Fatal Impulse: A Widow's Web Novel (25 page)

S
he returned home, and felt her stomach drop when she saw the bright red sold banner atop the For Sale sign in the yard. How long would she have before she was out on the street? Andi put her key in the lock and the door swung open. Shards of the glass vase sparkled on the foyer floor like glitter and flowers were scattered across the tile. She stepped inside carefully, straining to hear anything out of the ordinary. The grandfather clock ticked softly, but she didn't hear anything else. She picked up the phone in the kitchen and dialed 9-1-1.

The operator immediately instructed Andi to get out of the house. She hurried outside, taking the phone with her. Mrs. Harrison pretended to water her flowers, until Andi waved and hollered across, "Mind if I wait with you? Someone broke into my house!"

Mrs. Harrison's hand fluttered at her chest. "Oh, dear! You know, Mike Fielding's house was broken into and he had a heart attack."

Andi kept watch on her house as she walked across the lawn. "Oh, no! I'm so sorry, I hadn't heard! Is he going to be OK?"

"Nope." Mrs. Harrison's head swiveled back and forth. "Died instantly. Lucky duck."

Andi nodded as she considered that. Was the burglar still in her house? What was he after? A robbery in broad daylight was awfully brazen. She changed the subject. "Did you notice anything out of the ordinary today?"

The older woman said, "I saw a car earlier in the day that I didn't recognize. A dark red Toyota."

Andi thought about the dark sedan she'd seen pull away from the cemetery. It could have been dark red. “Was it a Corolla, by chance?”

“You know, it could have been. It was a Honda or Toyota. You know, one of those foreign jobs that all look the same.”

Sirens interrupted their talk. A patrol car pulled up and Andi walked out to meet the two officers with Mrs. Harrison at her heels. The first officer, a thin man who looked barely old enough to be out of high school, directed them to wait by the patrol car while they checked the house.

Andi waited anxiously, and tuned her neighbor out as the older woman continued to make idle conversation. When the officers approached, Andi excused herself.  The first officer took Andi aside, and the second, a thick man that reminded her of a bulldog, took Mrs. Harrison aside. The officer asked Andi several questions about where she'd been, how long she'd been gone, how she'd discovered the break-in, if she'd had other problems, that sort of thing.

After he flipped is notebook closed, he said, "I want you to take inventory and make note of anything that's missing, and you'll want to notify your insurance company of the loss."

He held out his hand, indicating that she should walk with him towards the front of the patrol car, where Mrs. Harrison and the other officer were standing.

The thick officer turned to them and consulted his notes. “Ms. Adams, your neighbor here saw a dark haired man, average build, go up your driveway earlier this afternoon. Said he was driving a dark red sedan, possibly a Honda or Toyota, with a dent in the rear on the driver’s side. Any idea who that might have been?”

Andi shook her head, but felt apprehension rising in her. The private investigator.

The police left, and she had a sinking feeling that would be the extent of the investigation. Mrs. Harrison invited Andi over for dinner, but she declined. She hurried home to see if anything was missing. She checked the gun cabinet in the basement first. It hadn’t been touched. She breathed a sigh of relief and went through the rest of the house, room by room. She straightened a few things, but left much of it a shambles. Perhaps the new buyers would renege when they learned that it had just been burglarized.

The last room she checked was the den. A single piece of paper with typewritten words laid on the desk.

“Caren’s death was hard on the old man. Put the stock certificates in a plain brown envelope in your mailbox before midnight, or you’re dead.”

Frustration ate at her. Had the blackmailer poisoned her? What did he hope to gain by killing her? Unfettered access to her home?

Just as she crawled into bed, her phone rang. Paul’s gravelly voice greeted her. “Hey, lover.”

She curled her feet under her and settled back against the pillows, relieved to finally be talking to him, “Hey, yourself. How’re you holding up?”

“Okay. I got your plant. Thanks.”

The mere act of talking to him made her toes tingle. “Just wanted to let you know I was thinking of you.”

His voice was taut with tension, “Are you busy?”

She practically purred, “No. Just getting ready for bed.”

“Can I join you?”

She pictured his mischievous grin and missed him so much it ached. “Come on over.” She'd never been good alone. Heck, she'd never
been
alone. She could almost hear Dana chastising her for moving too quickly, but she squelched that voice.

She slipped out of her cotton nightshirt and pulled on her silk robe, then freshened her makeup and brushed her hair, bent over and tousled it. She waited downstairs, and opened the door before he had a chance to ring the bell. She stared into those piercing blue eyes and felt her heart skip a beat. He stepped inside and she pushed the door shut behind him. He spun around and caught her against the door, then kissed her. A real kiss, with heat and emotion. She melted in his arms, and without another word, he led her upstairs.

That was the first and only time they had sex, and it was incredible. Slow, gentle, perfect. His hands ran over her body as if memorizing every line and curve. No direction was needed – he knew exactly what to do to take her to the heights of ecstasy. They connected on the deepest level, and she was sure it was because he was finally free.

The next morning she snuggled up next to him, breathing in his scent. Shame niggled at her, but she told herself his wife was gone. Her conscience wouldn't let it go that easily, though. She pulled away and sat up, tugging the sheet around her to cover her nakedness.

“What’s wrong?” he mumbled, reaching out for her.

“I feel bad. Your wife just died.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder.

He stared at her with bright, clear eyes, but wrinkles lined his face, making him look older. “I know. This is quick.”

“I really am sorry that she died.” Her voice cracked with emotion.

He sat up and kissed her bare shoulder, “I am, too, but it makes things much simpler. This way, I don’t have to deal with an ugly divorce.”

