto the couch, continuing with his methodical search of both laptops and cell phones he’d found. Using the flash drives he’d brought in, he copied everything on the hard-drives and idly scrolled through the contacts on each phone, making note of who both Beckett and Murphy called.

  “Call each other a lot, don’t you?” Mumbling under his breath, the man glanced through text messages, scowling at the exchange between the two. Grocery lists and kid pick-up schedules.

  Finishing what he’d been doing, the man did a quick search of the rest of the first floor before daring to ascend the stairs and go into Beckett’s bedroom. He stood for thirty seconds watching her sleep, her red hair curling wildly on the pillows and her face smooth and youthful in sleep. She lay on her side with a pillow tucked between her knees and one arm tossed to the side, the blanket bunched around her waist, revealing a tank that had been tugged down to reveal her cleavage.

  Forcing himself to continue the search, the man rifled through drawers, checked the bathroom, and poked his head in to each child’s bedroom. He stared at the young boy and girl sleeping before he slipped back down the steps and out the door, turning the key in the lock to secure it behind himself.

  Humming, he pulled off his gloves, tucked his hands in his pockets, and strode down the street to the car he’d parked just out of sight. He didn’t see the curtains twitch in the house across the street, or Hattie Plunkett’s eyes widen as she watched the man disappear around the corner.

  Chapter 16

  Beckett was woken at six a.m. by the sound of insistent knocking on her front door. Reaching out, she smacked at Murphy, intending to send him down to answer it. Frowning when her hand met bare mattress, she peeled her eyes open and crawled out of bed, grabbing for her robe and yanking it on over her shorts and tank. Stumbling down the stairs while shoving her hair from her face, she stepped down off the stairs and tripped, landing flat on her stomach. Pushing herself up, she turned to look at what she’d tripped over, a terrified scream wrenched from her throat when she saw Murphy laying on the floor, blood dried to a jagged cut on his head and congealed blood beneath him on the floor.

  “Mom!” Rhys ran down the stairs with his baseball bat in his hand, and skid to a stop when he saw Murphy. “I’ll call 911!”

  “Wait!” Beckett’s voice was shrill. “Get upstairs with your sister. Take her into my room and lock the door. Call your uncles, too.” When Rhys didn’t move, she swiveled to face him. “Now, Rhys!”

  As her son ran to obey, Beckett carefully picked up the gun laying three feet from Murphy and held it against her thigh, moving carefully to the door. Pressing her eye to the peep hole, she felt a wave of relief and unlocked the door to Hattie Plunkett.

  “Hattie, now isn’t a good time. We’re dealing with some stuff right now.”

  Hattie’s eagle eyes moved past Beckett to Murphy still unconscious on the floor and the gun in Beckett’s hand. Paling, Hattie pressed her hands to her chest. “My God, girl. Shot him dead in your own living room?” Brushing past a shocked Beckett, Hattie put her hands on her considerable hips and surveyed the situation. “I’ll go wake Bart. We’ll need some bleach, a good shovel, tarp, and gloves. Make yourself a list and run on out to the store.”

  Her lips twitching despite the seriousness of the situation, Beckett laid her hand on Hattie’s arm. “I didn’t shoot him. Someone’s been in here and knocked him out. I’ve got the kids locked in my room upstairs. Would you mind going up with them while I check the basement and try to get Murphy up? He’s still breathing, and there’s not a lot of blood, so I think he’s okay. Rhys is calling the other two and the police.”

  Relieved, Hattie started up the stairs. “Best be calling Cassie and Alan, Beckett, my girl. I’ve come to deliver some very interesting information.”

  Hands on her much narrower hips, Beckett watched the elderly lady move up her stairs. After she heard the door slam and the lock click back into place, she took the gun and headed into the basement to check for intruders, despite being relatively sure whomever had hit Murphy was gone.

  “Why does everyone think I’m going to kill someone? First Savi, now Hattie. I must give off a homicidal vibe.” Muttering under her breath, she surveyed the basement and headed back up the stairs.

  Determining the house was free of burglars, Beckett returned to Murphy and lowered herself to the floor, shaking his shoulder gently. When he groaned slightly and his eyes moved behind their lids, she shook harder.

