The Unworthy Wife

by Rachel Woods

  “How are the boys?” Caleb asked.

  “They’re fine. Noelle's mom is keeping them,” said Beanie. “They love their grandma. I told Ethan that mommy had to take a trip, but she’ll be back soon. I’m just thankful the boys are not old enough to understand the truth because I don’t think I could tell them …”

  How could he tell the boys that mommy was in jail when he could hardly believe it himself?

  “Well, even if they were old enough to understand, they wouldn’t find out from the Palmchat Gazette,” said Sophie, with her patented sassy defiance. “Caleb talked to Leo, and he agreed that the newspaper is not going to mention the name of the alleged suspect in Eamon Taylor’s murder.”

  “We told that Leo Bronson we would strike if he insisted on naming Noelle as the suspect in custody,” said Caleb, full of the righteous indignation he was known for. “He tried to give us the public has the right to know bullshit, but we shut him down quick.”

  “He didn’t want another potential mutiny,” said Stevie.

  Beanie chuckled a bit, remembering the day when Leo Bronson had bled red ink over all their articles, and the staff had threatened to quit. How many days ago had that been? Beanie wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter anymore.

  “Have you hired a lawyer?” Sophie asked.

  Beanie shook his head. “I’ve spent the last two days trying to gather as much money as possible for Noelle’s bail, which I’m figuring will be astronomical, considering the charges.”

  “You should call Attorney Octavia Constant,” said Sophie. “She’s excellent, trust me.”

  Caleb nodded. “She’s known for getting people released on their own recognizance.”

  “Even murderers,” Stevie chimed in.

  “Stevie …” Sophie chided, scowling at the paper’s resident slacker.

  “Sorry.” Stevie apologized, immediately contrite. “I didn’t mean to suggest that Noelle is a murderer because she obviously isn’t, I was just—”

  “It’s okay, man,” said Beanie. “I knew what you meant.”

  Caleb said, “I was assigned the story, and I talked to Officer Fields, but all he would tell me is that the evidence against Noelle is solid, which I find hard to believe. Noelle would never hurt anyone.”

  “Off the record?” Beanie asked though he knew Caleb would never publish their private conversation.

  “Absolutely,” said Caleb.

  “Nobody is thinking about selling papers right now,” said Sophie. “We all know Noelle is innocent. We just want to help you clear her name if we can.”

  “But, we have to know what we’re up against so we can figure out where to start,” said Stevie.

  Touched by his friends’ willingness to lay aside ambition to help him, Beanie said, “The evidence is worse than solid. It’s positively incriminating. If Noelle weren’t my wife, I would absolutely believe that she’d killed Eamon Taylor.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Chopped into pieces, the bloody corpse had been placed on a sheet of plastic in the trunk.

  The arms and legs had been sawed from the torso. The head, a crushed mess of bloody pulp and bone, had been severed from the neck.

  Interesting that you find it disturbing … considering that this is your gruesome handiwork, Dr. Bean.

  That’s not true!

  Isn’t it, though? Let’s not waste time with pretense, Dr. Bean. You and I both know that you killed Eamon Taylor. You bashed his head in with a shovel, and then you cut his body up and—

  Noelle opened her eyes and sat up on the cot bolted to the wall in the holding cell, her home for the past two days. Dressed in drab prison garb, she rubbed her arms as she stared around the cell. No bigger than a closet, there was barely enough space for the cot, the toilet, and the sink. Glancing right, she gazed at the bars denying her freedom.

  Was this real? Was this her life? Was she really in jail? Had she been accused of committing a gruesome, heinous crime? How had this happened to her?

  Flashing back to the day of her arrest, Noelle wondered if what had happened to her had been a nightmare or some form of insanity. When Detective Janvier had requested to question her alone, she never in a million lifetimes could have imagined why he’d wanted to interrogate her privately.

  Noelle had been wary of speaking with the detective without Beanie, but when Janvier mentioned Eamon, she’d panicked. Thinking that somehow the stolen car was connected to Eamon’s harassment claims, Noelle agreed to Janvier’s request because she didn’t want Beanie to learn the truth from anyone except her.

