Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery) (13 page)

"Just you." Had the windowpane always been cracked? She must be the most unobservant person breathing.

"Then you don't have anything to worry about. The funeral was in Kentucky, and he's buried in Tennessee. As long as the

two other broads keep quiet, why does anyone here in little old Smiley, Missouri have to know Raymond pulled a fast one on

you?"

Natalie set down her cup and turned back to face him, holding on to the counter. "Because it's possible that Raymond's

death wasn't from natural causes."

"I'll say—having all three of his wives show up at once is damned unnatural."

"Tony, the medical examiner thinks Raymond might have been... murdered."

He came out of his seat, spewing pasta. "What? How?"

She lifted her hands. "The Kentucky State Police showed up in Tennessee yesterday after the funeral, but all they would

say is they suspect Raymond was given something to trigger the heart attack."

Tony frowned. "Who'd want to kill—" His eyes bulged. He crossed to the sink and clasped her shoulders. "They'll go

easier on you if you confess. Just tell them the mailbox told you to do it and they’ll send you to a hospital instead of prison."

Natalie shrugged off his hands. "Are you insane? How could you even think such a thing?"

"Well... you're a doctor, and besides, who could blame you if you did kill the bastard?"

"But I didn't!"

He held up his hands. "Okay. So, do you think one of the other wives could have offed him?"

She pressed her hands to her temples. "I'm not thinking, period. It hasn't sunk in."

"So what now?"

"The police want to question me. I'm meeting my lawyer in Paducah in a few hours."

"Do the police know about the bigamy thing?"

She nodded. "They linked him to the woman in Kentucky first, but the funeral home led them to his wife in Tennessee and

to the gravesite. They knew we were all connected to him somehow, they just didn't know the specifics."

"Have they already questioned the other two women?"

"No, they're supposed to be questioned today, too."

"Who's going first?"

She frowned. "What does it matter?"

"The person they interview first has the advantage."

"I don't care who is interviewed first, because I don't believe Raymond was murdered. I was there, I saw him have a heart

attack."

"They must have some kind of evidence. You shouldn't take this lightly."

"Take what lightly? Even if Raymond
was
murdered, which he wasn't, I don't have anything to worry about because
I

certainly didn't kill him."

Tony frowned. "The prisons are full of innocent people, Nat."

"Oh, right."

"I'm serious. Some people break under the pressure and look guilty even if they aren't. All it takes is a motive,

circumstantial evidence, and a persuasive prosecuting attorney."

"Now you're an expert in criminal law?"

"The lockup had a great legal library." He suddenly looked sheepish. "Thought I might even give law school a try if I

could scrape together the cash."

She bit her tongue. Tony had tried his hand at everything from pyramid marketing schemes to raising Christmas trees, but

burglary was the only occupation at which he'd truly excelled. "And as usual, the conversation revolves back to you," she said,

pushing past him. "I could've sworn we were talking about my husband being murdered."

"But you just said he
wasn't
murdered."

She kept walking, dismissing him with a wave.

"I was trying to help," he said behind her.

"I don't need your help," she flung over her shoulder as she jogged up the stairs.

"No, you never needed anyone, did you, Nat?"

She stopped at the landing and considered sending a massive clay vase down to oblige his long-suffering expression. "No

one was there if I
had
needed someone."

"I'm here now. And I want to be here for you, Nat."

Clutching the banister, she stared down at the man who had consistently proved that he didn't care about anyone but

himself. Men. What made them feel so entitled to use the women who loved them most? Her handsome brother disappeared

through a blur of tears. She was drained, exhausted... and done trying. Natalie turned and resumed climbing. "Just don't steal

anything from the house while I'm gone."

Chapter 11

"Don't tell these yahoos any more than you have to," Gaylord Gilliam declared as he held open the door of the Kentucky

State Police Paducah post.

Beatrix pressed a finger against her eyebrow to ease a relentless tic. "When this mess is over, I never want to see the

inside of this state again."

"Relax," her lawyer drawled. "We'll be in and out of here in no time. I wouldn't be surprised if they roll in and say it was

all a big fat mistake."

She'd thought the same thing when the limo had dropped her off at her home yesterday afternoon. Around two this morning,

however, she began to worry that the police did indeed have something—else, why would that detective Aldrich have looked

at her as if he'd already spent the raise he would get for locking her up?

"You know, Gaylord, Raymond was no saint—the fact that his death is suspicious could look bad on me."

He stopped, pushed his hat back on his bald head and considered her for the longest time. Finally, he clasped her elbow

and led her forward. "Like I said, don't tell them any more than you have to. Don't worry, Bea, I'll be with you and I'll stop the

questioning if it appears you're about to incriminate yourself."

"Gaylord, I—"

"Bea, Kentucky has the death penalty." He squeezed her arm just short of pain. "Now. You will go into this interview and

tell them the truth—that Raymond was a bad boy who made enemies, but you, his loving wife, was not one of them."

She was paying him too much money not to listen to him, so she remained silent as they approached a glassed-in window,

her heart thumping wildly. Damn Raymond—he couldn't even die without a production. Always the center of attention. Always

in control.

The female officer behind the window directed them down a hallway into a bullpen of activity. Phones rang, mouths

moved, pencils scribbled. Detective Aldrich sat at a desk the size of a card table, the phone pinched between his ear and

shoulder. When he spotted them, he banged down the phone and pushed himself to his feet.

