Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery)

by Bond, Stephanie

  His eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure?"

  She nodded, enjoying herself now.

  "Okay. I know that one." He pushed away from the table and bounded onstage.

  He was dreadful. Back-chilling, vision-blurring dreadful, although he deserved points for his enthusiastic gestures to the words, and sheer nerve, considering the song was supposed to be sung by a woman. But the crowd was either too polite or too drunk or too hungry to throw their food, and he received a respectable smattering of applause as he left the stage.

  "Wha'dja think?" he asked as he dropped into his seat.

  "Nashville's loss," she managed to say, still tingling with embarrassment for the clueless man. But at least the performance had sobered her enough to come up with a story. "Listen, um, Chub, I'm looking for a friend of mine and I was told you could help me out."

  "I'll sure try."

  "I was supposed to meet Raymond Carmichael here, but he didn't show."

  His eyes widened, then he shook his head. "I hate to tell you this, little lady, but Raymond's dead."

  She feigned surprise. "Dead?"

  "Yep. Murdered by his three wives."

  "Three wives?"

  "Yep. Man was married to all three of them at the same time, can you believe it? I've got one and that's e—" He stopped, realizing he'd almost spilled the beans on his marital status. "I mean, uh—"

  "Oh, that's just terrible." She made a face. "Raymond was going to introduce me to a friend of his, a lady he said could get me a job."

  "What kind of work do you do?"

  "I... make things. I'm sorry about Raymond, but I have to talk to this woman, and I don't know her name. Would you have seen them together? She might be a local."

  "I don't know who she could be." He snapped his pudgy fingers. "Wait a minute! I saw Raymond the night before he died, right here. He'd been after me for months to sign a deal with his company—I'm the head of a big medical center in town—and I finally agreed." He frowned. "At least I think I did—we were both plenty drunk."

  She gave him an encouraging smile, but her heart pounded in anticipation.

  "Anyway, since I'd picked him up at the hotel, I offered him a lift back, but he said he already had a ride." He grinned. "Good thing, too, since I ended up taking a cab. But from the look Raymond gave me, he was going to get lucky."

  She swallowed. "Did you see who he left with?"

  "Nah. He left the bar alone, and was still standing outside when my cab came. But when my cab pulled away, I looked back and saw him getting into a car."

  She tried to be calm. "What kind of car?"

  "Red Ford Taurus, looked like a rental." He shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't see the face of the driver."

  She wrote down her cell number on a napkin. "Will you call this number if you find out who she is? I simply have to find this woman—Raymond promised me she had the position of a lifetime."

  "Okay," he said, stuffing the napkin into his pocket. He pointed his pinkie toward the stage. "Wanna sing a duet with me? Do you know 'The Woman in Me'?"

  "Um, no. Thanks for the drink." She pumped his hand and grinned like a fool, hoping the man would come through for her with a name, but doubting it. She looked over his head for Beatrix and Ruby, found them, then jerked her head toward the bathroom.

  "Okay," Chub said, then gave her a hopeful smile. "See you around?"

  "Definitely," she said, then made a beeline for the john. Well, her bee was a little inebriated, so it took longer than she'd planned, wobbling and fending off a handful of invitations to dance and share a table. The women were waiting inside, feet tapping.

  "Well?" Beatrix asked. "What did you find out?"

  Natalie sighed. "Not much." She repeated Chub's bits of info as they listened.

  "So," Beatrix said, "all we have to go on is a red car? The woman isn't from around here if she's driving a rental."

  "Maybe her car's in the shop," Natalie said with a shrug.

  "Or maybe she doesn't want her real car to be spotted," Ruby suggested.

  "At least we have something to go on," Natalie said. "We can check out the rental places tomorrow."

  Ruby looked at her watch. "It's too early to go back to the hotel, but I don't want to stay here—it's kind of creepy being where Ray was. Let's check out that dance place we passed on the way here."

  "I don't dance," Beatrix said. "At least not to that freaky new music."

