Attempted Matrimony

by Joanna Wayne

  “Is his hobby area in the main part of the house?”

  She hesitated, hugged the coffee cup as if it were a lifeline, then pushed it away. “The phone you have the number for is in the apartment over the garage.”

  Ah, yes, the apartment over the garage. Dallas knew it as well as he knew his own, though he’d only been there once. He knew the songs that had been playing on the fancy music system. Knew the sweet odors—of candles and Nicole’s perfume—that had filled the space and clung to his clothes after he’d left.

  Now the place belonged to her new husband. The idea galled Dallas. The fact that he let it galled him even more.

  “I don’t think I should say anything else, Dallas, not without Malcomb present.”

  “Probably a good idea.” He picked up his napkin and wiped his brow, but he could do nothing about the perspiration that was pooling under his arms. He wasn’t sure if it was the memories or the heat of reality that were doing him in.

  If Dr. Malcomb Lancaster didn’t have a very good reason for the phone calls he’d gotten from Karen Tucker, he was about to become a suspect in a homicide case. But this was much more than a murder case. Karen’s death was tied to the deaths of other women in ways Dallas didn’t want leaked to the media—at least not yet.

  But there was no way to avoid questioning Malcomb Lancaster, and if that became common knowledge, the TV stations and newspapers would jump on it like rats to old cheese. Just being a doctor made a man somebody in Shreveport, Louisiana. That would be enough to make the story of his questioning news. Being married to the daughter of the town’s favorite late senator would make the story major news.

  The eminent Dr. Lancaster slicking the sheets with a nurse who’d been murdered. The likelihood of that indiscretion hung out there like a tattered banner, ready to flash its message to the masses. Dallas didn’t give two cents about Malcomb’s reputation. But he’d fight like hell to keep this quiet for Nicole’s sake. And for the benefit of his ongoing investigation.

  “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” she said, her voice revealing the strain of the situation.

  “You can’t tell me what you don’t know.”

  “You think Malcomb was mixed up with Karen Tucker in some way, don’t you?”

  “She called him. That’s all I know. I’m not reading anything else into it at this point.”

  “Exactly how many calls were there?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Is she—was she a nurse at Mercy General?”

  “She was until about a month ago. She quit then and took a job at Highland Hospital.”

  “Malcomb may have known her, but he didn’t kill her.”

  “I never said that he did. I’m just following a lead, Nicole.”

  “I understand.”

  Only it was clear she didn’t. Confusion was etched into every line of her face. God, he ached to take her in his arms and hold her. But even if he’d had the nerve, he doubted she’d have let him. His past record didn’t leave a lot of room for forgiveness or trust.

  “If that’s all, I need to go. Malcomb will be home soon and he’ll wonder where I am.”

  “Sure. I’ll walk you out.”

  Dallas dug in his right front pocket, pulled out a ten and a five and plopped them on the table. The sun was flirting with the horizon as he followed her to her car. It was parked in front of the café, next to his. Her royal-blue BMW, his unmarked, unremarkable black Ford—the difference between the society woman and the cop. Some things never changed.

  Yet he stood there aching to shield her from the world he was about to sling her into. Only he hadn’t messed up her world. Malcomb Lancaster had. Malcomb and a deadly killer.

  “Do you still have my cell phone number?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Call me if you need to talk to me about anything at all.”

  She looked up at him. He could see his reflection in her eyes, shrouded in the sadness that turned her irises the color of the fudge sauce Corky liked to spoon over his vanilla ice cream.

  Dallas couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he just stood there as she crawled into her car and drove away from him for the second time that day.

  Back to her husband—a liar and quite possibly a cheat, just as the mystery caller had said. But could he be the monster who tortured young women, then meticulously sliced their throat just to watch them die? Even Dallas had to admit that was very unlikely.

  But if he had learned anything as a homicide detective with the SPD, it was that murderers were frequently the least likely of suspects. That’s why he never counted anyone out until the third of the bottom of the ninth.