She blurted, “Why didn’t you tell me your wife was one of the Woodson heiresses?”

He shrugged, “I never wanted to make a big deal out of it.”

“Did you know that her sister was having an affair with my husband?”

He kneaded her shoulders, but didn’t answer. She asked again, more firmly, "Did you know?"

He leaned close and gathered her in his arms. “Yes, I knew.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged, “What purpose would it have served? I didn’t meet you until after your husband was killed, so why dredge up bad feelings?”

She turned to look him in the eye, “Is she a nice person? Portia, I mean.”

“Yes. She’s kind, intelligent. Very attractive.”

Andi felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. “That is one piece of information I did
not
need to know.”

“Sorry.” He looked around the room until his eyes settled on Chad’s dresser. Two of the drawers hung half-open, with clothes spilling out of them, “Did you have a little temper tantrum in here?”

She shook her head and told him about the break in, the jimmied door, and Mrs. Harrison’s description of the vehicle and intruder. Almost as an afterthought, she told him about the house being sold.

After she finished her story, she shrugged. “I didn’t feel like picking everything up just so it would look good for somebody to come and buy it out from under me.”

“I saw the sold banner on the for sale sign in the front yard. Guess it won't be long and you'll have to pack everything up and empty this house. Bet you find things you didn't even know you had.” He kissed her forehead and said, "Why don't you go hop in the shower? I'll whip up breakfast."

When Andi stepped out of the shower, the rich smell of coffee drifted through the steamy air. A mug sat next to the sink. After she brushed her hair and dressed, she examined herself in the mirror. She'd used a lighter touch with her makeup. More respectable and mature. She took a sip of coffee, which had just the perfect amount of creamer and sugar.

She felt adored. He knew how to spoil her. Chad never brought her coffee in the bathroom. She sat the drink down and noticed a chalky substance on the edge of the mug. She needed to check the dishwasher and the water softener to see if they were working right.

After she finished the coffee, she practically bounced down the stairs and found the kitchen a mess. She shrugged. She didn’t cook much anyway, so she'd figured why clean it up. A morning news show played in the family room. Paul sat on the couch, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His own steaming mug of coffee sat beside him on the end table.

He jumped up and flipped off the television when she entered the room. “You look great.” He took two quick steps towards her and enveloped her in a hug.

Her cheeks warmed as the flush crept up her face, “Thanks.”

“Why don’t we go over to my place and I’ll fix breakfast for you there?”

She laughed, “I take it you saw the mess in the kitchen.”

“Yup. Did he take anything of value?” he asked as he took her hand and led her towards the front door.

“Not that I could find.” She started to grab her purse but he gave her a tug.

“Come on, love, you don’t need that. I’ll take care of you today. You deserve it.”

She laughed and gave in. It had been so long since anyone had taken care of her, she was perfectly willing to let him do just that. She grabbed the keys out of her purse and left it sitting on the hall table. As she pulled the door shut behind them, the telephone rang. He gave her another tug.

“Come on, I’m hungry,” he urged. “Whoever it is will leave a message.”

Before he turned into his drive, she asked him to keep going.

“Why?”

“There’s a house up here I want to show you. I’m thinking about buying it.”

“Really?” He glanced over at her and asked, “Not to be rude, but do you have enough money to buy a house?”

“No, not yet. But I'm going to get a job and make it happen.”

He frowned, “But what about insurance, or the trust?”

She shrugged, “I’m not the beneficiary of the trust.”

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel. “Who is?”

“I’m not sure.”

He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I see. Are you absolutely sure that Chad transferred all of his assets to his trust? Stocks, that sort of thing?”

“That’s the way it appears.” She thought about the stocks and membership certificates hidden in the gun cabinet. She'd given that a lot of thought, but hadn’t quite decided the best way to handle them. But she wasn’t ready to share that information with Paul yet.

“And you’ve searched your house thoroughly to make sure he didn’t hide any cash or important papers?” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

There was something so comforting about him holding her hand. “Yes. And what I didn’t search, I’m sure my intruders have. Here’s our turn – take a right here.”

He turned his Jeep into the long driveway and followed it until the cottage came into view. She couldn’t help but smile. She'd fallen in love with the place and knew that she'd find a way to make it hers. Something about it made her feel warm and safe and comfortable. Since the place was empty, they got out and walked around to peek in the windows. The back deck had a great view of the island. She took his hand and led him up the steps to look in the sliding glass doors.

She pointed to the other side of the deck. “And that’s where I’m going to put my hot tub, if I can come up with the money.”

“I have a hot tub on my deck.”

“I know.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt her gut twist.

He looked at her oddly, but let the comment pass. “You’ll really enjoy it. I can give you the name of the place where we got ours.”

Her smile faded at his casual use of ‘we’ and ‘ours.’ She used to be a ‘we,’ and she so badly wanted to be again. He continued on, not seeming to notice that she had dropped his hand and leaned against the railing. After a moment, she started down the steps and he followed.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” she answered, trying desperately to squash the hurt feeling centered in her chest. “I’m just getting hungry.”

They went to his house and he gave her the grand tour. She felt odd, almost as if his wife’s spirit was there listening. Watching. The house was nicely decorated, country French, and Andi could see Caren’s touch everywhere. She perched on a bar stool at the island and watched while he gathered up the makings for breakfast.

The buttery yellow kitchen with whitewashed cabinets gave off a cheery ambiance. The blue countertops didn't have so much as a chip or a scratch. A cluster of canisters stood beside the glass top stove like tin soldiers, and a marble mortar and pestle were displayed next to a gourmet spice rack. “You haven’t lived here long, have you?”