  "Oh, come on, let's have some fun." Ruby shook her booty for encouragement.

  "I said, I don't dance."

  "We can drop you off at the hotel," Natalie suggested, not about to squander what might be her last weekend of freedom.

  Beatrix inhaled and exhaled deeply. "All right—only because I refuse to spend the evening with a damn dog. But I don't dance."

  "We won't laugh," Ruby said, her expression sincere.

  "I don't think I should drive," Natalie said, holding the keys out to Ruby. "Can you?"

  "Gee, I've never driven anything but a stick shift, but I'll try." She skipped ahead to the parking lot.

  Beatrix crossed herself. Natalie laughed and pulled her in the direction of the Cherokee.

  Chapter 34

  When Natalie pulled under the carport Sunday in the early afternoon, her chest felt lighter and her head clearer than in ages. The weekend adventure that she'd embarked upon with such trepidation had turned into the emotional and physical release she hadn't even realized she needed. After leaving Razor's Friday night, Ruby had driven (and she used the term loosely) to the dance club, where they had partied like the loose women they weren't. Beatrix had discovered that she could dance after all. Ruby had discovered that she could dance with her clothes on. And Natalie had discovered that she could dance without a partner.

  They'd fallen into their room late and laughing, she and Ruby and the pooch shared one bed, Beatrix sprawled across the other. But she and Ruby had both gotten a kick out of waking up to find Miss Mame curled snugly around Beatrix's shoulder. Still determined to track down the rose lady, they had checked with the three local car rentals, which revealed nothing. At a loss what to do next, they elected to kill the day shopping—Beatrix had sprung for makeovers at a Clinique counter—before taking in a chick flick and gorging on popcorn.

  This morning they'd slept in before piling into the Cherokee and heading home. They'd passed the time exchanging stories about their courtships with Raymond, his good and bad habits, even his idiosyncrasies in bed.

  "Lights on," Beatrix said.

  "Socks on," Natalie added.

  "Toupee on," Ruby said, and Natalie had run off the road.

  "I didn't know he wore a toupee," she and Beatrix had cried in unison.

  "It was a good one," the young woman offered.

  All in all, it had been a very.... satisfying weekend. They had gathered enough evidence, in her opinion, to warrant a meeting with Aldrich and the D.A. as soon as possible. And despite their marked differences in age and personality, they'd actually, well... gotten along. Attributed, most probably, to the fact that they had more in common right now than any three women on the planet.

  Tony wasn't home, although she didn't mind the quiet of the big house since she was fatigued from driving. He'd left a note on the table, though, asking her to call him at the pawnshop when she got home. Remembering that Brian didn't work on weekends, she judged it safe to call and punched in the number.

  "Butler Family Pawn, Brian speaking."

  She hung up. Tony was probably busy anyway.

  The phone rang, and she winced, but answered. "Hello?"

  "So you're home," Brian said, his voice smiling. "I recognized the number."

  "I thought you didn't work weekends."

  "I just stopped by to pick up a deposit. Are you free?"

  "If you mean am I not in jail at the moment, then yes."

  "Good, because I was thinking about driving to Shakerag to check out an estate jewelry sale, and I'd like a second opinion."

  "On whe
ther you should go? Absolutely, go."

  He laughed. "On the jewelry. I can pick you up in ten minutes."

  "I thought you were Mr. Mom on the weekends."

  "The girls went to my mother's house for a few days."

  "That's nice."

  "How about it? I could use the company."

  "But I just walked in the door. I'm tired. And cranky."

  "You can sleep on the way if you want."

  "I snore."

  "That's okay, I'm hard of hearing."

  "You must be."

  "Wear comfortable clothes." Then he hung up.

  She hesitated ten seconds before bounding up the stairs.

  Thirty minutes later, they were on their way to Shakerag. "My father always told me not to trust men who drove vans."

  He smiled. "I'll add that to my list of things to tell Ally and Jeanie."

