How to Kill Your Husband (23 page)

Kimberly Pate stood and stared her visitor in the eyes. She pulled off one of her gardening gloves and stuck a hand out to Claire.

“My name's Kim.”

Claire shook it gingerly. “I'm Claire.”

“
Claire
. I like that name. Do you have a family?”

“I'm married,” Claire said. “With three children.”

“Great,” Kim said. She leaned in conspiratorially. “It would be good to get a little more
color
around here, if you know what I mean…”

Claire meant to smile and nod, but she had no idea what her face was doing. It apparently wasn't doing what she wanted, because Kim looked upset all of a sudden.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “If your husband's white, I didn't mean to offend you. I don't care what color my neighbors are. I was just—”

Claire did crack a smile then. “No. My husband's black.”

Kim put a hand to her chest. “
Whew
. Girl, you scared me. I would've had my foot in my mouth for
real
.” She turned and headed for her house. She stopped when Claire didn't follow. “Um, I've got the key in here somewhere. You can come in and get out of the sun while I look for it.”

Claire didn't know why she was at this location, and she didn't know what to expect while there, but she knew she
absolutely
wasn't going into that lady's house. Or was she? Her legs started moving, and that made up her mind for her.

“Have you lived here long?” she asked.

“About seven years,” Kim confirmed without looking back. “I came down from New York.”

New York.

The words hit Claire like a contraction and her knees buckled for a second.

“I miss my old neighborhood,” Kim went on. “But I guess it's better over here. It's definitely safer, but everything's too slow for me. It's too hot, too.” She turned and smiled. “You like it in Texas?”

“It is hot here,” Claire agreed.

“You from somewhere else, too?” Kim walked around to the back door, and her visitor followed.

“I've lived a lot of places,” Claire said. “I lived in New York too; right before I came to Texas, like you…”

“
Really
?” Kim stopped again and regarded her kindly. “What part?”

“We lived in Yonkers.”

“
Really
?” Kim's eyes lit up. She really was pretty, and fit. Claire could see why George was attracted to her. “Where at?”

“On Hudson.”

Kim put a hand on her hip and shook her head. “What a
small world
. I lived on Prospect.”

The two streets ran parallel to each other, just one block apart. The Hudgens family lived in New York for only four years. Claire was young and naïve in those days, saddled with three small children. George cheating on her was the very
last
thing on her mind then, but that was probably when his affair started. They lived so close to Kim, he could have met her anywhere; the corner store, the marina, Washington Park.

“Wouldn't that be cool if we came all the way from the same Yonkers neighborhood, then ended up living right across the street from each other in
Texas
?” Kim asked.

“Yeah,” Claire said. “That would be funny.”

“This is
crazy
,” Kim mused, still caught up in the weirdness of the encounter. “What a coincidence.”

That's not the only thing we have in common
, Claire wanted to say.

Kim turned and disappeared inside her back door. “Come on.”

Claire took a deep breath and let it out slowly before following. She didn't know if she would make friends or end up attacking this woman. Either scenario still seemed possible. She prepared herself for the worst and entered the interloper's house with her teeth clenched.

Kimberly Pate had a nice kitchen. It was large, with enough hip room for three to four cooks. It was also bright and clean. The burners on the stove all had identical covers featuring a napping Garfield cartoon. A wooden sign over the sink asked visitors to
Bless This Mess
, but everything was neat and tidy—except the refrigerator. It was crammed with a huge assortment of magnets, everything from letters of the alphabet to dancing cows. There were a couple school papers affixed to the fridge by way of these magnets.

Claire immediately wanted to make her way over to those papers so she could get more information on George's children, but she didn't have to: The twins were seated at the table to her right eating corny dogs. Claire jumped a little when she turned and saw them there.

“Those are the twins,” Kim said, “George and Gina. They scare me sometimes, too,” she said good-naturedly.

“George?” Claire's head swam.
Please don't let me fall out on this woman's floor
.

“He's named after his father,” Kim explained. “I know
George
is a little old-school, but he likes it. Don't you,
Georgie Porgie
?”

