Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery) (36 page)

"Yeah, well, when in Rome..." Beatrix said unconvincingly.

Natalie marveled at the change in her. The woman was even insulting Ruby less, although she
had
threatened to strangle

the dog with her pantyhose just before they left the hotel. Natalie shot a quick prayer upward that the room would be intact and

odor-free when they returned.

"Beatrix, what kind of perfume are you wearing?" Ruby asked.

"Sterling. It's a custom blend I've worn for years."

"It smells dynamite—I'll have to drag the cowboys off the two of you," she said with a grin as they walked into the dim

interior.

Natalie rolled her eyes and nearly slammed into someone who appeared to be waiting with dozens of others for a table.

"Oh, good Lord," Beatrix muttered. "It's a barn."

The country-western bar was indeed a barn, or at least used to be. Exposed rafters, rough-hewn board wails, sawdust on

the floor. The twangy song playing over the stereo must have been a popular tune since several couples were dancing in sync in

a sawdust-free area. Line dancing? One would assume.

Natalie scanned the smoky interior and tried to imagine Raymond hanging out in a place like this, but she couldn't. At least

the mystery of the country music CDs was now solved—he must have spent many hours at Razor's, but was he entertaining

Chub Younger in hopes of closing a deal, or was he rendezvousing with, as they'd dubbed her, the rose lady?

Maybe he'd met the rose lady while shmoozing with Chub. Her mind spun with unanswered questions and new revelations.

She was most astounded that the hurt of hearing he'd been about to marry yet another woman had washed down the shower

drain with what she promised herself were the last tears she would ever shed over Raymond Carmichael. Anger had settled in

her heart, pushing out the anguish, and the yearning. Now she just wanted back the life she'd lost to a lie. And next time—no,

wait, there would be no next time.

"Hidy," shouted a chunky woman who appeared to be the hostess. Her full-skirted red gingham dress was a questionable

management choice, but she seemed resigned to it
and
the black patent leather flats. "You gals come for dinner? We're backed

up about an hour, but you're welcome to wait in the bar."

They garnered quite a bit of attention as they settled themselves on stools at a tall, sticky table in the bar. Her skin

prickled, and she grew warm enough to discard the thin cardigan she wore over a sleeveless blouse, but she didn't dare. Out of

the blue, Brian Butler's mocking face popped into her mind, but she blamed it on being in a place a man like him would

probably find appealing. Although he seemingly doted on his nieces, she would wager he was no angel, and escaped frequently

to indulge in baser pursuits.

From the way he behaved when she had foolishly allowed him to stay for lunch the other day, it was clear Brian thought

she was ripe for the picking. Poor pitiful Natalie needed to be rescued. She had replayed the kiss in her mind a couple of dozen

times—but only to figure out how she might have circumvented the encounter. On hindsight, closing the door in his face when

he first arrived would have been prudent.

Well, as Beatrix had observed, she was growing less stupid every day.

Feeling daring, she smiled at the waitress taking their drink order. "White zinfandel, please."

"We got beer and hard liquor," the girl said, her nasal voice impatient.

"I... rum and Coke." She'd never drunk a rum and Coke in her life, but she was having one tonight. Beatrix ordered gin and

tonic, Ruby ordered a diet soda and fried cheese to munch on since dinner was another hour away.

"We're looking for a man named Chub Younger," Natalie said. "Do you know him?"

"Know him?" the waitress asked, then snorted. "The beast is married to my sister." She narrowed her eyes. "What do y'all

want with Chub?"

"We don't know Mr. Younger. We're trying to find a friend of his, Raymond Carmichael."

Beatrix whipped out a photo, but the woman shook her head. "I don't remember seeing the guy around, but that don't mean

he ain't been here. Chub will be dragging his fat ass in about nine, when the karaoke starts."

"Karaoke?" Beatrix asked.

