How to Kill Your Husband (16 page)

“
And
you're sitting on my Snickers,” Melanie informed her.

Claire raised up and pulled the squashed candy bar from under her. “
Eww
! Why didn't you tell me?”

“I just did.”

Claire looked around for somewhere to put it, but
everywhere
looked like a trash. There were potato chip bags on the floorboard, empty soda cans on the backseat, and a huge turkey leg on the center console. It was skinned all the way to the bone.

“You got a little hungry?” Claire teased.

Melanie smiled pleasantly. “Girl, you know you can't do no stakeout without
food
.”

Claire chuckled softly. She loved this woman; every pudgy pound of her.

“Just throw that anywhere,” Melanie said.

Claire looked around uneasily before depositing it on the dashboard. She scanned the nearby houses anxiously. “Which one is it?”

Melanie affixed an evil eye on the house right across from them and nodded in that direction. “There that bitch go.”

Claire leaned forward and peeked around her friend's heaving bosoms. “Oh, my God! You've been sitting
right here
?”

“Naw. I moved down here once the kids went inside.”

“But still…”

“You know what I learned?” Melanie asked. “People don't live their lives looking over their shoulder and stuff. No one looks at every car on their street when they go outside. It ain't like the movies; mostly people just go on about their business.”

Claire still didn't feel comfortable, but it was almost dark, and the house they were posted in front of had a FOR SALE sign in the yard. At least no complaints would come from that direction.

“Here,” Melanie said. She handed over a pair of binoculars, and Claire scrutinized them curiously. Nikki had a pair when they lived in Alaska, but that was a long, long time ago.

“Just point and look,” Melanie directed her. “Roll that knob on top to focus.”

Claire followed those basic instructions, and soon everything was crystal clear. George's mistress had a huge picture window at the front of the house, and the blinds were indeed pulled back. Claire saw a dining table set with both a main course and side dishes. There was a vase in the center filled with fresh flowers. There was a familiar woman sitting at the head of the table with her two children on either side of her.

Claire was mostly interested in the second child, but she zoomed in on the interloper instead. This woman was of the devil. She was the destroyer of all things good, but Claire still couldn't find anything physically
wrong
with her, and that was very frustrating.

George's other woman was dressed casually now in jeans and a T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back rather than flowing voluminously like a model's. But even without all the flair, she was very beautiful. She had smooth skin, an easy smile, and nice teeth. She was about Claire's height and at least thirty pounds leaner. Her breasts were perkier than Claire's. She didn't look any older than twenty-eight.

“You know them his kids,” Melanie said.

Claire moved her sights to the offspring, glad for the distraction. The girl offered no new information; Claire studied Becky's pictures so thoroughly she could draw a portrait of George's illicit daughter. But seeing the boy was like getting the wrong anniversary gift all over again. He was definitely the girl's twin. Much worse, Claire felt like she was watching a younger version of her own son.

Melanie mistook her shock for disagreement. “You don't think those are George's kids?”

“I didn't say that.”

“So you know they are, don't you?”

Claire watched the woman twirl spaghetti on her fork and consume it daintily. She chewed with her mouth closed and didn't have her elbows on the table. The kids didn't, either. They looked well behaved and well groomed. Claire looked away from the binoculars and met her friend's suspicious eyes.

“They look like George,” she said.

“They
are
his,” Melanie insisted. “Do you need to get closer for a better look?”

“No. I can see fine from here.”

“So what's the problem?”

Claire looked away uneasily.

“What is it, Claire?'

“I already know what you're going to say.”

“Say to what?”

Claire sighed and met her eyes again. “I still think we need more definite proof.”

Melanie opened her mouth, but Claire stopped her.

“We saw George with her at the restaurant and at the school—but we never saw them hug or kiss. We never saw them go to a motel.”

“Claire, you know—”

“
I know what I know
!” she cried. “But none of what I know is one hundred percent positive. We can't tell a judge, ‘
Well, they sure do look like his kids.
' ”

Melanie nodded. “You got a point. Come on. Let's get some proof.” She opened the door and started out of the car. Claire grabbed her arm.

