A Stranger's Wife

  JAKE WAS SILENT for several interminable minutes when Meg finished speaking. She had told him everything except her horrific discovery that morning, hoping that he would accept her story before she had to tell him that she had no one to back it up, and worse, that Mike was probably dead because she had agreed to impersonate Rhea.

  At length Jake asked, “Do you have any idea where Rhea is now?”

  Meg shook her head. Then she remembered something. “But when Rhea’s friend Mrs. Wells called, she said she had run into another friend who claimed to have seen her at the Ritz-Carlton.”

  “In Laguna Niguel?”

  “Yes. I believe so.”

  “But you haven’t heard from Rhea since yesterday, when she told you she’d be at the Greek restaurant?”

  “No. But I have a feeling she hired a gardener to keep an eye on us. He might know how to get in touch with her.” She told him about Rick.

  Jake walked over to the window and stood looking out, his back to her. Meg longed to go to him and put her arms around him.

  “Jake,” she said, “I haven’t told you the worst part of this. I went to Mike’s house this morning because he didn’t answer his phone.” She broke off, the horror returning, overwhelming her.

  Biting her lip, she whispered, “He’s dead.”

  Jake spun around, walked back to her and stood looking down at her. “How? When? You do realize how convenient this sounds?”

  Meg pressed her fingers to her throbbing head. “I don’t know how or when, but I think he was murdered. I could see him through the kitchen window, lying on the floor. There was blood...and before I left I found this...”

  She opened her handbag and took out the handgun. “I swear to you, it isn’t mine.”

  Jake took it from her and examined it. She looked away.

  He said, “It’s a .25 automatic. Good size for a woman to carry. I don’t know who it belongs to or how it got into your purse, but I’d say it’s been fired recently.”

  “Do you...do you think it’s the gun that killed the private detective?”

  “No,” Jake answered thoughtfully. “I think it was probably the gun that was used to shoot at us last night. I think Aragon’s take on the situation has some merit. Rhea—or more likely Sloan—wants me dead and they’re setting you up to take the blame. Since they only stand to gain if I’m dead, I’m the target.”

  Meg realized that she was trembling. She clasped her hands together and tried to breathe normally.

  Jake said, “I should have foreseen there’d be trouble when Sloan was paroled. From what I’ve learned about their background, those two have had an unhealthy symbiotic relationship for years. He was in prison when I met Rhea, and for a little while she was free of his influence. When I first met her, she bore no resemblance to the lying, cheating woman I asked for a divorce. But, of course, I have no way of knowing when she was acting and when she was showing her true colors. I could never anticipate her mood from one day to the next.”

  “Jake, you do believe I’ve told you the truth? I never would have agreed to be Rhea’s stand-in in St. Maarten if I’d known you were going to be there.”

  His dark stare was unfathomable. “Yes, I can see that must have been an unpleasant surprise for you.”

  “Well, fortunately you were a gentleman,” Meg demurred. “Jake, what are we going to do?”

  “Proving a conspiracy is going to be pretty difficult. All we can prove right now is that you are here impersonating my wife.” He paused. “We can prove that, can’t we?”

  “You’re still not sure that I’m not Rhea, are you?”

  He sighed. “Perhaps because I wanted—so much—for you to be the woman I married. Rhea—”

  “Meg—my name is Meg.”

  “Perhaps I’d better continue to call you Rhea. We need to keep this to ourselves for the time being.”

  “What about your mother? Don’t you think we should tell her?”

  “No. We’d have to tell her the whole story, and I don’t want to worry her. I’ll see if I can persuade her to go back to her own house with one of the maids until Carmelita gets back.”

  Disconcerted by the way he was looking at her, Meg said, “To answer your question, yes, I can prove who I am.”

  “Some time soon I’d like to hear all about Meg Lindley... but right now we need to find out if the PI’s body has been discovered yet and whether the police have connected Rhea and you through him.”

