Читать книгу Mr. And Mrs. Wrong - Fay Robinson - Страница 10

LEONA HARRISON stood before the security gate and stared at the house beyond. White shutters hung at the windows and wind chimes on the porch played random notes in the breeze. The yellow paint and the flowers bordering the walk gave the place a cheery look. The yard had jasmine; she could smell it even though she couldn’t see it.

She’d learned, though, that facades, just like faces, could hide something different within. That was true of Horizon House, as well as the people of Potock. That was particularly true of the man Leona was about to visit.

Her husband had refused to come, and she guessed that was a good thing, considering how he felt. He hated Terrell. Everyone in town did. Because she was Terrell’s aunt and only surviving blood relative, they hated her, too. Twenty-one years after the tragedy, some people still crossed the street to avoid having to talk to her.

No one ever said anything ugly to her face, but the seats next to her at church were always left empty and, although she’d shopped at Hanson’s market for nearly thirty years, she’d long ago quit getting decent cuts of meat from the old man or even a polite hello from his son. The good people of the town had branded her guilty by association, just as they’d branded her nephew a killer without the benefit of a trial or a body.

Leona hesitated with her finger over the call box, wanting nothing more than to get in the car and drive home, but a promise to her dead sister, Margaret, to watch over Terrell made her go ahead and push the button. She gave her name and was let in. The residence manager came to the front door and ushered her inside.

The state had moved Terrell here five weeks ago in response to some court ruling Leona didn’t really understand. Before that, since he was seventeen, he’d lived at an institution for autistic adults up in Huntsville, and she’d dutifully driven the 240-mile round trip once a month to see him.

This place was more convenient, but having him back in the community was causing problems. The anonymous hate mail had started again, and two nights ago someone had written murderer in red paint on her front door. Since Terrell’s arrival, Horizon House had reported threatening calls.

Leona talked briefly to the manager, then made her way to the common room where Terrell spent his days staring at the aquarium or working on his drawings. Today he had out a pad and pens and an assortment of colored inks and was sitting alone at one of the round tables they used for activities.

The years had not been good to him, and he appeared much older, more used up, than he should at thirty-eight. Deep lines etched his face. He’d once been a handsome boy, but now he was nearly bald on top, and the sides and back of his hair had turned the color of new tin.

He didn’t look up or acknowledge her presence, only turned to a clean page of his art pad. As he started a new picture, he rocked from side to side, a mechanism he used to comfort himself.

“Hello, Terrell,” she said, sitting across from him. “It’s Aunt Leona. I hope you’ve been well.”

She didn’t expect a response and didn’t get one. Terrell had never said a word, to her knowledge, but he could make sounds, and Margaret had told her he’d often cried all night as a child, as if life was simply too painful for him to bear.

She didn’t think he cried anymore. A few tears, the attendants said, once when they’d transferred him here and the second time when they’d drained the fish tank to clean it, and he hadn’t been able to watch the water.

The only problem they’d encountered was keeping him contained. Sometimes he scaled the wall and disappeared, not running away from the house but running to something, the irresistible something that drew him as strongly now as it had when he was a boy—the river. Years away hadn’t diminished his fascination with it.

As long as no one interrupted his routine, moved his things or tried to touch him, he was fine—almost invisible and seemingly content. He stayed closed up in his silent world and didn’t bother anyone.

He was a sweet boy, always had been. Never would she believe he had killed Eileen Olenick. Terrell didn’t have it in him to hurt anyone.

But thanks to Matt Mathison’s editorials in the Register at the time, Leona hadn’t been able to convince anyone of her nephew’s innocence. In truth, it was the Mathisons’ youngest daughter—Lucky they called her—who had really been the one to seal Terrell’s fate, and with only a few words. People had taken the unfounded fears of a child and accepted them as truth.

Leona removed her cross-stitch sampler from her purse and worked on the S of Home Sweet Home as she talked. Terrell continued to ignore her. He occasionally swapped colors. A couple of times he traded his pen for a brush and dipped it in an ink bottle or a small jar of water, swishing it lightly along the paper or painting with painstaking slowness.

