Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery) (20 page)

by."

"Um, no, but thank you. It's been a little crazy over here." She tried to laugh, but she wanted to cry out for yet another

familiar piece of her life slipping away. "Call me before you leave town?"

"Sure thing—we'll have lunch."

"Sure thing."

"Natalie, I'll miss you. Everything's going to work out, you'll see."

Of course things would work out... just not for everyone. "Good-bye, Sara." She hung up the phone, resisting the temptation

to drop into the nearest chair, afraid she'd never get up again. She wobbled into the kitchen, desperate for that coffee. Tony was

stirring in cream, overflowing the mug.

"I'm not very good at this."

"Looks good to me." She brought the cup to her dry lips and sipped. "Hey, not bad."

"How's your nurse?"

"She got a better job offer."

"Ah, I'm sorry." One side of his mouth drew back. "You'll find someone else to work for you."

"Assuming my practice is still an ongoing concern once this mess is over."

"Smiley isn't the only town that needs a doctor."

She sipped the weak coffee. "I know, but I really love it here. Rose Marie's house, the neighborhood atmosphere. I was

starting to feel..."

"Starting to feel what?"

Her face warmed. "Like I belonged."

"Since when have
you
not belonged?"

Poor Tony, she thought, studying his incredulous expression. She had always felt like the alien in the family, not once

thinking that Tony had felt just as lost in their dysfunctional little household. She'd mistaken his antics for confidence. "Never

mind," she murmured, shaken. "You're right... Smiley isn't the only place on the map." Just the only place she wanted to be.

"Do you need anything while I'm out?" he asked, scribbling on what appeared to be a list.

Money, aisle two, halfway down. Sanity, aisle eight, between justification and resignation. Strength, aisle one hundred

twenty-six, top shelf
—gotta work for that one. "Um... no."

"Are you sure it's okay for me to leave?"

"I'll be fine by myself."

Tony scratched his head. "Well, you won't be alone, exactly."

Natalie's heart blipped with panic at the thought of Tony bringing home a derelict stranger. "Is someone else here?"

He jerked his thumb toward the back yard and she became aware of a faint but rhythmic thud.

Puzzled, she walked to the back door and unlocked the deadbolt. The pounding grew louder, but through the screen door

the source remained hidden. The sight of the trampled garden was enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes. What plants the

police hadn't compromised, trespassing reporters and curiosity seekers had. Rose Marie would be heartbroken. Suddenly, a

man came into view, wearing work clothes and carrying a sledgehammer propped on his wide shoulder. She squinted, then

froze. Brian Butler?

She whirled to face her brother. "Why is he here?"

Tony shrugged. "He said he wanted to help. I told him to go for it. I thought he was a friend of yours."

"Well, he isn't."

"He was here when I came home the other day and found the police swarming the place."

"Not at my invitation. The man is a menace."

"Then why did he offer to post bond for your bail?"

She gaped. "What? That's absurd."

"It's true. But Masterson told him it would look bad since he had a stake in whether you collected on Raymond's life

insurance."

"Lowell didn't tell me anything about it."

"He probably figured you had enough on your mind."

"I
don't
need to be protected." She glanced back to the door. The pounding had resumed, and her ire rose with each strike.

Who did Brian Butler think he was, barging into her life?

"I'll tell the guy to leave, sis, if you don't want him here."

She gritted her teeth. "I'll take care of this. Let me get you money for the grocery." Another worry—converging creditors.

With her accounts depleted of ready cash, Masterson had arranged for a short-term loan of ten grand on her Cherokee while her

broker scrambled to liquidate the few stocks that remained in her individual account. Their joint brokerage account, of course,

was frozen, a moot point since Raymond had nearly bankrupted it without her knowledge over the last few months.

Five thousand of the ten went to cover the premium for her fifty-thousand-dollar bail.
Bail
. Funny, but when she'd met with

her financial planner, she'd been thinking IRA, disability insurance, long-term care coverage. Not once had she thought to tuck

away a few dollars in case she ever needed to make bail.

"Don't worry," Tony said, waving her off. "I have a few bucks."

She was instantly suspicious. "You don't even have a job."

He grinned. "I start tomorrow." He grabbed his jacket and headed toward the front door.

"Where?" He was in too big of a hurry. "Where do you start work tomorrow, Tony?"

He stopped and turned. "Butler Family Pawn."

She scoffed. "This is crazy. You can't work for that loan shark."

"The man's a pawnbroker, sis."

"Don't split hairs."

"Nat, I was looking for work, and he had an opening. There aren't many folks around here who are going to gamble on an

ex-con."

Which proved what she'd suspected all along—that Butler himself was shady. How perfectly perfect that her brother

would get tangled up with him. She could just picture Tony shaking down patients of hers when they were behind on loan

payments.

What patients
? her mind whispered. Where Tony punched a clock was the very least of her problems.

"I'll be back," he said, taking advantage of her silence and slipping out the front door.

At the sound of a mysterious boom from the back yard, Natalie marched through the kitchen, stuffed her bare feet into her

gardening boots, and flung the screen door wide. It banged shut behind her as she flapped down the steps descending from the

ancient stoop. Butler tossed another chunk of concrete into a wheelbarrow already piled high, then stopped and wiped his

hands on grimy navy work pants. "Hello there."

