How to Kill Your Husband (18 page)

If Mr. Smiley was shocked by this, he didn't show it. He turned to a clean page in his ledger and found a good ink pen. “All right. Start from the beginning, and tell me everything you know.”

Claire sighed. She sat up in her seat and let the whole tale spill, from the wrong anniversary gift to the stake-outs. When she was done talking, a full hour had passed, and the lawyer had three full pages filled with his chicken scratch. He sat back heavily and shook his head in disappointment.

“Well, Mrs. Hudgens, this is definitely one of the worst cases of adultery I've ever seen.”

Claire figured as much. “Do you think I have enough evidence?” she asked. “I have more pictures being developed.”

“I think you're on the right track,” Trevor said. “If we can prove those twins are his, this case is going to be open and shut. You've done most of the hard part already.”

“They're his,” Claire said.

“If they're not, we can still—”

“
They're his
,” Claire said more firmly, and he didn't question her again.

“All right,” he said. “And your friend, Melanie, will be able to get official paperwork with the DNA results?”

“Everything will be in order,” Claire promised.

Mr. Smiley beamed at her. “You've done a great job, Mrs. Hudgens. I have to say, I'm surprised.”

“Why?”

“Most people think if you give a lawyer a lot of money,
he's
supposed to do all of this stuff.”

“Well, you are, aren't you?” Claire teased.

“Yes, but it works a lot better when the wife is as motivated as I am. Plus if I billed you for all of that surveillance and DNA work, it would have been pretty hefty. You did good to take care of it yourself.”

Claire smiled back at him. She was proud of herself. It was a tender, gratifying feeling.

Mr. Smiley checked his watch. It was after one. “Would you like to go over some of the finances and properties you'd like to recover? I was going to step out for lunch before I meet with another client at three.”

“We can do it next week,” Claire said. She gathered her things to leave.

“We can do it today,” he offered, “if you'd like to have lunch with me.”

Claire was ravenous, but that seemed
highly
inappropriate. The lawyer noticed her unease.

“I'll take my briefcase,” he said with a smile. “And you can pay for your own meal.”

“That still seems kind of weird,” Claire admitted.

“All right, I'll pay for your lunch.” He smiled brightly, and it was infectious.

Claire giggled. “That's not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Mr. Smiley, I—”

“Call me Trevor.”

“Trevor,…”
I'm what?
Claire wondered.
I'm married?
That was a farce.
I'm in love with my husband?
That didn't seem to be the case anymore, either
. I'm faithful?
That was true, but why should she be?
I'm scared?
That was the most valid argument, but she was getting braver every day. And she was going to need a boatload of courage to follow through with a divorce of this magnitude.

“I would like that,” she decided.

“Great!” He stood, and she did, too. On the way out of the office he placed a hand on the small of her back. It was only for a moment, but Claire felt a sensation in her heart and mind, and at that moment she knew she was in big, big trouble.

* * *

He led her down to the garage, and they left the tower in separate vehicles. Trevor wanted her to ride in his Town Car, but Claire told him she had an errand to run after their
meeting
. She followed him to a Red Lobster restaurant with a full understanding of the evil she was getting involved in, yet she felt powerless to stop it. It was as if her Lexus was tethered to the bumper of his Lincoln; even if she let go of the wheel, they were going to end up at the same place.

And to make matters worse, Trevor didn't open his briefcase at all during lunch. He nibbled his butter biscuits with those soft, juicy lips and eyed Claire like she was the main course. She told him about her and George's mutual properties and laid out her plans for total annihilation, and Trevor listened, but he seemed a bit preoccupied.

Halfway through her Seaside Shrimp Trio, Claire shook her head and laughed at him.

“What?” His eyes twinkled like an infant's.

“Don't you think this is a little
cliché
?” she observed.

“What do you mean?”

“Getting involved with the divorce lawyer?”

He grinned. “We're not
getting involved
…”

“You haven't touched your briefcase,” she pointed out.

“I didn't want to spill food in it,” he countered.

Claire rolled her eyes at him.

“I want to get to know you,” he admitted. “I think you're beautiful, Claire. I think you're smart and resilient…
strong
. I've never met a woman like you.”

“And I'm vulnerable,” she pointed out. “You meet women all the time who're at the end of their marriages. Surely you've felt the same way about some of them…”

“I told you, I've never been involved with a client. You can ask my secretary.”

Claire giggled. “I'm not asking Pat.”

“Then you'll have to take my word for it,” he said.

“It's a little hard for me to take any man's word for
anything
right now.”

“I understand.” He reached across the table and held her hand. His touch was comforting, but Claire responded as if shocked. She felt his energy shoot down her arm, into her chest and throughout her limbs. She even felt it in her toes.

“Let's just enjoy our lunch,” he said. “I want you to be happy. I have no other agenda this afternoon.”

Claire liked that. She relaxed and the time with him took on a calm and pleasant quality she hadn't felt in years, not since before she and George were married. Trevor told her about his college days and his decision to go to law school. He told her about his hobbies, his likes and dislikes. He told her how pretty she was more than a few times, and by the end of the meal Claire didn't remember how badly George had hurt her.

