The Widow's Husband

by William Coleman

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Mr. Bishop was killed in a plane crash. This agency is closing.”

  “But . . . “

  “You should receive a notice in the mail in a few days.”

  “But . . . “

  “Sorry for the trouble,” the woman said.

  “But . . . “

  The phone went dead.

  Chapter 17

  (Henry Cutter)

  After seeing Allan laying on the side of the road and bringing the crumpled man to his home, Henry Cutter sat in his favorite leather recliner and made some calls. First, he called Larry Jasper down at the general store. He described his guest and was informed that the stranger in his house was Jack Bolder, a mystery writer who owned Larry's old cabin. Henry called the police department to inquire into Jack Bolder’s background. They knew Henry well and were more than happy to check into the man. It only took a few minutes before they let him know Mr. Bolder had no record.

  Only after the calls were made did he allow his wife to enter the room where the stranger slept. A cautious man, he was not going to put his wife in harm’s way. After their guest woke and ate a good meal, Henry directed him to the phone. Henry was in a position to help a man in need and that was what he intended to do. A shrewd businessman, Henry never let anyone get the better of him, yet he had a soft spot for underdogs. He was always trying to help people get back on their feet. And he had never seen anyone who looked more the part of the underdog than this man.

  From where he sat Henry could see the man making his phone calls. They were short calls, almost too short to communicate anything. Henry saw pain on Bolder’s face and he knew the calls had not gone well. Seeing the thin man placed his head on the oak surface of the roll top desk, Henry pulled his large frame out of his chair and strolled in behind his guest.

  “Problems?” he asked.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Allan said raising his head to look at Henry.

  “Well, what if I took a guess, Mr. Bolder?”

  “Do you read my . . .?” Allan started.

  “No,” Henry waved the rest of the question away. “Before you passed out you mentioned going to the general store. Larry and I . . . That’s old man Jasper by the way.”

  “Yea,” Allan nodded in understanding.

  “Larry and I go way back,” Henry continued. “I gave him a call, described you and he told me your name. By the way, I’m Henry. Henry Cutter.”

  Henry offered his hand. Allan shook it and marveled at the obvious strength he felt in the calloused grip.

  “Nice to meet you Mr. Cutter,” Allan said.

  “Same to you Jack,” Henry said.

  “The thing about that is,” Allan began to explain.

  “I have more,” Henry stopped him. “So, you’re this writer who has apparently hit a slump. Short of cash. Thinking you need a job. Meanwhile, the wife is upset and has thrown you out on your ass. Your car breaks down. And I would say your agent is not taking your calls. How close am I?”

  Allan thought about it for a moment. The truth would be hard to take. And how do you explain that your wife is telling everyone you’re dead? So, Allan nodded and said, “You’re pretty close.”

  “Thought so,” Henry said. “I can usually read people. Now I want to talk to you about that job you think you need.”

  “You would?”

  “Yea,” Henry said. “I think I can help you out, if you’re interested.”

  “I’m interested,” Allan said. “I need money for food and clothes.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Henry said. “I’m not talking about a desk job where you sit and type all day.”

  Allan hesitated. “What kind of job are you talking about then?”

  “I am a rancher, Mr. Bolder,” Henry said. “I own about eight hundred acres of pasture. I have this house and close to twenty outbuildings. I make a decent living. Just can’t afford all the staff I need to keep the place running and keep up the maintenance.”

  “You want me to tend cattle?”

  “No,” Henry said. “I have men who take care of that. What I need is someone to help me mend fences and make repairs on the outbuildings. I can’t pay you a fortune. And it would only be temporary. But my wife is a pretty good cook.”

  “Yes, she is," Allan agreed.

  “I can include three squares a day,” Henry continued. “It could keep you going for a while anyway. At least until you get things resolved.”

  “I think I could do that,” Allan hesitated. “I’m not that strong though. And I don’t know much about construction.”

  “You’ll do fine,” Henry grinned.

  “I have a couple problems,” Allan said.

  “What are they?” Henry asked.

  “These are the only clothes I have,” Allan said lifting his shoes for the man to see.

  “We’ll get you some work clothes,” Henry said. “We’ll call it an advance. What else you got?”

  “I don’t have my identification,” Allan said. “For the employment paperwork.”

  “I pay cash,” Henry said. “You deal with your taxes as if you were a self-employed contract worker. Anything else?”

  “I guess not,” Allan said. “I never would have guessed I would be working on a farm.”

  “A ranch,” Henry corrected.

  “A ranch,” Allan repeated. He looked down at his hands. The last job he had was almost two decades ago. He was a proofreader for an advertising agency. He couldn’t remember the last time he used his hands for physical labor. He worried Henry would grow weary of him in a hurry and throw him out again.

  “How far from my cabin are we?” Allan asked. “I’m up the road from the general store.”

  “About three miles,” Henry said. “I can pick you up in the mornings if you like.”

  “Why are you being nice to me?” Allan asked.