  “But how can we do that without admitting I saw his body and didn’t report it? And what if Mike still had those gas cans he took from the rental car? Jake, I realize that all of this is a shock to you, but I’m in a terrible predicament, too.”

  “I know some people who can discreetly get me some inside information. But it looks as though Sloan wanted me to die in the fire and you to be accused of arson. When that didn’t work, he tried to shoot me last night. Maybe he thought he’d hit me and so had his inside man plant the gun in your purse. We spent the night at the hospital, so they probably figured I was dead and you were hurt. What would you say our first concern should be?”

  “That there will probably be another attempt on your life with me set up to be the accused. Jake, maybe I should go home and resume my life as Meg Lindley. If I’m not here, their plan won’t work.”

  “Too late for that. I’m sure Rhea has witnesses who can testify to the fact that you went to St. Maarten in her place and have been impersonating her ever since.”

  “Having decided I’d like to take her place permanently,” Meg added, “but somehow ended up killing you instead of her.”

  He nodded. “Even if you weren’t here, they could still pin it on you. Rhea got you out of the beach house before they set it afire because they need you alive. For now, I’d like you to stay where I can keep an eye on you—if you wall.”

  “Yes, of course. It’s the least I can do. I will have to make some calls to explain my absence to a few people.”

  “Your employers and the creditors you mentioned? You said you have no family.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Sure, you can call them later. But right now why don’t you go and rest, while I find out what I can about Aragon.”

  “I can’t possibly rest. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to the kitchen and cook something.”

  For the first time the lines of strain on Jake’s face eased slightly. “If only I’d met you two years ago.”

  Meg dared not meet his gaze.

  JAKE’S COOK, a stem-faced middle-aged woman whose features were somewhat softened by pretty auburn hair, managed to conceal her surprise when Meg, with Jake at her side, announced she would take care of dinner—and no, she didn’t need any help. Jake promptly suggested that the cook take the afternoon off, to which she happily agreed.

  He murmured to Meg, “Let the kitchen maids stay with you, okay? That bump on your head still looks substantial, and I don’t want you passing out again.”

  “I’m fine, really. I’ll feel better if I keep busy.”

  “All right, but I’d feel better if you were lying down with an ice pack. I’ll go speak to Jess now. Then I’ll deal with that other matter and let you know what I find out.”

  He lingered for a moment, staring at her, then squeezed her shoulder gently in wordless reassurance.

  JAKE POUND the pony tailed gardener hanging around one of the tool sheds and grabbed his arm, spinning him around.

  “Okay, Rick, tell me where my wife is.”

  The man’s mouth sagged and his eyes bulged with fear. “She...she’s in the house.”

  Jake slammed him back against the shed, none too gently. “The woman who hired you—that Mrs. Chastain—where did you last see her?”

  “Here—I saw her here—this is where she hired me.”

  Jake’s hand went to the man’s skinny throat, and he yelped with fright. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I swear to God. Your wife’s in the house.”

  Grabbing t
he man’s ponytail, Jake yanked his head back and stared into his eyes. He saw only fear there, so released him. “Come on, I’m going to escort you off the premises.”

  Marching the gardener down the driveway, Jake’s mind methodically organized a plan of action.

  HE NEVER SHOULD have trusted Rick to do the job with a .25, but they needed a compact weapon that a woman would be likely to use. Maybe they were lucky Rick had missed. Somebody might have seen him put the gun in the woman’s hand. At least he had the presence of mind to wipe it off and plant it in her purse. If the cops recovered any bullets, they could match them up to her gun.

  The only reason he’d sent Rick was because he’d had to take care of Aragon. But next time would be different. He’d do the job himself.

  First they had to disappear. Wigs, shapeless clothes, flea-bag motels, a different car.

  Chastain would be looking for them now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Meg found a well-stocked pantry, freezers full of meat, and refrigerator crispers packed with fresh vegetables. She was looking forward to performing familiar tasks. Cooking would give her a sense of normalcy, at least for a little while. It would also give her time to think.