Trevor walked her to her car at two-thirty, and they lingered there awkwardly for a couple minutes. Claire wouldn't have kissed him if he tried, but she was curious as to whether he'd make the attempt.

He didn't, and they left the restaurant with
some
lawyer-client professionalism still intact.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

REGARDING TREVOR

The following Monday George embarked on one of his notorious
business trips
. Supposedly he was going to Anaheim, California, for six days. The Boeing plant there was in a transitional phase, and a lot of engineers from the Overbrook facility were going over to help with training and other technical support.

But Claire was a fool no longer. She knew he wasn't leaving the state—wasn't travelling more than forty-five miles as a matter of fact—so she played with his head a little while he got dressed that evening.

“Baby, do you want me to take you to the airport?”

He stuck his head out of the closet, buttoning the collar of his shirt. “Huh?”

“I said, ‘
Do you want me to take you to the airport
?' ” Claire sat on the corner of the bed, packing his suitcase like she always did. She knew she was folding underwear for him to wear at his other wife's house, but she'd been doing it for sixteen years. He might get curious if she stopped now.

“Naw,” George said and stepped back into the closet. “You know I like to leave my car there.”

“Aren't you ever worried about it?”

His head poked out again. “Huh?”

“Are you ever worried about your car at the airport?”

He frowned. “Why would I be?”

Claire shrugged. “I don't know. It just seems like you'd feel safer with it here at home. I know how much you love that thing.”

He ducked back inside. “Nothing's gonna happen to my Navigator. And the airport's way more secure than this house, if you want to know the truth.”

“What about that robbery a few years ago?” Claire asked. “They took fifty million dollars worth of diamonds from that
highly secured
airport.”

“That was a fluke,” George retorted. “And they're even more secure now because of that.”

Claire conceded, but that was okay. Her goal was not to win the argument; she just wanted to see how good a liar he was. “Are you going to go to the beach while you're there?” she asked next.

“Naw, baby. All work, no time to play.”

“Oh. I wanted some beach sand,” Claire said.

George stepped out of the closet again, tucking in his shirt this time.

“You want
what
?”

“Some sand from the beach,” Claire said.

“You want me to grab some sand? What for?”

“I don't want you to scoop it up with your hand, silly. You know those souvenir things they make; it's like a plastic cup. They color the sand and pour it in layers. Actually, you don't have to get it from the beach. They have those everywhere in California.”

“So you want me to bring you a souvenir?”

“Some sand.”

“I can get you something,” he said, “but I don't know if it will be sand.”

“As long as it comes from California,” she said.

Claire knew he could pull it off. He had six full days, and a couple of his old Air Force buddies lived in the golden state. If he could cover up an affair for eight years, surely he could get someone to FedEx him a cup of dirt. Claire didn't really care how he got it, so long as he got it. This was her war, and she could spark as many minor battles as she wanted along the way.

* * *

George left the house at seven that evening. Melanie called at ten after to say she was on his tail. He got on I-35 headed north, but Big George didn't take 121 towards the airport. He went east instead, headed for Irving, as everyone knew he would. Melanie stayed on his ass when he exited on Story Road. She followed him all the way to Kimberly Pate's house and took a few pictures of his car in her driveway.

A lot of the evidence they were collecting would become superfluous once the DNA results came in, but Melanie was like a woman possessed. They couldn't have reined her in if they wanted to. Plus Claire didn't want George to have an explanation for
anything
. She planned to bury him with a mountain of indisputable facts. She wanted to leave him awed, dazed, and confused. She wanted to laugh at him when he dropped to his knees and begged for mercy.

* * *

The next day, the girls decided to have a margarita night. The original plan was to meet at the Coco Lounge again, but Claire didn't want her kids to have two parents out gallivanting at the same time. Becky said she'd come over and help Claire make flautas, and Melanie was all for any activity that involved a tasty treat at the end.

Claire bought corn tortillas on the way home from work, and she had a whole chicken boiled by the time Becky showed up. Melanie had to go home after work and fix her family a meal, so she didn't get there until sunset. By then Becky, Nikki and Stacy were shredding chicken like authentic
cocineras
. Claire kicked the children out of the kitchen at eight and had the first batch of frozen margaritas ready by eight-fifteen.

By ten-thirty the kids were in bed, and the whole house smelled like a traditional Mexican eatery. The women lounged in the den with full bellies and altered levels of awareness. Martin Lawrence's
You So Crazy
DVD played in the background, but Melanie's recently developed pictures held center stage. They passed them around like vacation photos.

“Wow. She
is
pretty,” Becky said, a drink in one hand, and a snapshot of Kim in the other.

Claire and Melanie shot mean looks at her simultaneously.

“I mean, she's
ugly
,” Becky said. “You're definitely better-looking, Claire.”

Claire reached over and snatched the picture from her hands. Ms. Kimberly Pate stood at the head of her dinner table, handing a saucer to her bastard son. Melanie leaned around Claire's arm to get a look.

“She ain't pretty.”

“I know. I just said that,” Becky informed her.

“You said—”

“Don't worry about it,” Claire interrupted. “Whether she's attractive or not has nothing to do with what we've got going on.”

