I was going to have to drag—or more likely tease—every tidbit of information out of her, it seemed. “It’s nice to see you.” A slight white lie. Although I didn’t mind so much, actually, now that she looked like hell while I looked pretty good. “But we’re not exactly friends. So what can I do for you?”
She looked at me as if she couldn’t quite believe I’d cut to the point so quickly, and for a second it seemed like she didn’t know what to say. Then she looked down at her cup again, as if the motion of stirring was beyond interesting. “It’s Brad.”
No kidding.
I bit my tongue and didn’t tell her I’d assumed as much. “What is he doing?” Not that I couldn’t make an educated guess.
The guess must have echoed in my voice, because Shelby glanced up and said, “He isn’t cheating. He wouldn’t do that to me.”
“He did it to me,” I said. And added, “Oh, wait. You know that. You were there.”
She had the decency to blush. “Brad loves me.”
Sure. I thought it, but I managed to bite back the word.
Although the thing is, he probably did. I’d believed he loved me, back when we were married. Back when I didn’t know better, and I didn’t realize that what we had didn’t come close to being love.
But maybe he did love her, the best he was able. They’d managed to stay married longer than Bradley and I had, anyway. If not by a whole lot. And toward the end of our just under two years together, Bradley had been getting Shelby naked on top of the desk at Ferncliff & Morton with regularity. She might not want to believe he was doing it again, but I had no problem imagining it.
“He’s not!” Shelby insisted.
I wanted to ask how she knew, but I didn’t get the chance. The bell above the door tinkled, and Shelby glanced in that direction. And turned pale.
“What?” I glanced over my shoulder.
She lowered her voice. “That man who just came in...”
“What about him?”
“He looks... dangerous.”
He did, rather. My lips curved.
“Oh, no!” Shelby breathed.
“What?”
Her eyes were huge, and unless I missed my guess, terrified. “He’s coming this way!”
Of course he was. I looked up again just as Rafe stopped beside the table and gave me the kind of smile that curled my toes inside the suede boots. “Afternoon, darlin’.”
Chapter Two
“Hi.” The sight of him took my breath away, as usual. “What are you doing here?”
“Had an hour to kill,” Rafe said. He put one hand on the back of my chair and one hand on the table in front of me, and leaned in.
There was a time when I would have been horrified at the thought of him kissing me in public. Not because of the kiss—I wanted that—but because of who might be looking and what they might think and whether or not they would call my mother and tell her that I’d been kissing LaDonna Collier’s good-for-nothing colored boy in broad daylight.
Those days were long gone. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, the better to enjoy the feel of his mouth on mine.
He took his sweet time, and by the time he straightened, my stomach had turned to liquid. It had nothing at all to do with the hot chocolate. If he had suggested it, I might almost have considered getting naked on top of this table, right here and now.
Almost.
Shelby hadn’t said a word, and I decided to ignore the social niceties as I concentrated on smoothing out the wrinkles in Rafe’s T-shirt, where I’d held on for dear life. She probably wouldn’t want an introduction anyway, and he wasn’t here to meet her. To have a look at her, maybe, and to send the message back to Bradley that I was well and truly spoken for—assuming Shelby had any plans of telling Bradley about our conversation—but Shelby herself was of secondary interest to him.
Besides, I had a hard time tearing my gaze away.
He knew it, too. I could see it in his eyes when he trailed his fingertips down my cheek. “Hold that thought,” he told me, his voice laced with laughter and a bit of residual heat. Apparently he wasn’t entirely unaffected either, which was nice to know.
And then he straightened and glanced at Shelby. “Sorry to interrupt.”
She squeaked something. I’m not even sure what it was.
Rafe turned back to me. “I’ll see you later, darlin’.”
