3 Dime If I Know (3 page)

“Wow.”

Jonette’s eyes met mine. “Wait a minute. How long have you known about this?”

“Less than twenty-four hours, but Muriel and Francine knew first,” I said to soften the blow. “They’re organizing the food for her reception. Say, that gives me an idea. I wonder if they’d do the food at your fundraiser. It could be a trial run for their new catering business.”

“We don’t have much money,” Jonette cautioned. She chewed her lip a moment. “Maybe my campaign committee could chip in to finance the snacks. Then we could spend the rest of the campaign going door to door to beat that rat-fink Darnell.”

“I’m good for twenty bucks,” I said. “And maybe Francine and Muriel would do it at cost if they could hand out brochures for Two Sisters Catering.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay with them networking at my party. Let’s see. If you, me, Dean, and Rafe chip in twenty each, that’d give us eighty. Would Charlie cough up twenty for the fund-raiser food?”

“Charlie would do it. He’d think that would earn him a spot in my good graces. But, Rafe . . .”

Jonette grabbed my hand. “What? What aren’t you telling me about the golf pro?”

I pulled away from her, hugging my middle. “It’s probably nothing.”

“You’re not acting like it’s nothing. What did he do?”

“I don’t have any idea what’s up, but my imagination is running wild. He got a call yesterday morning during my lesson and cancelled our date last night. I can’t find him anywhere today.” My lip trembled. “He’s not returning my calls.”

“Bastard.” Jonette nudged Dean. “Go beat him up, honey.”

Dean froze.

“What?” Jonette zeroed in on her boyfriend. “You know something.”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“You should,” Jonette insisted.

“Yes, please,” I urged. “Any information is better than nothing. I don’t know if he’s hurt or dead or just a jerk.”

“There aren’t too many red Jags in the county. I recognized his car at first glance.”

Jonette smacked her open palm on the tabletop. “This is worse than trying to get information out of Cleo’s mom. Where was he parked?”

Linda Ronstadt belted out a song about being cheated and mistreated. My heart raced as I waited for Dean to spit it out. It had to be another woman. Nothing else would make Dean so hesitant, right?

“I gave Tucker Harris a ride home last night at closing time. Turns out his wife threw him out of the house, so he’s living over at the Catoctin View Motel.”

What was Rafe doing on that side of town? Rumor had it prostitutes worked out of Catoctin View. Another rumor said a drug ring used the premises for pharmaceutical transactions. Any way I looked at it, Rafe’s presence at a seedy motel a little past two in the morning wasn’t a positive thing.

“Bastard,” Jonette repeated with vehemence. “Two-timing, sneaking, thieving, shithead of a loser. You demand he get tested for sexually transmitted disesases, Cleo. Don’t let him near you unprotected until he gets a clean blood test. What am I saying? Don’t sleep with him ever again. Let’s do a Lorena Bobbitt on him. He deserves having his privates hacked off for catting around. Son of a bitch.”

His likely betrayal cut me to the quick. “I can’t believe he went out and paid for sex.”

“We don’t know that he got laid,” Dean warned. “All I said was his car was there. He could have loaned his car to a friend. The car could’ve been stolen. There are many perfectly good reasons why his car might be at the Catoctin View Motel.”

Instead of cheering me up, Dean’s assertions plunged me into a volatile mood. Right or wrong, Rafe had concealed his actions. He didn’t want me to know.

I wasn’t important enough to rate an explanation.

I deserved more than that.

Other than a quick buss on the lips, Rafe remained distant throughout dinner, confusing me further. I passed the green beans topped with peanut chocolate candies down to my ex-husband, Charlie, who’d invited himself to dinner once he sniffed my chicken and rice casserole. This whole business of him living next door was entirely too convenient for him for my liking.

Which is why he became my neighbor, to remain underfoot until I forgave him for his adultery and second marriage and welcomed him back into my bed. Not happening. I wouldn’t be so gullible ever again, which made me wonder why I sat here pretending everything was fine with Rafe.

“More chicken and rice?” I asked, passing the serving dish down to Rafe.

“Thanks.” He spooned another large portion on his plate and wolfed it down.

