by Liz Wolfe
“We only have one child. She’s eighteen, so there won’t be any issues with custody. I’m sure Craig and I will be able to agree about everything.”
“I understand. A lot of couples set out with the best of intentions.” Mr. Stanford shrugged and lifted his hands palms up. “But occasionally, it doesn’t work out. Often, one party will begin to feel he or she is being taken advantage of and want to change the agreement. It’s my job to make sure your best interests are served in the agreement.”
“I understand. Craig and I are still amicable. I can’t imagine we’ll have any problem working everything out.” My voice sounded stiff and formal, which I supposed was normal since I felt stiff and formal. I hadn’t really considered how involved getting a divorce would be. It seemed overwhelming, and I just wanted it done and over with.
“Good. It’s always best when both parties can agree to terms. Now, how much spousal support do you want?”
“I don’t want any, but I realize I’ll need financial help until I can get a job and support myself. I haven’t worked during most of our marriage.”
“We’ll ask for half of the value of the house, half of any stocks, retirement benefits, that sort of thing. Also medical coverage for you and your daughter.” Mr. Stanford made notes on a legal pad as he talked. “Did you want to keep the house?”
“No. I’ve already moved out.”
“Oh, I see. I wish you’d contacted me earlier. You could have stayed in the house.”
I almost shuddered at the thought of staying in the house where Craig and I had played out our farce of a marriage.
“The next step will be for me to draw up a petition of our requests and present them to your husband’s attorney. Do you know who it is?”
“This has all been very sudden. I don’t know if he’s even contacted anyone.”
“No problem. I can find out.”
“How long will this take?”
“The actual dissolution will occur ninety days after we file the petition, unless your husband contests. If that happens, I’m afraid it could be drawn out for a while.”
“I see. I’m sure Craig won’t contest anything.”
“That would make the process smoother and quicker,” Mr. Stanford agreed. “I know this is a lot to take in, so why don’t you take a few days to consider your options, then we’ll meet again?”
“That would be fine.”
“I would advise you to consider your stand on spousal support very carefully. You were married for twenty years and you haven’t worked outside the home for most of that time. Finding a position that will afford you the same lifestyle you’re accustomed to could take some time.” Mr. Stanford stood and moved to show me to the door. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to live as you do now. Your husband owes you that.”
That thought made me sick. I didn’t want to depend on Craig for money. I wanted to make my own way. But doing what? At least I had a college degree, though it was rather ancient. Up until a couple of days ago I had cooked meals, cleaned the house, done the laundry, paid the bills, organized our lives, and took care of our daughter. How did that experience translate into a career?
Not well at all.
I was still pondering my lack of career options when I got back to Bobbi Jo’s house. She had left me a note that she would be out until six. It was only four thirty. I stood in the kitchen wondering what I should do. The problem was, I didn’t have anything to do. This wasn’t my house so there was nothing I could clean or organize. I didn’t even know if there was anything I could cook for dinner. I opened the refrigerator to find a salad already made and a pan of lasagna ready to go into the oven, courtesy of Bobbi Jo’s part-time housekeeper. I was debating what else I could do when my cell phone chirped.
I pulled it out and looked at the number. Craig. I walked back to the living room, sank down on a chair, and flipped open the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Skye. I just wanted to know how it went with Sheridan.”
“Well, you know Sheridan. She was fine. I don’t think she was happy about it, but she understood.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Just that we’ve decided we’re better as friends than as partners.”
“What did she say?”
“Exactly?” I’d never lied to Craig about anything that I could remember. Certainly not about Sheridan.
“Don’t you remember?”
How could I forget? “Not exactly. But she isn’t upset about it.”
“Not at all?”
“You know Sheridan. She’s very mature.”
There was a long pause. “I’m really sorry about this.”
I stifled a sigh. “Craig, it’s not like you chose this.”
“I thought we’d be together forever. I still remember when I first met you the summer before your senior year in high school. God, you were so damn spunky. I think I fell in love with how you always had something funny to say.”
“You did?”
“I was always amazed that you dated me. I was the nerdy, computer geek, and you were the popular girl.”
“Me? Popular? I always thought I was too much of a smart-ass to be popular.”
Craig laughed. “Yeah, there was that. Still, I was surprised you went out with me. I don’t think I really believed you’d married me until our first anniversary.”
“Why?”
“We were so different. We never really had much in common.”
“Oh, I don’t know. We both like sex with men.”
“Now, that’s something you would have said back then.” Craig laughed.
“Back then? Did I change that much?”
“I suppose we both did.” There was an incredible sadness in his voice and I didn’t want to talk to him like this any longer.
“I met with an attorney today.”
“I see.”
“You should probably get an attorney, too.”
“That won’t be necessary, Skye. I’ll agree to anything you want.” He sighed heavily. “God, I’m such a loser. You deserve better than this.”
“Craig, you know that isn’t true.” I wasn’t sure I really believed that. Not that I thought of him as a loser, but I was hoping I deserved better.