I nodded. Like Shelby, I couldn’t quite get my voice to cooperate yet. All I could do was sit there, mesmerized, as he leaned in for another kiss, this one just a soft brush of his lips across mine. But I did manage to refrain from turning to watch him saunter away when he headed across the floor to the counter and ordered his coffee to go. I even managed to keep my back to him after he took the cup of coffee out the door. I could hear the roar of the Harley Davidson starting up—how on earth did he plan to drive that and drink coffee at the same time?—but I didn’t turn to watch him drive away.
Shelby did. She watched him every step of the way across the floor, and she made sure he was well and truly gone before she leaned closer, across the table, and breathed, “Who was that?!”
I opened my mouth. But before I could tell her, she’d added, “Wouldn’t your boyfriend mind that you were kissing someone else?”
“That was my boyfriend,” I said. And had the pleasure of seeing Shelby struck dumb. At least for a few seconds. She stared at me, and at the door where Rafe had disappeared, and back at me again.
“You’re dating that guy?”
Yes. Although— “We’ve gone a bit beyond dating.”
Shelby’s eyes widened and her voice lowered. “You’re sleeping with him?”
Well, duh. That kiss, coupled with the promise that he’d see me later... surely there hadn’t been much doubt? “Every night,” I said. “We live together.”
It took a few moments, or more than a few, but eventually she found her voice again. “I thought you were thinking of marrying some man you grew up with.”
“We did grow up together.” Although Shelby was probably thinking of Todd Satterfield, the son of my mother’s gentleman friend, Sweetwater sheriff Bob Satterfield.
Todd was my mother’s choice of second husband for me. He also happens to be my brother Dix’s best friend, and we had dated for a year in high school. It was mostly because Dix dated my best friend Charlotte, but my mother had fixated on Todd from that moment on. She had approved of Bradley, who had been another tall, blond, Southern lawyer, but since that hadn’t worked out, it would set her world to rights if I married Todd on my second go-round. Needless to say, she does not approve of my relationship with Rafe. For a number of reasons, but Todd features large. “Rafe is from Sweetwater too,” I said.
“His name is Rafe?”
“Rafael Collier.” And while I’d grown up in the Martin Mansion—what Rafe refers to as ‘the mausoleum on the hill’—he’d spent his formative years in the Bog, the mobile home park on the other side of town. But we did both hail from Sweetwater, and we’d gone to high school together for one year, until he graduated and moved on, first to Alabama for the summer, and then to Riverbend Penitentiary for two years.
“Wow.” She stared at me. And then—I should have known—she lowered her voice until it was just above a whisper. “So is it true what they say? You know, about black men...?”
In case you don’t know what it is they say about black men—I didn’t, the first time I heard the expression—it’s that they’re well-endowed. Physically.
And I should have resisted. I know I should. I just couldn’t. I stuck my tongue firmly in my cheek and told her, “I don’t have a lot of scope for comparison.” Only Bradley. “But from what I can tell... yes.”
In other words, my boyfriend blows your husband out of the water.
Shelby stared at me. “Wow.”
I nodded and refrained from telling her that size isn’t everything. Because while it isn’t—it can’t possibly be—there was no doubt that my sex life had improved
about a million percent when I took up with Rafe. I’m not sure the size of his personal equipment was the reason, though. I fell for him before we got naked together, before I’d ever laid eyes on the equipment in question, and the fact that I’m in love with him surely has something to do with the fact that our sex life is good. And also, he’s had rather a lot of practice, so he knows how to use said equipment. I think it’s more about that, than about the size.
Although I had no complaints about the size of his personal package.
But it was probably time to get the conversation back on track. “We were talking about Bradley. And how he’s not cheating.”
Shelby nodded.
“If that’s not it, what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know!” Her voice rose, and she immediately adjusted it, with a guilty look around. As if anyone cared. This was East Nashville, and we’re made of sterner stuff out here. “He isn’t talking to me.”
“At all?”
“Of course not at all,” Shelby said impatiently. “But he isn’t home much. He goes in to work early and stays late. Sometimes he works at night. And when I ask him what’s going on, he just tells me not to worry about it.”
