Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery) (14 page)

Raymond had done."

"What had he done?"

Beatrix frowned. "What you said earlier. The bastard—" She stopped when Gaylord nudged her knee. "Or rather," she

continued more mildly, "Raymond had apparently married both of them illegally."

"You and Raymond were never divorced?"

"That's correct."

"Were divorce papers ever drawn up?"

"Absolutely not."

"Did he ever bring it up?"

"No."

"Because he didn't want to lose his meal ticket?"

Anger shot through her. "What do you mean, Detective?"

"Didn't Raymond marry you for your money?"

Again, Gaylord's knee prodded hers in warning. She pursed her mouth, then said, "You would have to ask Raymond."

"I would, but someone murdered him."

Tears were good—after all, this dolt couldn't tell the difference between angry tears and sorrowful tears, so she blinked

up a few. "Are you going to tell me why you think my husband was murdered?"

Aldrich sat back in his chair, playing with the pencil he held. "The medical examiner found something suspicious on a

battery of toxicology tests."

"Which raises a good question," Gaylord interjected. "Mr. Carmichael died of natural causes—who ordered an autopsy?"

A frown pulled at the detective's mouth. "A mistake, really. An autopsy was requested on a body that was next to Mr.

Carmichael's in the hospital morgue. Some stupid orderly didn't check the toe tags."

Beatrix looked away.

"Show some respect," Gaylord snapped.

"Sorry—bottom line, someone switched the bodies. The M.E. had already started the autopsy when he realized the error,

but said that when he double-checked the records and discovered the body he'd gotten by mistake was supposed to have died of

a heart attack, he knew something was wrong."

"Why?" Gaylord asked.

Aldrich slid a paper across the table. "This is a copy of the M.E.'s report. There's a lot of medical mumbo-jumbo, but

basically, the heart muscles didn't show the type of damage consistent with a heart attack. He ordered a toxicology spec, and

came back with 'ouabain poisoning.'"

"Never heard of the stuff," Gaylord said.

She had. Beatrix lifted the water bottle to her mouth for another drink.

"How about you, Mrs. Carmichael?"

She swallowed and squinted at the ceiling. "I don't think so, although living with Raymond was like living with a medical

dictionary—he was always tossing around the name of some drug or treatment." Injecting as much innocence into her voice as

was possible at her age, she asked, "What is it?"

The detective stared at her, stroking his chin. "An old heart medication that's no longer in use in the United States. Did Mr.

Carmichael ever mention it?"

"I honestly couldn't say."

"So you don't know if he was taking the medicine on his own?"

"No, I don't. But then, apparently, I didn't know a lot of things about my husband."

Aldrich had the good grace to cough.

"This is an outrage!" Gaylord pounded the tabletop. "If the medication is something Mr. Carmichael could have taken on

his own, how dare you go off halfcocked and say the man was murdered!"

"Except," the detective said carefully, "the concentration was too large and, according to the doc, too close to the time of

death for him to have given it to himself, considering he was unconscious and all." He turned back to Beatrix. "Did you see Mr.

Carmichael from the time he was taken to the ICU until the time he died?"

She hesitated.

"Mrs. Carmichael, the hospital keeps records of ICU visitors."

"Yes, I went in to see Raymond, but we all did."

"'We' being who?"

"Me, Natalie, and the other one."

"Ruby."

"Yes."

"Together?"

"Natalie and I went in together once, and... Natalie went in alone once."

"Were the three of you in the general vicinity from the time he was taken to the ICU until he was pronounced dead?"

"Yes, in the waiting room. And I made a couple of trips to the rest room."

"Did you make any phone calls?"

"Yes. To my housekeeper, Rachel Shirek, to tell her Raymond was ill."

"Does she live with you?"

"No."

"Does anyone else live with you?"

"No." Alone in a house big enough for a dozen people.

"Mrs. Carmichael, can you think of anyone who might want to kill your husband?"

"No, but as I said, I didn't know that Raymond was leading a double life."

"A triple life," Gaylord amended.

"When you found out he'd married two other women, were you angry?"

Beatrix sighed. "Yes, Detective, I was angry."

"Angry enough to kill him?"

"Yes," she said softly, ignoring Gaylord's sputter. "But I didn't."

"How much insurance did you carry on Mr. Carmichael's life?"

She wet her lips. "I don't know the exact amount."

"Ballpark."

"Maybe... fifty thousand? I'm not sure."

"How about five hundred thousand?"

Beatrix shrugged. "I really couldn't say for certain."

"Mrs. Carmichael, do you think either Dr. Blankenship or Ms. Hicks could have killed him?"

"I don't know. Anything's possible, I suppose."

"Did you notice anything suspicious about their behavior?"

"The young one is a nut, everything she does is suspicious. Did you know she's pregnant?"

She'd succeeded in surprising him. "Is Mr. Carmichael the father?"

"Allegedly."

"How far along?"

"Two or three months, I think, although I tried to tune her out."

"How did you feel when you heard about the baby?"

She gave him a withering glance. "Just peachy."

"But Beatrix didn't know about the baby until after Mr. Carmichael had expired," Gaylord added. "The woman's condition

was revealed when the women met to discuss the burial arrangements. Which, by the way, my client did not have to do."

Aldrich wasn't bowled over by her generosity. "Was Dr. Blankenship angry when she heard about the baby?"

"I wouldn't say angry—upset, maybe."

"As a doctor, she would have the knowledge and the means to administer the ouabain."

She smiled. "You said it, not me."

Aldrich squirmed, then recovered. "Did you see anyone else at the hospital acting strange? Anyone going into the ICU who

didn't seem to belong?"

Beatrix shook her head.

