Broken Vows Mystery 01-For Better, for Murder

by Lisa Bork

  “Yes. Good.”

  I wished everyone would stop saying “good” like I was a dog performing on command.

  “Can I go home soon?”

  The doctor breathed heavily out his nose, making the gray hairs in his nostrils dance. “Well, you’ve passed the twenty-four-hour mark for a concussion, but I’d still like someone to keep an eye on you for another day or so. The worst of the pain is over now that we have your shoulder back in place and you’re all stitched and bandaged up. You might need some Tylenol 3 to take the edge off. If you’d be more comfortable at home and you have someone to watch over you, maybe we can release you later today.”

  I nodded and kept my eyes studiously off Ray’s face. Who would that be?

  The doctor promised to check on me again in a couple hours and left whistling “Oh Susannah.” Ray pulled up a gray molded plastic chair next to the bed and rested his forearms on the mattress.

  “What do you remember?”

  I closed my eyes. “I remember—”

  I sat bolt upright in the bed. Or at least I tried to. The pain in my rib cage made me change my mind a quarter of the way up. “Where’s Cory?”

  “He’s at home, although he was here last night for observation. He got knocked unconscious by Fitzgerald Simpson when he failed to give him the right answers.”

  I flopped back onto my pillow. “The Beak.”

  “Right. The one who abducted you in Cory’s BMW, I assumed.”

  Abducted? Hmmm, let Ray think that. I didn’t want to admit I clambered inside the car without looking at its driver, idiot that I was. “Yes.”

  “And then what happened?”

  I gave Ray the recap, surprised how much detail I could recall. Right up until the moment I opened the car door to exit the moving vehicle. “I don’t know what happened after that.”

  “Simpson dragged you next to the car for a quarter mile. The man in the car behind you said your head hit the passenger door when Simpson braked and the door flew open. The man called an ambulance for you. Simpson took off in Cory’s car, which the State Police later recovered at a gas station, with your purse. You’re lucky you weren’t more seriously injured. When I got to the scene, you were lying in the gutter like roadkill. The State Police recovered a sheath for a knife, the same brand as the one found in Tim Lapham’s chest. It was lying on the floor of the car along with the contents of your purse. They figure Simpson left it behind by accident.”

  A wave of nausea washed through me. “A knife sheath?”

  “Yep. The State Police are running the fingerprints on it now. It looks like Simpson may have been involved in Tim’s death.”

  I didn’t bother to ask Ray if he meant the sheath or the baggie I had stuck it in. I knew the state police would be clever enough to check both for fingerprints. How long would it take them to realize the fingerprints on the baggie were mine? I was about to become a prime suspect in Tim’s death.

  I crossed my fingers, hoping Erica’s prints were not on the sheath and changed the subject. Ray would come back to it in time, I had no doubt.

  “What did the Beak ask Cory?”

  “He asked him where the envelopes are. The ones from inside the Ferrari hubcaps.”

  “What envelopes?”

  Ray pressed his palms together and pointed the tips of his fingers at me. “That was Cory’s answer too. Simpson didn’t care for that answer.”

  “I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.”

  Ray leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Neither did Cory. I did a little checking with the Phoenix Police Department. Seems the guy you bought the Ferrari off has ties to high stakes gambling. Rumor has it some records of unpaid debts have gone missing from his care. Maybe records he kept in his vehicle that weren’t removed by his chauffeur prior to the sale. Maybe he sent Simpson to find them. I’d only be guessing.”

  I had watched Ray’s lips move as he spoke all these incredible words, but I still didn’t think I’d heard him correctly. “How’d you find all that out?”

  “Phoenix has an undercover officer close to busting the guy. Seems the chauffeur is a talkative fellow.”

  “So what do we do now? We don’t have his records.”

  “We’re keeping an eye on Cory, and we’ll keep an eye on you, too. Maybe Simpson is on his way back home. We haven’t been able to find him here.” Ray unfolded his arms and flexed his fingers. “Believe me, I looked.”

  Reassuring to know, but not reassuring enough. The Beak might pop up again, and I was in no condition to put up a fight this time. “What about Erica? Did you find her?”

