A Real Basket Case (16 page)

She put the car in gear and headed for Dave Kessler’s townhouse. When she saw Dave’s silver Volvo gleaming in his driveway, she smiled. The car was the same model as Ellen’s red one. The couple had bought the cars together before their marital troubles began.

Dave opened the door, a glass of what looked like his usual
s
ingle-malt scotch in his hand. His rumpled shirt was open at
the
collar and his loosened tie lay askew below the neckline. “Hi, Claire. Roger’s not here right now.” He didn’t ask her to come in.

“Where is he?”

“He’s picking up some Chinese takeout.”

“I need to talk to him.” She stepped forward, but Dave’s arm blocked the doorway. Remembering he was now single, she wondered if he had a woman visitor. “Am I interrupting something? Do you have company?”

Dropping his arm, Dave frowned and shook his head. His brusque manner suggested he still blamed her for Roger’s predicament.

“Then I’ll wait.” She stepped over the threshold.

He stared at her face as she walked past. “What happened to you?”

Claire fingered the bandage on her cheek. She didn’t want to talk about her arrest the night before. Dave would insist on a long, detailed description and would probably get angry with her. “Nothing important, just a scratch. I got careless.” The truth, though not the whole truth, so help her God.

Dave walked to the dining room, picked up a bottle, and poured more scotch into his glass. “I suppose I should offer you a drink.” He said it reluctantly, as if he hoped she would decline and leave.

Claire smiled politely. “A glass of white wine would be nice.”

“I have a bottle in the fridge.” He left to fetch the wine.

With butterflies tickling the inside of her stomach, Claire sat on the sofa and rehearsed what she would say to Roger. First, she’d ask him to come home. No, first she should tell him about the gym ladies. No, that was negative news. What positive news could she give him?

An annoying clicking sound intruded on her thoughts. She looked down and realized she’d been snapping her purse open and shut. She laid the purse on the glass-topped coffee table and clutched her hands in her lap.

Dave returned and handed her a glass of wine.

Claire took a large sip.

He settled in the chair next to the sofa and studied her as if waiting for her to make the next move in a chess game.

Nervous under his scrutiny, Claire glanced around the room and noticed an open file folder and papers scattered next to Dave’s chair. “Is that Roger’s case?”

“Yes. Before he left, we discussed what the next few steps should be. I’m preparing to hand over his file to the criminal lawyer who’ll represent him at the trial.”

Oh, God, the trial
. Claire clanked her wineglass hard on the coffee table. The glass wobbled. She steadied it. “Sorry, I’m feeling anxious tonight.”

“You should be.” Dave scowled at her. “After what you did to Roger.”

Claire bristled. “I didn’t sleep with the man, didn’t even intend to.”

“I find that hard to believe, given that he was found on your bed.”

She winced as she realized he must have read that sordid little detail in the police report. Would she never live that down? “Enrique was standing next to the bed when he was shot and fell on me.”

“C’mon, Claire. I wasn’t born yesterday.” Dave’s face held a look
of extreme distaste.

Claire had had enough. “You have no right to judge me after what you did to Ellen. A full-scale affair behind her back.”

Dave raised his glass in salute. “Touché. Can’t say I’m very proud
of that.”

“I’m not proud of what I did, either.” She drew a shaky hand across her brow. “But Roger should come home. We need to be together to work this out.”

“Unfortunately, I agree.”

Astonished, Claire wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. She peered at him. “You agree?”

“Roger’s my best friend. I don’t want what happened to Ellen and me to happen to you and Roger. I’ve been encouraging him to give you a chance.” A wry grin played at the edge of Dave’s lip. “Surprised, aren’t you?”

“Yes, frankly. I thought you were mad at me.”

“I am, but then I started thinking of Roger. If he loses his job
and
you, he’ll have nothing. He’s already scraping bottom. The fool still loves you. I don’t want him to end up like Ellen.”

Claire wasn’t sure what he meant. “Ellen? You mean hating you for your affair?”

“Not just hating me. She can’t derive pleasure from anything anymore. All her energies are concentrated on getting even with me.”

“I agree. She’s negative about everything, especially men.”