Men who drove fancy sports cars probably expected more out of Sunday dinner than a casserole, congealed salad, canned green beans doctored up by Mama, and store-bought rolls, but he wasn’t complaining. Worse, he acted as if nothing was wrong.

“There’s this new guy who wants to be on the yearbook staff,” Lexy said when I asked her about her week at school. “He’s a photographer like me.”

“Is he cute?” Charla asked, vibrating with enthusiasm. “Is he a freshman?”

“He is in my grade. You may have seen him. He wears dark framed glasses and has really short hair. He had on a button-down collar dress shirt on Friday.”

Charla made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Major geek. Don’t waste a minute on him. You’ll never fascinate him as much as the mysteries of the universe.”

“He’s an excellent photographer. His pictures really grab you. Everyone on staff couldn’t stop talking about his pictures last week.”

“You take good pictures, too,” I said. One of the puppies over in the puppy box started yipping. I shushed him. “I’m sure there’s room for two top-notch photographers on the yearbook staff.”

Silently, I urged Charlie to chime in and support his youngest daughter, but my ex-husband was lost in his own world. Some things never changed.

“Mom, our cheerleading captain has the cutest little car. It’s pink. Who knew they made pink cars? I want one like Liz’s car, only I want mine to be purple. That’d be way cool.”

I scooped up a forkful of chocolatey and peanuty green beans. “Got news for you, dear. Your car is a classic color. Gunmetal gray to be exact.”

“Oh, Mom. Not the beast.” Charla’s horror radiated from every fiber of her being. “You can’t be so cruel as to make me drive the Gray Beast. Everyone has already seen that car.”

“It’s a survivor, and survival’s what I want for you.”

At the scrape of a fork, I glanced over and saw Rafe’s plate was empty again. “More?”

He sat back in his chair, patting his flat abdomen. “No, thanks. I’m good. It was delicious.”

“I’ll say,” Charlie chimed in. “Marry me again, Cleo. I can’t live without your chicken and rice casserole.”

Rafe glared at Charlie. As the testosterone level in the room ramped exponentially, I sought a way to diffuse the situation. A brawl between my lover and my ex-husband would ruin my day—and everyone else’s, for that matter.

“Can’t do it, Charlie,” I said. The puppies starting yipping again. Their mother shot me a look of exasperation and slunk out of the room. “Chicken and rice comes with an expectation of fidelity.”

He gave me his best my-shit-doesn’t-stink smile. “You can’t keep holding that against me. What do you say to forgiving and forgetting?”

“Nope. I have a policy about that. No do-overs.”

“Drat. I’ll have to change my name and romance you from scratch.”

Before I could throw him out, Mama and her fiancé arrived. She’d met Bud Flook through Daddy, and Bud had been in love with her ever since. He waited throughout her long and happy marriage to my father, and now he’d finally gotten the girl of his dreams. I couldn’t be happier for them.

“Hello, hello!” Mama breezed in, waving her diamond-clad hand through the air so that the stone flashed when it caught the light.

Rafe stood to give her a kiss. Charlie lumbered to his feet and did the same. “That’s some rock you got there, Delilah,” Charlie said. “You found a sugar daddy?”

“Better than that. I got me a husband-in-waiting. Bud and I are getting hitched at Trinity Episcopal in three Saturdays. Everyone here is invited to the wedding. No invitations will be sent.”

Charlie nodded. “Gotcha.”

Rafe inclined his head in Mama’s direction. “Congratulations to you both.”

“You gonna dance at my wedding?” Mama asked, staring directly at Rafe.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Well, then. That’s all right.”

After dinner, Rafe and I escaped to the porch swing while the kids did their homework and Charlie did the dishes. Rafe glanced at me under his lashes when I sat down in the far corner of the swing instead of snuggling up to his side.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“You tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong on my end. Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“You’ve heard the expression ‘once bitten, twice shy’?”

He nodded.

“Charlie’s adultery hit me hard. I’ve made no secret of the fact that you’re the first person I’ve seriously dated since my divorce. I learned my lesson. I won’t tolerate infidelity or lying in a relationship.”

His expression sobered. Did he know where I was going with this? Did I know? Yes. I did. “You want to tell me why you cancelled our date last night?”