Did he remember her house? she asked him. “Of course you do,” she answered for him. “Your mama used to bring you over to see me and Uncle Edwin and you’d make so many pretty pictures. Even then you had talent.”

Extraordinary talent, or so they’d discovered. He was a savant, Miss Olenick had said, because he could draw or paint anything and with the tiniest details, even things he’d only seen once.

Unfortunately, instead of being a gift that brought happiness, his art had been the catalyst for trouble. If only Miss Olenick hadn’t taken an interest in him, his life might have turned out differently.

Well, no use thinking that way, Leona told herself. What was done was done. No one could change the past.

She stayed for her usual hour, then put her needlework back in her bag. Edwin would be wanting his lunch and she still had to stop for bread.

“I’ll come back and see you again, Terrell,” she told him, standing. “You be good and Aunt Leona will bring you a plate of gingerbread next time. I remember how much you love gingerbread with apple-sauce.”

He removed the page he’d been working on and set it on the table, then packed his supplies into a plastic carrier and shuffled off in the direction of his room in that strange walk of his. He never looked back.

Leona came around the table and picked up the sheet, and her heart nearly stopped. He’d drawn a picture of Eileen Olenick as she had looked twenty-one years ago, a picture as vibrant and colorful as the woman herself had been, and so meticulously detailed it nearly resembled a photograph.

Leona might also have called it “lifelike” except for one thing. The body reclined in a pool of blood. He’d drawn her dead.

JACK CLOSED THE FOLDER on the Bagwell case and tossed it on the growing stack of files. For a town of its size, Potock had a fair share of accidents and crime. Burglaries and thefts, mostly. Husbands and wives trying to beat the crap out of each other. Every weekend some guy got drunk and showed what an idiot he was by urinating in public or pulling a knife and trying to cut one of his neighbors.

Right now they had open cases on sixteen burglaries, a weapons charge, the train death, two cases of vandalism, the bomb threat and a request for assistance from the feds on the sale of historical artifacts that might have been illegally obtained.

With only five investigators, including himself, and a jurisdiction of 24,000 residents, the workload was piling up. He needed more people, and the ones he had weren’t sufficiently trained.

Back at his old bureau, not even a first-day rookie would have screwed up like Swain had done this morning. Jack would recommend he be busted back to patrol if he didn’t need him so badly. Besides, Swain wasn’t the only one around here who didn’t know what he was doing. He, at least, had the excuse of inexperience.

Taggert and Domingo had more than fifteen years between them and were officers, yet sometimes acted as if they knew little more than Rogers and Whatley, who’d only recently passed their exams.

Sometimes Jack wondered what the hell he was doing in Potock. He’d once told Lucky that “Podunk” was a better name for it, given its backwoods atmosphere, but naturally she liked it for that very reason. The day he and Lucky ever agreed on anything, he’d probably fall over dead.

Taking his pen from his pocket, he circled a phone number on his legal pad. The call from Wes, his ex-boss in Major Crimes, had been a surprise. He’d decided to retire at the end of the year, and if Jack wanted to apply for the position, Wes would write him a recommendation. The commander and the assistant chief were also offering recommendations.

With Jack’s training and experience and the endorsements from his former superiors, he’d have an excellent shot at the job he’d coveted since he’d gone into law enforcement.

Except he was no longer in a position to go after it.

His excitement had lasted all of ten seconds before he’d thought of Lucky and how this news would go over with her. If he couldn’t get her to leave the cabin, he wouldn’t have a chance in hell of getting her to move out of state. Things were so strained right now, he didn’t dare bring it up. Talk about poor timing.

He tore off the page of notes, started to crumple it for the trash, then stopped. Wes wouldn’t announce his retirement until October, and it was only June. The selection commission needed sufficient time to take applications, do assessments of the candidates and make recommendations for the job and for various down-the-line promotions the opening would create. Nothing would be decided until January—or conceivably even as late as February or March.

He folded the paper and put it in his wallet. Maybe if he explained how much of a raise in pay it would mean and what a great opportunity it was, Lucky would go for it.