  “Not a trace, but we haven’t had any more robberies, either. They may have taken the money and run.”

  I remembered the smell of lavender in my tub and doubted it. I could make a few phone calls, but I really needed to drive around to visit some of her old haunts. My right arm and leg still worked, so it might be possible in a day or two, if I could go home.

  I looked over Ray’s navy sweater and jeans and noticed his green parka in the corner. “Aren’t you working today?”

  “I am working. I just interviewed a victim. You.”

  Then where was his uniform? I decided to change the topic. I didn’t want to chase him off. His presence meant security and reassurance. I didn’t want him anywhere else but with me, today, tomorrow, and forever, even though I wasn’t ready to admit it to him. “Becky Lapham said something at the funeral about money missing from the town treasury. Did you hear about that?”

  “I did, a two hundred thousand dollar discrepancy in income. They hired an independent auditor a few months ago to look over the books.” Ray leaned over me. “You don’t suppose Tim was storing any of it in coffee cans around town, do you?”

  I hoped not, but someone had entered my home sometime and placed the money there. My bet was still on Erica’s band of merry men, however. “Tim always picked me up and dropped me off at the door, thank you.”

  “I don’t suppose you were using the cash in your coffee can to bribe him to swing the zoning board in your favor, were you?”

  My hearing must have been damaged by the impact with the car door. “Surely you jest.”

  Ray settled back in his chair. “Just looking at all the possibilities.”

  “It’s innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

  “Only in a court of law, darlin’.”

  I didn’t have the strength to argue. I couldn’t prove his accusations false—about Erica, Tim, or me. In fact, I had more questions than he did. I knew the knife sheath had been in my garage first. “I’m going to take a nap, okay?”

  “Sure.” Ray slid his chair away from the bed, making a noise worse than fingernails on a blackboard. “I’ll join you.” He kicked his feet up onto the end of the bed, folded his arms and closed his eyes. Seconds later, he was snoring.

  Now that was an annoying habit of his I remembered well. He could stay awake forever and fall asleep in a moment. And he frequently snored, which meant I tried to fall asleep before him every night. Otherwise, I would lie awake for hours listening to him, trying to nudge him awake, all the while feeling guilty for depriving him of his much-needed sleep. This time the events of the prior days precluded his ability to rob me of my rest. Within minutes, I slept, too.

  Two hours later my eyes opened with the unnerving realization that three days had passed since I checked on the auction for Brennan Rowe. What if I missed bidding on the car?

  Ray was gone, but his parka remained. He must be off in search of coffee or food. I grabbed the phone next to the bed and listened for a dial tone. Nothing. I tried to sit up. My rib and thigh resisted. I used the bed control to raise myself to a sitting position and flung the sheets off. Then I inched my legs toward the edge. A nasty pinching in my nether regions let me know I was hooked to a catheter. I inched my legs back and rolled on my side, attempting to locate the call button.

  “Darlin’, that’s quite a view.”

  I fl
opped onto my back and glared at Ray, who now stood in the doorway holding an extra large steaming cup of coffee in his hand. I held out my hand. “Can I borrow your cell phone?”

  “You’re not allowed to use a cell phone in the hospital. They mess with the machinery. You don’t want to send the old guy on the heart monitor next door to the hereafter earlier than scheduled, do you?” Ray settled into his chair.

  “I need to call Cory. I have a car I’m supposed to bid on.”

  “The roadster?”

  My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “How’d you know?”

  “Cory told me. He was worried you weren’t going to be well enough to handle the bidding. He checked online. The auction is Monday.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  Ray took a sip of his coffee. “You may not see it that way later.”

  I pointed to the sheet and blanket at the end of my bed. Ray stood to draw them up over me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re bidding for Brennan Rowe. I heard Hughes wants the car, too. He’s planning to outbid you.”

  I could kiss my fee goodbye. To my knowledge, Rowe hadn’t achieved Hughes’ multi-millionaire status yet. “Why does he want that car? I could get him any other car.”