  “Hate to see a man down on his luck, I guess,” Henry patted Allan on the back. “Of course, you may not think I’m too nice when we start working the fences on the north end of the pasture. Damn posts need replacing. Now let’s get you to town and find some clothes.”

  Henry allowed Allan time for a hot shower, loaning him an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt, both too large. Allan’s belt, cinched down as tight as he could, held the pants in place. Allan examined his reflection in the mirror. The ensemble made him appear like a shrinking man. He joined the others and the rancher tried but failed to suppress a laugh. Mrs. Cutter scolded her husband and assured Allan he did not look that bad, her own smile betraying her.

  Henry loaded Allan back into his truck and drove into town. The rancher parked in front of a large store Allan had never seen before. The business was housed in a large warehouse with tractors and other farm equipment lining the sidewalk. Henry led the way in and walked directly to the clothing section. He tossed jeans and shirts to Allan and pointed to the dressing room. Henry continued to choose items for Allan to try on until he was satisfied they had what they needed. During the entire process, Henry only spoke one time.

  “Boots for work,” he said. “Sneakers for the rest of the time.”

  With Henry's help, Allan chose a pair of brown leather boots with thick soles and steel toes. He took them, a pair of walking shoes, two pair of jeans, three shirts, socks, underwear and a few toiletries to the counter where Henry paid for them. Every item was listed with the cost in a small notebook Henry kept in his pocket.

  Allan made two more attempts to contact Sarah while they were in town. Each time Sarah refused to acknowledge him and hung up. Back at the ranch Henry pulled the truck to a stop in front of the house. Allan excused himself to make one more attempt. He dialed the number and waited for Sarah to answer. It rang five times before he heard Sarah’s voice; soft, warm and inviting.

  “Hello,” she said.

  Allan did not respond. He did not know she could sound that way. He said, cautiously, “Hello, Sarah.”

  “You again?” she yell
ed angrily. “Will you please leave me alone?”

  “Sarah,” Allan said, “how long are you going to pretend I’m dead?”

  “You are dead!” she shouted. There was a long pause. Allan could hear her breathing. Profanity he never imagined Sarah using preceded the call’s disconnection.

  Allan stared at the receiver for a long moment before setting it on its cradle.

  "Still got troubles?" Henry said from the doorway.

  "You have no idea," Allan said.

  "Well, come on," Henry beckoned. "Dinner's ready. Let's get you fed, then I'll take you home."

  Chapter 18

  (The Encounter)

  Sarah hung up the phone and screamed. She had let Allan push her buttons and lost her temper. She had said ‘you are dead’ instead of ‘he’. If he had been recording the call, he could use a statement like that against her. It didn’t prove who he was, or that she knew him. It did leave room for doubt. That kind of slip up could end everything. She would lose the book deal. She would lose the house. She would probably lose her freedom for lying about Mike’s identity.

  She had been working hard on the details, too hard to let emotions get in the way. The entire house was clean, probably cleaner than it had been since Sarah moved in. Every surface of every object in the place was washed, scrubbed and polished until it shined. No one would find a single fingerprint of Allan’s anywhere in the house. They wouldn’t find Mike’s either which would probably raise questions. It was a chance she had to take.

  Her biggest problem was that none of Allan’s clothes could possibly fit Mike. It was an issue Sarah did not know how to remedy. She couldn’t be seen throwing the clothes out or the police might suspect she was eager to get rid of Allan. And she couldn’t be seen buying men’s clothes or they might think she already had a new man lined up, which in a way she did.

  She had an appetite. An appetite Allan had never been able to quench. An appetite that was beginning to make her restless. She needed companionship. She obviously couldn’t call Allan. That would be more than awkward. Mike and Jimmy were no longer options. She did have one more lover, a man she only contacted when everyone else was otherwise engaged. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the man. She did. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good. He was definitely good. The problem was, well, he was crazy about her. He took hold and did not want to let go; like a leech. She was always having to force him to go home. On numerous occasions, he arranged to run into her 'by chance'. A couple of times he showed up while she was out with Allan. She yelled at him when they were alone. He never seemed to get the hint. So, she stopped calling him. She was even thinking about trying to find a replacement for him. Right now, without any other prospects, he was looking like her best option.

  The phone only rang a couple of times before he answered. She knew he would answer. He always did.

  “Hello?” he said, a hint of excitement in his voice.

  “Ray?” she said.

  “Sarah.” His excitement seemed to grow.

  “Listen Ray,” Sarah started laying down the rules right away. “I’m not making any promises. And if you don’t keep yourself in check, I will never call you again. I was wondering if you might want to stop by later tonight?”

  “Yes!” he said triumphantly. “I knew you’d come around.”

  “Ray,” Sarah said. “You have to promise to behave.”

  “I will,” he said absently. She was reminded of a teenager agreeing to do his chores.

  “Ray,” she said. “I’m serious. This is your last chance.”

  “I’ll be good,” he said. “Real good.”

  He said the last with a seductive tone and she felt a little tingle. She knew at that moment she would not turn him away even if he did not agree to her rules. She needed attention and soon.

  “Okay, Ray, listen,” she said. “I need you to park down the street and walk up to the house. Can you do that, Ray?”