Dave drained his scotch and stared into the glass. “I realized soon after she threw me out that I’d made a horrible mistake. I was an old fool. Brittany made me feel young again, but once I became available and we didn’t have to sneak around anymore, she lost interest. She didn’t love me. She loved the intrigue, the illicitness of the affair.”

“Did you ask Ellen to take you back?”

He nodded and started to speak, but his voice came out as a raw croak. He closed his eyes, as if willing away the emotion. “She
wouldn’t have me. Even after I begged her forgiveness. Said I’d
ruined her life, which I had.”

“Oh, Dave.” Claire reached over and covered his hand with hers. “I’m so sorry. For both of you.”

He withdrew his hand and focused an intense gaze on Claire. “So am I. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to Ellen. Never. That’s why I’ve urged Roger to give you another chance.”

As Claire digested Dave’s revelation, the front door opened. With a large brown bag in his arms, Roger stood in the doorway and stared at her.

SEVENTEEN:
HOMECOMING

Claire thought she saw
a flicker of desire in Roger’s eyes—not sexual, but a cry for comfort—before he turned to close the door. The sight bolstered her courage.

Dave walked over to Roger. “I’ll take this into the kitchen.”

As Dave left with the bag of food, Roger cleared his throat and stepped into the living room. He sank into the chair Dave had vacated and said, “What happened to your face?”

Claire couldn’t help but smile. “I scratched it on a bed frame.”

Angry eyes glittering, he sneered. “Whose bed frame?”

Her smile died. “I guess I deserved that. You look tired.”

“I’m not sleeping well.” Licking his lips, he picked up Dave’s glass, then put it down.

Yes, a drink might help.
Claire recognized the familiar shoulder hunch that came when he was tense. “Why don’t you fix yourself a scotch?”

“Good idea.” Roger moved to the dining room.

She chose a neutral subject to ease him into conversation. “Dave told me you were picking up Chinese food tonight. Your usual twice-cooked pork?”

“You know me too well.” The side of his mouth twitched as he returned to the chair, a generous glass of scotch, neat, in his hand. He took a large gulp, then closed his eyes as he held it in his mouth before swallowing.

When he reopened his eyes, he said, “Okay, tell me how you got the scratch.”

Knowing full well he’d lose his temper, she laced her fingers together in her lap and launched into the story of breaking into Condoleza’s apartment.

Roger’s jaw dropped. “Dammit, Claire, what possessed you to do such a stupid thing?”

“I was trying to find evidence to exonerate you. Detective Wilson wasn’t doing anything, and Deb wasn’t available.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop?” Roger’s face grew splotchy red.

Claire tried a wry smile. “You should know by now that I don’t always do what you tell me to.”

“I don’t believe this. You’re lucky no one saw you.”

“Um, not that lucky.” She described being collared by Travis.

“You could’ve been killed!”

She shook her head. “As Leon said, Travis is too smart to do that.”

“Leon? The drug boss? What makes you think you can believe a word he says?”

Claire opened her mouth to defend Leon, then shut it. Why defend
Leon to Roger? She rubbed her forehead to clear her thoughts.
“Let me tell this story in sequence, or we’ll both get confused.
Obviously, Travis didn’t kill me. He did something much smarter. He had me arrested for breaking and entering.”

Roger choked on his scotch. “Breaking and entering? Now we’re
both
going to jail.”

“That’s not true. You aren’t a criminal. You didn’t kill Enrique.” Furious at his negativity, she spoke louder than she intended. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Technically, though, I’m a criminal. What I did is against the law, but I won’t be prosecuted.”

Roger’s eyes widened. “What the hell?”

“Drink your scotch and let me finish the story.”

He eyed the glass. “With all the surprises you’re throwing at me, maybe I’d better stay sober.”

Claire laughed, but when she realized Roger wasn’t laughing with her, she stifled it. She resumed her story, telling him how Leon had forced Travis to drop the charges. When she reached the part where Leon’s henchmen had muscled her into his car, Roger gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white. He opened his mouth, but Claire silenced him with an outstretched palm.

As she told him about the church parking lot, she shifted in her seat, nervous about how he would react to the damage to the BMW. “Leon’s bodyguard smashed the mirror on the passenger side of my BMW . . . a warning,” she said. Tempted to cringe, she waited.

“Christ almighty.” Roger leapt out of the chair. He paced back and forth, running his fingers through his hair. “Think what he could have done to you.”

