How to Kill Your Husband (4 page)

“What do you mean?” George Jr. asked.

Claire sighed. “Mrs. Hodges,” she said. “I haven't seen her in a while. I thought she used to have a couple of friends she hung around with all the time, friends that were
girls
.”

“I never seen any of her friends,” Stacy said.

“
I've
never seen,” Claire corrected.

“She only comes with Mr. Hodges,” George Jr. said. “She doesn't have any friends.”

Claire let out a pent-up breath, suddenly embarrassed about what she was doing. But
in for an ounce, in for a pound
, she figured. “What about any
other place
Daddy takes you?” she asked. “Does he ever have friends there that Mommy doesn't know?”

Another awkward silence ensued. Claire thought she was going to get a revelation, but no such luck.

“You know all of Daddy's friends,” Stacy said. “Mr. Hodges, Murray…”

“Mr. Billy!” George Jr. shouted.

“Mr. Tucker,” Stacy said. “Humphrey, Mr. Dalton, Pat…”

“Sherman,” George Jr. offered.

“What was that last one?” Claire asked her daughter.

“Patrick,” Stacy said. “You know him.”

Claire nodded. She did know him.

She dropped the conversation before they pulled to a stop in front of Humboldt High. Nikki was a little older and wiser; she'd want to know why mother was so concerned with such things.

* * *

When they got home, Claire was able to get things off her mind for a while as she got into her normal routine of servitude to the children. George Jr. liked to eat a snack while doing his homework, so Claire popped a corny dog in the microwave before she went up to change clothes.

She let him eat it in his room afterwards because George Jr., unlike his sisters, knew how to munch neatly and clean up his crumbs afterwards. Nikki and Stacy had ants in their rooms two summers in a row. Claire wouldn't even let them eat a peppermint outside of the kitchen.

After she got everyone started on their homework, Claire went back downstairs to prepare what she hoped was a meal for
five
, but George Sr. called while she was dicing onions. Claire cradled the cordless on her shoulder and washed the pungent juices from her hands.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby. It looks like I'm not going to make it for dinner tonight.”

This wasn't an unusual announcement at all. Boeing built aircraft twenty-four hours a day, and George was a lead engineer. Plus he was young and still on the uphill slope of his career. Claire got this call at least twice a week. It used to give her a sense of security, knowing her husband was doing so well. But today things felt
different
.

“I thought they brought in a few new guys,” she said.

“And they ain't worth a shit,” George countered. “Don't know their assholes from a fuselage.
Goddamn
Aggies
. One of them even helped put up that bonfire in '99. Now he's in there trying to tell
my
guys what to do. I'm not leaving till he's gone.”

“Do you want me to keep a plate for you?” Claire asked.

“No. I'll pick up something in the cafeteria. Don't wait up.”

“Okay,” Claire said. “I'll see you later.” She hung up the phone with a keen understanding that there wasn't much she could say in situations like this. George was a great provider. He bought her a two-thousand-dollar pendant for their anniversary just yesterday. What kind of wife would Claire be if she nagged every night he had a little overtime?

She called her friend Melanie when she hung up with her husband.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girl. Whatchoo doing?”

“Looking for something to put in the oven.”

“I'm making chicken cacciatore,” Claire said. “You interested?”

”George is working late again?”

“Yeah. He told me not to wait up.”

“That sounds good,” Melanie said. “But I haven't fixed anything for Rodney and Trevon. They're not gonna want these leftovers.”

“I think George is cheating on me,” Claire said.

“I'll be right there.”

CHAPTER FOUR

SMELLING LIKE A ROSE

Melanie Sturgis knocked on Claire's door fifteen minutes later carrying a rolling pin, a Tupperware bowl, and a box of Kleenex. Claire had a lot of good friends in high school, but Melanie was the only one she still kept in touch with after all this time. Melanie was short and top heavy. She had long hair she wore in tight curls and beady eyes always on a fault-finding mission.

Melanie was married with one child, and she was the bread-winner of her family due to her husband's recent stint of unemployment. After ten lackluster years in the automotive industry, Rodney finally decided to go to technical school so he could get the job he wanted. Melanie worked a regular nine-to-five at a genetics lab, so it was Rodney's job to pick up their son from school and make a dinner for the family on most nights.

Claire let her friend in and laughed at the accessories she brought with her.

“I guess you want to take some food home with you…”

“Yeah,” Melanie said. “If that's all right with you.” She walked through the living room, wielding the rolling pin like a lead pipe. “Did he come home yet?”