  “Down the street?”

  “Just do it, Ray,” she snapped.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll park down the street.”

  “Come at eight,” she said. “No earlier.”

  “Is he there?” he asked.

  She was taken aback by the question before she realized he wouldn’t know about Allan’s supposed death. She saw this as a way to keep him controlled.

  “Yes,” she said. “He’ll be leaving at seven forty-five. You come at eight.”

  “Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll see you then.”

  She hung up the phone and wondered if she just made a mistake. Everything he touched while he was there would have to be cleaned again. She could grow to regret stirring Ray’s feelings. If he began following her, or showing up unannounced, he could cause a lot of problems. On the other hand, she really had needs to be filled. Besides, it was too late to stop him now. So, she went to the bedroom to prepare for his arrival.

  At seven, just as Sarah had begun dressing, the doorbell rang. She threw on a robe and stormed down the hall. Furious Ray had the nerve to show up early, she would pretend Allan was there and send him away. When she allowed him to return she would give him an ear full. She pulled the door open. To her surprise, Ray was not on the porch. The two detectives stood side by side waiting expectantly. Sarah pulled her robe tight about her.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Tuttle,” Dave said. “Sorry to bother you so late.”

  “Detectives,” Sarah said. Her mind raced with the possibilities that might bring them to her door, none of them good; not for her anyway. She also feared Ray might still show up early. She dared to ask, “What brings you here? Do you have news about Allan’s death?”

  “We heard you had an unwanted visitor,” Dave said. “Thought we’d check in on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “Can we ask you a few questions about the man?” Philip asked.

  “Okay,” she said. “But I don't know much.”

  “Let’s try anyway,” Dave said. “You said he was claiming to be your husband?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It was dreadful.”

  “I’m sure it was,” Dave said. “Do you remember ever seeing the man before?”

  “No,” she said. “Never before.”

  “Is it possible he might be a store clerk or something?” Dave asked. “Someone you might not recognize out of his element?”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” she said. “But I really don’t think I knew him at all.”

  “Have you heard from him again?”

  “Well,” Sarah wasn’t sure how she should answer. A ‘yes’ would draw more attention to Allan. A ‘no’ might come back to haunt her. “I have received a couple of calls. I think it’s the same man.”

  “Are you sure it’s the same man?” Dave asked.

  “He sounded kind of like the same guy,” she said. “I can’t be positive. Surely there aren’t two men claiming to be Allan.”

  “It’s unlikely,” Philip agreed.

  “Can you describe the man?” Dave asked. “We have the report from the station. We need a description from you to be sure it’s the same man.”

  “He actually went to the station?” Sarah was surprised. Allan was not one to approach a problem straight on. To go to the police would have been a huge step for him. “What did he say? I mean what did he think you would do?”

  “Well, he claimed you were his wife. That you were lying about him being dead,” Philip said. “He wanted us to let him in the house. If we didn’t already know your husband was dead we might have brought him out to give him a chance to prove his claim. But since Mr. Tuttle is in the morgue it wasn’t necessary.”

  “What did you do with him?”

  “He was escorted from the building,” Dave answered.

  “Amazing,” she said.

  “Now if we could get that description,” Dave encouraged her.

  She gave a brief description of Allan without being too exact. Too much detail and they m
ight find it hard to believe she had only seen him once. When prompted she described the torn slacks and stained shirt he wore. She mentioned the cut on his forehead, the color of his hair. Deciding she had given them enough she told them she couldn’t remember any more. They wrote down every word. It took about ten minutes to finish up. The detectives thanked her for her time and left.

  “Sounds like a vagrant,” Philip said to his partner as they climbed down the stairs. “May even think he really is the woman’s husband. A real nut case.”

  “We better try to find him,” Dave said. “There could be more to it than that. He may have a reason for wanting to get into the house.”

  “Searching for something he didn’t find on Tuttle’s body?”

  “That crossed my mind.”

  “Then why impersonate the woman’s husband?” Philip said. “He had to know she wouldn’t let him in. Why not just force his way in?”

  “Maybe you’re right and he's just nuts,” Dave said, “he may think that by killing Tuttle, he becomes Tuttle and everything that was Tuttle’s is now his. Including his wife.”

  “Sounds crazy to me,” Philip said.

  “If he killed Tuttle he’s at least a little crazy,” Dave said. “Normal people don’t go around strangling people.”

  “True,” Philip agreed. “Very true.”

  Inside the house, Sarah glanced over her shoulder at a wall clock. It was only seven twenty, plenty of time to finish getting ready before Ray arrived. She turned back to watch the detectives’ departure. They were standing about half way down the steps talking to one another. She wished she could hear them. They turned and came back up the stairs. Sarah's heart began to race.

  “Mrs. Tuttle?” Dave asked. “Could it be possible this man knew your husband? An associate or a customer perhaps?”

  “Well, uh,” Sarah stammered. “I guess it’s possible. I didn’t know any of Allan’s clients. He didn’t let me meet any of his friends or business associates.”