Her feet faltered at his sudden smile, white teeth against dark, dusty skin, but she quickly recovered. "Mr. Butler, once

again, you're intruding."

"Call me Brian, Doc." He stole a glance at her legs extending from baggy drawstring shorts.

She resisted the urge to stoop and cross her arms over her scrawny knees. "
Don't
call me 'Doc,' Mr. Butler."

He grinned wider and retrieved a blue bandanna from his back pocket to mop at the moisture on his neck. His gray T-shirt

was saturated and clung to his wide torso.

His presence struck her as... domestic. And too familiar. She frowned hard.

He nodded toward the wasteland behind him. "I thought you could use a hand here, considering those thickheads

demolished your garden."

Indeed, the yard was forlorn—the sagging trellises, the brown of old stalks, the black of broken earth. Even the white

board fence, which had girdled the overflowing garden for eons, looked violated by the remnants of yellow tape that had

previously identified the area as a police scene. A picture of disgrace. Still, it was her disgrace, and none of his damn

business.

"You might have asked before you pulverized my sidewalk."

"It was beyond repair. I spoke to your brother."

"You might have asked before you pulverized
my
sidewalk."

He gave her a wry smile and leaned on the sledgehammer. "I figured I'd be better off asking for forgiveness rather than

permission."

The man was so... problematic. "And if you receive neither?"

He shrugged. "I'll still sleep better tonight."

"Oh,
you'll
sleep better tonight." She crossed her arms. "I didn't realize the goal here was to relieve your latent machismo

guilt. And now that I know, I still don't care."

"I do believe that's the most you've ever said to me." His smile rebounded. "We're making progress, Doc."

"Leave."

He acted as if he hadn't heard her. "I've been worried. Did they treat you well?"

"Oh, you mean in jail? It was lovely."

"I'm serious."

She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a few seconds. "It was dreadful. Fortunately, I was only there for a few hours."

Natalie blinked and lifted her chin. "I hear you offered to post bond for my bail—was that also out of guilt?"

"Can't I just be a hell of a nice guy?"

"You already blew that one."

"Oh. Well, then I guess guilt it is." He flashed another grin, and this one made her want to... run.

"You're only making things worse by being here." She gestured wildly in the air. "P-People are liable to think we know

each other."

He cocked his head at her. "Then my devious plan is working."

She squinted and shook her head at the man's nonsense. The source of that scar on his noggin must have severed a

connection or two. "What do you want from me?" Other than a hundred thousand dollars she didn't have.

He leaned toward her, rocking on the head of the sledgehammer. "You got a glass of cold water in there?"

She pursed her mouth, and considered him for a few seconds. "Yes."

"Think we could go in and talk for a minute or two?"

"No. It wouldn't look good."

"It doesn't look good now."

She weighed his motivation for dogging her, deciding that he was only protecting his investment. "Give me one good

reason why I shouldn't call the police and have you hauled away for trespassing."

"Dr. Carmichael!" She turned her head in time to see the light of a TV camera flash on. At the gate stood a woman holding

a microphone, waving while her partner filmed. "Did you kill your husband because he was married to two other women?"

"Get off my property," Natalie said as calmly as she could.

"Were the three of you wives in it together for revenge?"

Butler was closer to the pair, and reached the gate in a couple of strides.

"Who are you?" the reporter asked, shoving the microphone in his face.

"Dr. Carmichael's pest control service. You're trespassing, and you have two seconds to turn off that camera and leave."

"But—"

"One, two." He plucked the microphone out of the woman's hand and hurled it in the direction they'd come. Both the

reporter and the cameraman stared openmouthed. "And I've got a rock for that lens if you're still here when I turn around." He

walked toward the wheelbarrow, but he didn't have to bother selecting a chunk of concrete—the people had fled, presumably

in search of the microphone.

He turned a smile toward Natalie. "Now, where were we?"

"Wipe your feet before you come in."

Chapter 18

"Nice place," Butler said as he emerged from the utility room, drying his face and arms on a green towel. "Lots of

personality."

Natalie set two glasses of ice water in front of adjacent chairs at the white tile-topped kitchen table. When she noticed

how much his appearance had improved with a quick wash-up, she realized how dreadful she must look—shapeless clothes,

no makeup, hair yanked back into a ponytail. Not that she cared what he thought. Or that she thought he cared. Or that she even

cared if he cared. "This was my aunt's house. She had quite a personality."

"Your aunt planted the garden?"

She nodded and settled into one of the cane-bottomed chairs that imbedded the backs of her thighs with an attractive

waffle-y print. "My contribution to the garden over the last year has been utter neglect."

He sank into a chair gingerly, as if he were afraid it wouldn't support him. "Why would she have that plant Stro—Stropha

—?"

"Strophanthus?" She sighed. "Rose Marie fancied herself a bit of an herb healer. She was always making sachets and

poultices and teas. I sincerely doubt she could have extracted ouabain on her own—more likely she ran across the plant in her

research and wanted it for the novelty. Perhaps she was planning to experiment on herself—she died of a heart attack. Anyway,

the police confiscated her herb library and dehydrator."

"But if you haven't used them, then they won't find your fingerprints on them."

"Except I shuffled them around a half-dozen times to make room for other things."

He grunted. "How does your lawyer feel about your case?"