  MALCOMB PULLED INTO the self-service car wash, slipped out of his sport coat and stepped into the late afternoon sun. The attendants at his regular car wash had just vacuumed for him, but they did such a half-assed job, never moved things around so that they could clean beneath them.

  He opened the trunk, then fished in his pocket for coins. He pulled out a handful of quarters, slipped two into the slot and punched the on button. Instantly, the machine surged to life and air rushed in through the suction hose.

  Bending at the waist, moving things as he went, he maneuvered the apparatus so that the nozzle reached into the very back corners.

  When he’d finished, the carpet looked every bit as good as it had the day he’d bought the car. Satisfied, he slammed the trunk shut and opened the door on the passenger side.

  He heard a vehicle pull in and stop behind his. He chose not to look up. Meet someone’s gaze and likely as not they’d start up a conversation. He never understood why total strangers would assume you wanted to talk to them just because you were engaged in the same task.

  “Dr. Lancaster?”

  The call startled him, causing him to jump so that he hit his elbow on the dashboard. He bit back the curse that flew to his lips and turned just enough to catch a glimpse of one of the young orderlies from the hospital. He was a tall, burly guy with a ruddy face and unsightly hairs growing from his brows. Malcomb had seen him around a few times, but if he’d ever heard the man’s name, he didn’t remember it.

  “I guess you’re getting your car all ready for the weekend, too,” Malcomb said, hating that he felt small talk was being forced upon him.

  “Yep. Got a big night coming up. I’m surprised to see you here, though. I didn’t think doctors had to clean their own cars.”

  “Only if we want it done well.”

  “Know what you mean. If you like, I can give you a hand with that. I’m used to getting my hands dirty.”

  “No, I’m practically finished.”

  “I got a couple of cold beers in the cooler in back of my truck. You want one?”

  A cold beer. Not his beverage of choice, but it had been a rough day. His nerves were shot, his plans for a quiet Friday afternoon disrupted first by Jim Castle’s panicky bout with his conscience and then by Nicole with her talk of Dallas Mitchell. “Thanks, a beer would hit the spot.”

  The allotted vacuuming time ran out and the power shut off midsentence, leaving the last of his words to boom across the area. The orderly seemed to find that amazingly funny. He was still chuckling when he popped the top of a bottle of Coors and handed it to Malcomb with a large sweaty hand. Malcomb retrieved a clean tissue from the car and wiped the tip of the bottle thoroughly before touching it to his mouth. The beer trickled down his throat, cold as promised.

  The orderly propped his backside against the front fender of his own vehicle. “Did you hear about Karen Tucker?” he asked, just as Malcomb took his second drink.

  Malcomb choked, coughed and sent an amber spray spewing from his mouth to stain the front of his shirt. Damn. It was one of his best shirts, too.

  “Guess that means you did,” the orderly said. “I didn’t know her all that well, but it still shook me up pretty bad when I heard about her being murdered.”

  “Yes, it was a shock to all of us.”

  “She
was a real good-looking woman. Friendly, too. She wasn’t stuck up like some of those other nurses. She’d smile right at me, make me feel like I was somebody. You know what I mean?”

  “Yes, I think I do.”

  “Hope they find the guy that done it and hang him from his balls.”

  “I’m quite sure they don’t use that form of punishment.”

  “Too bad. Do you think it was someone who knew her? Usually is, you know. I watch a bunch of that true crime stuff on the Court TV. They say most murders are committed by a lover or a relative.”

  “I really don’t know any of the details.” Malcomb took another drink of his beer, extra careful this time not to choke. “I need to get back to vacuuming,” he said, “but I thank you for the refreshment.”

  “My pleasure. It’s not often I get to hobnob with the physicians on staff.”