"I need for you to speak for the recorder."

"No. But the place was busy, and I slept some of the time."

Aldrich made a clicking sound with his big cheek. "You're familiar with the workings of a hospital, aren't you, Mrs.

Carmichael?"

She blinked.

"Weren't you a volunteer at Royal Memorial until two years ago?"

Until the charitable activity she began as a project for club wives thrust her into a position of actually being involved with

the patients. "I... volunteered mostly at the hospital clinic." Trauma patients, uninsured old people, neglected children.

Unbearable.

"The clinic that was named for your father, Dr. Neil Richardson?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. Carmichael, what kind of doctor was your father?"

"He was a... a cardiologist."

The detective nodded—he'd already known. "Your father is deceased now."

"Yes."

"Did he travel abroad when he was alive?"

"Yes, he and my mother traveled often."

"And have you traveled widely?"

"I suppose."

"Europe?"

She nodded. "All over, really."

"Where is this going?" Gaylord cut in.

Aldrich splayed his hands. "Ouabain isn't widely available in the U.S., but my sources tell me you can buy the stuff over

the counter in most European countries. I'm just trying to determine if Mrs. Carmichael had access to the drug, either on her

own, or through her father."

"Interview over," Gaylord chirped, standing. "Come on, Bea."

"I'm not finished," Aldrich protested.

"We are." Gaylord pressed a button to stop the recorder. "We'll wait outside while you make a copy of the tape."

The detective sighed, but lumbered to his feet. "Okay. But you have to admit that from where I stand, Mr. Gilliam, your

client looks pretty darn suspicious."

Gaylord drew himself up. "Detective Aldrich, your alleged victim was a bigamist, which is a class-A felony. Dig deeper

—I'm sure you'll find the man pissed off his share of people, probably a few in the medical field in which he worked. If you

have a case against my client beyond reasonable doubt, arrest her. Otherwise, I suggest you stop picking on Mrs. Carmichael,

who has been dealt a double blow in the past few days."

Beatrix followed Gaylord to the door, her back and neck moist.
Breathe
, she reminded herself.
Breathe, and this will all

be over soon. No one will find out
.

"Mrs. Carmichael."

She glanced back to Aldrich.

"This isn't over."

Chapter 12

"Ouabain?" Ruby brightened and gave Detective Aldrich her best smile. "Sure, I've heard of it. Some West African tribes

use it on the pointy end of their arrows. It can kill a person."

She had impressed him, she could tell. Billy Wayne pursed his lips and nodded—she'd impressed him, too.

"And do you have access to ouabain, Ms. Hicks?"

"Do I have to go back to using my old name?" She hated it. Always had.
Those Hicks are such hicks. Ruby Lynn Hicks

has a hickey, the hick
.

"Would you prefer 'Mrs. Carmichael'?"

"I sure would."

"Okay. Do you have access to ouabain, Mrs. Carmichael?"

She frowned. "I've been to West Virginia, but not to West Africa."

The detective smiled. "Since you know so much about ouabain, if you wanted some without going to West Africa, where

would you go?"

Ruby smiled in relief—she knew the answer to that one, too. "The Internet." Whew—between thinking about the funeral

and knowing she'd be questioned by the police today, she'd nearly worn a path in the kitchen linoleum last night from pacing.

Now she realized she'd been worried for nothing. Detective Aldrich was a real sweetie.

"And do you have a computer?"

"Oh, yeah. Ray set one up in the corner of the living room so I could visit chat rooms and shop. I ordered Mame the most

adorable little Easter bonnet."

"Mame?"

"My Shih Tzu."

"Ah. Mrs. Carmichael, have you ever purchased ouabain over the Internet?"

"Wait a minute, Ruby," Billy Wayne cut in, his eyes narrowed. "This guy's saying that's what killed Raymond. If you tell

him yes, he's going to lock you up."

She swallowed her gum. "No, I didn't purchase ouabain over the Internet."

"Mrs. Carmichael, I just want you to tell the truth," the detective said.

"I am."

"Did Mr. Carmichael keep medical supplies at your mobile home?"

"Like what?"

"Like samples, medications, things like that."

"Ray sold arms and legs and elbows and stuff—there was always some spare part laying around." She laughed. "One time

I found a hand in the bathtub. Scared the crap out of me, but Ray was just testing its float—said a leg he sold once saved a guy

from drowning."

"That's nice."

"Ray was a nice guy." She teared up and Billy Wayne lent her his red bandanna for a good blow.

"Did he keep other things at your place? Syringes?"

She nodded. "I'm diabetic, and I give my own insulin shots. In the thigh." She poked her leg below her pink micromini.

"I'm not supposed to have sweets," she confessed, "but sometimes I do and shoot up extra insulin."

"Did you have syringes with you at the hospital the night Mr. Carmichael died?"

"Yeah, I carry them in my purse. Ray always brought me supplies. He saved me tons of money."

"Did anyone else have access to your purse at the hospital?"

She shrugged. "I dozed off a few times in the waiting room, so maybe."

"Mrs. Carmichael, did you know Raymond was already married when you married him?"

"No."

"When did you find out?"

"At the hospital, when Natalie and Beatrix came into his room. Ray keeled over, then out in the hall Beatrix said they'd

never gotten a divorce. I thought Natalie was going to croak, then she said that she and Ray had never gotten a divorce either."

"Were you angry when you found out what Mr. Carmichael had done?"

She chewed on her lip. "A little. I loved Ray, and I was counting on him being around to help with the baby."

"Is Mr. Carmichael the father of your baby?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"How far along is your pregnancy?"

She smiled. "Three months."

"And how did the other Mrs. Carmichaels react to news of the baby?"