Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery) (32 page)

an anger she'd never known before. She'd wanted to hurt Raymond, and since he was emotionally aloof—why had she just now

realized this truth?—her first thought had been to hurt him physically. The impulse had been short-lived, but had she been in

Beatrix's designer shoes...

She indicated the blue loveseat on which she'd slept during those first hideous nights alone. "Would you like to sit?"

"No."

"Okay, I'm listening."

Beatrix inhaled and exhaled deeply, as if this entire ordeal were extremely bothersome. "Your brother probably told you I

went to the pawnshop this morning."

"Yes."

"Your Mr. Butler showed me all of the items Raymond pawned recently—"

"He isn't 'my' Mr. Butler."

"Whatever. But there was one item I didn't recognize." She pulled a white jeweler's box from her purse, and opened it to

reveal a delicate gold watch. "Is it yours?"

Shaking her head, Natalie couldn't resist picking up the lovely piece. "No."

"And you don't think it could belong to—that other one?"

"Ruby? No. Even if she or Raymond could afford it, somehow I don't believe Rolex is quite her style."

Beatrix smirked. "It could have been a gift to her from a grateful customer."

Natalie shrugged agreement. "But not likely." The diamonds glittered back at her. "So if the watch doesn't belong to any of

us..." Her mouth fell open. "There's...
another
woman?"

"Looks like it," Beatrix said.

"But the police scanned state records for other marriage licenses."

"Maybe he hadn't gotten a chance to marry her, or maybe he used an alias."

Her mind reeled—what
else
could happen? As soon as the thought was completed, she remembered her promise not to

tempt fate. "We have to tell the police right away."

Beatrix scoffed. "We're under arrest for
conspiracy
—they won't believe that the watch doesn't belong to one of us."

"But they
have
to believe us."

Beatrix's color heightened and a muscle jumped under her left eyebrow. "Natalie, put yourself in their place. What would

you think?"

She sighed. "That we were trying to throw them off."

"Right. Besides, the police are so content with us as suspects, they haven't even bothered to look into Raymond's business

dealings."

Natalie tried to guess where the conversation was going. She couldn't. "But our lawyers will do their own investigations

before any trial."

"How long will that take? And how much money will it cost?" Beatrix paced behind a table, shaking her head, her hands

jerking. "No, I think we'd be better off trying to find this woman ourselves and see if she has information to help our case."

"Cases, plural. We can hire a private investigator."

"Oh? And do you have money?"

Natalie shook her head.

"Well, neither do I. On the other hand, I do have time. And motivation."

"And I have Raymond's travel log."

Beatrix stopped. "Well, it's decided, then. You and I can take a little road trip, retrace Raymond's steps, see what we find.

How about it?"

The idea was simple to the point of absurdity. And absurd to the point of stupidity. Questions poked at her: Could she trust

Beatrix? "But all I have are the travel logs—I don't know whom he called upon."

"He had a black leather organizer. He said he trusted it more than an electronic gadget."

"I remember it well, but I don't know where it is."

"Probably in his briefcase in the car. The police haven't yet released the car or its contents to me."

"What about Raymond's company—they might help us if one of our lawyers called the home office in Louisville."

Beatrix coughed into her hand. "I think it's best if we don't tell our lawyers what we're doing."

Natalie gaped. "What? Why not?"

"The two of us going off to play P.I.—what the hell do you think they're going to say?"

She was right.

"Besides," Beatrix continued, "if we don't find anything, no one's the wiser. If we do—we'll present the evidence to the

police."

"But if we don't know the people he talked to, the whole scheme seems moot."

"Let's think on that angle while we make plans. Can you leave in the morning?"

Natalie hesitated, then sighed—she had nothing better to do. "I suppose." But she didn't have a warm, fuzzy feeling about

being alone with Beatrix for an extended period of time.

From the travel log, they determined that northern Tennessee would be the best place to start. Feeling like a cross between

a Girl Scout and a fugitive, Natalie agreed to meet Beatrix at a bus station an hour outside of Northbend and go from there.

"Pack for two or three days, just in case," Beatrix said, all business now that a decision had been made.

"But what if my lawyer calls? And what should I tell my brother?" Why Brian Butler's face entered her mind, she couldn't

fathom. She pictured him with a big frown on his big face—but
he'd
been the one to ask what she planned to do in her own

defense.

"Tell them you want to get away for a couple of days by yourself, away from the reporters."

She could give them her cell phone number if they needed to contact her. "Okay."

And with that little word, a pact was made.

Beatrix returned the watch to its box.

"Won't we need the watch for identification?"

"I'll tell your Mr. Butler that I want to check it against my mother's jewelry inventory."

"I told you, he isn't 'my' Mr. Butler."

"Whatever. See you in the morning. Don't be late."

Thoroughly dismissed, Natalie had to catch herself to keep from relinquishing the library to Beatrix. But the woman

snapped up her purse and strode to the door.

"I'll walk you out."

"Don't bother."

After the door closed behind her, Natalie stared, wondering what she'd gotten herself into. Two, maybe three days in the

company of that woman? She needed a buffer. Maybe they could go in separate vehicles.

Tony stuck his head into the room to ask if she was all right, and she nodded, feeling somewhat buoyed. Maybe they

wouldn't find anything at all, but at least she wouldn't feel so powerless.

At the sound of a sharp honk, she peeked from the side of a window shade to see Tony clearing a path through the media.