  Ray shook his head. “It’s not the car. It’s Brennan Rowe. Hughes hates him. Seems Rowe applied pressure to the zoning board and they refused to allow Hughes to build his grocery store here in town. Rowe wants the site for an office building. Hughes wants revenge.”

  So Mr. Hughes was the vengeful sort, but was he also vengeful and determined enough to kill Tim Lapham? As a participant in the shocking discovery of the body, he might then be overlooked as a suspect. That way he could get the property for the grocery store and my property for his daughter’s flower shop. And to think I used to like this man. Not anymore. Had this killer already returned to the scene of the crime?

  I opened my mouth to share this notion with Ray, but the doctor walked in before I had the chance.

  “I’m going to remove your catheter now. The nurse will be in to check your dressings and help you to the bathroom. If all goes well and you have a bowel movement after lunch, we’ll be able to release you this afternoon.”

  How kindergarten. I tried to sit up but he pushed me back. “You’re going to have to relax for me. Excuse us for a minute.” He swirled the curtain around the bed, shutting out Ray.

  He pulled the sheet down and I averted my eyes, trying to focus on anything but his task. “I need to make a phone call to find someone to stay with me.”

  Ray’s voice drifted over the curtain. “Who ya gonna call?”

  “Isa BELLE.”

  The doctor held up the tip of the catheter. “Good.”

  I winced.

  “Actually, Mrs. Parker, your husband already completed all the paperwork so he can take you home this afternoon and keep an eye on you. Does that sound like a plan?” The doctor whisked the curtain open as he smiled at me.

  A plan? It sounded more like Custer’s last stand.

  The hospital gave me a pair of scrubs which a nurse helped me slide into. They also gave me a pair of scrub slippers, which only touched the ground for the six steps I shuffled from the wheelchair to Ray’s open car door. Ray put his green parka around my shoulders and toughed the cold with only his navy crew neck sweater, the sweater I gave him for Christmas five years ago. It had worn better than our marriage.

  I had decided not to take a stand against having Ray drive me home. Then I saw the familiar pansies painted on the mailbox and the 1920s yellow-sided colonial standing neatly in a row with the rest of its neighbors like soldiers lined up for inspection.

  “Where are you taking me?” As soon as the words left my mouth, a vision of the Beak entered my head. Déjà vu.

  “Home.” Ray made the final turn into his driveway—my driveway—our driveway?

  “I want to go to my apartment.”

  Ray stopped the car next to the back door and shut off the ignition. “You can’t. It’s being fingerprinted.”

  I gasped. “What for?”

  Ray turned toward me and rested his arm on the steering wheel. “I went there to look for Simpson. The place was trashed. Obviously someone had been looking for something. I don’t suppose you have any idea what that might be?”

  It had to be the money. Good thing I’d put it under the Christmas tree. “Not really.”

  Ray frowned. “It was such a mess I couldn’t even find a clean outfit for you to wear home from the hospital. Isabelle and Jack offered to clean it up for you tomorrow when the technicians are done. She came by to see you yesterday, but you were still pretty out of it. She’ll call you later.”

  Ray settled me on the sofa in the living room. The two steps up from the driveway to the back door to the kitchen had been killers. I laid my head back on the sofa pillow and noticed cobwebs on the wrought-iron light sconces. Nice to know he still needed my cleaning talents, if not me.

  I glanced around the room. He’d changed nothing since I moved out. We’d painted the walls in this room pale yellow, bought a huge navy throw rug to cover part of the wooden floor, purchased this red sofa and two coordinating navy, red, and yellow plaid chairs, refinished some worn oak coffee and lamp tables we found in an antique shop, and dotted the room with wrought-iron accent pieces. I was somewhat alarmed to feel so at home here.

  “Can I get you anything? Pepsi? Cheetos? Chubby Hubby ice cream?”

  My favorites. Nice to know he remembered.

  “Not yet, thanks. I’m going to close my eyes for a second.”

  Ray checked his watch. “You can close them for up to an hour. Then I’m going to wake you just to make sure I can.”