“What are you doing?”

“It's some trash cans on the side of the house,” Melanie said. “Let's go dig through 'em.”

“
Eww
!”

Melanie leaned and reached to the back seat. She came back with a box of latex gloves and a few freezer bags. She dumped the supplies in Claire's lap and gave her a long, hard look.

“What's your excuse now?”

“Where'd you get these?”

“From my job.”

“What, what are you—”

“We're going to get some
proof
,” Melanie explained. “I'll take it to work and run the DNA.”

Claire was flabbergasted. Melanie did work at a genetics lab, but she was a secretary.

“I'm not doing it
myself
,” she said, reading Claire's expression. “I'll ask Nathan to do it for me.”

“Who's
Nathan
?” Claire asked, still taken aback.

Melanie smiled. “He work in the lab. You remember when I used to work nights, back before I had Trevon?”

Claire nodded.

“Well,” Melanie beamed, “I was going through some stuff with Anthony back then, and Nathan was always there at work. He was cool. We talked a lot.” She cleared her throat. “And um, things got a little confusing for a minute there, when I got pregnant…”

Claire's jaw dropped.

“We got it figured out,” Melanie said quickly. “Trevon is definitely Anthony's baby.”

“
Melanie
!”

“Don't look at me like that. I went to church and prayed about it. Me and Anthony got past
our
paternal issues. You need to deal with yours.”

Claire gave her a crazy look, but she put the gloves on. Melanie did, too.

* * *

Claire felt odd to find herself sneaking around the side of a strange woman's house—at seven thirty p.m., on a work night, when her kids were at home with homework that needed to be checked and baths that needed to be run—but it was no more odd than seeing George at a private school function with a camcorder in hand.

Melanie led her to the back door where there were two trash bins next to the steps. The blue one contained recyclables. The brown one had regular garbage. In this day of identity theft and credit scams, Claire didn't expect to find any unshredded letters in there, but people only destroy paperwork with confidential information on it. There was nothing confidential about the fact that Kimberly Pate graduated from Texas Lutheran University, so the discarded alumni newsletter was sitting right on top.

Melanie handed it to her, and Claire stared at it in silence. The
Kim
from the Hallmark cards finally had a full name. She had an address, and a face, and Claire even knew what her perfume smelled like. Claire knew what kind of soap the mistress bought for her household.

At that moment Claire understood that everything they suspected was true, but Melanie wasn't taking any more chances. From the brown trash bin, they bagged a pint-sized milk carton, a few Styrofoam cups, and a handful of small rubber bands with little hairs still tangled in them. Melanie would have preferred a toothbrush or hairbrush, but Claire desired nothing further; she had a face for the dreaded
Kim
, and, for now, that was all the torment she needed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IT'S A GO

George had plans to take the kids to the track the next morning, and Claire was happy to be excluded from the venture. She sat on the corner of Stacy's bed with a hot curling iron crimped in her daughter's hair. Stacy wore a denim skirt with leather sandals. Her white T-shirt had the word
SPUNKY
doodled across the chest in yellow lettering. Claire wore a green terry bathrobe with fuzzy slippers. She also wore the look of a woman not long for this world. Nikki eyed her mom curiously from Stacy's computer desk.

“Are you going back to sleep?” she asked.

Claire looked over at her lackadaisically. “No. Why?”

“You look tired,” Nikki observed, “like you're gonna pass out.”

Stacy looked up with a start. “
Don't burn my hair
!” She held up a hand mirror and scrutinized her mother in the reflection.

“I'm not going to burn your hair,” Claire assured her.

“Did you and Daddy argue last night?” Nikki wanted to know.

“What makes you say that?” Claire asked without looking away from Stacy's head.

“Y'all was mad at dinner,” Stacy said.

“
Were
mad,” Claire corrected. “And what did we do to give you that impression?”

“Y'all weren't talking,” Nikki said. “You're usually happy when Dad eats dinner with us, but you weren't yesterday. Y'all just looked at each other crazy the whole time.”

“And then you left,” Stacy reminded her mother.

“In the middle of dinner,” Nikki noted. “Where'd you go?”

