Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery) (4 page)

grout surrounded her. Three stalls lined the back wall, one occupied. Natalie set her navy leather tote on the fake granite

counter and rummaged for a bottle of aspirin, breaking an already short nail when she popped off the lid.

She cupped her hand and filled it with warmish tap water to down the painkiller. The spotted mirror reflected the day's

toll. Her blue eyes looked bloodshot and bruised underneath, her skin devoid of makeup and natural color. Her dark hair hung

limp to her shoulders, flat and stick-straight. Splashing her face with cold water revived her somewhat. With hard, therapeutic

strokes, she brushed her hair back from her face, reveling in the numbing rhythm.
Everything will be fine, everything will be

fine...

The odor of an herbal cigarette tickled her nose and she glanced in the mirror to see a wisp of smoke rising above the

closed stall door. Smoking in the hospital was completely illegal, of course, but if she had one, she'd join her unseen

companion in the adjacent stall. The stimulus provoked a growl from her stomach and she realized she still hadn't eaten dinner.

The toilet flushed and she heard two quick pumps of what sounded like breath spray. Natalie dropped her brush into her

purse, intrigued by the identity of the girl or woman daring enough to break the rules, but apprehensive enough to cover up her

little sin. The door opened and an attractive blond woman, fiftyish and wearing an expensive pantsuit, emerged. She engaged

brief and wary eye contact before striding to the sink and washing her manicured hands. She appeared agitated, and her skin

tone suggested an elevated blood pressure.

Natalie wondered what brought the woman to the hospital. From the tremor of her hand and the need for a few bolstering

drags on a cigarette, it was probably not the arrival of a long-awaited grandchild. Had she lost a loved one, or was she

preparing to? No, she didn't appear to be devastated.

She had married well, judging by the size of the diamond cluster on her left hand. Her chin looked suspiciously tight for

her age, but Natalie herself had been reading cosmetic surgery articles with more interest of late. Her stomach chose that

moment to bawl like a calf. The sound reverberated off the walls, eliciting a surprising smile from the woman.

"Have a mint," she said, extending a roll. Her laugh lines looked unused, and her teeth were perfect.

Embarrassed, Natalie accepted the offering and thanked her.

The woman gestured to the lab coat draped over Natalie's arm. "Are you a doctor?"

"Yes, but not at this hospital."

Withdrawing a twenty-dollar lipstick from a green Coach purse, the woman gestured toward the stall. "Sorry about the

smoke."

"No problem." She smiled, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the stranger. "Actually, it smelled good. Cloves, right?"

The woman nodded, drawing a wine color onto her lips. "I kicked the nicotine addiction, but I still need the stick fix."

A nurse came in, silencing their talk about smoking, and washed her hands, asking Natalie for the time before leaving.

Natalie realized with a start that she'd rather stay and chat with a stranger in the bathroom than face a showdown with

Raymond. Swinging her tote to her shoulder, she forced herself to walk toward the door. "Thanks again for the mint," she

called before exiting into the corridor.

At least she felt a bit rejuvenated, she acknowledged as she stepped into the elevator. But as the floors dinged by, her

pulse picked up and perspiration warmed the nape of her neck. Her skin tingled with anger, anxiety, and a fair amount of fear.

She loved Raymond, but her love wasn't unconditional. From the onset of their marriage, they both agreed that trust was

essential to their relationship. Natalie now had the burning feeling that Raymond was about to call her bluff. When the elevator

doors opened to the sixth floor, she blinked back hot tears of apprehension.

The reception area seemed crowded with visitors and personnel. Natalie moved down a hallway, realized the room

numbers were going in the wrong direction, and retraced her steps to the opposite wing. The door to room six ten stood slightly

ajar. Light spilled into the hall, and a low rumbling of voices floated out. Natalie inhaled deeply and pushed open the door,

still unsure what lay ahead.

But she hadn't quite prepared herself for the sight of Raymond in a hospital gown, propped with pillows, a cast on one

arm... and sharing a deep kiss with a red-haired woman leaning over his bedrail.

Disbelief shot through her, leadening her limbs. She gasped and sucked down the breath mint, then clung to the doorknob

behind her for support while she coughed. The sound disengaged the couple, who turned questioning faces her way. Raymond's

eyes bulged and his good arm flailed. The redhead, garbed in what resembled a long ruffled gunnysack, and who looked young

enough to be his daughter, simply stared, a crinkle on her pretty brow.

"Natalie!" Ray shouted, his Adam's apple bobbing, his face scarlet.

"Natalie?" the woman asked, straightening. "What's
she
doing here, Ray?"

Fury, hurt, and other less identifiable emotions flooded Natalie's chest. Her knees threatened to give way. "Raymond, what

is going on?" The door bumped her from behind, propelling her into the room.

"Excuse me," uttered a female voice. When Natalie jerked around, the woman she'd met in the bathroom stood holding

open the door. "You," the older woman said, her voice a mixture of question and friendliness. "Did you come to check on my

husband?"

Natalie was speechless with confusion.

The woman stepped into the room, her gaze resting on Raymond and the redhead who now draped her arm around his

shoulder possessively. Surprise registered on the older woman's face, distorting her smooth features. "Raymond," she snapped,

"what the devil is going on?"

"Beatrix?" Raymond croaked out the name. Admittedly, even he appeared to be disoriented—not to mention a bit gray. He

swallowed and swayed as if he were going to pass out, then clutched his chest, emitting mewling noises.

Beatrix, Raymond's first wife
? Natalie barely had time to process the thought before her medical training kicked in.