Melanie wore denim overall shorts with white sneakers. She was a big girl, knot-kneed with pudgy arms and full cheeks. If Claire ever
did
need to have someone beat up, this was the first person she'd call, but she didn't think she gave that impression over the phone.

“No,” Claire said. “And if he
was
here, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want you to attack him.”

Melanie turned and frowned at her. “Why not?”

Claire closed the door behind her. “What do you mean,
why not
?”

“Oh, 'cause of the kids,” Melanie said. She nodded. “That's good thinking, Claire. How you holding up? You look like shit. You been crying? Here, girl, I brought some tissues.”

“I look like
what
? I haven't cried since this morning.” Claire leaned over her glass coffee table and tried to assess her features in the reflection. “I look bad?”

“Uh, naw,” Melanie said. “You look good.”

“You just said—”

“Don't worry about it, Claire. We ain't got time for that. What time is he gonna be here? Do you want to get some bleach going in the tub for his clothes, or do you want to burn all his stuff? I would go with the bleach, just cause everybody wanna call the police these days. But if you really want to get his attention, nothing works better than fire. I got a five-gallon can in the trunk. I filled it up on the way over here.”

Claire chuckled. “Melanie, I don't even know for sure if he's doing anything. All I said—”

“It's all right, girl. Go with your heart. You can always apologize later. Just say, ‘
My bad
,' like Left Eye did.”

“I'm not bleaching those good clothes I bought him,” Claire said. “I don't even know if I'm right. And even if I
am
, I'm pretty sure I don't want to start a fire. I'd rather kill his ass than deal with the property damage.”

Melanie shook her head. “I don't know if I can help with a
murder
, Claire. I can give you technical support, but nothing hands-on.”

Claire laughed. “What—?”

“You wouldn't help me kill Rodney if I asked,” Melanie said. “Tell the truth. You know you wouldn't.”

“Back it up,” Claire said. “I just want to
talk
to somebody right now. That's why I called you over. I don't have any evidence that he cheated, and I'm pretty sure I'm making something out of nothing.
Damn, girl.
You're jumping to conclusions worse than me.”

“All right,” Melanie said. She sighed and took a seat on the couch. “Tell me what's going on.”

Before Claire could say anything, George Jr. slid down the banister and hopped into the living room like Peter Rabbit.

“Hey, Aunt Melanie!” he shouted. “Hey, Mama! Is dinner ready yet?”

“Yeah,” Claire said. “Go get your sisters. And stop sliding down that banister! You're not going to be happy till you bust your head.”

“Okay,” George said, but he turned and eyed Melanie before heading up. “What's
that
thing?”

“That's a rolling pin, baby,” she said, “for making bread and cookies.”

George looked confused, but he ran upstairs anyway.

“Can we talk after dinner?” Claire asked.

“Sure,” Melanie said.

“You know we're going to have to make something with that thing now,” Claire informed.

“For real?”

“For real.”

* * *

After dinner the girls went upstairs, but George Jr. stuck around to find out what a rolling pin does. Claire mixed flour, baking soda, eggs, sugar and a little vanilla extract in a bowl. She kneaded the dough on the counter and let Melanie flatten it out with her
husband-beater
. They made a quick batch of sugar cookies and shooed little George away when they put them in the oven.

Claire sat at the table and rubbed her temples when he was gone. Melanie washed her hands and sat across from her.

“All right, girl. Tell me what's going on. If you don't need help starting a fire, I can't stay out too long.”

Claire grinned at her. “All I really want is for you to tell me I'm crazy.”

“We already know you're
crazy
,” Melanie teased. “Just tell me what you're being crazy about this time.”

“Last night was our anniversary,” Claire said.

“For real? Happy anniversary, sugar. I got you something, but I forgot it at home.”

Claire frowned. “What is it?”

“Huh?”

“Go ahead and commit to it,” Claire said. “Just make sure it's something you can get
really
quick, 'cause I'm coming to collect after work tomorrow.”

“It's a, it's a flower pot,” Melanie said. “You like azaleas, don't you?”

“Is that the same pot of azaleas you have in your living room?”

“No,
it's not
,” Melanie said with a little
umph
in her voice. “I have
four
azalea plants. I was going to give you the one from the den.”

Claire shook her head. “Anyway, I had everything set up perfectly for last night. I made him lobster for dinner, I got our wedding video re-mastered, and—”

“That's what you had all of them people calling you about, right?”

“Yeah,” Claire said. “I got the last video added just two weeks ago.”