Claire gave her a look then. “I'm pretty sure, no…Yeah! I remember now:
I
was in labor for seven hours giving birth to
you
—not the other way around.”

Nikki rolled her eyes. “I know that.”

“Stop trying to act like you're the mama, then,” Stacy said. “Right, Mama?”

Claire grinned weakly.

“So, where
did
you go, Mama?” Stacy asked.

Claire thumped the back of her ear. “Hypocrite.”

“
Ouch
! I'm not a hypocrite!”

“You don't even know what hypocrite means,” Nikki ventured.

Stacy opened her mouth to say something and then shut it angrily.

“A hypocrite is someone who tells people not to do something, but then they turn around and do it themselves,” Claire explained. “Like when America built all of those nuclear bombs and then got mad at any other country that tried to build nukes. And I went to Melanie's house last night,
nosey
.”

“Was Trevon there?” Stacy asked with a slick grin.

“He doesn't like
you
,” Nikki informed.

“Shut up.”

“Was Aunt Melanie in trouble?” Nikki asked her mother. “Is that why you were mad?”

“Everything's fine,” Claire assured her. “Why are you so concerned?”

Nikki shrugged. “I don't know. I don't like to see you and Daddy like that.”

Claire stared into her daughter's soft eyes, and she felt a little guilty for last night's antics. Melanie had her focused so much on the
hate
that Claire forgot there were three innocent souls in the middle of all this. She knew that no matter what the outcome, the kids would still love and respect their father. The girls wanted to marry a man just like him, and George Jr. wanted to grow up and be his dad. Claire wondered how they would respond to her once she divorced their hero.

“I think you should go with us,” Stacy suggested, “so you and Daddy can make up.”

“What would I look like at a horse race?” Claire asked. “You know I don't like to see that. It's almost as bad as calf-roping.”

“Daddy says they like it,” Stacy argued. “He says they love to run.”

“Of course thoroughbreds like to run,” Claire admitted. “But they don't like those broken bones. They don't like to get old and unwanted.”

“I never saw one break a bone,” Nikki said.

“Look up Eight Belles,” Claire suggested.

“Who?”

“Daddy says they get to relax and make babies when they're old,” Stacy informed.

Daddy said he would forsake all others and keep hisself only unto me
, Claire wanted to tell them.

“He doesn't know everything,” she said instead, and the girls looked at her like she blasphemed.

Claire rolled her eyes at them. She frowned at an odd sound until she realized it was George Jr. stomping down the hallway. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear that boy was part camel. The little squirt paused in his sister's doorway and surveyed the scene cautiously.

For his day out with Dad, George Jr. wore peanut butter-colored canvas shorts with a white golf shirt and white sneakers. He took a hesitant step in his mom's direction, and Stacy responded like R. Kelly was crashing her slumber party.

“
Get out of here
!”

George Jr. made his usual retreat, but Claire was seriously taken aback. She knew the girls gave their brother a hard time, but she didn't know it had come to this.

“
Don't talk to him like that
,” she snapped. “George, get in here.”

Even under his mother's direction, George Jr. was tentative about encroaching on his sister's territory. Stacy scowled at him when he made it to the center of the room. Claire put down the curling iron and turned her daughter so she could see her face.

“Why are you talking to your brother like that?”

“He got—I mean he has his own room,” Stacy said with a frown. “He doesn't need to come in here.”

“What's wrong with him being in here?” Claire asked. “What's wrong with him visiting with you? You, too,” she said to Nikki. “What's wrong with treating him like he's someone you love? Your family is the most important thing you have,” she told the girls. “Never forget that.”

“Your mama's right.”

All eyes moved to the newcomer in the doorway. George Sr. wore a white golf shirt like his son. Recently awakened by morning pushups, his muscles stretched the fabric on his chest and shoulders. He wore baggy denim shorts with leather sandals and no socks. A dark blue baseball cap shaded his eyes.

“Never put
anyone
before your family,” he said.

Rather than feel appreciation for his words, Claire felt angered and betrayed all over again. How dare he?

