Murder in the Milk Case (15 page)

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “If you only knew how guilty I feel about it. What if the only reason I have you is. . .” My voice broke, and I started to cry.

He stood, walked around the desk, and pulled me to my feet. “I might still be struggling with that, but it has nothing to do with you. And I’ll work through it. What’s important is that you’re my wife and I love you.”

I hiccupped.

He rubbed my back. “The other thing that bothers me is that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. Why?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I was afraid of your reaction, and I wanted to find out if Russ really did it before I said anything.”

He stroked my cheek. “I might be overbearing sometimes, but have I ever treated you badly? Well, except for the other night?”

“Noo, but. . .” A wisp of a thought hit me.

“Honey, this was serious. A man was blackmailing you. I’m your husband. You should have told me.”

My thought gelled. “I think it was because of my mother.”

Max let go of me and backed up. “What?”

“I avoid confiding in her because she always uses it against me. I guess when this came up, I automatically treated you the same way as I do her.”

Max nodded. “I can see that, but I’m not like your mother.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I looked up at him. “What did the pastor say?”

“Lots of things,” Max said. “Including that you, Karen, and I need to make an appointment to see him together. But that wasn’t what we talked most about. He pointed out that I still have an issue with control, which is harder because you’re unalterably curious, spontaneous, stubborn, and seem destined for trouble.” He gave me a quirky little grin. “I did know that when I married you, by the way. Your father warned me many times.”

“He did?”

Max nodded. “For some crazy reason, it’s all part of your charm. I wouldn’t change any of it. I just need to learn to. . . Well, I can’t change you. I can change me. I’m my biggest problem.”

I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. “Max, none of what’s been happening is your fault. Well, except when you yelled at me and hired that lawyer.”

Max laughed. “I know it’s not my fault.” He squeezed my fingers. “But the way I handle my reaction to everything is my responsibility, and I’m not doing a good job.” He sighed. “See, my parents taught me that anything can be taken care of with money or sheer force of will. That eliminates faith from the equation.”

“But you’re so strong. . . .” I stroked his hand with my thumb.

“Exactly. In myself. And what happens when I’m no longer able to keep a tight handle on things? Am I going to yell at everyone around me? Or am I going to turn to God?” He smiled. “Another thing I’ve realized is that you and I need time alone. Really alone. Yes, the kids are older, and we’ve got more freedom, for which I’m glad, but we need to go somewhere. Just you and me.”

God had answered my pleas, and so quickly. I stared into Max’s eyes, anticipation waking me up. That sounded like an excellent plan. Then I remembered that either Russ or I, possibly even both, might be arrested. I didn’t want anything to interfere with time alone with Max. I had to solve this mystery as quickly as possible.

I smacked Daryl with a door in my hurry to get into the building to make my doctor’s appointment on time.

“Oh. Sorry. Hi.” I looked up at him. I’d have to be late. I didn’t want to miss a chance to ask some questions. I thought about Corporal Fletcher’s comment about scum, but I just couldn’t see Daryl as a bad guy.

“Hey, Trish.” He met my gaze.

“Is your thumb okay?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah.” He shifted from foot to foot.

“Listen, Daryl, do you remember that our brothers were friends?”

His lips tightened, and he didn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t remember a lot. Too painful. Always living in the shadow of a dead younger brother. My mom never recovered.”

“I’m sorry.” I shifted my purse. “Have you gone to the sheriff’s office a lot to be questioned?”

He glanced down at me. “Maybe a couple of times. Like everyone else. Listen, I gotta run. I’m, uh, temporary manager.”

“That’s great,” I said.

He smiled briefly. Then he turned and left.

Well, that didn’t get me anywhere but more frustrated. I took a deep breath and went inside.

A couple of minutes later, I was sitting on an examining table.

White coat flapping, Dr. Bill Starling walked through the door of the examining room, holding my folder in his hand. “Trish, how is that stomach?”

“It’s okay. Better, in fact. It was just coffee and stress.” I wanted to get my appointment out of the way and move on. I had a lot to think about.

He pulled out his stethoscope. “Well, we can take care of you. Let’s see what’s going on.”

Twenty minutes later, minus several vials of blood and other bodily fluids and holding a referral to a gastric specialist, I paid my bill and left the clinic. Bill promised to call me if the blood tests indicated anything he could help with.

Max had phoned me on my cell to say he’d returned to the office. George was coming by. Tommy and Karen were home with the little kids.

I decided, spur of the moment, to surprise Max with a picnic dinner. We needed some time to talk. I called Tommy to ask if he’d continue to watch the kids. He grumbled but agreed. I didn’t dare ask Karen right now.

I picked up some food and drove back to Four Oaks Self-Storage. Two vehicles were parked in the lot. One was Max’s. The other looked familiar, but it wasn’t George’s. Odd because office hours were over.

I went inside carrying two bags. “Max? I brought dinner.”“Hi, baby. I’m in my office.”

He sounded too perky and bright.

“Is something wrong?” I walked into the room. That’s when I remembered why I’d recognized the car parked outside.

Stefanie was perched on the edge of Max’s desk, swinging her shapely legs. Sandals with impossibly high heels dangled from her toes. She looked at me rather like the cat that swallowed the canary. The teeny black skirt and turquoise shirt she wore left very little to the imagination.