And pigs might grow wings, Cahill.

Laughter interrupted his ruminating, and he looked out the glass partition to see Taggert, Whatley and some of the patrol personnel huddled around Lucky in the division room. He glanced at his watch. Four o’clock. Somehow he’d let the time get away from him, and his growling stomach reminded him he’d again missed lunch.

No doubt they were congratulating her on the dirty trick she’d pulled on him with the film. He chuckled under his breath. The little monkey. She’d really gotten him good.

She broke away from the officers and came to the door. “Hi,” she said solemnly.

“Hi.”

“I kept waiting for you to storm the office with the SWAT team or fire tear gas into the upper story of the newspaper building. When you didn’t, I decided I’d better bring these and see how much trouble I’m in.” She shook the large envelope she carried. “Contact sheets and prints. I also typed out a statement and put it in there.”

This was awkward, and he didn’t know what he could say to repair the damage they’d done to each other this morning.

Apparently neither did she, because she didn’t come farther, but waited in the doorway with a wary look, as though she’d turn and run if he made the wrong move. Seeing her so uncertain of him put a knot in his gut. Marriage wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He picked up his own envelope from the desk. “Negatives only. I didn’t feel right wasting taxpayers’ money printing photos of produce.”

“I figured that. Will you consider an even swap?”

The small group beyond her was watching, obviously speculating on what was being said. Jack rose. “Come in,” he suggested. “We have an audience.”

She glanced over her shoulder, turned back and nodded. “I guess they’ve been giving you a hard time.”

“You could say that.”

Taggert was still snickering, the asshole. He was probably the one responsible for the stupid cartoon making its way around the building.

“You know I wasn’t trying to embarrass you by switching the film,” Lucky said, “but apparently I did. I was so mad I didn’t stop to think of the consequences.”

“I’ll live.”

He came around and closed the door behind her, and also drew the blinds for privacy. Picking up the phone, he punched in the secretary’s extension and asked her to hold his calls for a few minutes.

He and Lucky exchanged envelopes. She declined the chair he offered her, saying she preferred to stand. She moved restlessly around the room and examined the certificates on the wall as if she’d never seen them before.

Finally she stopped pacing and turned, keeping several feet between them. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this morning, and I’m wondering how two people who claim to love each other can act the way we do.”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

“Did we make a mistake getting married?”

His insides seemed to drop to his knees. “Do you think we made a mistake?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes. When we fight, I do. When we aren’t fighting, I can’t imagine not being married to you. Lately, though, we fight more often than we don’t.”

“All couples fight.”

“And half of them end up divorced.”

Now it was his turn to feel restless, smothered by the topic she’d chosen. “That won’t happen to us. I’m crazy about you. You know that.”

“But it is happening to us. Don’t you get that? With this separation we’re already part of the way there. Our marriage is failing.”

“No, it isn’t. I admit we have problems, but we can fix them.”

“How? How do we fix them?”

“I can think of a couple of things for starters.” He moved toward her, intending to take her in his arms and apologize for having been such an ass earlier, but she scooted around the desk out of his reach.

“No, don’t start this, Jack. Stay over there and promise you won’t touch me.”

“Why can’t I touch you?”

“Because.”

The answer made no sense, so he came forward again. They did a little dance back and forth. He went left. She went left. He went right. She went right. “This is crazy,” he said, stopping. “I feel like I’m in first grade again, playing tag with Mary Louise McGillray. Why can’t I touch you?”

“Because for once I’d like to have a conversation with you without ending up flat on my back with my underpants around my ankles.”

“We’re in my office. That’s not going to happen.”

“Of course it will. We played a game of Toad in the Hole not more than two weeks ago on this very desk, and we’ve been downright acrobatic in that chair several times.”

He smothered his amusement at her euphemistic choice of words, knowing that if he laughed, he’d only make her mad.

She was deadly serious. Her expression told him that. And she had a point. They’d engaged in a little creative sex in his office before, and their arguments often did end with it.