  Their photos were taped to the dashboard of the dilapidated van, both grinning, one front-toothless. "You miss them."

  "Not sure what I did before they were with me. Life has a way of forcing you into situations that make you a better person."

  "Is that my pep talk for the day?"

  "No. I didn't figure you'd need one after a weekend of peace and quiet."

  "You're right."

  "Good." He tilted his head at her. "Whatever you did, it put some color in your cheeks."

  "I could be running a fever," she said, willing away the blush.

  "Guess that means another kiss is out of the question."

  She dragged her gaze from him and looked out the window. "I wouldn't be much of a doctor if I started an epidemic."

  His laugh boomed around them. "So, what were you really doing this weekend?"

  "That's none of your business."

  "You're right, but I'd like to know. I might be jealous."

  He was so ridiculous, she couldn't suppress her smile.

  "Whatever that thought is," he said, "hold it for the rest of the day."

  "I didn't realize I was such a morose person."

  "Understandable, but temporary, I hope. Did you change your hair?"

  "No."

  "It looks good."

  "Thanks."

  The blush held fast for the remainder of the drive, and while they inspected the hodgepodge of jewelry at the out-of-the-way estate sale. "What do you think?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "Well, I don't know much about jewelry, but the sapphire tennis bracelet is nice."

  "Excellent eye." He picked it up, along with six other pieces and paid a man after some good-natured dickering. She watched him, fascinated at the easy way he had with people. They gravitated toward him. She gravitated toward him.

  On the way back, they picked up chicken salad sandwiches from a hole-in-the-wall grocery and ate them sitting on the grass at a roadside park.

  "This weekend I went to find out about someone else Raymond might have been involved with," she confessed.

  "Does this have anything to do with the ladies' watch?"

  "You knew?"

  "Pretty coincidental that Mrs. Carmichael discovered the watch, asked to hang on to it for a few days, and then you disappeared. I figured you were either chasing down information or had sold the watch and both of you split." He grinned. "I was really hoping you hadn't split."

  "Because I owe you so much money?"

  "Because you owe it to yourself to see your name cleared."

  She smiled. "Hopefully that will be sooner than later."

  "You found this woman?"

  "No, but enough leads, I think, to get the police off our backs."

  "So both other wives went too?"

  Natalie nodded.

  "What a motley crew."

  "As strange as it sounds, I actually enjoyed myself."

  "Now that I'd like to see."

  "What?"

  "You enjoying yourself."

  The air was summer-sweet, the sun beating down. Natalie chewed her sandwich slowly and studied the big, handsome man sitting across from her. "Then take a look at me now."

  "I've been looking." His Adam's apple bobbed. "I missed you."

  She tried to laugh, but failed. "I was only gone for a couple of days."

  "You're habit-forming."

  And to her dismay, his face had been hovering less than a split second away from her mind over the past few days, too. Natalie shook her head and looked away. "This is crazy."

  "What? Being honest? I'm not very good at playing games."

  She glanced back. "I mean this—" She gestured vaguely between them. "Is too soon."

  "I'm getting old and wise. When I find something good, I don't keep browsing."

  Natalie sighed. "Brian, you know what I've been through—what I'm still going through. I'm not exactly in the most healthy frame of mind here."

  He abandoned his sandwich and leaned forward to brush her cheek with his thumb. "I figure that's the only way I have any chance at all."

  She laughed, and it felt so good just knowing she could laugh. "I can't promise you anything," she whispered, leaning forward.

  "I'm not asking for promises—yet." He touched his lips to hers, then captured her in a hard, pent-up kiss and eased her back into the soft, fragrant grass. He moved against her, slow, but resolute. He communicated his desire for her with his hands, his mouth, the desperate noises in his throat. She responded in kind, wanting, needing whatever comfort and strength and pleasure he had to offer. His body hardened against her, then they remembered where they were.

  "Come on," he said, pulling her to her feet, then tugging her toward the van.

  As giddy as a naughty teenager, she ran with him, her body singing for a thorough release. She was single. She was aroused. And she was entitled.