His reaction was much better than Claire had hoped for.
Better not mention the switchblade,
she thought
.

“That guy’s dangerous,” Roger continued. “We need to get him arrested, get him off the streets.” He whirled and pointed a finger at her. “You’re calling the police right now.”

Claire crossed her arms. “I’ll do no such thing. I don’t think the police want Leon arrested. And besides, I promised him I wouldn’t mess with him.”

“Promised him? How can you make promises to a drug kingpin?”

“How can I break a promise to him? Please stop shouting and sit down.”

He sank into the chair.

“I trust Leon,” Claire continued. “His code of ethics is different than ours, but he has one. He smashed the car mirror, not me. And he helped me. He suggested I investigate the women in Enrique’s class at the gym.” She described her meetings with Brenda, Karla, and Ellen.

Looking confused, Roger said, “I can understand being suspicious of a cocaine addict, but how could you think Ellen or Jill killed anybody? They’re your friends.”

“And you’re my husband. I’ll do whatever it takes to clear your name.”

Roger peered at her. “Any more surprises?”

“That’s it.”

“Good.” He picked up his glass and tossed back the rest of his scotch. “I don’t think I could take any more.”

Claire reached for his hand and traced a finger over his knuckles while she sought the right words. Gazing into his eyes, she said, “Dave told me he didn’t want us to wind up like him and Ellen.”

Roger flinched and tried to pull his hand out of her grasp. “I’m surprised he told you that.”

“You shouldn’t be. He’s your friend. He wants what’s best for you.”

“How does he know what’s best for me? How does anyone know, you and me included?”

“We don’t, not for sure. But throwing away our marriage over one mistake—” When Roger opened his mouth, Claire held up a hand. “Yes, I know I made a huge mistake, with horrible consequences, but still, it was
one
mistake.”

“One? He was the first?”

She deliberately misconstrued the question. “I’ve had massages before. And that’s all that was going on—a massage.”

“I’m not a hundred percent convinced of that.”

“After twenty-six years, you should know when I’m telling the truth.” She leveled a steady gaze at him.

He stared back, then slowly nodded. “I believe you.”

“Giving up on our marriage can’t be the right thing to do, not without giving it a chance to start healing first.” Claire paused and screwed up her courage. “You promised you would give me the chance to earn your forgiveness.”

“You should get used to me not being around.”

“You’re
not
going to prison, so I don’t need to get used to anything. Come home with me. I miss you, and we need each other.”

He leaned forward and traced his finger along the bandage on her cheek. “I guess I’ll have to come home, if only to keep an eye on you. You need protection, someone to keep you out of any more scrapes.” A smile twitched at the edge of his lips.

Claire saw hope in that smile. She rubbed her cheek against the familiar strong warmth of his palm and felt an answering warmth grow in her belly.

Dave cleared his throat behind her. “Now that’s what I like to see. A cozy little tête-à-tête.”

Claire turned and saw him grinning at them. “Roger’s coming home with me.”

“Good. I was getting tired of him moping around here.”

Roger returned Dave’s smile with a sheepish grin. “Can I eat my
dinner first?”

___

Claire tailed Roger as they drove their two cars home. When they turned onto their street, she spied an unfamiliar vehicle parked in front of their home. Someone stepped out of the strange car as Roger pulled into the far bay of the garage.

Claire followed Roger’s car up the drive, entered her side of the garage, and cut the engine. As she got out, a voice called, “Mr. and Mrs. Hanover?”

Roger stepped out of the garage. “Who are you?”

The man held out his hand, offering to shake Roger’s. “Marvin Bradshaw, reporter for the
Gazette
. I’ve already met your wife.” He smiled and nodded at Claire.

She bristled. “It was not a friendly meeting.”

Roger ignored the reporter’s outstretched hand. “What’re you doing here at this hour?”

“I’ve been waiting quite some time to see you.” Bradshaw’s gaze flicked from Roger to Claire and back, assessing them. “I thought I’d give you a chance to tell your side before I file my story for tomorrow’s paper.”

“What story?” Roger frowned.

Bradshaw grinned and rocked back on his heels. “The one about your wife’s arrest for breaking and entering.”

“Those charges were dropped!” Claire shouted.