But in his own defense…every time they’d made love here had been after hours and with the door locked. This was afternoon, and the building was full of people. He wasn’t about to do anything. Holding her had been the only thing on his mind.

Well…probably.

He grumbled to himself. Okay, admittedly, when he held her he usually ended up kissing her. And when he kissed her, they both had a way of coming out of their clothes. But she was his wife, dammit, and he enjoyed making love to her. In resignation, he backed up and folded his arms across his chest. “All right, I’ll stay over here. Let’s talk this out. What do you think we should do?”

“I want us to go for marriage counseling.”

“Ah, hell, no. You can forget about that.”

“Jack, please. The least you can do is consider it. Don’t be pigheaded.”

“I’m not airing our problems in front of some stranger. I categorically refuse.”

She swore under her breath. “Fine. Then you come up with something. You never go along with anything I suggest.”

“If we’d dated longer or taken the time for a real engagement, we’d probably have worked out the things we’re fighting about now. Do you agree with that?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“So is there any rule that says we can’t start over again? That makes a hell of a lot more sense to me than going to some guy we don’t know and whining about how we don’t have anything in common.”

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

“That we pretend we’re not married and do it right this time. We go out. We try stuff we haven’t tried before and take an interest in each other’s hobbies. We get to know each other better.”

He’d caught her interest. Her mouth had started a slight upward turn. “As in a real courtship?” she asked.

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. Dates. Movies. Picnics. All the things couples do when they meet and start to fall in love, but that we didn’t do the first time around.”

“We spent all our time together in bed.”

“I know, and it was a mistake. But to prove my sincerity, I’ll even go fishing with you.”

“You’re joking. You hate the thought of baiting a hook.”

“You can do that part for me. And in return, I’ll teach you how to play golf.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste, then faked a smile. “Golf. Sounds…wonderful.”

“You don’t have to like it or even pretend to like it, but you do have to try it. That’ll be our new rule. We don’t discount anything, even if it doesn’t sound fun or it’s not what we’d normally do. If the other person enjoys it, we give it a shot.”

“Would you still keep the apartment?”

“For the time being.”

“Oh.” Her mouth fell a bit.

“That’s the sensible thing to do. Where we live is the biggest problem between us, and we’re not going to resolve it easily. We know that already. But we can make a commitment while we’re courting and try to mutually work out a solution.”

“Without fighting, I hope.”

“Definitely without fighting. No fighting will be allowed.”

“We could even pretend to get engaged after a few months, couldn’t we?”

“Absolutely. You could plan a real wedding this time.”

Her eyes lit up. “With a long dress and a church ceremony and everything?”

“If that would make you happy. Invitations. Reception. Flowers. The works.”

“Oh, Jack!”

“So what do you say?”

Her delight suddenly turned to obvious distress. Her whole body seemed to sag. “But we can’t. Oh, God, it would’ve been perfect, but we can’t do it. It’s too late.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is!” Pain leaped into her eyes. “Why couldn’t you have come up with this idea four months ago, instead of moving out and starting all your stupid games? Ooh, I could just kill you!”

“What the hell…” Why was she suddenly furious at him?

“We can’t have a courtship now!”

“Why not?”

“Because, Mr. ‘I forgot my basketball,’ I’m going to have a baby!”

THE WORD FLOORED suddenly made sense to Lucky as she watched Jack sway and his knees buckle. “Oh, no!” She grabbed him, but he was too heavy for her to keep upright. Muscle and bone seemed to melt and slide downward. All she could do was hold on around his middle and guide him as he sat down hard on the carpet.

He prided himself on being tough, but at the moment he looked more like a vulnerable little boy who’d gotten the shock of his life. Her anger fizzled, or maybe her love for him was stronger than her anger. She was equally responsible for this little problem, and it hadn’t been fair to put all the blame on him. And, too, this was supposed to be one of the happiest moments in a couple’s life, and she had spoiled it for him, for both of them. She’d never forgive herself for that.