The little boy smiled, and Claire's stomach churned. A little vomit reached the back of her throat.

How the hell did he let her do that? His
first born
son is the junior! He can't just throw that name around like that! It's got to be illegal!

“Are you okay?” Kim asked.

“I'm all right,” Claire said. “Just tired, all of a sudden. I've been looking at houses all day.” She had no idea where that lie came from, but she liked it. It was timely and believable.

“You look pale,” Kim said. “Here, come sit down.” She went to the table and pulled out the chair next to the
wannabe
George Jr. She dragged her guest over to it, and Claire was obliged to sit down. The boy grinned at her and licked ketchup off of his corny dog. The girl licked mustard from hers. They were even more adorable up close, and Stevie Wonder could tell you they were George's babies.

“Do you want something to drink?” Kim asked.

Claire shook her head.

“All right, I'll go get that key,” she said. “You guys wait in here with Mrs.…” She was talking to the twins, but the pause was for Claire to fill in the blank.

“Hudgens.”

“
Hudgens
?” Kim looked ready to blow a fuse.

Claire realized her mistake immediately. “Hutchens,” she said. “I said
Hutchens
.”

Kim put a hand to her chest. “Girl, I thought you said
Hudgens
. That's my boyfriend's last name. That's the twins' last name, too.”

Claire was glad she was sitting down.

“If you would have said
Hudgens
,” Kim went on, “I was gonna freak out right here. That would be like, way too many coincidences!”

“No,” Claire smiled weakly. “I'm Claire Hut-
chens
.”

“I'm Hudgens,” Gina said.

“Me, too,” the fake George Jr. announced.

Kim giggled. “And I'll be right back.”

She turned and disappeared through the doorway, and Claire was left with way more than she bargained for. The twins talked her ear off as soon as Mommy was out of the room.

“Who are you?” George asked boldly, ketchup glistening on the tip of his nose.

“Uh, my name is Claire. I came to look at the house across the street.”

“Are you going to buy that house?” Gina asked suspiciously. They were both missing their bunny-rabbit teeth, but she looked goofier without hers.

“I might,” Claire said.

“That house cost a lot of money,” George Jr. said.

“A lot of money,” he sister agreed.

Claire grinned. “How do you know that?”

“Mommy said so,” they said almost in unison.

“Do you have a dog?” the boy asked.

“I like puppies,” the girl said.

“I don't have any pets,” Claire said.

“We have a dog,” George Jr. said. “His name is Boogie.”

“He got too big,” his sister informed Claire.

“He used to be little,” her brother explained.

“Do you have a little girl?” Gina asked.

“I do,” Claire said. “I have two daughters.”

“I don't have any friends over here,” Gina said.

“Do you have any little
boys
?” George Jr. asked.

“I do have a son,” Claire said. “And I'm pretty sure you'd like him.”

“Does he like rabbits?” George Jr. asked. “I'm going to get a rabbit.”

“
It's going to be mine's, too
,” his sister whined.

“
I'm
naming him,” George Jr. announced.

“It's going to be a
girl
rabbit!”

Kim came back before things could get any more heated. “You guys stop arguing in front of her. She's going to think you don't have no home-training.”

“Our rabbit's gonna be a girl rabbit, right, Mama?” Gina pleaded.

“Child, I don't know. I found the key,” she said to Claire with a big smile.

“Okay.” Claire stood with a smile on her face as well.

“Sorry about leaving you in here with
Thing 1
and
Thing 2
.”

“They're fine,” Claire said honestly. “I actually enjoyed their company.”

They both cheesed.

“Hurry and get through eating,” Kim told them, “so we can finish up in the yard.”

“You've got them picking weeds, too?” Claire asked.

“Girl, yes,” Kim said. “I can't wait till they're old enough to do it by themselves so I can stay in the house!”

* * *

Kim took Claire across the street and gave her a great tour of a beautiful house she was never going to buy. Claire steered the conversation back to Kim's boyfriend when they got to the guest bedroom.

“Are you still with the twin's father?”

