Fatal Impulse: A Widow's Web Novel (16 page)

Her heart thumped as he leaned forward and kissed her, his lips barely brushing against hers. Her breath caught in her throat. She hesitated a moment, then responded. His hand roamed up her side, then towards her chest where he cupped her breast gently. Her heart rate quickened at his touch and a soft moan escaped her lips. She began to explore his body as his hand moved under her shirt. Their clothes seemed to fall from their bodies almost of their own accord, and she nuzzled against his neck, letting his dark stubble tickle her nose.

They spent the afternoon exploring each other until the sun dropped so low that the beam from the lighthouse swept across the room every minute or so. To their credit, they stopped short of making love, but they crossed the line acceptable for fidelity in a marriage.

The clock chimed and he glanced at the mantle clock, then swore under his breath. He ran his fingers roughly through his hair and said, “I need to get going.”

“So soon?” She leaned back down to pick up her shirt from the floor where it had fallen. She held it over her chest, suddenly embarrassed at how quickly things got out of hand. She felt 16 again, so anxious to be loved that she’d do anything. As her heart rate slowed, something began to bother her, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Caren will be home from visiting her grandfather soon.” He buttoned his shirt.

She followed suit, pulling the shirt over her head without bothering to find her bra, which seemed to have disappeared in the throes of passion. “You never mentioned her name until today. Pretty name.”

“She spells it with a ‘c’, which I always thought was cool,” and he laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “I guess I’m probably showing my age by saying cool, huh?”

Something nagged at her. Where else had she heard about someone who spelled their name like that? She laughed, but it came out wooden and stiff. “Sounds like you really love her. I was under the impression things weren’t so good between the two of you.”

He tilted his head and looked at her. Gold sparkled in his eyes like flakes in a clear blue mountain stream. This guy was really getting to her, and she couldn't fight the desperation rising within her. She wanted this to be real, and it couldn’t be as long as he was married.

He shrugged, “Like I said, we have a unique marriage. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but I can’t ask her for a divorce. She’d never go for it. She’d kill me first.”

She recalled his wife and her lover arm in arm. Either Paul had no clue or he was in denial. “I just meant, you’re here with me. How do you know she’s not out with someone?”

He shrugged. “She’d never do anything like that.”

Her eyebrows arched at his confidence. “You’re sure?”

“Of course.” He looked at her and his eyes narrowed.

She took a deep breath and plunged forward. "I saw her with a man today, at Jewels by the Sea."

He shook his head as he slipped his boots on. “I’ve really got to get going. I'll come by Saturday and help you go through Chad's things. We'll box it all up and get it out of here."

She nodded. He was in denial, and was using her dead husband to distract her. He leaned down and pressed his lips against her forehead.

"Don't do anything more until I'm here to help." He rested his hand on the doorknob and said, “And don’t eat all the rest of the ice cream tonight.”

She shrugged and leaned towards him. “No promises.” Suddenly, without warning, Chad's voice popped into her head, warning her about the calories. Pointing out the weight she'd gained. She pulled away, self-conscious.

His smile evaporated as he cocked his head and stared at her intently. Finally, he gave a little laugh and promised to talk to her soon.

After he left, she ferried their bowls to the kitchen. The garbage disposal churned when she dumped his ice cream down the drain. She shook her head. What a waste.

She filled the remainder of her week with work, trips to the Salvation Army and various other charities, but her time at home was anxious. The telephone didn’t ring again until Friday night. She flipped through a guide on Acadia National Park, planning a day trip and the phone rang. She answered.

The first sound she heard was breathing.

“I know what really happened.” The naggingly familiar voice again. Something about the way he said "know."

“What do you want?” she demanded.

This time the phone line didn’t go dead.

S
he asked the question again, in the firmest, most confident voice she could muster. His breath filled the silence, and faint clicks jittered along the lines stretched between her and the mysterious caller.

“What do you want?” She repeated. She hated the tremor in her voice.

“I want the papers your husband had.”

Her eyes widened as she probed. “What papers?”

The disembodied voice hissed through the telephone, “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The find at Big Bear Cove. I know you’ve got them and I want them before the old man dies.”

She hated feeling weak and vulnerable. Chad had done that to her enough to last a lifetime and she was determined not to continue her life that way. Her voice rose. “Who? What old man? What papers?"

"You know what I mean." The caller barked a laugh, sarcastic and biting, then, "Get the stuff together and be ready for instructions."

"I don't have any papers!"

The line went dead. She stared at the buzzing handset. What was she going to do?

She hung up and noticed her hand shaking. Her fist clenched until the knuckles turned white. She hurried from room to room, and checked every window. She yanked the curtains closed and locked all the doors. Once satisfied she'd done all she could do, she dropped into her favorite chair and listened.

Every creak sounded like a footstep, branches scraping the siding of the house sounded like someone trying to raise a window, and the wind became a whisper. Her ears tingled with the strain of listening as she tried to discern real threats from imagined. She pulled a throw around her shoulders to calm her shivers.