“I’m so sorry.” She knelt and tried to help him regain his equilibrium. “I didn’t plan to tell you like this. I was heartless to blurt it out in anger. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just… I didn’t expect… How did this happen? The pill’s supposed to be nearly one-hundred percent effective.”

“Nearly being the problem. My doctor said that in clinical trials, the type I was taking works ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, but in the real world, the failure rate is more like five to eight percent. Even missing one pill, or varying the time you take them each day, can cause disaster.”

“Did you skip one by mistake?”

“No, I’m positive I didn’t, but apparently certain other medications can also reduce their effectiveness.”

“Sinus infection,” he said, figuring it out.

“Uh-huh. I had that bad one in the spring. I received a shot and a prescription for antibiotics. If I’d known…”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter. Whatever the cause, I’m glad. Hell, I’m thrilled.” He grinned stupidly. “I’m going to be a father!”

“I’ve been trying to tell you for a while, but the right moment never came up.” This definitely wasn’t it, either. From the first day of their marriage he’d talked about having children. This news had to mean everything to him, and she’d hurled it at him like a stew pot.

“How long?” he asked. “I mean, when will it be here?”

“Early January. I’m a little over two months pregnant.”

“Is the baby okay? Are you okay?”

“We’re both fine. My blood pressure’s a tad high, but the doctor says it’s nothing to worry about as long as I try and stay relaxed. She actually wants me to gain a minimum of thirty pounds during the pregnancy because I’m too thin.”

“Damn, Lucky, you scared me. For a minute I thought you were going to tell me you wanted to call our marriage quits.”

“I can’t pretend that I haven’t seriously thought about it.”

He stared at her, even more dumbstruck than before. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. I love you. Don’t ever doubt that. But we’ve had major problems from the beginning because we’re so different. Now with a baby coming, those problems will only get worse.”

“No, they won’t.”

“Yes, they will. You know they will.”

He seemed to catch his breath, and was able to stand. Pulling her close, he slid his arms around her. “Sweetheart…” He rubbed her back with soothing motions. “This is exactly what we need. We’ll be a family now. I can’t think of anything better….”

“And I can’t think of anything worse. Babies don’t repair bad marriages. They kill them.”

He pulled his head back so he could look at her, but still kept his hands loosely on her waist. “We don’t have a bad marriage, only a temporary bad spell. There’s a big difference.”

“I hope you’re right, and not only for the baby’s sake but for ours. I refuse to allow this child to grow up listening to us constantly quarrel. I’d rather separate permanently than have that happen.”

“That sounds like Leigh talking, not you.”

“Leigh has nothing to do with this.”

“Then why are you wanting to divorce me?”

“I don’t want to divorce you. I’m only trying to be realistic about our problems and do what’s best for our child.”

“Well, divorce sure as hell isn’t the answer.”

“Then tell me what is.”

“Being together.” He rubbed his fingers lightly against her belly. “That little baby in there needs us to be a family, Lucky. I need it, too.”

Her heart went out to him. “Oh, Jack…”

“Don’t give up on us.”

“I don’t want to, but…” She sighed, feeling so uncertain, so confused. They fought over the same issues again and again, and emotionally she simply couldn’t take it anymore. “I wish…we really could start over, like you suggested. Wiping the slate clean might have given us the second chance we needed.”

“We can still do it.”

She shook her head sadly. “It’s a little late for romance, don’t you think?”

“No, it’s a great time. Perfect.”

“Oh, sure. In a few months my belly button will stick out like it’s deformed, and I probably won’t be able to find my feet. You won’t want to even look at me, much less touch me. Stretch marks and romance aren’t a very good combination.”

“You’ll be beautiful with your sticking-out belly button. I can’t wait to see that. And I’ll always want to touch you, Lucky, stretch marks or not. Hell, I think about it all the time.”

“I’m about to get very fat. You realize that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but you’ll finally have some boobs.”

His effort to produce a smile from her worked. She chuckled despite her gloom. “You’re horrible.” She moved in closer and played with the front of his shirt and the leather of his shoulder holster, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath them. “I thought you liked my flat chest and skinny legs,” she murmured.