  One time too often as far as Malcomb was concerned. He fed quarters to the machine and went back to the job of cleaning his floor mats. He didn’t need idle conversation. What he needed was a nice dry martini, a reprieve from emergencies and some time with his beautiful wife. The simple pleasures he’d worked so hard to earn.

  And later he’d slip away, climb the metal, spiral staircase to his private spot, for the complex pleasures he craved.

  NICOLE WAS STANDING in front of the window in her shadow-filled kitchen, staring into the deepening twilight, when she heard the garage door open. She’d stood in that same spot ever since she’d returned from the café, going over the facts in her mind, wrestling with the very strong possibility that Malcomb had lied to her about knowing Karen Tucker.

  It wasn’t fair to judge him until she’d heard his side of the story, but she couldn’t help the sickening feeling that churned in her stomach, the doubts that rambled through her mind. If he’d lied about that, what else had he lied about? Other women? The way he spent his evenings when he was away from home? His feelings for her? Had the anonymous caller been telling the truth, and it was Nicole’s own life, her marriage, that was the fallacy?

  Malcomb hated coming home to stress, liked time to unwind before they dealt with any unpleasant topics, but tonight he’d just have to deal with it. She couldn’t go through the motions, fake pleasantries, when the situation concerning Karen Tucker consumed her mind. She waited as she heard the kitchen door open and close, heard Malcomb’s breathing, smelled his aftershave.

  “Why are you in the dark?” Malcomb flicked on the light without waiting for her answer.

  She turned to face him. He was the man she slept with, made love to, had vowed to share her life with, yet she felt as if she were seeing him for the first time.

  “I was thinking,” she answered, “and the dark seemed better suited to my mood.”

  “Then we’ll have to change your mood.” He stepped behind her and ran his hands around her waist, pulling her against his chest. “I’ve missed you.”

  “You saw me at lunchtime.”

  “That was hours ago.”

  “Do you remember what we talked about, Malcomb?”

  He rested his chin on her shoulder so that his lips were near her ear. “Of course, my sweet. We talked of the Revel, Janice, Jim Castle and your nuisance meeting with that detective. What was his name?”

  “Dallas Mitchell.”

  “Yes, an old friend, you said, though I’m not convinced he’s acting as a friend.”

  “I heard from him again this afternoon.”

  Malcomb dropped his hands from around her waist. “What did he want this time? Surely he didn’t ask more questions.”

  “A few. I had coffee with him.”

  “Was that necessary?”

  “I thought so. He has Karen’s phone records.”

  Malcomb exhaled sharply. “So that’s what the dark mood is about.” He walked to the bar and poured himself a drink without offering her one. “Exactly what did the detective tell you?”

  “It seems Karen Tucker didn’t just have my name and number, she’d called our house fourteen times in the past three weeks, all evenings or weekends. Not our house exactly, but your hobby area over the garage.”

  “And that’s all he said?”

  “No. He mentioned that Karen had been a nurse at Mercy General until a month ago.”

  “And so immediately you think the worst of me. I’d expect better from you, Nicole. You’re usually so sensible.”

  “Sensible or naive?”

  “Certainly not naive. You’re too smart for that.”

  Apparently not smart enough. “You did know Karen, didn’t you?”

  “I think we should go into the living room, sit down and discuss this like rational individuals.”

  “I’m not feeling all that rational right now, Malcomb. I just want to know why you lied to me about knowing her.”

  “I didn’t think it was that important, and I had wanted to spare you a lot of annoying details.”

  “Don’t spare me. I’m sure the police won’t settle for being spared, either.”

  “The police are fools. I’m sure they’d love to find something risqué in mine and Karen’s relationship, but they’ll be sorely disappointed.”

  “So what was your relationship with Karen?”

  He finished his drink in one gulp, then set the glass on the table. “Plain and simple, Karen was a very disturbed young woman. I was nice to her at work. After she left Mercy General, she started calling me at all hours. I tried to talk to her, but she needed more help than I could give. I recommended she get counseling.”