Not to worry her pretty little head about it, most likely. He’d told me that once, as well. I hadn’t objected, but considering that we’d been divorced for almost three years now, yet the memory still had the power to make me want to kick him where it hurt, I probably should have.
“I see,” I said.
And I did. Back when I’d been the one worrying my pretty little head about Bradley’s whereabouts, he’d been busy banging Shelby in the broom closet at work. He was probably doing the same thing now, with whoever his new paralegal was. Or the mailroom girl. Or one of the other junior partners. Or a client. There wasn’t much I would put past him. Once a cheater, always a cheater, as far as I’m concerned.
And let’s face it, all the signs were there. The very same signs that had alerted me. He stayed out late, citing work. He came home after I’d fallen asleep and didn’t wake me. Or he was so tired that he was just going to relax in front of the TV for a while, and then he conveniently fell asleep on the sofa so he could spend the night in the living room instead of sharing the bed with me.
Classic guilty conscience brought on by diddling someone other than his wife.
“Are you still having sex?” I asked, point blank.
Shelby blinked once, as if I’d inadvertently splashed her with cold water. Several seconds went by before she found her voice. “It’s been a couple of weeks.”
My face must have given me away, because she scrambled to reassure me that, “It’s just because of the baby. The doctor said that relations in the last six weeks could bring on premature labor.”
Sure.
I mean, I’m sure the doctor did tell her that, if that’s what she was telling me. She had no reason to lie about it. But if Bradley wasn’t getting any at home, that made it all the more likely that he’d gone out and found some elsewhere. As he’d told me once, he was a man and men had needs.
“I don’t mean to harp,” I said, “but how do you know he’s not cheating?”
“Bradley loves me! He wouldn’t do that to me!”
Right.
We sat in silence for a minute while I tried to come up with something to say. To me it was obvious what was going on, but if Shelby was unwilling—or unable—to see or acknowledge it, what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t force her to believe.
“What is it you think I can do for you?” I asked eventually. She must have had a reason for wanting to get together, after all. And if it wasn’t to commiserate over a cheating husband, what was it?
She looked up at me, her eyes miserable. “I need you to help me figure out what’s going on.”
Whoa.
“How do you want me to do that?”
“I don’t know. Follow him around?”
Oh, sure. Because I had nothing better to do than stalk my ex-husband. “Why me?”
“There’s no one else I can ask,” Shelby said, and burst into tears.
Things went downhill from there.
I understood where she was coming from, of course. There really was no one else she could ask, not without letting all her friends know that something was going on with Bradley. She might not be willing to admit it, not to me, but I think she knew that any one of her friends would jump to the same conclusion I had. Or maybe she just didn’t want anyone else to know that she and Bradley hadn’t had sex for weeks.
She’d attempted to stake out her husband herself, she told me, but she had run into the twin problems of needing to visit the bathroom every thirty minutes because of the pregnancy, and the fact that Bradley had recognized her car.
I had dealt with the bathroom problem myself once, when I was parked outside a warehouse waiting for someone to show up, so I could relate. And I’d also gotten caught, although not by Bradley. “What happened?”
“He got angry,” Shelby sniffed.
Another blatantly obvious sign of a guilty conscience. Bradley was far too well-bred to raise his voice under most circumstances. In my case, I’d gotten caught by Rafe—whom I hadn’t been looking for—but he hadn’t been angry at all. Sometimes he seemed angry, but I’d come to realize that it was only because he was worried about me. It wasn’t that he was worried about himself, or about what I might discover.
I knew I had no reason to feel bad for Shelby. I owed her nothing. She’d stolen my husband. But the truth was, if she hadn’t, I’d never have met Rafe again, and I wouldn’t now be deliriously happy. I’d still be miserably married to Bradley, and it would be me sitting on the other side of the table needing help. By now I might have had a child or two, tying me even tighter to the bastard.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for me to take a look,” I said.