  “Murph. Murph.” Continuing to shake, she leaned down slightly. “You have to wake up. Hattie Plunkett thinks I shot you and is sending Bart for the shovel.”

  Murphy groaned and rolled to his side. “What the hell happened?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me. I feel like I woke up in the Twilight Zone. Six in the damn morning and Hattie is pounding on the door. I tripped over your unconscious body on my way to the door and woke the kids screaming. Hattie, Rhys and Harlow are locked up in my room calling all number of people, and I’m tip-toeing all over the damn house checking for burglars or zombies or whatever the hell else might be in here. I was kinda hoping you could shed some light on what may be going on.”

  Before Murphy could answer, the door burst open and Caleb and Jax ran in, still wearing pajamas. Caleb had shoved sandals onto his feet, but Jax was barefoot.

  “Rhys said Murphy was dead and someone was in the house.”

  Taking in the entire situation, Beckett looked between the three brothers, up the stairs toward her bedroom, and back out to the porch where Savi was racing in, Lyla’s hand clenched tightly in her own, both of them looking sleepy and mussed with coats on over nightshirts. When Hattie crept to the top of the stairs with one of Rhys’s toy guns in her hand, Beckett did the only logical thing. She burst into laughter.

  ****

  “I woke up about a quarter ’til five. I thought I’d just woken up on my own, but when I closed my eyes to go back to sleep, I heard a noise downstairs.” Murphy held the ice pack to his head and dutifully recited his story to the gathered crowd.

  Beckett sat next to him, her hands wrapped around one of his, Rhys on her lap and Harlow tucked against her other side. His brothers sat across from him with Savi wedged between them on the couch, Lyla in Caleb’s lap. Both his parents sat at the dining room table, looking as unkempt as everyone else. Sitting on the coffee table was Sheriff Rogers, and perched regally in the recliner, enjoying every word being said, was Hattie Plunkett.

  “I wasn’t sure if it was the kids, so I got up, got my gun out of the safe, and checked their rooms. Beckett was asleep, the kids were in their rooms, so I knew whoever was here wasn’t supposed to be. I came downstairs, turned into the dining room and got whacked with something hard. Felt like a two-by-four.”

  Sheriff Rogers made notes on his pad and chewed thoughtfully on the pen. “Did you see who hit you? Get any sense of this person at all?”

  “It was a man. I had a flash of movement. Dude was as tall as me and I’m six-three. Big. Not fat, just big. From the way he hit, I’d be willing to bet the big is
all muscle. He moved fast. It was dark, so I couldn’t even see a bit of face or anything we could use.”

  “I did.” Hattie’s hand shot into the air. “That’s why I came over. Oh, I’ve waited so long to tell this part!”

  Looking resigned, Rogers turned to Hattie. “Okay. Let’s hear it. What did you see?”

  Preening under the attention, Hattie fluffed her hair. “Well, I get up at four-thirty, you know. I read in one of my gardening books that azaleas like to be watered before dawn, so I always get up at four-thirty to tend to the flowers in my sun room. It faces onto the street, so I have a good view of Beckett’s door. That’s how I knew she was seeing Murphy before anyone else.” Beckett could tell Hattie was enjoying having all eyes on her as she told her story. “I’ve always said it’s good to have a neighbor keep an eye on things. I take that very seriously, Sheriff. I consider it my duty as a good citizen of this town to keep an eye on everything that goes on. In case of wrongdoing, you see.”

  The Sheriff smiled indulgently. “Okay, so you were in your sunroom, which faces the street, watering your flowers at four-thirty in the morning.”

  “More like four-forty. It takes me a few minutes to get downstairs and have my coffee before I mix the Miracle-Gro. I was done with the azaleas and checking on my tomatoes—they’ll bloom year-round if you keep them inside—so it had to be about four-fifty-five or fifty-six. That’s when I heard something outside and looked out the window.

  “I saw a man coming down the sidewalk. My window was open a touch to let in some air so I heard him close your door. At first I thought it was Murphy, and I was going to open the window more to find out what he was doing sneaking out in the middle of the night. I aimed to remind him he’s a full-grown man with a woman and kids depending on him and he ought not be sneaking out to rabble rouse with his brothers. That’s what I thought, you see.” Hattie glared at Murphy, then looked back at the sheriff, waiting for the next question.

  “So this was definitely a man?”