Recalling that Raymond had been complaining of chest pains, she pressed the nurse call button. His head lolled to the side and

his good arm fell limp. She shouted his name as she lowered the head of his bed, fearful he'd already lost consciousness.

The red-haired woman began screaming like a banshee. Natalie was vaguely aware of telling her to remain calm as she

searched for Raymond's pulse. No response, and he wasn't breathing, either. A nurse burst into the room, took one look at

Raymond, dashed back to the door and called for a crash cart, then added, "All of you—out!"

"I'm a doctor," Natalie said, readying Ray for CPR, not looking at his face, trying to remove herself from the reality that

the man under her ministrations was her husband. Her philandering, cheating, deceitful husband.

The nurse shooed the other women—one silent, one blubbering—from the room. A crash cart team arrived within seconds,

and shoved Natalie aside as they attempted to shock Raymond's motionless heart back to life. She shrank to a corner of the

cluttered room, gasping for air as if her own heart were failing. For all she knew, it might be. Her knees sagged and an

attendant ushered her into the corridor, urging her to breathe deeply.

Only after she assured the man she was okay and he returned to Raymond's room did she realize the two women stood a

few feet away, leaning against opposite walls. The older woman maintained an iron grip on her purse, as the younger woman

sobbed uncontrollably. Natalie glanced toward the redhead with disdain—she had no sympathy for Raymond's mistress.

"How is he?" asked the woman she'd met in the bathroom. The mistress choked into silence, staring at Natalie expectantly.

"They're still trying to revive him." She wiped at her eyes, then extended her hand to Beatrix, determined to make the best

of meeting Raymond's ex-wife. "I'm Natalie. I'm sorry to meet you under these circumstances."

But Beatrix ignored her hand and straightened. "You
knew
about me?"

"Of course," Natalie said quietly. "Raymond mentioned you many times."

"Mighty big of him. Before or after you slept with him?"

Natalie angled her head. "Excuse me?"

"Did he mention me before or after you slept with my husband?"

"Before," Natalie replied, puzzled. "Raymond was up front about the fact that he was a divorced man."

Beatrix gaped. "Divorced?"

Alarm embraced Natalie, then she recalled Raymond saying his first wife suffered from depression and other disorders.

"Yes," she said calmly. "Two years before I met Raymond."

"Really? And when was that?"

Natalie began to grow angry herself. "Six years ago. We were married shortly thereafter."

Beatrix flushed. "Married? That's impossible."

The redhead chose that moment to chime in. "Then he divorced her last year." She addressed Beatrix, jerking a thumb

toward Natalie. "More than two out of every three marriages in the United States end in divorce," she added matter-of-factly.

Natalie wheeled toward her husband's girlfriend. "Divorced?"

The young woman nodded, then hiccuped. "So that Ray and I could be married."

"And you are...?" Beatrix asked.

"Ruby Lynn Carmichael." She tossed her long hair, which, from the wild roll of her eyes, made her dizzy.

Feeling faint again, Natalie touched her head, trying to keep pace with the conversation. "Did you say 'married'?"

Ruby Lynn nodded and thrust out her left hand, flaunting a huge diamond, paired with a slim band. "Six weeks ago. Ain't it

a beaut?"

"He married you too?" Beatrix cut in. Her mouth opened and closed. "Ladies—new bulletin: Raymond and I are
not

divorced."

Horror washed over Natalie. After a long pause of her vital signs, she whispered, "Raymond and I aren't divorced either."

Ruby narrowed her eyes and stared back and forth between them. "You mean that we're all
three
married to Ray?"

"That lying son of a bitch," Beatrix muttered.

"That cheating, no-good, three-timer," Natalie murmured.

"Ray didn't tell me he was Mormon," Ruby declared.

The door to Raymond's room swung open and the doctor emerged. "Mrs. Carmichael?"

The three of them turned toward the man. "Yes?" they replied in unison.

Chapter 3

Fighting the impulse to turn and run, Beatrix Carmichael stepped forward. "
I
am Mrs. Raymond Carmichael." An

ambiguous title, apparently. Her voice sounded less than confident even to her own ears. "Is my husband going to be all right?"

If the bastard died before she had a chance to confront him, she'd never forgive him.

"Mrs. Carmichael, I'm Dr. Everly." He removed his glasses and stuck an end in his mouth. "Your husband is stabilized, but

he suffered a serious heart attack. Without tests, I can't predict the damage sustained. He's in critical condition. We're preparing

to move him to the cardiac intensive care unit."

The woman named Natalie angled her body closer and exchanged medical mumbo-jumbo with the doctor. The red-haired

coed resumed her boo-hooing at top decibels. Twenty-one years of devotion to a man, and this was her thanks—vying for

position at his deathbed. A red glaze descended over her eyes.

Throwing her arms in the air, she shouted, "Enough!" and was rewarded with a few seconds of stunned silence. She

moistened her lips, tasting Raisin Wine No. 3, and used her hands to punctuate her calm words. "I need... to speak... to my

husband."

"Mrs. Carmichael," the doctor said gently. "Your husband is unconscious."

Beatrix gave him a tight smile. "Raymond usually dozes off when I talk to him, Doctor. Step aside."

"I'd also like to see him," Natalie said.

"Me, too," piped up the other one.

Beatrix wanted to scream. Dr. Everly's eyes darted around the group. "Are all of you immediate family members?"

"No," she declared.

"Yes," Natalie and Ruby chorused a half-beat later, and stared at her with defiance.

The doctor's eyebrows climbed, but at that moment, the door to Raymond's room opened and the foot of his bed emerged.