Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery) (23 page)

Instead of trying to be clever, maybe she should have just cut out his black heart with the stainless steel gourmet kitchen

shears. If it hadn't worked, she could have gotten a full refund. Beatrix sighed. Only
she
could botch a murder.

She dragged herself to her feet, then located the phone and dialed her lawyer's number.

"Gaylord, this is Beatrix. Set up an appointment with the Paducah D.A. and that loathsome Detective Aldrich for tomorrow

morning... Yes, I know tomorrow is Sunday—what better day to get something off my chest?"

Chapter 20

Ruby wasn't much of a churchgoer (although she knew the books of the New Testament thanks to a song she'd learned in

vacation Bible school), but stripping on Sunday just didn't seem proper. Mac got around the blue laws that prevented him from

selling liquor on the Lord's day by hosting "private parties" on Sunday for about a hundred select customers instead of opening

to the public.

As much as pulling the Sunday shift bothered her, she had to admit that the clientele was a bit more upscale than during the

rest of the week. Some of the customers came directly from church, still wearing their fancy suits and smelling nice. One nutjob

had slipped in a few weeks ago, though, and interrupted her friend Plenty's number with a screeching sermon, so now Mac

patted everyone down for Bibles as they came in.

Taking advantage of the smaller, quieter crowd, she'd worn the most decent costume in her wardrobe—a long white

shimmery vest over black leather panties and bra, and thigh-high black boots she'd shined up with Vaseline. If she were lucky,

she'd be able to leave on the vest to help cover her tiny tummy bulge. Depending on the crowd though, sometimes, Mac would

give a hand signal from the back that meant "take it down to the jewelry," and then you had no choice but to get buck naked. But

since he knew about the baby—who could've guessed he watched Channel Two news?—maybe he'd go easy on her.

The music started, her cue to hit the stage. "You Sexy Thing" by Hot Chocolate—her favorite. She snapped her fingers to

get the beat, made a false start, then got her footing right the second time. When she'd first started stripping, the taking off her

clothes part had been easy—it was the dancing that gave her problems. Mac said she was completely tone deaf, but Plenty had

pulled her aside and told her instead of trying all those tricky moves, just skip around the stage until she got the hang of it.

Skipping, now there was something she could do. And after a few months she'd worked her way up to some fancy steps—

it was sort of like cheerleading, she finally figured out, and she'd always wanted to be a cheerleader. The music would be

blaring all around her, and inside she'd be chanting, "We got the spirit, yes we do, we got the spirit, how about you?"

The men shouted and applauded when Mac announced her name. Her stage name was Ruby Red—or Red Ruby, she could

never keep it straight. She grinned and stuck out her chest as she skipped by the guys. It seemed really packed today. The music

was loud, but it wasn't too smoky yet, which was good. Even though Plenty said it wouldn't hurt the baby, she still worried. She

remembered the concern on Natalie's face when she told her she hadn't seen a doctor yet, and tripped, almost falling into the

lap of a big blond-haired guy up front. The crowd thought it was part of her act, so she played along, then forced herself to

concentrate on the beat.
We got the spirit, yes we do
...

By the second verse, she had to start taking off her clothes. She unhooked the front closure of her bra and shimmied her

shoulders. The men went nuts—they were so easy to entertain. For the thousandth time, she thanked her lucky stars. Where else

could a girl make so much money with so little talent and so few smarts?

She tried to take off her bra without taking off the vest, but got it tangled somehow around her armhole, and she had to stop

jumping around for a minute to fuss with it. After a while, though, she gave up and shrugged. In the back of the room, Mac

looked a little irritated, so she covered by yanking off her Velcroed panties, and the guys forgot all about the bra knot hanging

under her arm. She danced around the stage again, swinging her panties back and forth and letting the tippers stick bills in a

pink garter around her thigh. She smiled a lot and tossed her head in circles, careful not to make herself too dizzy. Near the end

of the song, she counted to three, then wowed them with her signature move—a Chinese split, no easy task in clunky boots.

They loved it, and gave her a standing ovation. She skipped backstage, then headed for the dressing room to count her tips and

freshen up before hitting the floor for table dances.

The dressing room was crowded with dancers, some of them rouging their nipples and oiling their bodies, some of them

trading clothes and shoes, all of them yakking about their kids and their boyfriends.

Suddenly sad and missing Ray, she found a vacant spot to sit. She'd met him one night while doing table dances. He'd

bounced a guy who was bothering her, then told her she was pretty. She'd offered to strip or to let him drink a test tube shot of

whiskey from her cleavage, but he'd just patted the spot on the couch beside him and paid her table dance rates to talk to him

all evening long. He made her feel so special, and so smart.

"Ruby."

She turned her head and saw her friend Plenty had stuck her head inside the bustling dressing room.

"Mac wants to see you, pronto."

"Just counting my tips," she said with a sigh. "He's probably going to fire me."

"Are you kidding? The place is packed today because of your interview on the news—you gave Mac a great plug."