  In the frigid interrogation room, Noelle quickly realized she hadn’t been summoned to the police station because of her stolen car.

  “Dr. Bean, I asked you about Eamon Taylor because I wanted to confirm your knowledge of and connection to him,” Detective Janvier had begun. Sitting across from her, a blue file between them on the cold steel table, he was probing and yet hesitant. She couldn’t tell if his Inspector Clouseau routine was real or not. Was he really jumpy and befuddled? Or did he want her to think he wasn’t as smart or sharp as he really was, for some reason?

  “I know Eamon Taylor,” she’d admitted. “He works with me at the Palmchat Pharmacy. He’s the assistant pharmacist.”

  Nodding, Janvier asked, “And can you please describe your working relationship?”

  “What do you mean describe it?”

  “Do the two of you work well together?” asked Janvier. “Do you get along? Do you like each other?”

  Wary of the direction of the conversation, Noelle said, “We have a professional relationship.”

  “So there is no conflict or hostility between the two of you?”

  At that moment, Noelle had been convinced Eamon had filed a criminal complaint against her.

  She had been wrong.

  “Detective, what are these questions about?” Noelle had asked. “I don’t understand—”

  “Neither do I,” interrupted Janvier. “So I am hoping you can explain some things to me. Specifically, I would like to know why you bludgeoned Eamon Taylor to death with a shovel and then hacked his body into several pieces which you then put in the trunk of a car which you claimed was stolen.”

  There had been no way for Noelle to explain because she’d momentarily lost the ability to speak. All cognitive function had ceased.

  Noelle hardly remembered the rest of the interrogation.

  It was all a blur of Janvier’s accusations and her denials until he’d opened the blue folder and pulled out the photos of Eamon’s desecrated corpse. Close-up shots of bloody body parts and then a photo of a shovel, the blade crusted with desiccated human remains.

  Noelle had almost vomited.

  She’d recognized the shovel. Staring at the bent shovel head, Noelle had remembered the day she’d haggled with the owner of the small hardware store. The shovel used to kill Eamon belonged to her and had her fingerprints all over it.

  “You are familiar with that shovel?” asked Janvier.

  “It was stolen …” Noelle whispered, dizzy with confusion and disbelief. “Someone stole it.”

  “Someone stole the shovel?”

  Looking up from the horrific photos, Noelle said, “That shovel was stolen from my shed.”

  “So it is your shovel,” said Janvier, a smug smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

  “The person who stole the shovel must have killed Eamon because—”

  “When did the alleged theft of the shovel occur?”

  Noelle struggled to think. “A week ago, maybe. I discovered—”

  “And did you report this theft?”

  Shaking her head, Noelle said, “I didn’t because I only paid half price for it and I just thought—”

  “I don’t need to hear anymore, Dr. Bean,” Janvier had announced. “I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Eamon Taylor.”

  Noelle shuddered, remembering the detective’s cruel, confusing words.

  She couldn’t believe she�
��d been arrested for killing Eamon. She couldn’t believe Eamon was dead. It sickened and saddened her to think of him meeting such a violent, vicious end.

  Noelle lay on the cot, curled into a ball, and faced the wall.

  Only one more day to her bail hearing. She would make it because she had to. She couldn’t fall apart or unravel at the seams. She had to get the charges against her dropped. She had to prove she was innocent. As soon as she was out of jail, she would hire a lawyer and explain her side of this tragedy.

  Despite the confrontation she’d had with Eamon and the deterioration of their working relationship, she hadn’t killed him. Maybe part of her had hated him for levying false accusations of harassment against her, but she’d wanted to resolve things quickly and quietly. She wanted Eamon Taylor out of her life, but she hadn’t wanted him dead.

  Weary and exhausted, Noelle doubted she would be able to sleep. Each time she closed her eyes, gruesome images flooded her mind. The photos Detective Janvier had forced her to stare at were burned into her brain. Nothing could blot them out. Not thoughts of Beanie or memories of the boys. Whenever she reflected on her family, the grisly photos of Eamon’s hacked remains invaded her mind.