The woman cocked out her hip. "Where've you been the last twenty years? It's where anybody who thinks they're a star

gets on stage and sings to taped music."

"They give you the words and everything," Ruby added.

"It's cheaper than a band," the waitress said. "I'll be right back with your drinks."

Natalie glanced at her watch. "So we have about an hour to kill before we're seated and before Chub gets here."

"Why don't we split up," Beatrix suggested, "and start asking if anyone knows Raymond?"

"Men only," Natalie said. "We can't run the risk of inadvertently asking the rose lady and spooking her."

"Do you really think she's here?" Ruby asked, panning the crowded room.

"I can't decide whether or not I want her to be." Natalie scanned the masses, stopping on every woman. Which one would

have caught Raymond's eye? The platinum blonde two tables away, or the voluptuous raven-haired woman who sat next to her,

giggling. Since he already had a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, what was left—an international flavor? And if his pattern of

choosing younger and younger wives held true, the rose lady would be too young to even be
sitting
in the bar. She sifted the

information and pivoted, keeping her eyes peeled for preteen albino females, but came up empty.

"Here you go," the waitress said, plunking down their drinks. The first sip of the rum and Coke crossed her eyes, making

Beatrix laugh.

"You'll get used to it," she said, taking a healthy swallow of her own drink.

Natalie didn't think so, but when they left Ruby to eat her cheese while they canvassed the room, she sipped more for

courage.

The first few men she approached seemed willing enough to talk, until she told them she was looking for a man—someone

other than them.

"Ah, why would you want some other man when you could have me?"

And: "I'm right here, sweetie, and he ain't."

And: "If the man stood up a purty thing like you, he don't need to be found."

Fifteen fruitless inquiries and a half-empty glass later, Natalie escaped to the bathroom, which was mercifully empty. She

stripped off the cardigan and fanned herself in a futile attempt to lower her body temperature. With a moistened paper towel,

she dabbed at her neck, then stopped when she caught a glimpse of herself in the cloudy mirror.

Dark blue eyes bugged back at her. That vamp was her? No wonder those men were coming on to her—she looked as easy

as a paint-by-number kit. Okay, the color in her cheeks was becoming, but the rest of her... well, okay the hair wasn't as horrid

as she'd first imagined, but the red lip gloss... well, actually she didn't look half bad, dammit. And didn't she have the right to

not look half bad? She wasn't married. Hell, she'd never
been
married. And she had needs, like any red-blooded woman in her

mid-thirties. In fact, she had no emotional or legal strings to keep her from going out there and dancing with the next man who

asked her.

The ringing of her cell phone in her purse reverberated off the tile walls so loudly, she nearly dropped her drink. Tony—

she'd forgotten to check in this afternoon. By the time she fumbled the phone to her ear, it had rung five times.

"Hello?" she gasped.

"Natalie?"

"Tony?"

"No, it's Brian."

She frowned into the phone. "Brian who?"

"You're very funny, you know that?"

"How did you get this number?"

"It sounds like you're in a cave."

"Why are you calling?"

"To check on you."

"To check up on me?"

"That's not what I said."

"I'm hanging up."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"
How
did you get this number?"

"I called your house to see how you were doing, and Tony said you'd taken off for a couple of days of peace and quiet."

The bathroom door opened, ushering in a blast of music. Three women practically fell into the room, laughing and

shrieking. Natalie tried to cover the receiver, but she should have known that Brian Butler's big ears would pick up on the

noise.

"Gee, if you wanted music and screaming, you should've come to my house for the weekend."

In the span of one heartbeat, dozens of taboo scenes passed through her mind.

"Jeanie and Ally would've been happy to oblige," he continued.

Natalie closed her eyes and swallowed. She was drunk. "I have to go."

"When will you be home?"

She blinked at his implied familiarity. And the fact that she... liked it. She took another deep drink from her glass, just as

Ruby and Beatrix walked in. They stared, eyebrows up. She swallowed guiltily.