Her stomach growled, loud in the quiet of the empty house.

She laughed self-consciously and padded down the hallway to the kitchen. The cheery yellow room chased the imaginary demons from her thoughts. She stood with the refrigerator door open as she debated whether to make something or go out. Though she craved a meal out at a nice restaurant down by the harbor, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the house. It was too much of an ordeal. Not only was she afraid to leave – afraid that whoever was calling might be waiting for her – but worse than that, she was afraid to go alone. The thought of sitting at the Black Sails or Whoopie's by herself, surrounded by couples focused on each other, terrified her.

One evening earlier in the week, she'd braved the Black Sails, armed with a paperback book as Dana suggested. It had been horrible. Seemed that everyone who walked through the door looked with her with pity, suspicion or a mixture of both. The book made a flimsy shield, useless at holding the world at arm’s length.

She perused the shelves of the refrigerator, peeking over the jug of milk and behind the leftover pizza. She popped the lid open on the cottage cheese and sniffed, then immediately drew back at the sourness of it and tossed it in the trash. A bowl of cereal, eaten over the sink, served as dinner.

She swallowed the last scoop of cereal, then tipped the bowl up and gulped down the cold milk. The empty bowl sounded with a hollow clink when she placed it in the dishwasher, bits of cereal still clinging desperately to the side. Her sweet tooth wasn't satisfied, so she pulled out the ice cream left that Paul brought over and dipped a few scoops into a clean bowl and drizzled chocolate syrup over it. Rocky Road was her favorite. He'd picked well. She moved into the living room and flipped on the news while she ate.

The evening news led with a story about a real estate mogul rushed to the hospital with chest pains. File footage of him with various presidents and senators flashed across the scene, and then the reporter said, “And a source close to the Board had confirmed that the company will be taken public if Mr. Woodson does not survive. He is staunchly opposed to such an offering, but it appears that his health may not allow him to stand in the way much longer.”

The screen switched to a man in silhouette who spoke anonymously, “Mr. Woodson does not understand the speed with which companies must move in this day and age to keep up with the competition. There are several undeveloped properties on the outskirts of Acadia National Park that need to be developed as soon as possible in order to compete in the current economy.”

So that was August Woodson. Seemed like that name met her at every turn.

She flipped the television off and called her mother, which she hadn’t done in weeks. As always, her mom couldn't wait to gossip about kids she'd gone to high school with.

“And you remember Pam, that girl that was a year behind you? She had another baby!”

Though she usually enjoyed hearing about folks back home, this time it made her feel more isolated. She could feel herself shrinking as her mom continued. “And Romy was in charge of the high school madrigal, and Monty and Kim finally got married. Oh! Did I tell you that Sadie earned her black belt?”

After a pregnant pause, she said, “Honey, why don’t you come back home?”

Andi mumbled something noncommittal, and her mother continued, “No shame in moving home when you’re going through such a difficult time.”

Though Andi assured her she'd consider it, she knew she wouldn't. Couldn't.  They talked for over an hour, long enough to keep the line tied up so no other calls could get through.

Later that night, she crawled into the big, empty bed. Hours later she woke with a start, and felt restless the rest of the night. The bed felt so big. She stretched to take up as much of it as possible, arms flung wide.

The days ran together now that they were in full vacation season. The job at the tourism center gave her a schedule with longer hours, and she perused the internet learning more about the history of the area and studying gemology. She made photocopies of some Chad's papers and jotted notes in the margins.

The semi-precious gem industry thrived in Maine, and the rock hounds took it very seriously. For many of them, it was more than a casual hobby – it was a second job, and their chance at the gem lottery. Casual rock hounds came in the visitors’ center frequently, so her research served a dual purpose – she got better at her job while she pieced together the secret life that Chad had led.

Mildred at the Chamber office encouraged Andi's research, and often emailed Andi links of interest to tourists. Andi straightened the racks of brochures, and rearranged them by geographic area. It wasn’t an exciting job, but Andi found it intriguing and not as stressful as many jobs she could've gotten. More than once, she thanked her lucky stars she'd taken this job and not had to work for a private investigator - the only other job she'd found in the want ads that she was even remotely qualified for.

She stared out the window at the harbor, watched the boats drift in and out, the dock workers hefting crates, the tourists sauntering along the waterfront. Watched life pass by as she imagined what it would be like to share her home and life with Paul, waking up together, spending Sundays in bed reading the newspaper and sipping coffee.

If Caren were out of the picture, it would become reality.