  “Hey, Nobody …” A whispered voice floated into the cell, paralyzing Noelle for a moment.

  Noelle sat up and jumped off her cot.

  Heart thundering, she stared at the officer standing outside the bars of her cell. He was tall and gangly with a toffee-colored complexion and a furtive gaze. Despite his uniform, he had a distinct Handweg swagger she recognized and figured his decision to protect and serve hadn’t been completely altruistic.

  What terrorized her, even more, was his use of her former street name—Nobody.

  “My name is Dr. Noelle Bean,” she said. “I don’t—”

  “Shut the fuck up and listen.” He beckoned for her to come closer.

  Defiant, Noelle shook her head, determined not to be intimidated.

  “Don’t make me come inside that cell, bitch,” he threatened. “I said come closer.”

  Worried, Noelle nevertheless took her time as she approached him. “What do you—“

  His hand snaked through the bars, clamped around her throat and yanked her against the cold steel rods.

  “Don’t scream and don’t move,” he said, voice low and gruff. “I’ll break your fucking neck and then make it look like you hung yourself in your cell. You understand me?”

  Trembling and crying, and with her face smashed against the bars of her cell, Noelle managed to nod.

  “So a mutual friend of ours is offering you a deal,” he said. “If you take the deal, this friend of ours will make all your problems go away. These bullshit charges against you will be dropped. So, Dr. Bean, what should I tell our friend?”

  The officer released her. Noelle stumbled, grabbing the bars with one hand to steady herself and using the other to swipe her tears away. She knew exactly who the “mutual friend” was and she understood the deal he was offering her.

  Grady Palmer was offering to get the murder charges against her dropped, and all she had to do was help the bastard start an illegal pill farm.

  “I ain’t got all fucking day, bitch,” the officer said. “What do I tell our friend? You taking the deal?”

  Glaring at the officer, a PC-5 plant, she realized, Noelle smiled and said, “You tell Grady Palmer to kiss my ass.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “So, I know you’re anxious to get home and hug your little boys,” said Octavia Constant as she took a seat on the tufted couch in the living area of a plush suite at the Queen Palm hotel. “But I need to discuss a few things with you about the case.”

  Noelle was relieved the successful defense attorney had agreed to represent her. Yesterday, Beanie had contacted Octavia to retain her services. A referral from Beanie’s co-worker Sophie Carter helped to persuade Octavia to take her case.

  This morning, Octavia had arrived in St. Killian on the first flight from St. Mateo where she was based. Beanie picked her up from the airport and drove her to the courthouse for Noelle’s nine a.m. bail hearing. Noelle had liked Octavia the moment she’d met her. Petite and no-nonsense, Octavia was smart, accomplished and determined, qualities Noelle had cultivated in her own life and tried her best to project.

  Sitting next to Beanie, Noelle nodded. “Of course. And I want to thank you again for getting me released on my own recognizance.”

  “Actually, that was all you,” said Octavia, smiling. “Your ties to the community and your lack of criminal history convinced the judge that you weren’t a flight risk despite the seriousness of your charges.”

  “Speaking of the charges,” said Beanie. “How are we going to get them dropped?”

  “Do I really have a chance to beat these charges?” Noelle asked, trying to prepare herself for a worst-case scenario. “The evidence is pretty damaging.”

  “The evidence against you is damning, actually,” Octavia admitted. “Between the shovel with your fingerprints all over it and the dead body in the trunk of your car, it does look worse than bad.”

  Noelle nodded slowly, and as Beanie squeezed her hand, she tried to draw comfort from his gesture, but all she could think was that her life would be over if she were convicted of a crime she hadn’t committed. Being separated from Beanie and the boys would kill her.

  “However, looks can be, and often are, deceiving,” Octavia said. “My job is to expose the deception. I’m also very good at discovering what I call the better suspect. That is, someone who had a much better motive than you did to murder the victim.”