“It is true. I’m an ass. I can’t believe I did this to you.” There was a muffled noise. Was he crying? “I wish there was something I could say to make it right.”
I’d complained for years that Craig never wanted to talk to me when we had a problem. Now, he did. But this wasn’t something that could be fixed by talking. There was nothing he could say that would erase what had happened. Nothing would change his attraction to men. There wasn’t even anything I could do that would make this easier for him. My own emotions were bouncing all over the place. I hurt for Craig; I hurt for myself. I didn’t want to be married to him anymore, but I resented losing my husband and the life I’d built. The house phone brought me out of my thoughts.
“I need to get the other phone.”
“Sure. I understand. I’ll talk to you later.”
I ran into the great room and grabbed the phone. “Melrose residence.”
“Bobbi Jo?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Bobbi Jo isn’t home right now. This is Skye.”
“Oh, yes. I met you at Edward’s funeral,” she said. “This is Charlotte Melrose. Would you tell Bobbi Jo that I called? I just wanted to see how she’s holding up.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to say to her. Charlotte and Bobbi Jo had always been on friendly terms. That alone was incredible to me, especially since Edward and Bobbi Jo had gotten together shortly after Charlotte and Edward’s divorce. Fortunately, before I had to come up with some polite chatter, Bobbi Jo opened the front door, laden with shopping bags.
“Oh, hold on a sec, Charlotte. Bobbi Jo just came in.”
Bobbi Jo dropped her packages in the entryway and took the phone from me. While she was talking, I moved her packages into the great room. I poured mysel
f a tall glass of iced tea and squeezed in a wedge of lemon. By the time I returned to the great room, Bobbi Jo was saying good-bye to Charlotte.
“Charlotte’s so nice to call and check on me,” Bobbi Jo said.
“I guess it’s good to be friends with the ex, huh?”
“Oh, Charlotte never minded that Edward remarried. She said all they ever did was argue, so it was nice that Edward found someone he could get along with. Of course, Charlotte was out dating every man within a fifty-mile radius before the ink was dry on the divorce papers, so I guess she didn’t much care what Edward did.”
“Hasn’t she remarried now?”
“Not exactly. She’s been living with a guy for a couple of years. A younger guy. I think she’s about thirteen years older than him.”
“Nice,” I said.
“He’s got a design business of some kind. I know it was real touch and go for a while. Charlotte was telling me a couple months ago that his business might go under because it was undercapitalized.”
“I guess the five million she inherited from Edward must have come in handy, then.”
“Absolutely. She was just telling me that the business is back on its feet now.”
“That’s convenient,” I mumbled.
“Skye! What are you thinking?”
“Well, it’s just that his business needed money, and then when Edward died, he had all the money he needed from Charlotte.”
“I don’t even want to think about what you’re implying.”
“I know. It’s an awful thought, but I don’t like that the police still consider you a suspect, either.”
“Oh, that’s nothing.” Bobbi Jo waved her hand in dismissal. “They’ll find the murderer soon, and it won’t be me or Charlotte.” She kicked off her high-heeled sandals and sat on the sofa, reaching for the shopping bags. “Look at what I got today.” She started plowing through the bags, pulling out clothes, shoes, makeup, and lingerie.
“Did you leave anything for the other shoppers?”
“Very funny.” She wrinkled up her nose and stuck her tongue out at me. “I’m going out tonight. You should come, too.”
“Where?”
“To the Union Bay.”
“I’d rather die.” The Union Bay was a trendy bar and club frequented by the thirty-and forty something crowd. I’d been there a couple of times with Craig but it really wasn’t my kind of place. Aside from the occasional couple, most of the patrons were single and looking. I wasn’t single—yet. And I was definitely not looking.
“Why are you going there?”
“To pick up a guy.” Bobbi Jo pulled a short black skirt from one of the bags and held it up. “Do you think this is too short?”
“Not for sunbathing.”
“Skye, it’s what all the girls are wearing this season. And look at the cute top I got to go with it.” She pulled out a blouse with fluffy sheer sleeves and a low neckline.
“This is just wrong, Bobbi Jo.” The conversation with Craig had left me edgy, and I knew I was sounding a little bitchy.
“Is not.” Bobbi Jo folded the clothes and stuffed them back into the bags. “Look at this purse. Isn’t it great?” She dangled an embroidered silk bag before me.
“It’s great. But, really, Bobbi Jo. I think this whole idea of meaningless sex is just a way to avoid the reality of your life right now.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve given this a lot of thought.” She stood up and fussed with wrapping tissue paper around the purse. “I could never find another man like Edward. So, why even try? I’d just be hurt and disappointed. This way, I’m not. I know exactly what to expect.”
“Basically, you’re going after the one thing that you didn’t have with Edward.” I rose from the chair. There was no point in arguing with Bobbi Jo about this, but I hated to see her do something so irresponsible.
“You wouldn’t understand, Skye.” Her voice held an edge of anger, an undercurrent of sadness. “You haven’t lost your husband.”