"Natalie?" he said. "Are you there?"

"Yes. I'll be h-home in a couple of days." Was that squeaky voice hers?

"Can I see you when you get back?"

"What?" She tapped her finger against the mouthpiece. "My phone is breaking up, we'll finish this conversation when I

return. Good-bye... you."

"Good-bye, Natalie."

She disconnected the call and pointed to the phone. "My brother," she said.

Beatrix squinted at her. "Our table is ready."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Natalie asked cheerfully.

"You," Ruby said, taking her arm. "Are you all right?"

"Absolutely."

"How's Tony?"

"Tony?"

"You said you were just talking to your brother—do you have another brother?"

"Um, no. Tony's fine." She downed the rest of her drink, then tossed the ice into the sink. "Did either of you find out

anything?"

They shook their heads.

"Me neither. Guess we'll have to wait for Chub."

She scrupulously avoided eye contact with Beatrix during dinner, afraid the woman would see deep into the recesses of

her mind where she replayed the abbreviated conversation with Brian at least, oh, forty-three times.

Home
?

"That has to be our man," Beatrix said, pointing her fork toward a hefty man who parted the crowd with handshakes and

backslaps as he moved toward the bar. His head jerking around at the shout of "Chub!" confirmed the suspicion.

"Do we have a plan?" Ruby asked. She was looking a little fuzzy around the edges. Wait a minute—she hadn't even been

drinking.

"I think only one of us should approach him," Beatrix said. "If he's been following the news, he might recognize us,

especially if we're together." She turned to Natalie. "You go, you don't look like yourself."

"Thanks."

"You look great," she added quickly.

"Thanks again." She stood, then swayed when the alcohol rushed to her brain. "But I think I'm drunk."

Beatrix frowned. "You can't be drunk, you've had two lousy drinks."

Compared to Beatrix's... she'd lost count.

"Hurry before his sister-in-law tips him off."

"Okay. You can pick up the tab." Natalie grabbed her purse and made her way toward Chub, touching every table in

between for stability. By the time she reached the table where he sat among mixed company, however, she identified the need

to sit down before she fell down. Luckily the seat next to Chub was empty. She swung into it without warning, then smiled up at

the surprised man.

"Hello," she said.

Chub recovered quickly. "Well, howdy, little lady. I haven't seen you in here before."

"First time," she admitted. Perhaps Chub Younger had once been a good-looking man, but he now had a twitchy, rawboned

look about him that repelled.

"Name's Charles Younger," he shouted over the music.

"But his friends call him Chub," a man next to him yelled.

Chub elbowed him out of hearing range. "Call me Chub," he added. "What's your name?"

"Um... Marie. Yes, my name is definitely Marie."

"What are you drinking, Marie?" He cupped his right hand over his wedding ring.

"Rum and Coke."

Chub flagged a waitress and ordered her drink, and an extra shot of whiskey for himself. "Helps me loosen up," he

explained.

"For what?"

His chest puffed out. "I'm going on stage here in a few minutes. I'm a singer."

"Really."

"Yeah. I've sung in all the best nightclubs in Nashville."

"So what are you doing here?"

He blinked. "Well... life on the road is tough, see, so I decided to slow down a little." He flashed a killer smile.

The waitress tossed their drinks on the table as she sashayed by. Natalie sipped hers, aware her mind was already

gummed up. It was, however, amusing to realize she could still keep up with a stone-cold-sober Chub. He tossed down the

whiskey, winced, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve just as the fleshy hostess appeared onstage to announce open-mike

karaoke.

"Any requests?" Chub asked her. The man had incredibly small teeth.

She only knew one country music song from her youth. "'Harper Valley PTA.'"

His eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, enjoying herself now.

"Okay. I know that one." He pushed away from the table and bounded onstage.

He was dreadful. Back-chilling, vision-blurring dreadful, although he deserved points for his enthusiastic gestures to the