“Yeah,” Kim said. “I've been with George for almost nine years now. I met him in New York, and we moved down here when he got transferred on his job.”

“What kind of work does he do?”

“He's retired from the Air Force,” Kim said. “He's an engineer now. He works for Boeing.” She was proud the same way Claire was proud when she talked about George. That was wrong on so many levels.

“He lives with you?”

Kim frowned. “If you want to call it that. He's not here most of the time because of his job. They send him all around the country. I'd say he only sleeps here half the year. But he makes good money, though, and our bills are never late. He says he's going to slow down on his hours pretty soon.”

Good luck with that one
, Claire thought. “How come you haven't married?” she asked.

Kim shook her head. “George ain't the marrying type. I've been trying to get him to jump the broom since before we had the twins. I gave them his last name and everything—you know, thinking it was going to help when we finally did it—but he's not going to get married.” She said it with the certainty of a woman who was all nagged out. “I know what I got with George, though, and I don't stress him about it anymore. We're happy, and he ain't going nowhere.”

Claire forced a smile. Kim didn't know it, but she was about to get her man full-time within the next week or so. Hell, George might even step up and marry her once his real excuse was out in the open.

Just then Claire understood why she sought Kim out today. She wanted to see how bad George's life was going to be when he moved out. Now she wished she'd just gone home, because his Plan B wasn't too shabby at all. They had a nice house, Kim was beautiful, and his twins were adorable. Claire wanted to die right then. She had to turn away so the mistress wouldn't see her tears.

“That's great,” she said. “That's just, great…”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

GETTING EVEN WITH GEORGE

After the open house, Kim took Claire back across the street and they had tea and cookies. Kim was a gracious host, and by the time Claire got back to her car, she didn't hate the woman at all anymore. They were truly in the same boat.

Claire wanted to tell her who she really was a few times, hoping they could band together and leave George with
nowhere
to run, but Kim was going to have to make her own decisions. For all Claire knew, she would be happy to have George to herself after the divorce. Claire began to wonder for the first time if it was possible to destroy a man who seemed to be prepared for the inevitable.

She left the Irving neighborhood with more answers, but she still had a boatload of questions. George was the only one left who could give her the answers she needed.

One more week
, she told herself.
Let that pig get a little fatter before you gut him…

* * *

On Monday Claire told her friends about the night at Mille Fleurs and the subsequent break-up with Mr. Trevor Smiley. Becky said she understood, but she thought Claire was making a mistake. Melanie thought Claire was crazy for not jumping the lawyer's bones. Claire thought they were both right, yet they were both wrong.

* * *

On Wednesday night things came to a head again when Claire wouldn't yield to the tender passions of her husband for an unheard of
ninth
time. George jumped fully out of bed and stood with his hands on his hips, his erection pitching quite a fine tent in his boxers.

“So what the hell's the problem tonight?” His scowl was hard and rigid like a sculpture. Claire rolled her back to him, pulling the sheets over her body. In some marriages, that move might have led to her getting snatched out of bed by her hair, but, like she told Trevor, George would never lay a hand on her.

“I've got a headache,” she said. She wanted to tell him they'd talk about it this weekend, but her husband would never let her sleep if she said that. Simply acknowledging there was something to talk about was cause for an all-nighter.

George tried to rationalize. “Baby, you're going to have to tell me what's wrong with you
sooner or later
. I'm your husband, and I need attention. Things aren't going to be good around here if you keep stalling me out. The adult thing would be to get it off your chest. I'm not waiting around on you forever.”

That was an unmistakable and undisguised threat of retaliation (take it how you wanna), but Claire didn't swallow the bait like she was supposed to. She didn't respond at all, as a matter of fact, and that was even stronger medicine. George began to breathe roughly behind her, and Claire sensed he was fuming, with heat waves and smoke wafting from his smooth dome.

“Okay, forget it then,” he said. “I'm not even going to ask you about it no more. And you don't need to worry about what the hell I'm doing either.”

Another threat of retaliations? Wow,
Claire mused. She really had his goat this time.

She went to sleep with a smile on her face that night.