  He locked them in the back of the van. Amidst cardboard boxes and furniture, Brian dropped to the carpet and pulled Natalie on top of him. They kissed and rolled around with abandon, bumping knees and elbows, shedding clothes haphazardly. His physique was a magnificent master plan of rugged muscle and tanned skin, powerful enough to render her weak-kneed, adept enough to make her cry out. He strummed her pliant body to a fever pitch, then lifted her to straddle him. He ran his hands over her slight curves with reverence and authority, murmuring words of appreciation and encouragement as she slowly accommodated his sex.

  When at last they were joined, he breathed her name with joy. She'd never felt so thoroughly desirable, and the knowledge stripped away her inhibitions. With nothing at stake and nothing to prove, she allowed her starved instincts to take over. Fantasies took wing—she wanted an experience to savor in the dark days ahead. They locked gazes as she rode him to mutual completion, jarring and noisy and profound.

  Depleted, she fell forward onto his chest, drawing the scent of their sex into her lungs. He stroked her hair and moaned as their bodies recovered. She dared not move, lest she have to leave the immunity from the world that his arms provided. But even as she reveled in the heat of his skin, the crushing weight of accountability descended on her bare back.

  "My father was right," she muttered against his collarbone.

  "Hmm?"

  "Never trust a man with a van."

  He laughed heartily, but her only consolation was that tomorrow she would be less stupid.

  Chapter 35

  "We checked out the three car rentals in Quincy," Natalie told Detective Aldrich and the rest of the group assembled, "but none of them could or would give us any information." Still, she felt almost light-headed with relief over the revelation. The police would rush off to find the mystery woman. The conspiracy charges would be dropped. Her life would return to normal. Brian's face flashed in her mind, triggering a smile. Maybe better than normal.

  But the detective tossed down his pencil and leaned forward. "That's because most people won't divulge confidential customer information to anyone except the police!" He pushed himself up and paced the room. "I ought to have the three of you arrested for meddling!"

  "Now wait just
a minute," Masterson said. "Maybe they went about it the wrong way, but you can't dismiss the information these ladies uncovered. Perhaps you should explain how three women were able to track down information you and your men weren't."

  "Because," Aldrich said, leaning on the table, "they're lying."

  She made fists under the table.

  "We are not!" Ruby said, then elbowed her lawyer.

  Billy Wayne jerked awake. "Yeah. We are not!"

  "This from a woman who lied about killing another man?" Aldrich threw back. "You're already facing a murder charge, missy. You'd better think twice before bringing more trouble on yourself."

  Natalie strove for a calm voice. "Detective, you can check out our story. You'll see we were together in Quincy over the weekend."

  "And all that proves," he said, "is that the three of you were together long enough to cook up a good story. Don't you see how you're damaging your own case?"

  "We brought this information to you in good faith," she said through gritted teeth. "We were trying to help."

  He scoffed. "Trying to help yourselves by creating this phantom woman."

  Frustration drove her to her feet. "What kind of man are you? Why are you so determined to ruin all of our lives? I swear on everything I hold sacred that we did not conspire to kill our husband. If your office could get their act together enough to schedule a polygraph, you'd know that."

  Aldrich didn't even flinch, but at least she had managed to silence him.

  District Attorney Keane cleared his throat. "Perhaps you'd better let them in on the new evidence."

  "New evidence?" Gaylord asked.

  Natalie tensed. What now?

  Aldrich hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. "We finished analyzing Mr. Carmichael's car—the brake line had been cut, which probably contributed to his accident. And we found Mr. Carmichael's toiletry kit. One item contained enough ouabain to trigger those heart pains, a bottle of—" He consulted a sheet of paper. "Sterling For Men cologne."

  She sucked in a sharp breath.

  Beatrix, what kind of perfume are you wearing?

  Sterling. It's a custom blend I've worn for years.

  She looked at Beatrix, who sat rigid. A horrible suspicion washed over her. Betrayed again?