Beatrix was nowhere to be seen—lying in the back seat, perhaps? At least the reporters wouldn't suspect a clandestine meeting

and start a rumor that would alert the lawyers and the police.

Just to satisfy the nagging question, however, she picked up the phone and dialed Ruby's number.

"Hello?"

The girl was crying. "Ruby, it's Natalie. What's wrong?"

"Everything! My TV was repossessed, and I just got fired. Oh, Nat, this murder charge is ruining my life."

Imagine that.

"I didn't do it, Nat. I didn't kill Ray. You believe me, don't you?"

The childlike tone tore at her—Ruby was left with a burden neither she nor Beatrix had to contend with, the possibility of

giving birth to a child in prison, an illegitimate child. "I want to believe you, Ruby. Tell me, have you ever owned a Rolex

watch?"

"What kind of watch is that?"

"An expensive one, with gold and diamonds."

"No. I had a Betty Boop watch, but I lost it."

From the mouth of a babe.

"I know this sounds awful, Nat, but sometimes I wish I'd never met Ray."

She knew the feeling. His life, and death, had been a catalyst in all of their lives, and not for the best, as it turned out. She

felt deceitful that she and Beatrix were about to undertake a trip whose outcome could rightly affect Ruby just as much as it

affected them. The girl sounded desperate—maybe she needed a distraction. Not to mention supervision. Since the girl had

been fired, she wouldn't be missed at work. And frankly, as daft as Ruby could be sometimes, Natalie almost preferred her

company to Beatrix's.

Except Beatrix would never go for it, not unless she could convince her that Ruby could contribute to the search in some

way.

"Ruby, did Raymond tell you the names of anyone he saw or spoke to the week he died?"

"You mean like customers?"

"Yes, or acquaintances."

"No, but hold on a minute and I'll tell you."

Natalie frowned into the phone, wondering if Ruby had misunderstood the question. What was she doing?

"Nat? Do you want his schedule for the whole week, or just for that day?"

She wet her lips. "Ruby, how do you know Raymond's schedule?"

"It's right here in his black organizer. He gave it to me in the hospital to put in my purse before you got there. I've been

using it to prop up the TV 'cause the trailer leans a little, but I don't need it anymore."

Never one to ignore a celestial sign, Natalie asked, "Ruby, do you have plans for the next couple of days?"

Chapter 30

Natalie eased her Cherokee into the parking lot of the appointed bus station, peering side to side for Beatrix's or Ruby's

car. With a shaking hand, she pushed her hair behind one ear, and slowed to a crawl. She could still back out. Simply turn

around and drive back to Smiley, or find a little resort hotel somewhere to spend a meditative weekend, like she'd told Tony

she was going to do. She'd hated lying, but she didn't want to implicate him in their ruse in case they all went down.

In case they all went down
? Good grief, she was starting to
sound
like a crook.

The sight of the silver Mercedes tucked between two minivans sent her heart rate skyward. What kind of masochist would

embark on a road trip with her husband's two other wives?

A masochist desperate for insight into the man she thought she knew, a masochist desperate for insight into the kind of

person
she
was to be so easily taken in by such a man. She sighed as she pulled the SUV into the nearest empty space. She

needed peace, some semblance of control. And even if this stunt seemed like a bizarre way of achieving a measure of both, at

the moment, it was the best offer on the table.

She didn't see Ruby's blue Camaro, but she'd told the young woman to come fifteen minutes later so she'd have time to

break the news of her joining them to Beatrix—not a task she was looking forward to.

Beatrix alighted from the car. Her outfit of dark glasses, black slacks, and white pearls were more befitting a magazine

cover shoot than a weekend on the lam. Since she herself had dressed in black jeans, tennis shoes, and a loose denim shirt,

Natalie decided she would probably get the dirty jobs, if there were any.

"I wondered if you'd changed your mind," Beatrix said as Natalie approached.

"I did, a dozen times."

Beatrix's smile was fleeting. "I hate to drive. Do you mind?"

"No, I'll drive."

"You do have air conditioning?"

"Yes."

"With individual controls?"

She pursed her mouth, then nodded. The trunk of Beatrix's luxury car popped open and Natalie stared at the three matching

Hartmann leather suitcases. "I thought you said to pack for two or three days."

"I did."

She inhaled deeply. "Okay. Well, at least my Cherokee has plenty of room."

"I can't believe the luck of you finding Raymond's organizer," Beatrix said as she removed the luggage. "How did the

police miss it when they searched your place?"

"It was, um... well-hidden." She glanced all around, dreading how Beatrix would take the news.

Beatrix followed her gaze. "Don't worry, I don't believe anyone here will even notice us, much less recognize us."

"Beatrix, there's something I—"

The sound of a loud car horn trumpeting interrupted her. Ruby's Camaro rolled toward them, horn singing. Every person in

the parking lot turned to stare.

Beatrix slammed her trunk. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"I was about to tell you—"

"Hi, Nat!" Ruby yelled through her open driver side window. Then her smile dropped. "Hi, Beatrix."

"She is not going with us," Beatrix said, arms crossed.

"Oh, yes I am."

"Oh, no you're not."

"Oh, yes I am!"

"Oh, no you're not!"

"Wait a minute," Natalie said, waving her arms. "Beatrix, I called Ruby to see if the watch was hers, then asked her to

come with us. She has as much at stake here as we do, and she might be able to help."

"How could she possibly help?"

"She has Raymond's schedule book."

Ruby lifted the black leather organizer and waved it back and forth.