All the anger, frustration, and grief bubbled to the surface. I most certainly had lost my husband. To another man. To another lifestyle.
“Haven’t I? I’ve lost my husband and learned that my entire marriage has been a lie.”
We stood a few feet apart, staring into each other’s stark, grief-stricken faces. I immediately regretted my words. Bobbi Jo and I had never fought or even sniped at each other in all the time that we’d been friends.
“Oh, gawd, Skye, I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me fiercely.
“No, I’m sorry.” What kind of lousy friend was I?
“I’m such a bitch.”
“No, you aren’t. Having a gay husband isn’t the same as having a dead husband.”
“Might as well be.” Bobbi Jo sniffled and wiped away her tears.
“I can’t argue with that.” We both started laughing.
“Gawd, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Must be PMSing. I’m either laughing like a maniac or crying over a stupid television commercial.”
“You don’t usually have PMS,” I reminded her.
“Well, maybe it’s menopause. Although I’m only thirty-eight and I think that’s a little young.”
“I think it’s part of the grief process. Edward has only been gone for a few weeks. And the circumstances haven’t made it any easier on you.”
“Well, if this is because I’m missing Edward, it really sucks.” Bobbi Jo wiped at her eyes again. “Because that means it’s going to go on for a very long time.”
I wrapped my arms around her. She definitely had the tougher situation. At least I could get mad at Craig for breaking up our marriage and changing our lives—even if it didn’t make it right. Bobbi Jo could only grieve for the love she had lost.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bobbi Jo had insisted on continuing with her plan and had gone to the Union Bay. I’d heard her come home after midnight and she was still in bed at ten. Whether with a hangover or regret, I didn’t know. Hopefully not with someone she’d brought home. I was more than a little worried about how Scott Madison might view her activity. Would he think she was being the merry widow? Glad to be rid of her elderly, sick husband and eager to hit the town? God, I hoped not. Maybe I should talk to him about it. Explain the situation. Not that there was a way to explain Bobbi Jo.
I dropped a bagel into the toaster and opened the yellow pages to the employment agency section. There were a lot to choose from. I made a list from the largest ads and started making phone calls. In less than an hour, I had three appointments for that afternoon. I luxuriated in the glow of achievement until I realized I didn’t have a résumé. I wasn’t even sure what I could put on a résumé.
The doorbell saved me from having to consider that problem for the moment. I opened the door and my stomach did a nervous flip.
“Hi, Scott. If you’re here to see Bobbi Jo, she’s still in bed.”
“No, I need to see Brian. Is he around?”
“He’s staying in the guesthouse. Come in and I’ll call him on the intercom.” Scott waited in the living room while I went to the kitchen and buzzed the intercom connecting the two houses.
“Brian, it’s Skye. Detective Madison is here. He wants to talk to you.”
“About what?”
What was I, his secretary? “I don’t know. Can you come over?”
“Yeah. Give me a minute to get dressed. I was still asleep.”
I returned to the living room. Scott was still standing where I’d left him. “Brian has to get dressed. Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, thanks. How have you been?”
“Fine, and you?” I sat on the sofa. “Do you have any more leads on who killed Edward?”
“Nothing new really.”
“Then what are you doing? Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound like you aren’t doing your job. I just wondered what was happening with the investigation.”
“It’s all right.” He smiled and I felt a little m
ore at ease. “This is the nonglamorous part of the job. Paperwork and legwork.”
“I don’t understand. Shortly after Edward was admitted to the hospital, it was no secret that he was going to die in a few months. Why wouldn’t they have just waited for nature to take its course?”
“Actually, that element pretty much narrows our list of suspects.”
“How?”
“Since everyone knew Edward was dying anyway, the killer had to be someone who didn’t want to wait the few months it would take for the cancer to kill him. Someone who had a reason for wanting him dead immediately.”
“Well, that leaves Bobbi Jo out. She had no reason for wanting Edward to die sooner rather than later.”
“Do you know anything about the cancer that Edward had?”
“Not really,” I admitted.
“I spoke to Dr. Marcus and he told me that Edward would have suffered a lot in the coming months. The cancer becomes incredibly painful in the final stages. He also told me that Mrs. Melrose was aware of that.”
“Bobbi Jo wouldn’t have killed Edward, even to save him from suffering.” He was back to accusing her again—and just when I was starting to like him.
“I’m just explaining why she’s still on the suspect list.”
Brian’s entrance kept me from saying some things I would probably have regretted later. How could Scott stand there and even suggest that Bobbi Jo would have killed Edward for any reason?
“Detective Madison.” Brian nodded and gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat.”
Scott nodded and sat in the chair, pulling out his small notebook and a pen. He flipped through a few pages, then glanced up at me. I guessed I was supposed to give them some privacy.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t listen to their conversation. Bobbi Jo had a right to know what was happening in the investigation and as her best friend, I had an obligation to eavesdrop. Fortunately both men had strong voices so I could hear them just fine as long as I kept quiet.
“I understand you had an argument with your father the day before he was killed.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.”