  “Did she?”

  “Not to my knowledge. She was afraid of how it would look if it got into her personnel records.”

  “You should have told me that this morning when I asked if you knew her.”

  “And I would have if I had known it would come to this.”

  “And now she’s dead,” Nicole said. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Of course it bothers me. It bothers me every time I lose a patient, too, but death is one of the things I’ve had to learn to cope with.”

  “Karen Tucker didn’t just die. She was murdered.”

  “And that’s unfortunate, but this isn’t about us, Nicole. Don’t make it our problem when it isn’t.”

  “I think you should call Dallas and tell him exactly what you told me.”

  Malcomb stiffened. “I don’t owe the police any explanation. This is my private life and none of their business.”

  “They’re not going to see it that way.”

  “Then they can come to my office and question me there. But I think their time would be better spent trying to find the murderer than harassing a man who did nothing but try to help the unfortunate woman.”

  Malcomb reached out and put a hand at Nicole’s waist. “I say we drop this subject. Let’s have a quiet dinner and a bottle of wine, and then if my dang pager doesn’t go off again, you can put that black teddy on for me and I’ll try to make you forget all about Dallas Mitchell and his bothersome insinuations.”

  Nicole shuddered at the thought. Malcomb might have good reasons for lying to her, but she still felt betrayed. Maybe more so knowing that he’d talked to this woman night after night while she’d lain alone in their bed, bewildered and confused by the problems in their own relationship. And never once had he mentioned Karen’s name to her.

  Trust. It was such a delicate issue. But without it, there was nothing. For Malcomb the act of making love would be a release. He’d expect her to respond with passion, but she’d never been able to fake intimacy, much less an organism.

  Malcomb poured two glasses of wine and brought them over for a toast. “To us,” he said.

  Her hand shook as they clinked glasses. Before they’d taken the first sip, his pager vibrated. He glanced at the number, then shook his head in frustration.

  “Another emergency?” she asked, almost hoping it was and that he would be going back to the hospital.

  “Most likely.”

  She waited in the kitch
en while he made his call from the library. He rejoined her moments later.

  “It’s one of my hospitalized patients, and it’s urgent.”

  She nodded.

  “I may be late.”

  “I’m used to it.”

  “The curse of the doctor’s wife. I just hate to leave you alone after that detective managed to get you so upset.”

  “Dallas didn’t—” She dropped the subject. Malcomb’s keys were already in his hand. “I’ll be fine.”

  She watched him walk away, then started to her room, stopping to pick up her handbag and the keys she’d left on the hall table. The keys jangled, the only noise in a house that used to ring with life and laughter. The keys felt cold in her grasp, and she ran her thumb across the one that opened the door to the garage apartment.

  It had been weeks—no months—since she’d been in there. The last time had been when Malcomb was having it remodeled to provide a well-equipped darkroom. The apartment was only a few steps away, out the back door and up the metal steps, but it was Malcomb’s private place, and she respected that.

  But that was before the lies.

  She pocketed the keys and turned back to the kitchen and the back door. There were too many secrets between them. She was his wife. This was her family home. She had every right to go there. Besides, it was just a place where Malcomb relaxed with his hobby. It wasn’t as if she’d find the ghost of Karen there.

  But the dread was thick and choking by the time Nicole stepped into the light mist that had just begun to fall. A chilling omen of all that was yet to come.

  Chapter Six

  Nicole’s dad had added the garage apartment to the house as a birthday present when she’d turned twelve. He’d had it constructed with a separate entrance so that it could become an actual apartment if the need ever arose. It had one large room with a narrow kitchen across the back wall, a small bedroom and a half bath.

  She’d loved it from the first. It had been a place where she and her girlfriends could make chocolate-chip cookies, giggle to their hearts’ content and play music as loudly as they pleased. It had been the favorite spot for summer and weekend slumber parties, pillow fights and confessions of first kisses and schoolgirl crushes.