* * *

On Friday George came home from work and changed quickly for his infamous
poker night with the guys
. Claire didn't leave the dinner table and follow him up, and she didn't have any tails on him when he left the house.

When she got into bed later, she did start to wonder if Ms. Pate would tell him about her odd visitor. But when George got home at two, he didn't say anything, even though Claire was still awake.

“Did you have a nice time?” she asked as he slipped into his pajamas.

“You ready to give me some?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Then don't worry about it.”

Claire was curious about whether he was clean and fresh that night, but she didn't roll over to sniff him when he got into bed. She couldn't bear the
closeness
of the encounter anymore. It didn't matter anyway, because the sun was going to rise in just a little while. Everything would come to a head when a constable knocked on their door between the hours of nine and twelve.

Claire closed her eyes at 2:14 a.m.

* * *

She opened them again at 4:33. She wasn't sure what woke her but she felt remotely alarmed about
something
. She didn't feel like she slept enough for this feeling to come from a dream. She sat up and scanned the bedroom slowly. When her gaze fell upon her husband, a sudden chill rolled down her spine.

George lay on his side with his legs pulled up almost in a fetal position. The house was dark and eerily quiet. George didn't snore loudly, but he usually made
some
noise when he slept. Claire held her own breath and listened for his, but her husband remained mute. She knew George wasn't
dead
, but the thought filled her heart with a brief exhilaration.

What if he is? That would be, this could be…

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and Claire saw his broad shoulder rise and fall slowly. She could hear his soft breaths then, too. Rather than feel relieved that she wasn't in bed with a corpse, Claire stared at the back of her husband's head and a deep sneer marred her beautiful features. She wasn't aware of it, but she looked evil, almost demonic with the shadows shading all but her eyes and teeth.

She slipped out of bed slowly, pausing every few seconds to see if he would awaken. It occurred to her that he might very well be awake
right now
, waiting like a lion in the brush to see what she would do. If that were so, things were about to get pretty ugly. Claire left the bedroom on the balls of her feet, and she ducked into the office two doors down.

The room immediately filled her with the foul pangs of pain and betrayal, but that was okay. She could think of no better place to end this drama. This was the place where George's lies first began to unravel. And this was the place Claire would find an end to her suffering.

There were three firearms in the Hudgens' household. George had a Remington 12-gauge in the bedroom closet, and there was a Glock .45 in the nightstand next to the bed. The last gun, a chrome .380 automatic, had been in the office closet for the last three years. George bought the pistol to keep his wife company on those many nights he was away on
business trips
. Claire went to the shooting range a few times to familiarize herself with the weapon, but they never had a burglary while George was home or away.

The semi-automatic got stored away but never forgotten. Claire found the lock box on the top shelf in the closet. The key was a few feet away in George's desk. Claire worked like a thief in the night. Twenty seconds later she was armed with anguish, malice, and now a loaded gun.

She crept back to the bedroom more boldly than she left it. George still lay with his back to her. Claire gritted her teeth and pointed the pistol at the back of his neck. Goosebumps stood out on her arms. Her trigger finger twitched.

She knew she'd lost it, but her heart was filled with so much hate. If she didn't kill her husband, he was going to get off, just like Robert Blake and OJ. George had enough money to hire an excellent lawyer. Even if worse came to worst and he had to pay child support for all five children, Trevor said the most the Attorney General could take was fifty percent of his income. George made eighty thousand a year—plus he had a whole family to fall back on.

A divorce wasn't going to destroy this man. George was resilient, and he was smart. Killing him was the only way to make it better. Claire pulled the top back on the .380 slowly, but it still let out a loud
CHA-CHICK
when cocked.

Claire froze again, expecting him to roll over. She held her breath and waited, but nothing happened. George's breaths were deep and steady. The rise and fall of his shoulder hadn't changed at all. Claire exhaled slowly. She took a few steps closer and leaned over the bed. She got the barrel within five feet of his head, and then she heard a sound behind her.