  Turned out he didn’t have to. The phone rang instead, right on the end table next to my head, shattering my sleep cloud and drumming me into consciousness. As my eyelids peeled open, I saw Ray pick up the receiver. He said “hello” twice then he hung up. He shrugged at me. “Must be a wrong number.”

  The phone number here was unlisted so we never got prank or threatening calls—issues for a law enforcement officer.

  I shifted to the right on the couch. Ray sat on the edge next to me and laid his hand on my forehead, then my cheek. “Feeling all right?”

  His hand felt warm and set off sparks in other areas of my body. “Yes.” I pulled away. “Fever’s not a concern, is it?”

  “Infection is. Your thigh was ripped up pretty good and you have stitches in your head.” He rose to his feet. The sudden release of his weight off the couch pushed the leather against my thigh, causing a twinge of pain. “Just be a good patient, will you? I’m going to make us clam chowder and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.”

  I had to use the bathroom. I found the least painful way to get off the couch was to roll on my side, fall on my knees to the plush rug below, and stand with my right leg first. Thank God Ray didn’t see me. I hated being so pathetic.

  A quick perusal of the bathroom cabinets didn’t turn up any evidence of Catherine Thomas’ presence in this house. No extra toothbrush, deodorant, or even condoms to be seen. Maybe I’d have the strength to tackle the issue of marriage—our old one and his planned new one—with Ray tomorrow. When I finished in the bath, the phone rang again.

  Ray called to me from the kitchen. “Will you get it? It might be Isabelle.”

  I answered.

  “Are you all right? I’ve been worried sick since I saw you on the news.”

  It wasn’t Isabelle. I moved as far across the room from the kitchen as the phone cord would reach. Why didn’t we ever spring for a cordless?

  “Where are you?” I fought to keep my voice at a whisper.

  “I’m two blocks over. Get rid of Ray. We need to talk.”

  Trust my sister to ask for the impossible. “Did you rob the 7-Eleven? Did you leave fifteen thousand dollars at my house? Did you then trash my house when you couldn’t find it again?”

  I heard Erica cup her hand over
the phone and yell to someone “She’s on drugs. We’ll have to come back.”

  I resisted the impulse to yell, choosing a low snarl instead. “Erica, I’m completely with the program. You have a lot of things to explain.”

  “Then get rid of Ray. I’ll be right there.”

  “Alone?” I couldn’t deal with another sociopath today. A bipolar disorder would be more than enough, thank you.

  “Sure, whatever. Just lose Ray.”

  Ray chose that moment to appear, carrying a tray with our dinner on it and placing it on the used cherry dining table we’d bought from my aunt’s estate. I dropped the receiver back in the cradle.

  “Was that Isabelle?”

  “No” —I crossed my fingers, hating to lie— “a survey. Wanted to know what radio station we listen to.”

  “What did you tell them? The classic rock station?” Ray started to unload the tray on the dining room table.

  “I told them”—I crossed my fingers again like it really erased my sin—“I don’t participate in surveys.” I watched as he set the hot bowl of soup directly on the polished cherry surface of the table. That was going to cause a ring. I let it slide and carefully lowered my sore backside onto the Chippendale side chair. At least it was cushioned.

  After my last few bites of grilled cheese, I let the bomb drop. “Ray, when I was in the bathroom, I realized I got my period. Can you go buy me some Kotex after dinner?”

  His spoon stopped halfway to his mouth and his gaze met mine. “Can’t you just use Kleenex or a paper towel, or something?”

  “Only temporarily. I’m not even wearing underwear, you know. You’re going to have to buy me some of the panties that hang in the aisle with the boxed hosiery, okay?”

  He put his spoon down, clearly not hungry anymore. “Okay.”

  When I finished my dinner, I wrote down what brand and absorbency I wanted, plus my panty size. “And get the pads with wings, okay?”

  He squinted at me as though he didn’t think he’d heard me correctly.

  I tapped the paper with the pen. “It’s got to be this brand or I’ll be leaking all over the couch.” I named three stores, only one of which carried exactly what I’d asked for. I named them in the least likely order of finding the items in order to buy Erica and me at least half an hour.