Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery) (29 page)

She stared at the foam-covered lump of gold for long seconds, trying to remember the joy she'd felt when Raymond had

slipped it on her finger, waiting for relief to overcome her. But the good memory was tainted by his betrayal, and the relief

diffused by Butler's presence. As the bubbles dissolved in his hand and the ring became clearer, so did her course of action.

Natalie lifted her chin to meet his gaze. "How much?"

"How much what?"

"How much is my wedding ring worth?" She dried her hands on a checkered dish towel in the ensuing silence. Thoroughly.

Twice.

"To whom?" he asked quietly.

"To a pawnshop dealer."

His lips parted. "To this pawnshop dealer, it's worth a great deal."

She swallowed, rehashing this morning's discussion with herself. "G-Good. Then just apply it toward my d-debt."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes."

His fingers curled, covering the ring. "I'll make sure you get top dollar."

Since to her the value of the ring was running into negative numbers, she wasn't about to dicker. She trusted him.

Her pulse skipped. Not trust. Trust wasn't the word a woman used with a man she barely knew when she was still reeling

over the death of her cheating husband. Desperation—now
there
was a word. She was desperate for a sympathetic ear, that

was all... an ear—other body parts need not apply.

"How about that hot dog?" he asked, slipping the ring into his pocket as if nothing of great import had transpired. Of

course, he wouldn't have realized otherwise unless the confusion and uncertainty galloping through her chest was evident on

her face.

"Your face," he said, tilting his head, his dark eyes shining.

Oh my God.

He reached out and swept a finger across her cheek. She blinked, but was frozen in place. "You're wearing some of your

morning's labor," he said with a grin, then held up his finger, smudged with the proof.

"Excuse me for a moment," she murmured, then skedaddled to the utility room to survey her dirty face, now red with

embarrassment. Mud striped her cheek and chin. The hat had compromised her ponytail, leaving her hair in disarray. Scary.

Glad for the excuse to collect herself, she bent over the deep sink and flushed her face and neck with cool water. Refreshed,

she loosened the ponytail and finger-combed her hair into some semblance of order. Her hands shook for no discernible

reason, except that she wanted this little non-rendezvous to end quickly. Why Brian Butler made her nervous, she couldn't

fathom, but she was determined he would never know. A deep inhale strengthened her resolve.

By the time she returned to the kitchen, he had spread their lunch on the tile-topped table.

"I found tea in the refrigerator," he said. He'd also found paper plates and a radio station, not to mention her sore spot. The

man acted as if he belonged there, in her life.

Moving cautiously, she claimed a chair, then stared at the hot dog bulging out of its bun, with orangey mystery meat sauce

spilling everywhere. "You actually eat these things?"

He lowered himself into an adjacent chair. "As often as I can," he said, then bit into the mess with a practiced technique

and chewed with gusto. On the radio, Billy Joel was trying to convince Virginia that he might as well be the one, because only

the good die young. Oh yeah, baby.

Natalie used both hands to lift the so-called food for a sniff. "No wonder you have indigestion problems."

"Ah, come on. Live a little."

Billy Joel and Brian Butler were a persuasive pair. Natalie tasted the hot dog gingerly, conceding defeat when the rich

flavors exploded on her tongue. Cheese, grease, and salt. Wickedly delicious. She could visualize free radicals somersaulting

toward her vital organs. Oh, well, prison food was sure to have state-approved levels of roughage and antioxidants—she'd

catch up. Natalie took two more bites before chasing the dog with a swallow of tea.

"Isn't that better than a salad?" he asked.

"Not bad," she said, nodding. "But ask me again in an hour."

He laughed, a pleasing rumble. "You look better today."

"Gee, thanks."

"Less stressed, I mean. I heard the two other women were arrested."

"Yes."

"Does that mean the charges against you will be dropped?"

She sighed. "Don't you read the papers? The popular theory is that the three of us wives are in cahoots."

"No, I hadn't heard."

"The good news is they no longer think the two of us are an item."

He made a funny face. "I was kind of enjoying it."

"The notoriety?"

"The two of us being an item."

She swallowed an unchewed bite and forced it down by dragging her fist over her breastbone. "Look, Mr. Butler—"

"Brian."

"—this boyish charm of yours is wasted on me. My husband was just buried, for heaven's sake." Her words sounded

perfectly logical to her own ears. So why didn't her feelings follow suit?

"Did you love him?" he asked.

"Of course I did."

"Then why did you just hock your wedding ring?"

Good question. She cast about for a good answer. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"No, you don't." He turned his attention back to his lunch and took another healthy bite.

As she watched him eat calmly, Natalie frowned in exasperation. Did nothing faze the man? She was torn—part of her

wanted to toss him out of her kitchen on his sympathetic ear, and part of her yearned to draw upon his unshakable composure.

A revelation that only fed her nervousness. "The truth is, right now I don't feel anything for Raymond except anger."

"Anger is good," he said casually. "Makes a person want to get on with life."

She mulled his words as she took another bite and decided that, yes, of all things she could be feeling at the moment, anger

was the most productive. Of course, from Detective Aldrich's point of view, anger was also the best motivation for murder.

Butler wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. While she wrestled with her emotions, he had made short work of the rest of

the hot dog and emptied the glass of tea. He pushed to his feet, and scooted the chair back under the table. "Seeing as how I've

worn out my welcome," he said with a tight smile, "I guess I'd better be going."