"Mrs. Carmichael," he said, his voice just as unfriendly as yesterday. Beatrix introduced the men and exchanged a frown

with Gaylord as they were led to a small room.

"Something to drink?" the detective asked, sweeping his arm toward four plain metal folding chairs arranged around a

white table. They declined, but he disappeared anyway, presumably to fetch something for himself.

Gaylord held out a chair for her, but his Southern manners couldn't take the edge off the stark surroundings: faded indoor-

outdoor carpeting, scuffed walls, a single overhead dome light hanging over the table. Two walls were darkly mirrored from

waist to ceiling, leaving her to wonder who might be watching her from the other side. She craved a Valium, but she needed to

keep her wits about her.
Breathe
, she told herself.
Breathe, and this will all be over soon
.

Aldrich returned, holding three bottles of water. "In case you change your minds," he said, plunking them down.

"No Evian?" Beatrix asked sweetly, then reached for a bottle to keep from imagining what might have caused the reddish

stain on the table top. She opened the bottle with a twist, marveling at the irony—the last time she'd drunk straight from a

bottle, she and Raymond had been sequestered in a closet together at a fund-raiser over twenty-one years ago. It was his risqué

behavior that had so appealed to her, the naïve white-gloved debutante. Her friend Blanche had forgiven her for capturing

Raymond's eye and heart, but the women had never again been close. By the time Beatrix realized she'd sacrificed the better

relationship, Blanche had snared an anesthesiologist and moved to West Palm Beach. She herself had been the pretty one, but

Blanche had been the smart one.

Aware the detective was watching her, Beatrix lifted the bottle for a quick drink so he wouldn't notice the tremor in her

hands. The water was tepid, but soothing to her dry throat.

The police officer shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, then grunted into his seat. From a

black bag he removed a tape recorder and set it on the table. Beatrix shot an alarmed look toward Gaylord.

"No tape recorder," he chirped.

Aldrich appeared baffled. "We're just going to ask a few questions about Mrs. Carmichael's husband."

"Mrs. Carmichael has not yet recovered from her husband's passing. Taping her conversation will only add to her stress."

Aldrich adopted a pleasant smile. "You know it's as much for Mrs. Carmichael's protection as ours, counselor. You can

stop the recorder any time you want, and you can take a copy of the tape with you."

Gaylord looked to her for permission. She swallowed a second mouthful of water and, deciding that Aldrich would only

be more difficult if she resisted, nodded.

The detective grunted approval, then pushed a button and recited the date, the place, the names of those present, and the

fact that Beatrix was not under arrest, but had come to the station at his request. "Mrs. Carmichael, do I have your permission

to tape this conversation regarding your husband—" he consulted a pad of paper, "—Mr. Raymond A. Carmichael?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Louder, if you please."

She cleared her throat. "Yes."

He started by verifying their address, years of marriage, Raymond's last three positions that spanned a decade, and other

generic tidbits. Aldrich fidgeted, a warning he was changing tack.

"Mrs. Carmichael, when did you first uncover the fact that your husband had illegally married two other women, a Dr.

Natalie Marie Blankenship and a Ms. Ruby Lynn Hicks?"

"L-Last Wednesday night."

"Tell me everything that happened, to the best of your recollection."

Her left hand looked naked without her wedding band. She twisted the single ring that remained, a diamond cluster. When

Raymond had proposed and presented her with the ring, a small solitary stone had graced the slim gold band, and she'd been

ecstatic. Her parents, however, had been appalled at the puny diamond. Her father had promptly added stones to either side,

both larger than the original, as a "wedding gift." Raymond hadn't objected, but in hindsight, his pride must have been horribly

wounded.

"Mrs. Carmichael?"

She straightened, curling her hand in her lap. "I... I received a call from a nurse at Dade General around nine P.M. The

woman told me that Raymond had been involved in an accident."

"What kind of an accident?"

"A car accident. She said his injuries were minor, but he couldn't drive home. I said I'd come right away." A lump formed

in her throat when she remembered how giddy she'd felt at the thought of having him home for a few weeks while he

recuperated.

"What was the nurse's name?"

"I don't... No, wait—Moberly, I think."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Moberly. I wrote it down on a pad by the phone."

"Did Nurse Moberly say that Mr. Carmichael asked her to phone you?"

She frowned, trying to recall. "She didn't say, but she verified our insurance."

Aldrich lifted an eyebrow. "You didn't talk to Mr. Carmichael yourself?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Because she was afraid he wouldn't want her to come. That he'd call a friend, take a taxi—anything to avoid prolonged

contact with her. "I assumed he was still being tended to."

"What happened when you got to the hospital?"

"I was told he'd been admitted because of chest pains, and I was given directions to his room."

"And?"

She closed her eyes briefly, replaying the scene in her head for the thousandth time. "I walked into his room and found both

Natalie and the other one—"

"Ruby."

"—standing in his room. It looked as if Natalie had just arrived."

"Then what happened?"

"Raymond clutched his chest and slumped over. Natalie called a nurse, then administered CPR."

"Natalie, she's the doctor?"

"Yes. They sent me and the other one—"

"Ruby."

"—out of the room while they worked on him. Natalie emerged a few minutes later and that's when we discovered what