Here's one right here
, she wanted to tell Stacy.
Your daddy's a perfect example of that hypocrite we were talking about
.

* * *

Becky called later while Claire was scrubbing the tiles in the bathroom. She propped her cellphone on her shoulder and brushed a few wild hairs from her face.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Claire. What's going on?”

“Nothing much.”

“Did George go to the races today?”

“Yeah. He took the kids. I've got the house all to myself.”

“Do you want me to come by? We could make s'mores.”

Claire chuckled. “You come up with the strangest ideas. But no, I think I'll pass. I've got a lot of cleaning to do—
Oh, my God
. You'll never guess what happened last night.”

“Did George want to
do it
?”

“
Eww
. No.”

“Did you tell him about the pictures?”

“No. Why would I do that?”

“Did you—”

“Wait—what are you doing?” Claire asked.

“I'm trying to guess what happened.”

“Becky, when people say, ‘
You'll never guess
,' that doesn't mean they want you to start guessing. That means you're not going to guess, so they're about to tell you…”

“Really? I've been doing it the other way.”

“That doesn't surprise me.”

“Okay. Hurry and tell me what happened.”

“Melanie called me at work yesterday and said she wanted to do another stakeout.”

“
Goody
! I want to go.”

“That was yesterday,” Claire said. “We already went.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I wasn't going to go myself. It was a spur of the moment thing.”

“Where'd y'all go?”

“Did you know Melanie stayed at that private school after we left?” Claire asked.

“No. I thought she was right behind us.”

“So did I. But she waited for the program to end, and then she followed George and his girlfriend to her house,” Claire informed her friend. “Last night Melanie called and asked if I wanted to go spy on her. I didn't at first, but she was already there so I went.”

“You know where that lady lives?”

“I know more than that,” Claire said. “First off, her name is
Kimberly Pate
, and she went to Texas Lutheran.”

“
Wow
!” Becky exclaimed. “How'd you find that out?”

“We went through her trash,” Claire said with no shame.

“You
what
?”

“I know. A lot of this stuff I wouldn't normally do. But it's like, no holds barred at this point. Anything goes, you know?”

“You and Melanie always do the
good
stuff.”

“Wait till I tell you why we looked through her trash,” Claire said. “You know that Girl Scout you took pictures of?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, she has a twin brother.”

“
No
.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my.”

“That's what I said!”

“George has two children?”

“Well, technically he has
five
, but yeah, he has two with that other lady.”

“Claire, that's
terrible
. Are you all right?”

“I wasn't at first, but Melanie was there. She helped out a lot.”

“So what else did you get out of the trash?”

“First we were looking for that lady's full name,” Claire said. “After we got that, Melanie picked out a few things she thought the kids' DNA might be on.”

“Oh, man…”

“You know Melanie works at that genetics place?”

“Yeah, but I thought—”

“She's a secretary, I know. But she knows a guy who works in the lab—that's a
totally
different story. The bottom line is she says she can check for DNA on the stuff we took and find out for sure if the twins really are George's. I already know they are, but we're going to get paperwork we can show a judge.”

“This is
surreal
.”

“You don't have to tell me. I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone.”

“George is a
monster
.”

“Yeah. It's starting to look like it. Do you know the worst part?”

“There's
more
?”

“I can't stand the way he walks around here like everything is okay. Do you know what he told our kids this morning?”

“What?”

“He said, ‘
Never put anyone before your family
.' Can you believe that crap?”

“He's a piece of work,” Becky mused.

“He's a piece of
something
,” Claire agreed.

“I feel so bad for you.”

“Don't,” Claire said. “I feel better than I did last week. I know what's going on now, and I know what I have to do.”

“So it's over?” Becky asked. “You're ready to go ahead with the divorce?”

“I think so,” Claire said. “I've got his mistress' name. I've got her address, and I'm getting DNA evidence from her garbage analyzed.”

“Analyzed,” Becky said with a giggle.

“It's tripped out, right?”

“When are you going to call the lawyer back?”

Claire sighed. “I don't know. Sometime next week, I guess.”

“Why next week? Don't you want to get it over with?”