  A young kitchen maid was scrubbing the already gleaming counters, and Meg was glad when Guadalupe, the friendly maid, joined her.

  Guadalupe said respectfully, “We’ll not bother you, Mrs. Chastain, you just let us know if you need anything.”

  “Thank you, Guadalupe. You know, I haven’t had lunch. Perhaps you could make me a sandwich and a pot of tea? I’d like a couple of aspirin too, if you can find some.” Meg hoped the latter would help ease her headache, if not her heart-pounding tension.

  Guadalupe was swiftly efficient as well as being very attractive, and Meg wondered why she didn’t aspire to a better job than waiting on the idle rich. A steaming pot of tea and a cold roast beef sandwich, along with a small salad, appeared like magic. Guadalupe also brought the aspirin. Meg took a bite of the sandwich and then swallowed two aspirin.

  The maid lingered for a moment. “Maybe you’d like me to call somebody for you? You know, tell them you were hurt? Sometimes you need family more than a husband.”

  Surprised by the depth of Guadalupe’s concern, Meg said, “Thank you, but I’m fine.” She supposed the maid must wonder about a husband who brought his wife to the kitchen to cook dinner so soon after her brush with death. Guadalupe seemed hesitant to leave, but finally nodded and moved to another part of the room. She glanced frequently in Meg’s direction.

  Climbing onto a stool beside a butcher-block counter, Meg sipped her tea and was sorting a bunch of fresh herbs when the kitchen door opened and Jessica appeared, her expression angry. Huxley loped in after her and nuzzled Meg’s ankle. He was always most interested in her right foot, which seemed to confirm the widely held view that animals sense human hurts and injuries.

  “So, you want me to leave my son’s house, do you?”

  Meg said carefully, “Jake felt you’d be more comfortable in your own home.”

  “Oh? And this is the same Jake who insisted I come here?” Jessica enquired sarcastically. “Don’t blame Jake, I know who wants to get rid of me. What happened, Rhea? Did that bump on your head turn you back into the jealous, self-centered gold digger you were before you decided to turn on the charm?”

  “Jessica, I don’t want you to leave, but Jake thinks—”

  “What really happened last night, Rhea? Jake said you took a tumble in a dark parking lot, and he spent the night at the hospital with you. But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? I always know when he isn’t telling me the whole truth.”

  “That’s exactly what happened. It was clumsy of me,” Meg answered quietly. It was obvious that Jessica had been out to get Rhea for a long time and, despite everything, Meg felt she had to defend her absent twin.

  As if sensing all was not well between the two women, the Doberman flopped down and rolled over onto his back.

  Jessica exclaimed, “Oh, Huxley, do get up. Mommie can’t get down there to scratch your belly with her arm in a cast.”

  Glad of the diversion, Meg murmured, “Allow me,” and jumped down to rub Huxley’s stomach while he squirmed and grinned foolishly. After indulging himself for a moment, he sat up and sniffed Meg’s forehead, careful not to actually touch the bump, then sympathetically licked her hand.

  Jessica watched for a moment, then said grudgingly, “I do wish you’d stay in character, Rhea.”

  Meg looked up at her and replied sincerely, “I wish we could be friends.”

  Jessica gave a short sardonic chuckle. “Now I know you’re up to something. Too late to make amends, Rhea. Too many ugly scenes under the bridge.”

  “But it’s never too late to start over,” Meg said. Huxley kissed her ear. Meg looked up at Jessica hopefully.

  “Friends, indeed! Look at us. My arm is encased in plaster, and you’ve got a purple goose egg on your forehead. We look like we’ve gone ten rounds with each other.”

  Meg smiled in spite of her tension.

  She had forgotten the presence of Guadalupe and the other maid, who had discreetly withdrawn into the adjacent pantry, although Meg now noted they had left the door open.