Roger grabbed her hand. “Shush.”

He spoke to the reporter in a low, ominous voice. “You aren’t welcome here. Leave.”

“I’m just doing my job, Mr. Hanover. If I don’t get a statement from you, I’ll have to go with what my other sources said.”

Oh, God, what will he write?
Claire’s head pounded. “Roger, maybe we should talk to him.”

Roger’s face reddened. “We’re not letting this guy blackmail us.”

Bradshaw glanced at Claire, as if looking for an ally. “But—”

“If you aren’t off my property in three seconds,” Roger said, clenching his fists, “I’ll throw you off myself. One.”

Bradshaw stood his ground. “You wouldn’t do that.”

Roger stepped forward, forcing Bradshaw to stumble back. “Watch me. Two.”

After a last beseeching glance at Claire, Bradshaw’s shoulders slumped, and he walked down the driveway.

“Three!” Roger shouted.

Bradshaw’s steps quickened. When he reached his car, he yanked open the door, climbed in, and roared off.

Claire ran her hand across Roger’s ramrod, angry back. “Thank you. He’s been a real pest. This is the first time he’s come to the house, though.”

“He’d better not return.”

Claire’s lips curled. “I doubt he will after your performance. C’mon, let’s go in.”

Once inside, she hung up her coat while Roger carried his bag up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she saw him standing stock-still at the threshold of the master bedroom. Reaching past him, she flicked on the light.

A tranquil, domestic scene awaited them, complete with a fresh spray of miniature roses Claire had bunched in a small vase on the nightstand. She placed a tentative hand on Roger’s arm. “What do you think?”

His gaze traveled around the room, then returned to the spot where she had stood when he’d last entered the room. He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out hoarse. “I still see you there, covered with blood and staring at me in terror. I was so afraid for you, Claire. My gut wrenched when I thought you were hurt.”

She squeezed his arm.

He stared at her. “When I realized you were afraid of me, you have no idea how desolate I felt.”

Fiercely, Claire hugged him.

His arms slowly encircled her.

She nuzzled her face against his chest and breathed in his familiar scent, a combination of musky maleness and his favorite shaving cologne. She lifted her head. “I’m not afraid of you now.”

He stroked her hair. “I’m glad.”

When he bent his head, Claire pursed her lips, expecting a kiss.

“It’s late.” He grazed her cheek with his lips as he released her. “We need to get ready for bed.”

Disappointed, but determined to let him set the pace, she
pulled away. “I guess you’re right.”

As she brushed her teeth and combed her hair in the master bathroom, she waited for Roger to join her at his sink, but he didn’t appear. She heard him moving about the bedroom, taking things out of his bag and putting them away.

She changed into the blue silk nightgown Roger had given her for their anniversary two years ago. It was one of his favorites. Feeling as awkward as if it were their wedding night, she stepped into the bedroom. Her restless hands flitted about, smoothing her gown, until she locked them together in a tight clasp before her.

Roger’s gaze softened. “You look beautiful. I won’t be long.” He walked into the bathroom.

Claire climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up tight over her shoulders. She shivered but not from the cold. Resolutely, she pushed gory memories from her mind. Enrique’s death would no longer keep her from her bed. Determined to take this step to restoring normalcy to her life, she focused on how she should act with Roger.

He returned a few minutes later, lay down, and rolled on his side to turn off the light on his nightstand. He didn’t face her but lay silently with his back toward her.

She inched over and spooned her body against his, her breasts brushing against his back through their bedclothes. His warmth seeped into her. She cleared her throat. “Roger . . .”

He moved away and flopped on his back with a sigh. “I can’t do this. It’s too soon.”

“We don’t need to make love. I just want to hold you.”

“I don’t mean that.” He threw back the covers. “I can’t sleep in this bed. I’m going to Michael’s room.”

As Claire listened to his bare feet pad down the hall, a crazy thought popped into her head. Why had she chosen Judy’s bed, while Roger chose to sleep in Michael’s bed?

Do we find solace in retreating to a time of innocent childhood?

She debated if she should go to Judy’s room, but she was here now and had to get used to sleeping in this bed sometime. She lay rigid, arms by her side, and stared at the dark ceiling.

Maybe he’ll return.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, soaking her pillow.