That danged interview. They made Natalie out to be some kind of monster, when all she could think of was Natalie wiping

her face after she'd tossed her cookies in the limo on the way to Ray's burial.

Plenty winked. "And you were great out there just now, kiddo. The guys love you."

Ruby smiled at her friend and handed her a ten. "Here. Add it to your fund." Plenty was saving for a boob job, and Ruby

admired people who tried to better themselves.

"Thanks, Ruby."

After righting her clothes, she scrunched and sprayed her curly red hair, then touched up her bright pink lipstick. Maybe,

she thought on her way out to find Mac, he would let her waitress until the baby was born. The money wasn't nearly as good,

but it might help hold her place until she could dance again, and help her meet some of the monthly bills. She had lots of them,

she suspected.

A stab of pain deep inside her brought tears to her eyes. She doubled over until it subsided, then tried to walk again. A

few steps later, the same pain stopped her, and it took longer to go away. Her vision dimmed. Something was wrong with the

baby. Natalie had been right—she should have gone to the doctor. Now she'd really done it. When she could walk again, she

made it to the bar and told Jocko to hand her the phone, quick. Leaning against a stool, she pressed zero, then said, "Operator,

can you give me the number for Dr. Natalie Carmichael in Smiley, Missouri?"

"Her office number?"

She frowned, breathing hard. Natalie probably wouldn't be working on a Sunday, if she were still working at all. "Is there

a home number?"

"I have a residential listing for a Raymond and Natalie Carmichael on Cobb Street."

She fought another wave of dizziness. "That's the one I want."

"Hold, please."

Ruby motioned for Jocko to hand her a pen. She scribbled the number on the back of a napkin and hung up. She used the

pen to punch in the number, surprised when a man answered, "Hello?"

Ruby groaned as another pain hit her. "Is Natalie there?"

"Can I take a message?"

"I need to talk to her. Tell her it's Ruby and that I think something's wrong with my baby."

He put down the phone. Ruby clasped her stomach, afraid to look down, afraid she'd be bleeding. She closed her eyes.

"Please God, take care of my baby and I'll set everything right with the police. I promise."

A scraping noise sounded over the phone. "Ruby? What's wrong?"

"I don't know. My stomach hurts something awful and I'm real woozy."

"What were you doing when your stomach started hurting?"

"Just walking across the bar."

"You're
working
today? I mean, have you been... dancing?"

"Yeah, I just finished my first number." She moaned when the pain struck her again. "Am I going to lose my baby?"

"Ruby, calm down and have someone call an ambulance, right now."

"I'm scared, Natalie. Will you come?"

"To the hospital?"

"There's no one else." Except Plenty, and she couldn't afford to miss work. Billy Wayne would be of no use whatsoever.

And Mac wasn't exactly the comforting type. Into the silence, Ruby added, "Please, Natalie?"

Chapter 21

Tony swung into the driver's seat of the Cherokee and closed the door with an inconvenienced exhale.

Natalie gave him a sideways glance. "I told you, you don't have to go. I can drive myself."

"All I'm saying is that this is a little weird, you visiting your husband's pregnant wife in the hospital. The same hospital

where he died, no less."

"Do you think I asked for this? Any of this?"

He started the engine. "Duck so the cameras won't get you."

"I'm not going to duck leaving my own home."

Tony backed the vehicle down the driveway, frowning in the rear-view mirror at the reporters staked out at the edge of the

street. "I oughtta take out a dozen of those clowns."

"Oh, yes, let's give them another feature story."

He grunted. "At least they're staying out of the yard."

"That's because Butler tossed a microphone and threatened to break a camera."

She felt his curious gaze on her, but she concentrated on maintaining a noncommittal expression for the cameras to capture.

If she smiled, she'd look too happy to be in mourning, if she frowned, she'd look murderous. They crowded close, mouths

flapping, arms raised. Tony goosed the gas to scatter the group. Once the car cleared and he accelerated, she leaned her head

back.

"So what's up with that?" he asked.

"With what?"

"With you and Butler?"

"Don't refer to us in the same sentence, please."

"I think he likes you."

She scoffed. "No offense, big brother, but thinking has never been one of your strong suits."

Tony shrugged. "I'm just saying he seems like a nice guy."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, looks can be deceiving."

"Not everyone is a schmuck like Raymond."

Natalie closed her eyes. Among the list of words that described Raymond, "schmuck" was downright kind.

"Butler got a good start on cleaning up your garden. I noticed he left his tools, so I guess he's planning to come back."

"Can we change the subject, please?"

"He feels bad about the way the two of you met."

"Good."

"He's trying to make it up to you."

"What are you, his messenger boy?"

Tony rubbed the back of his neck. "When did you get so sensitive?"

"Last Wednesday." The day the entire world went insane.

"Sis, you're going through a rough time, and Butler is trying to help. We both are."

"He's making things look worse by hanging around, and you're making things look worse by working for him. You two are

a regular cavalry, all right."

"We both believe you're innocent. That has to count for something."

She bit her tongue in concession. After all, Tony had been on his best behavior since arriving on her doorstep. And when