Shelby brightened immediately, although the damage was already done. I’d thought she looked bad when she walked in, thirty pounds overweight and frumpy. Now she was thirty pounds overweight, frumpy, red-faced and soggy from crying. Her mascara had run, her eyes were rimmed with red, and she looked awful.
“What do you want me to?” I added and pushed a napkin across the table toward her. “Here. Blow your nose.”
Shelby dabbed delicately at her face, but didn’t blow. Much too unseemly. Southern Belles only blow their noses in the privacy of their own bathrooms.
“Can you find out where he’s going? And what’s going on?”
“I can try,” I said. “I mean, I can try to catch him after work one day and see whether he goes home.”
Shelby sniffed. “Today?”
I thought about it. Rafe was working until six. Bradley would most likely leave the office at or before five. I could leave Brew-ha-ha, head over to Ferncliff & Morton, and park myself outside for an hour or two. If he came out by five thirty, I could follow him and see where he went. If he didn’t... well, then I would just go home to Rafe, and no harm done.
“I suppose.”
“Thank you,” Shelby said.
“Just as long as you understand that I may not discover anything at all. Or if I do, that you may not like what I discover.”
She nodded, but I could see in her eyes that she really didn’t believe I’d discover that Bradley was running off to some fleabag motel to meet another woman. Shelby actually trusted him. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, so I did neither, just pushed my chair back. “I should go. Just in case he leaves work early.”
Shelby nodded. “You know where he works?”
“Has he left Ferncliff & Morton?”
She shook her head.
“Then I know where he works.”
Shelby heaved herself to her feet. I waited for her to trundle toward the exit, but she pointed the other way. “I have to... um...”
Visit the restroom. Right.
“I’ll call you later,” I said, and left her to take care of business.
The firm of Ferncliff & Mort
on specializes in family law, which has to do with marriage and divorce, adoption, paternity testing, surrogacy and the like. In other words, I married a divorce attorney, and I daresay that should have tipped me off as to Bradley’s true nature. I can only say in my defense that I was young and stupid.
Ferncliff & Morton is located in the Germantown area, an urban regentrification neighborhood north of downtown. It took me less than ten minutes to get there. I knew exactly where it was, since Bradley had started working there straight out of law school. I’d visited Ferncliff & Morton before. And I was still driving the same car I’d been driving then: a pale blue Volvo, six years old, that Bradley had bought me just after we got married.
This mission would have been easier had Ferncliff & Morton been located in downtown. I would have had an easier time disappearing among the other cars and people. Up here, it was more likely that Bradley would catch me spying on him.
Then again, in downtown, he’d probably keep the car in a parking garage, one he’d access from inside the building, so I wouldn’t see him at all until he came driving out. At least up here he had to park in plain view.
Germantown is an old industrial area, full of old warehouses and turn-of-the-last-century architecture. Ferncliff & Morton was located in one of the old Victorian homes: a two story brick beauty with a mansard roof and arched windows. The employee parking lot is in the rear, but I drove down the street in front of the building first, just to make sure the BMW Bradley had been driving in December wasn’t parked out front.
It wasn’t. I peered up at the building itself as I drove slowly past.
Unless Bradley’s office had been moved along with his promotions, he worked on the second floor, on the right as one came up the stairs. That would put him on the left hand corner of the second floor from where I was. There was a light on in the corner office.
I took the next right and then pointed the Volvo down the alley behind the buildings. About halfway down was the Ferncliff & Morton employee parking lot. And there was Bradley’s navy blue SUV parked near the back door.
Of course I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t park in the lot and hope he wouldn’t notice the car he’d bought me six years ago. I had to find somewhere else to wait, somewhere out of the way, where I could still keep an eye on the SUV but without being seen.
Kickout Clause (Savannah Martin Mystery) Page 2