“I told you. Something came up. It was personal.”

“You went to the Catoctin View Motel.”

His jaw dropped. “You know about that?”

“I do. I can think of one very good reason a man would visit a motel known to be a hangout for prostitutes.”

“It isn’t what you’re thinking.”

“What is it?”

“I went there to help a friend. I promise you, that was the extent of it.”

“I want to believe you, but you’re holding back from me. Why does it have to be like this between us? Why didn’t you return my calls last night or this morning?”

He rose and paced the porch. With his long legs, he was back in no time. “I was busy.”

“Too busy to send me a text message?”

“Drop it, Cleo. It doesn’t concern you. You’re crowding me.”

I leaned into his personal space. “That’s what Sampson women do. We don’t back down from a messy situation. You want to sleep with me, you get the whole me, not just the fun anatomical parts.”

“What’s that mean? You saying you won’t sleep with me?”

“I’m saying you aren’t being open with me.”

He looked away, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Come home with me, so we can be alone. I feel like everyone’s listening to us out here.”

“I don’t care if God himself is listening. I care about getting a straight answer from you.”

“You’re not going to tie an apron on me and change me. This is who I am.”

“I’m not trying to change you. I’m asking you to be honest with me.”

“You’re confusing me.”

Glancing over, I saw Madonna’s nose pressed up against the dining room window, looking out at us. She barked loudly. The puppies joined in the chorus, adding to the din in my head. What a crappy Sunday.

“Welcome to the club. Where’s this going, Rafe?”

“Does it have to be going somewhere?”

That hurt. I studied him for a few beats before I answered. “Yes, it does.”

Silence engulfed the porch. “You’re changing the rules on me.”

“I’m being honest about my feelings. I care for you, but I don’t think I’m cut out for a long-term affair. It feels like something is missing.”

“I need you tonight. Don’t shut me out.”

“You’re shutting yourself out.” I rose and squared my shoulders. “I expect the truth from you.”

Rafe glanced down at his shiny Oxfords. “Did you ever wonder who you’d be if you’d made different choices in life?”

“Not really.” If I’d overlooked my husband’s adultery, I’d still be living with a cheater. If I’d never married the bastard, I wouldn’t have my beautiful daughters. I’d made the only choices I could make.

He shot me an enigmatic look. “There’s no point in digging up the past. I’ve been faithful to you. You have to believe that.”

“Let’s take the night to think on this.” Trust without verification wasn’t the Sampson way, but Rafe expected it. My expectations ran along the lines of trust but verify.

We definitely weren’t on the same page.

I opened the office of Sampson Accounting alone on Monday morning. Mama slept in after her big evening of telling everyone about the wedding. I, on the other hand, yearned for the escape of work. With that thought, I locked the door behind me and started the coffee.

After a restless night, my feelings about dating hadn’t changed. I believed that a person dated with the ultimate goal of marriage, or at least this person did. Everything I knew about Rafe led me to believe he’d be a good husband, despite the fact he preferred having an affair. He’d been honest about his intentions all along. I’d been fooling myself thinking I didn’t need a wedding band.

Now that I’d accepted my true goal in dating was marriage, should I stop seeing Rafe? Continuing to see him would prevent me from meeting other men.

Which sucked because I was in love with Rafe.

How many women had fallen into this trap of thinking it would all work out in the end? That their boyfriends would come to love them as much as they loved them? I was college-educated. Smart. I owned a business. But my track record with love was rotten.

I should talk to Rafe about my decision, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Would he call me this morning to apologize for being a jerk last night? I clung to that faint hope.

Business was slow at Sampson Accounting, the two-person firm I owned, and had been slow ever since the quarterly taxes were paid on September fifteenth. Usually I had homeowners’ association finances to audit or new clients to interview. Today I had nothing except stacks of filing I didn’t want to do. Instead, I turned my computer on and flipped through my emails.

At a knock on the door, I rose from my desk and hurried across the reception area. A thick fireplug of a guy in a shiny suit glared at me. He’d been my Sunday school teacher for years, and he’d always been a big brother figure to me. He’d also fussed at me for meddling in his business a time or two.

I opened the door and waved him in. “Detective Radcliff. What can I do for you today?”