  “Jake said you’re cooking,” Jessica commented. “Must I leave before dinner?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Good. I must say, of all the tangents you’ve been on since you married my son, this cooking bit is a welcome change. I’ve always admired the culinary arts. I feel the best cooks are artists in every sense of the word, so as a fellow artist, I commend you. As a woman and a daughter-in-law, you leave a whole lot to be desired—but maybe as fellow artists, we could find some common ground to meet on, Rhea. What do you say?”

  “I’d like that very much,” Meg answered sincerely.

  Jessica gave her a thin smile. “Just keep in mind that if I find out you’re cheating on my son, I’ll probably kill you.”

  Before Meg could react, Jessica said, “Come on, Huxley, stop groveling at her feet and let’s go get some fresh air.”

  “You’re going outside?” Meg asked, alarm bells sounding.

  Jessica arched an eyebrow in mock surprise. “That’s usually where one finds fresh air.”

  Meg thought of the sinister Rick, prowling around the grounds, and wanted to beg Jake’s mother to stay safely inside the house. But she couldn’t think of a way to do so without arousing her suspicions. She could only hope that Jake had now had time to remove the man from the premises.

  As soon as Jessica and Huxley disappeared, Meg headed for Jake’s study. She knocked and entered.

  He was on the phone. “...so the place had been ransacked?” He paused, then said, “Try to find out what the police have found in his files, will you?”

  Waving Meg to a chair, he continued, “No, it’s just that my wife used him to locate her birth mother. Yes, she was adopted. Okay, good. Call me as soon as you have anything.”

  He looked at Meg. “Everything all right?”

  “Your mother took Huxley outside. I’m concerned about that gardener I told you about.”

  “Rick’s gone. I personally supervised his packing up and leaving before I talked to Jess. I couldn’t get any information out of him about Rhea’s whereabouts. He put on a big act, insisting that my wife was right here in the house. You, in other words. I’ll have one of my people check the Ritz-Carlton.”

  Meg said, “Your mother thinks I want her to leave.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I called Carmelita and she’s flying home tomorrow. Jess will be fine.”

  “I hadn’t realized just how rancorous the relationship between Rhea and your mother was.”

  “My mother never trusted her,” Jake said shortly..

  “Were you able to find out anything about Mike Aragon?”

  “The police are there now. I reported a possible homicide.”

  Meg gasped. “You implicated me? You told the polic
e I found the body?”

  “I told them my wife had seen the body through a window. I had to. Neighbors probably saw you and may have a description of the car, maybe even a license plate. We don’t want to be caught in any lies. I just said the PI had been working for you, didn’t return calls, and you drove over to speak to him in person. That is the truth, isn’t it?

  “Except for the fact that I’m not your wife. Will the police want to interview me?”

  “No. I told them you’re distraught and have been sedated. That you didn’t enter the house and that your only connection to Aragon was that he was tracing your biological family. Fortunately I have a few friends in law enforcement and if necessary I’ll call in a couple of favors and keep you out of the murder investigation, at least until we can locate Rhea. Of course, we’ll have to wait and see what they turn up about you and Rhea in Aragon’s files.”

  “Jake...what about the gun?”

  “It’s in a safe place.”

  “Last night at the restaurant, did you file a police report?”

  “No. I didn’t wait around. I drove you straight to the hospital. I’m not sure anyone else saw or heard anything. There was no one else in the parking lot, and between the sound of the surf, the traffic on the Coast Highway and the noise inside the restaurant, a couple of shots from a small-caliber gun could have gone unnoticed. I’d prefer not to talk to the police until we have some idea of what Sloan is planning.”

  “Is there any way we can find out if the police found those gas cans at Mike’s place?”

  “I have a friend in the D.A.’s office. Maybe he can get some information for us.”

  The phone rang and Jake picked it up. Meg quietly left the study.

  BACK IN THE KITCHEN Meg realized that she had been running on adrenaline, and, suddenly weary, she decided on a simple dinner of roasted chicken and a delicately flavored risotto. She gladly accepted Guadalupe’s help, but was taken aback when the maid waited until they were alone and then whispered, “There are places women can go...you know, when husbands beat you.”