  “But, I don’t have a motive,” Noelle insisted. “I didn’t want Eamon dead.”

  “Your working relationship wasn’t so great, though,” said Octavia, giving Noelle a shrewd look.

  “Noelle didn’t have any beef with Eamon Taylor,” Beanie said, disputing Octavia’s claim.

  “You and Eamon Taylor had a big argument at the pharmacy a few days before he was killed,” Octavia said.

  Beanie turned to her. “Is that true?”

  Noelle cleared her throat, panicked. Just how much did her lawyer know about the conflict with Eamon, she wondered. “Well …”

  “Apparently, the police talked to some of your co-workers at the pharmacy,” said Octavia. “These co-workers told the cops that you and Eamon had a huge argument. They weren’t sure what the argument was about, but they remembered that you threatened Eamon. You said something about burying him in a grave.”

  Beanie stared at her. “Noelle, is that true?”

  Exhaling, Noelle stood, walked to a desk in the corner and then faced her husband and her attorney, both of whom were waiting for her to explain herself.

  “It was just a misunderstanding,” said Noelle, knowing she should be completely honest, especially with her attorney, and not omit important facts that could potentially help Octavia represent her. “I got frustrated with him, and I said some things that were very unprofessional and which I regret, but … I didn’t want to kill him.”

  “Of course, you didn’t, babe,” said Beanie. “You could never hurt anybody.”

  “But, the argument between you and Eamon could be problematic,” said Octavia. “I’m also concerned because you don’t have an alibi for the murder. The police have an estimated time of death for Eamon Taylor, and it’s one of the days when you were off from work.”

  “I spent those days with my boys,” Noelle said, returning to her seat next to Beanie.

  “A three-year-old and a ten-month-old can’t testify on their mother’s behalf,” said Octavia. “But, we’ll deal with that. What I plan to start focusing on is getting the evidence against you ruled as inadmissible considering that the body and the shovel were found in a stolen car.”

  “My stolen car,” said Noelle.

  “Which the police don’t think was actually stolen,” said Octavia.

  “Are you serious?” Beanie demanded. “The cops think Noelle lied about being carj
acked?”

  Nodding, Octavia said, “The police believe Noelle fabricated the story so that if the car was found, she would be able to claim she had nothing to do with the body in the trunk because the car had been stolen. Similarly, they don’t believe your story about the stolen shovel, either.”

  “Oh God …” Noelle breathed, dragging her hands down her face, determined not to cry.

  “Babe, it’s going to be okay.” Beanie put an arm around her, pulled her close to him, and kissed her forehead.

  “Beanie’s right,” Octavia said. “What concerns me is what the police don’t believe: that both your car and your shovel were stolen and then these items end up as the most damaging evidence in a murder investigation.”

  “Someone is trying to set me up,” Noelle said. “They want it to look like I killed Eamon, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t have killed him. I couldn’t have.”

  Nodding, Octavia said, “I have to say I agree. It does appear that someone is trying to make you look guilty. But, it’s a very serious claim and one that, historically, jurors don’t really believe. Not unless there’s a confession from the real killer.”

  “Who would want to make Noelle look guilty?” Beanie asked.

  “That’s a lot of trouble for someone to go through,” Octavia said. “Whoever it is would really have to hate you, Noelle.”

  “Helen Farber hates me,” Noelle said, staring at her trembling hands.

  “Who is Helen Farber?” Octavia asked.

  “She used to work at the pharmacy with Noelle,” Beanie answered. “Babe, you really think Helen would kill a guy and set you up for the murder?”

  “Look, all I know is Helen Farber hates me, okay,” Noelle said, fatigue and frustration wearing her down.

  “Why does this Helen Farber hate you?” asked Octavia.

  “She was fired from the pharmacy for stealing pain meds,” said Noelle. “I found out about it, and I notified the company. She was coming to work high, and she was making mistakes. I only told upper management because I was trying to protect our customers, but Helen thought I back-stabbed her by ratting on her because I wanted her job.”