She turned slowly, like a child with his hand in the cookie jar, wondering what the hell she could say to explain
this
. If George Jr. was standing there half-asleep, she could tell him Mommy and Daddy were playing a grownup game. But Nikki wouldn't believe such rubbish. She already knew Mom and Dad were not having the best of times.

Claire cursed herself for being a fool, but when she looked around there was no one in the doorway. She strained her ears but didn't hear any retreating footsteps either. She wore a look of confusion when she looked back at George. The confusion gave way to horror because George was looking right at her. Claire was so shocked she gasped and almost dropped the gun.

But, those weren't his eyes at all. That was still the
back
of his head she was looking at. Claire rubbed her eyes, cursing them for playing tricks on her. She wondered if the noise she heard behind her had even been real.

I'm going crazy
, she realized, and that understanding explained a lot of what was going on right now. She had a gun to her husband's head in the middle of the night while her children slept just a dozen yards away. This was the most ignorant thing she'd ever been party to.

He's taken so much. Are you going to let him take your sanity too?

Claire lowered her weapon and backed out of the room. She took the .380 to the office and locked it in the gun box just as she had found it. She didn't go back into the bedroom out of fear of whatever else she might do. It was hard to believe she hated someone
that much, but she honestly wanted that man to die. With every ounce of her being, she wanted him dead.

She went downstairs and called Becky, and they talked until the sun rose at 6:42.

* * *

Claire got the children up without too much fuss at 8:00. She told them they were spending the afternoon with Aunt Becky, and they were too sleepy to give her a hard time about it. Claire usually made big lumberjack breakfasts on the weekends, but she prepared a meal of cereal and juice for the kids today. She wanted George to stay in bed as long as possible—preferably until the constable came—and she didn't want the delectable aroma of sausage and eggs to wake him up.

Becky left with the children at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Claire took a seat on the living room sofa and waited quietly. She listened to the muffled ticks from their grandfather clock and prepared herself for the biggest confrontation she'd ever known. She wondered if she should show George her evidence right away or spring it on him after he tried to weasel his way out of it. She wondered if it wasn't too late to call Kim Pate and invite her over for the show.

When someone knocked on the front door Claire jumped like she'd seen a mouse. It was odd to her that someone would
knock
, considering they had a perfectly good doorbell right next to the knob. This had to be a visitor who didn't ring doorbells. She looked at the clock and saw that it was 9:32.

Claire crossed the room on stiff legs, still in her bathrobe. When she got there, she craned her ear in the direction of the staircase and listened for the bedroom door to open. She didn't hear anything. She leaned forward and squinted through the peephole. The view was distorted, but she saw enough to know there was a policeman standing on the opposite side.

In the eight years they lived in this house, this was the first time an officer ever had cause to pay them a visit. That was an odd thing to think about, but it was the first thought on Claire's mind.

I wonder who died
, she kidded, but the joke did little to shake her jitters. She turned and listened for the stairway again. Everything was still silent in that direction. She took a breath and cleared her throat softly. She twisted the knob and cracked the door a bit.

“Hello?”

The constable was tall and stocky with blond hair and brown eyes. He had a fold of papers in his hand.

“Hi,” he said. “Is there a George Hudgens at this residence?”

Claire opened the door a little more. She was about to tell him the adulterer was upstairs asleep, but at that moment she realized she wasn't ready to serve George his papers yet. There was still one more thing that needed to be done.

“He lives here,” Claire said, “but he's not home right now. He just left to go to the store. Could you come back in thirty minutes?”

The cop frowned and looked at his watch. “He'll be back at ten?”

“Ten o'clock would be perfect,” Claire said.

He checked his watch again. “I'll still be in the neighborhood. I could come back at ten, if you're sure he's going to be here.”

“I'm
positive
,” Claire said. “And I really appreciate it.”

“Okay, ma'am. I'll be back.”

He turned to leave, and Claire shuddered as she closed the door on him. She couldn't believe she just lied to a lawman, but her new plan was going to be much worse than that. She redid the deadbolt and stormed off towards the dining room, rolling her sleeves up as she went. If she wasn't going to kill her husband, at least she could destroy one more of George's dreams before he moved in with his mistress.