“She's not, though,” Becky said.

“Yes, she is,” Claire said. “Y'all know she's pretty.
I
know she's pretty, and George knows she's pretty. That's why he's over there.”

Melanie patted her friend's knee. “Are you okay?” she asked solemnly.

Claire frowned at her. “What? Do you think I'm going to cry over it?”

“She's done crying,” Becky said.

“Yeah, but he's over there
right now
,” Melanie reminded her.

“Thanks,” Claire said sarcastically. “I keep forgetting.”

“I'm just saying,” Melanie went on, “You know
exactly
where your husband's at. You know who he's with. You know what she looks like. You've been to her house. That don't make it harder to live with?”

“It doesn't hurt anymore,” Claire said honestly.

“Claire's got someone else on her mind,” Becky explained.

Both Claire and Melanie's mouths fell open at the same time.

“
Bitch
!” Melanie hissed.

“I
do not
have someone else on my mind,” Claire warned Becky.

“Who is it?” Melanie wanted to know.

“It's no one,” Claire said.

“It's
Trevor
,” Becky crooned.

“No, it's not,” Claire said. “Becky, don't start telling that lie.”

Melanie slapped Claire hard on the arm. Her eyes were wide and glossy. “Who's Trevor? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Ouch!” Claire said. “Girl, stop hitting me!”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because there's nothing to tell,” Claire said. “Becky thinks there's something going on with me and my lawyer. But I told her it's
nothing
.” Claire gave her friend the eye. “I don't know why she won't just
drop it
.”

“Tell her what he said,” Becky urged Claire with an intoxicated grin.

“Becky,
stop
!” Claire gasped.

“What he say?” Melanie asked.

“There is nothing going on with me and my lawyer,” Claire promised.

“What he say?” Melanie asked again.

Claire sighed. She frowned at Becky, then turned to face her other friend.

“Melanie, don't go over the deep end with this. I didn't tell you because it's nothing.”

“It's
something
,” Becky countered.

“It's
nothing
,” Claire said.

“What he say?” Melanie bounced impatiently in her seat.

“He said she was beautiful!” Becky shouted over Claire's shoulder.

Melanie's mouth fell open again.

Claire turned and tried to glare at Becky, but she couldn't stop from smiling herself.

“Would you let me tell it? You make it sound all
sordid
.”

Melanie grabbed her shoulder and whipped her back around. Claire felt like a ping-pong ball.

“Who are y'all talking about?”

“My lawyer,” Claire said. “His name is Trevor Smiley.”

Melanie frowned. “That's a stupid name. What is he, short? Does he wear glasses?”

Claire couldn't help but laugh at that. She shook her head while wiping her eyes.

“He's not short,” Becky said. “He's tall, dark, and
ooh-wee
handsome!”

“He is,” Claire admitted. “Mr. Smiley is a very good-looking man.”

“And he likes you?” Melanie asked.

“He just said I was beautiful,” Claire said.

“And he took her to lunch,” Becky squeaked.

Claire couldn't believe it. “Is there anything you don't blab about?”

Melanie grabbed her shoulder again. “He took you to lunch?”

“It was a
business meeting
,” Claire clarified.

“Yeah, right,” Becky chirped. “That's why he didn't open his briefcase?”

Claire closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them, Melanie was still right there, waiting for an explanation.

“Okay,” she admitted. “My lawyer kinda said he likes me.”

It was funny watching Melanie's beady eyes grow.

“I
didn't reciprocate
,” Claire said quickly. “He was saying a lot of nice things, and when I asked him why, he said he was attracted to me. He asked me if I wanted another lawyer, and I said no. Then I had a
business lunch
with him, so Becky thinks we've got something going on.”

“They do.”

“We
don't
,” Claire said. “Now stop instigating.”

Melanie couldn't speak for a few moments. When she could, she didn't want to talk to Claire.

“He fine?” she asked Becky.

“Oh yeah,” Becky said. “He's sweet, and smart, and funny…”

“But is he
fine
?” Melanie asked.

“He's built like George,” Becky said. “He's got a big chest, big arms, a big butt.”

“
Ooh
,” Melanie squealed. “I like a big butt!”

“It's not that big,” Claire said.

“It's nice,” Becky said. “He's all-around good-looking. If you saw him in the store or something, you'd definitely stop and do a double-take.”

“Nnn, nnn.
Shame, shame, shame
, Claire,” Melanie teased.

“Nothing's going on,” Claire said again.

“Then why'd you go to lunch with him?” Melanie asked.

“It was supposed to be business,” Claire said.

“Why you didn't leave when it wasn't?”

“I didn't want to be rude.”

“Why you didn't tell him you wanted another lawyer when he said he liked you?”

“Because Becky said he was the best?” Claire offered, but no one bought it.

“You telling me you don't like him
at all
?” Melanie asked.

Claire didn't even have to say anything. They read her look, and that was enough to get the girls going again. Claire sat back and marveled at their yip-yapping. She knew that no matter what she said, they were going to believe whatever they wanted to believe anyway. Plus they were so close to the truth, there was really no sense in trying to argue them down.