Max was in his chair, leaning back, legs stretched out in front of him, arms behind his head. His lips were turned up in a tiny little smile as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Hi, honey,” he said.

“Anyone hungry?” I used my iciest tone.

“I’m starving,” Max said as if nothing were wrong.

I tossed my purse on the floor, ignoring everything that fell out. I proceeded to place the food and drinks on a file cabinet, laying everything out neatly, giving myself a chance to collect my thoughts. Then I turned around to survey the scene. Max looked disheveled. That was normal and didn’t really mean anything. By the end of the day, when he was working on the new part of the facility, he was always tousled.

But the lipstick on the shoulder of his shirt wasn’t normal. It wasn’t my shade.

I knew Max wasn’t guilty of anything, but Stefanie’s motivations. . . Her big blue eyes took in every move I made, including my reaction when I’d seen the lipstick. I clenched my fists. Her smug expression almost pushed me over the edge. I eyed her precarious position. Just a little shove was all it would take. I could make it appear like an accident, perhaps falling over an imaginary lump in the carpet and bumping into her. Oops. Sorry, Miss Fancy-Pants. Hope you’re not hurt—too bad.

“I guess you’re wondering why I’m here,” she said in her breathy tone.

“No, not really.” I met her gaze with a slight smile and could only assume that my thoughts showed in my eyes. For the first time since I’d arrived, she looked worried. “I know exactly why you’re here.” I didn’t look at Max, just kept my gaze focused on her. “You want to get into your dearly departed’s storage unit. Did you bring your court order?” I moved closer to her.

“Trish, honey.” Max could probably read my mind, and it scared him. “Stefanie is about to leave.”

“Yes, she is,” I said firmly. I smiled again and moved closer still.

Steffie wasn’t dense. She hopped from the desk in an unladylike hurry. “Yes, I’m leaving. And no, I don’t have a court order. I—I—” She pouted, and tears welled up in her eyes. “You just don’t know how painful this is.”

If she thought her tears would move me, she was greatly mistaken. “Oh, I see how it is, all right. Those mean ole court people. Jim Bob has been dead for, what? A little over a week now? Having the right priorities is, after all, a matter of great pain.”

Steffie’s tears dried up quicker than a drop of water on a hot griddle. She picked up her purse, flung it over her shoulder, and turned to Max.

“Thank you for your sympathy, Maxwell. We’ll talk again soon, I hope.”

When she turned back to me, I stepped aside for her to leave, motioning toward the front door. “There will be no more talking until you have your court order. Good-bye, Stefanie.”

She stomped from the room and the building, slamming the front door behind her. I followed and waited until she pulled from the lot. Then I locked the door and returned to Max’s office.

He had his feet up, leaning back in his chair, looking too composed and self-satisfied. That was so like him, I had to try hard not to smile.

“Trish,” he said with a little grin.

“Max.”

“Baby.”

“Don’t you ‘Baby’ me.” I walked to his desk, placed my palms on the fine wood finish, and leaned over it. “After our nice little talk this morning, I bring you a picnic dinner and interrupt some sort of rendezvous—”

“It wasn’t a rendezvous.” Max didn’t look the least bit repentant.

I stood up straight and crossed my arms. “Then explain the lipstick on your shoulder.”

“What lipstick?” He sat up and pulled out the fabric of his shirt so he could see it. The dumb male expression on his face was funny, and I had trouble not laughing.

“Well, I’ll be,” he said in amazement.

“I’ll tell you what you’ll be—sorry—if you don’t explain really fast.” I pretended to glare at him.

Max looked at me with a grin. “I love it when you get possessive.”

“Don’t flatter me. Explain,” I ordered.

“Stefanie arrived a little bit ago, right after George left. I was outside doing some last-minute things when she drove up. I managed to call Tommy as she waltzed from her car and begged him to find you and tell you to drive over here. He said you were already on your way. I didn’t want to take any chances, which was obviously a wise move. She flung herself at me, presumably for a comfort hug.”

I wanted to spit nails at the thought of her in my husband’s arms. “Comfort?”

He had the nerve to laugh. “After I pried myself loose, I invited her into my office to talk, positioning myself behind my desk and in full view of the security camera.” He motioned toward said camera with his head. “I thought about pushing the alarm button under my desk, but I figured I wouldn’t do that unless she jumped me. When she heard you come in, she hopped on the desk, posed to give you the full effect of her, ah, assets. I’m not stupid.”

I didn’t like the fact that he’d even noticed her assets. “All men are stupid,” I snapped. “At least when it comes to women’s wiles.”

He stood and stretched. “Maybe. But, Trish, I love you. I would never do anything like that. If for no other reason than I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of your temper.” He paused. “Is it safe for me to move now?”

“Is that the only reason you wouldn’t do anything? You’re afraid of my temper?”

“Oh, I think you know better than that.” Max walked around the desk.

I pointed at his shirt. “Take that off.”

He laughed again and began to undo the buttons. “This is just an excuse to see me in my undershirt.”

“You’re pretty full of yourself, mister,” I said. “I wouldn’t push me too far if I were you.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I remember you used to help neuter your father’s cattle.”

“I haven’t forgotten how,” I said.

Max tossed his shirt on the desk. He looked good in his undershirt. All things considered, I felt sorrier for Stefanie than angry. After all, Max was mine.

“You know what?” He reached for my hand.

“What?”