“I love them. I love every part of you, from that spaced-out brain to those long, knobby toes.” He slid his hands down and over her butt. “I especially love the lower parts.”

“Oh, there you go again, trying to charm me out of my pants.”

He grinned with devilment.

She really should scold him, but Lord, he was cute when he was playful like this. And that smile… Seeing it always made her fall in love with him all over again.

“Stop worrying so much,” he suggested. “I promise you things will be better. I’ll even give more thought to marriage counseling if that’ll ease your mind. Okay?”

That lightened her mood considerably. “Okay.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy. Now, I think what we both need more than anything is to celebrate our news. We could go out, but you look tired, so you head on home and I’ll stop at the grocery store when I get off. You can put your feet up and I’ll come over and cook.”

“That sounds wonderful, but I can’t. I’m not through working and I have an assignment tonight.”

“Lucky, you were out before six o’clock this morning.”

“And I’ve been up since four, but I’m committed to taking photos at the Lions’ Club dinner. I won’t be home until after ten. I plan to hit the mattress one minute later.”

“You don’t need to be working those kinds of hours.”

“I agree and I’d rather spend tonight with you, but I promised Leigh and it’s too late to back out. How about we celebrate tomorrow? I’m off the next two days and I told her I absolutely wouldn’t work unless the town started to burn. Which, with the way my luck usually runs, is a possibility, so don’t light any matches.”

“I need to come in for a few hours in the morning and work on this Bagwell case—try to clear up some loose ends—but I should be through by lunch. We can do it after that.”

“I thought the death was a simple accident.”

“It probably is.”

“Probably?” She cocked her head. “Did you find something suspicious?”

“No, nothing unusual.”

“Then why do you still have loose ends? I figured this would be a down-and-dirty investigation.”

He gave her that look, the one that said she knew better than to ask.

“Oh, come on, Jack. I found the guy.”

“That doesn’t mean he belongs to you.”

“I know, but I feel somehow responsible for him. I want to follow through with this.”

“That’s my job. I don’t want you sniffing around in any more of my cases. Understood? I worry enough about you as it is. Don’t make things harder on me.”

“But maybe I can help. I know people you don’t. And his daughter, Carolyn, went to school with Shannon. I bet she’d talk to me.”

“I’ve already talked to her.”

“What did she tell you?”

“Nothing you need to know. About tomorrow…maybe we should make it a family celebration. Have you told your parents about the baby?”

Reluctantly she allowed him to change the subject. “Not yet.”

“Then we’ll get them and your grandmother out to your place and share the news. Ask Leigh to come, and call and see if Shannon and Bill are free. I’ll get Cal to help me move my stuff, and then I’ll grill hamburgers for everyone.”

Lucky’s heart sank. “You’re moving back in?”

“Well…yeah, unless you want to reconsider moving to the apartment.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then I guess I’m moving back in.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We’d better keep things the way they are and not make any drastic changes. Let’s ease back into living together.”

“Wait a minute, what gives? Five minutes ago you wanted me to come home.”

“And five minutes ago you said no because you weren’t ready. Jack, I do want you home, more than anything on earth, but for the right reason. Let’s not jump from one mistake into an even bigger one.”

“I can’t think of any better reason than having a baby.”

“How about…you love your wife and want to be with her?”

“That, too.”

“Please be sure. This is such a major decision.”

“I am sure. Look…I can’t pretend I’m thrilled about living in that cramped cabin again, but if that’s what it takes to be with you during this pregnancy, then I’ll manage until we can come up with a solution. I’ve lived in worse places.”

“When you stayed with your cousin?”

“Who?”

“Your cousin. You said last night that you lived in the back of your cousin’s store while you worked for him.”

“Oh, yeah, I stayed there for a while after high school. It was pretty awful. No shower. No kitchen.”

She frowned. Hadn’t he said it’d been after his parents died? He’d been sixteen, not out of high school. And the way he’d told it before…he’d gone into the army right out of school.

An uneasiness settled over her, the same uneasiness she felt each time his past came up. Nothing he said about his early years ever seemed to mesh. But why?