Natalie glanced up midchew, suddenly embarrassed by her behavior. The man hadn't done anything to make her think he

was interested in anything other than his investment. And how cynical had she become to suspect ulterior motives behind every

good deed? She swallowed thickly and stood to face him, although she had to look up. "I'm sorry I was rude... Brian." Her

cheeks flamed. "I had no right to jump to conclusions. I'm not ungrateful for your... company."

He studied her face, allowing her to do the same. Had he been a smaller man, he would have been almost pretty. Instead,

his handsome features were broad and rugged and pleasingly placed. His jawline sharp, his cheekbones defined, his eyes

framed with untanned crows' feet. His dark eyes were extraordinary, fluid and seemingly incapable of dishonesty. Suddenly,

she knew that about him. He was genuine.

"Natalie," he said softly. "You jumped to all the right conclusions. I was hooked the first time I saw you. I think I behaved

so badly in your office because I knew I couldn't have you, and that Raymond didn't deserve you."

Her throat convulsed.

He slowly curved his hand around the back of her neck, poised for her retreat. She didn't move. She didn't think. She didn't

breathe.

"I know my timing is lousy," he whispered, "but I'm impatient for you."

As she was for him. Her heart pounded in anticipation. His fingers burned into her neck as he pulled her mouth up to meet

his. His kiss was urgent and jealous and guttural. Natalie went boneless, absorbing his comforting energy, allowing him to

assume her weight. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and drew her against his solid body, his legs wide to cradle

hers. Everything about him emanated strength—his hands, his mouth, his ragged breathing. Enveloped in his embrace, the pain

and ambiguity of the past several days drained away. Gone was the rejection. Gone was the anxiety. Gone was the anger.

And in their place was a big, warm, wraparound diversion from reality.

Oh, yeah—reality. Her common sense returned with the force of a head-on collision. She froze, then tore her mouth from

his, and twisted out of his arms—an impossibility without his cooperation, which he gave under protest.

"Natalie—"

She leaned on the counter, her back to him, her chest heaving. "Brian, please... leave." She pressed the back of her hand to

her mouth.
God, what was I thinking
?

"Okay." His breathing was also compromised, his voice broken. "But whether you want to admit it or not, Doc, there's

something here."

She closed her eyes. There was something here, all right—a mushrooming cloud of calamity. A dead husband, a murder

charge, a reckless kiss. She sunk her teeth into her hand. Perhaps she was having a nervous breakdown—that would explain her

bizarre behavior. And at the moment, crazy was preferable to just plain stupid. The floor vibrated as he walked toward her,

and she stiffened. He must have sensed her withdrawal because his footsteps paused, then retreated. Behind her, coldness

filled the space he vacated.

At the sound of the doorknob turning, she glanced over her shoulder. He, too, was looking back, his eyes questioning.

Natalie turned away and concentrated on the broken pane of glass in the kitchen window.

"I'm not through," he said. "I want you to know I'm not through." The door opened and closed behind her.

Chapter 27

Beatrix frowned at the map—what kind of a town was so damned small that Rand McNally didn't even know about it? She

wadded the useless piece of paper into a ball and tossed it into the back seat of her Mercedes. At the next wide spot in the road

with a gas station, she pulled over and got directions to Smiley from a kid loafing in the parking lot who she tipped to pump her

gas. Then, herself refueled with a cup of God-awful java and a pack of Camels, she pointed the car in the right direction and

settled in for another forty-five minutes of podunk parkway.

She'd intended to make the drive to the pawnshop Sunday on her way back from Paducah, but being arrested had a way of

messing up a person's plans.

Okay, at first she'd been shaken. She certainly hadn't counted on the list being found—what kind of barbarians look under a

lady's mattress pad? But, Gaylord, bless his overtaxed heart, had railroaded the booking process for her, and by association,

for that other one, too. As a result, she hadn't had to spend the night in jail, although she was still trying to remove that dreadful

black ink from her hands due to the fingerprinting. A humiliating experience, especially since she was processed with a queue

of stray drunks from the previous night. She shuddered at the memory.

Not to worry, Gaylord had promised, insisting she plead not guilty at the hurried arraignment because, after all, the list

was strictly circumstantial—a prop for a murder mystery dinner party, for all the D.A. knew—and besides, two other suspects

were already under arrest for the same crime.

Still, the day had been tense. When she made it home, she'd ordered a wok from Home Shoppers and downed a half-bottle

of gin before passing out—er, before going to sleep.

She vacillated between being furious with the two other women for botching what could have been such an open-and-shut

case, and being fearful that the circumstantial evidence against them mounted every time they were interviewed. Yet she didn't

know what to do to stop the hemorrhaging situation now that a major leak had sprung.

News of her arrest hit Northbend about eleven A.M. Monday morning. At eleven-fifteen, she had received a call from the

Northbend Country Club membership chairperson informing her that her membership had been placed on probation, pending

outcome of the charges and a vote by the membership board. She'd bloodied her tongue from biting it, but endured the cheerful

threat in silence. However, they were supreme fools if they thought anything would stop her from presenting a service award

named for her father at a club gala next week.

Tuesday she'd worked the phones as calls poured in, downplaying her arrest by saying that the insurance companies were