Even at home, her thoughts revolved around Paul. She used her days off to scout and research the Island so she'd sound knowledgeable when they spoke. With Paul's help, she cleansed her home of things that reminded her of Chad. Bit by bit, pictures of Paul replaced pictures of Chad. Her new guy was shy about having his picture taken, but one of her favorites was one taken on a trip to Cadillac Mountain. The day began with the sun shining brightly, but as they drove up the rocky trail the fog rolled in, shrouding the evergreens in gray. The cold mist reached them even inside the Jeep. At the top, they got out to admire nature’s majesty. Being up there was like being in another world. The large outcropping of rock was smooth and rolling, a perfect perch to see in all directions. Wispy white clouds stretched through the blue sky like bits of cotton candy. There’s nothing like sucking cool, crisp air deep into the lungs.

That day, she'd been standing on a bald knob of rock when she snapped the picture. Normally, he would put up a hand or turn away when she had the camera, but that day he was focused on the myriad of rocks strewn around the summit and hadn't even noticed. He squatted down to pick up a rock as he often did while they were up in the interior of the island. In the picture, the rocky path snaked down the mountain behind him towards the blue-green sea. That picture gave her chills. It reminded her of how she felt up there, surrounded by the awesome power of God and nature. Nothing else compared to that, certainly nothing back home in Missouri, and the fact that she and Paul shared that experience meant a lot to her.

The drive home had been tense, though. Just after she'd snapped that photo, Paul glanced at his watch and cursed. "Damn. I didn't realize how late it is. We've got to get going."

As they walked towards the Jeep, Andi asked, "The day's still young. I think I'll start cleaning stuff out today."

Paul's head snapped to his left and he frowned at her. "What stuff?"

"Chad's things. There's no sense in putting it off any longer." Andi stepped up into the Jeep.

"I've got to go to a dinner party with Caren tonight." He turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. "I'll see if I can get away tomorrow. I don't want you doing that on your own. Just leave it to me."

"No." She shook her head. "It's not your place. I'll take care of it."

"No!" His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel. His chest swelled as he sucked in air, then he huffed it out. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. But, seriously, I don't want you going through anything until I'm right there with you, helping you."

His outburst that day shocked her, but she'd seen much worse from her husband. She decided to ignore his raised voice and focus on the fun she had with him.

Their excursions throughout Mount Desert Island provided great pictures to frame and display. The trips gave her a welcome break from the reality of being a young widow. She even enjoyed the research. It also fit in well with her job with the Chamber of Commerce, so she told herself it was for work and not solely because of Paul.

After spending her day off framing recent snapshots, she crawled in bed feeling satisfied. It had been several days since she'd heard from the mysterious caller. Though she still turned Chad’s pillow sideways every night to mimic a body, and ate most meals over the sink, she held out hope that being alone would be temporary. Growing up and getting married and having a family was the proper way of things. Being alone simply was not an option.

The next morning she parked and walked into the tourism center, surprised to find it nearly empty, with the exception of Mildred. The older woman perched on the stool behind the counter like a bird ready to take flight, a deep frown settled into her wrinkled brow. She stood when Andi pushed through the glass door.

Andi greeted her cheerfully, but the other woman's impassive face caught her off guard. Mildred snapped, “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Andi, but your services are no longer needed.”

Andi stopped dead in her tracks, and blinked. Her jaw dropped and her lips moved, but it took several attempts before intelligible words came forth, “What? I’m being fired?”

Mildred's jaw jutted forward stubbornly and she stared at Andi through narrowed eyes. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I am here to make sure you get your things and turn your key in.”

Andi ducked her head, and felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. This job had become an integral part of her life, part of her schedule, part of what kept things normal. Panic began to rise. She needed this job. Especially with her house for sale, and no credit cards. How would she pay her bills? How could she pay for food? A roof over her head? “What? I don’t understand why-“

Mildred looked over her glasses, then leaned forward and whispered, “I was instructed not to go into details, but there was a report that you're skimming money from the map sales.”

Andi laughed and looked around. Was it a joke? She'd never heard such an absurd accusation. “Map sales? The maps we sell for seventy-five cents? Someone thinks I am ‘skimming money’ from those sales?”

The other woman shrugged and finally looked at Andi, her watery blue eyes filled with disappointment. Andi abhorred pity, and refused to be the subject of it. But the poor lady probably
did
pity her, if she thought Andi's desperation had driven her to steal what amounted to loose change.

Andi's world crumbled around her. Her chest hurt and she felt as if she'd been kicked in the gut. She squeezed her eyes shut and took shallow breaths, then pulled her keys from her pocket. Her fingers shook as she struggled to separate the split silver ring, then slipped the worn office key off and tossed it onto the counter.

All her hard work had been for naught. Her first job and she failed. Her temper flared. She'd done nothing wrong. Someone had set her up. But who?

No one at work knew about her and Paul, but she wondered if he knew she'd been fired. She walked the waterfront for a bit, breathing in the salty air and listening to the groan of the piers as boats pulled and tugged on them. She wove through the throngs of tourists, oblivious to them as they jostled her. She could ask Paul, see what he knew, if he knew who had accused her. The sea gulls swooped around her, cawing and squealing. Waves crashed against the rocks.