“That was a lot of work,” Melanie said. “I wouldn't never do nothing like that for Rodney.”

Claire was tempted to get her friend one of Stacy's grammar worksheets. “I bought a new dress,” she said. “It's red, and
tight
. I wore it last night, and I looked
good
.”

“What did George get you?”

“That's where the trouble started,” Claire said. “He got me a necklace. It's a pendant, but it's curved. It has five diamonds on it.”

“Big spender,” Melanie noted.

“Yeah,” Claire said, “but he messed up when he gave it to me. He told me he knew how
badly I wanted it
, and he was going to make sure
all
of my dreams came true.”

“That's sweet.”

“Yeah, except I never told him I wanted that necklace,” Claire said. “I never told him I wanted any kind of necklace.”

“He slipped up,” Melanie agreed.

“Becky thinks I asked for it and forgot about it.”

“Who's Becky—that lady you work with?”

“Yeah.”

“
Did
you ask for it?”

“No,” Claire said, “and he made it sound like I've been really sweating him for a while.”

Melanie nodded. “Like someone's been saying, ‘
Please, George. Please buy that for me
.' ”

Claire felt the same way, but it still hurt to hear her friend say it.

Melanie saw the change in her demeanor. “Ooh, I'm sorry, girl. I get so caught up in the
hate
, I forget how it feels to find out stuff like that.”

“It's all right,” Claire said. “But, yeah, that's pretty much what I figure she's been telling him.”

“Did you confront him?”

“No. I woke up early this morning and started snooping.”

“
You
snooped?”

“Not that much. I just looked around the office a little. I found a card in his briefcase. I'll be back.” She went upstairs to retrieve the Hallmark. Melanie was checking on the cookies when she got back.

“These smell good, Claire. I never knew you could use a rolling pin for
good
.”

Claire chuckled and returned to her seat. She slid the card across the table when Melanie sat down. She waited anxiously for what seemed like a long time while her friend read.

When Melanie finally looked up at her, her beady eyes were even
beadier
.

“That's his
bitch
,” she said with no uncertainties.

Claire knew it would hurt to get confirmation, and it did. Her friend's words hit like a wrecking ball to the gut. “How do you know?”

“Well, first of all, do you know somebody named
Kim
?” Melanie asked.

Claire shook her head.

“So this can't be his
mama
, or an
aunt
or
sister
or nothing like that, right?”

“It's no one I know,” Claire said, speaking softly. “But Becky thinks it might be one of his co-workers at Boeing, like a friendly motivation sort of thing.”

“She's too trusting,” Melanie said. “She'll find something good to say about a mass murderer.”

Claire grinned because that was actually true. Becky thought John Wayne Gacy was eccentric, like her, and mostly misunderstood.

“What else did you find?” Melanie asked.

“That's it,” Claire said. “It was dark, and I didn't want to turn on the lights.”

“You didn't find anything else today?”

Claire shook her head. “I didn't go back in there.”

“Why not?”

That was a good question, and Claire didn't have a good answer. The office was off-limits to the kids, but it wasn't George's room any more than it was Claire's. The fact that George had more stuff in there was coincidental.

Claire went in that cluttered room almost every day to get worksheets and other office supplies, but she couldn't force herself to go in there today. Twice she tried, but was unable to cross the threshold; something in her heart kept pulling her away.

“I don't know,” she said. “I'm not used to snooping. What if one of the kids catches me?”

“This is
your house
,” Melanie reminded her. “Send their nosey asses to bed. You can go right now.”

“What if George comes home early?”

“Do you want me to look out for you?”

“Look out—what, are you serious?”

“Yeah. Come on,” Melanie said and stood. “You go in the office, and I'll wait in the hallway. If I see George, I'll go, like,
hootyhoooo
!”

“
Hootyhoooo
? Girl, what the hell?”

“I can't whistle,” Melanie confided.

“Can't you knock on the wall?” Claire suggested. “Or stomp your feet? Where'd you get
hootyhoooo
from?”

“I can knock on the wall,” Melanie said. “That would work better anyway.”

“You think?” Claire teased.

“All right, come on,” Melanie said.

“What about the oven?” Claire asked.

Melanie checked the stove and grinned. She put on one of Claire's cooking mitts and removed the baking sheet. A sweet aroma filled the kitchen. They only made six cookies, but they were big and golden brown. She put the pan on the counter and tossed the glove on the table. “Come on.”

“I can't search the office,” Claire said.

“Why not?”

“It's not right. I just don't feel good about it. Not with the kids here.”