Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery) (41 page)

"No," she said honestly. "I never wanted children. With Raymond." Now why had she added
that
little disclaimer?

"Where do I turn next?"

He consulted the map. "Two miles up, take a left onto Willoughby, then a right onto Saddlebrook. Her address is 2525."

"I might recognize her house when I see it, although I was pretty out of it the day of the funeral." God, that horrid day

seemed like a lifetime ago.

The house was relatively easy to find since it was the size of a city block. Five garages. Unbelievable landscaping. And

not a sign of life anywhere.

"Maybe she still isn't home," she said as she put the Cherokee into park. She'd called before they left, but got the voice

recorder again.

"The Mercedes is here," Brian said, peering through the tiny window slits on the garage door. "Parked crooked and the

driver side door is open. Battery's bound to be dead if it's been like that long." He turned. "She was in a hurry when she got

home."

Or drunk? Still, Natalie's pulse picked up.

Brian pointed. "Newspaper is still on the stoop."

"Something's wrong," she said. "You ring the doorbell, I'll try to call again."

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Beatrix's number. "Beatrix, it's Natalie. Pick up. Brian Butler and I are in your

driveway, and we're worried that something is wrong. Please pick up."

"No answer," Brian said, moving to a window and shading his eyes. "The windows are shuttered, can't see a thing."

Together they moved around the house, but all the windows and doors were shuttered. Morbid thoughts ran through

Natalie's head. Had she committed suicide? Died in her sleep? Fallen down the stairs? Passed out?

Natalie was dialing 911 when the front door suddenly swung open. Beatrix stood in the doorway wearing a muumuu—an

expensive muumuu, no doubt—and very obviously hung over. "Boy, am I glad to see you," she slurred. "Come on in. Quick."

She and Brian entered the house—a palace, really. The scent of live flowers in the foyer was overwhelming—dozens of

vases, with white florists' cards springing from the arrangements. Beatrix slammed the door behind them, then turned the

deadbolt.

"Natalie," Brian whispered, then nodded toward a table.

Natalie's eyes widened at the sight of a revolver. "Beatrix, what's going on?"

"Wish I knew," she said, holding her head. "Been trying to figure it out all night."

As evidenced by the empty bottle of gin next to the gun.

"Did something happen?"

In the light of day, with no makeup, she was still a beautiful woman. She winced, then appeared to be trying to concentrate,

or to remember. "Yes. I distinctly recall that something did happen. And whatever it was, it scared the shit out of me."

"Beatrix, why do you have a revolver?"

Her expression lifted. "Ah, now I remember. Someone shot at me last night."

Natalie put her hand to her heart. "In this house?"

"No, I was driving."

"Maybe we'd better sit down," Brian urged.

"Oh, how rude of me," Beatrix said. "Yes, please, sit down."

Natalie sat next to Brian on the sofa, Beatrix in a chair. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

"There was a gala at the club last night," Beatrix said in a calm voice. Then she smiled. "They were giving away a service

award named after my father. I always present the award, but last night they wouldn't even let me through the damn doors, can

you believe it?"

When she lapsed into thought, Natalie asked, "Then what happened?"

Beatrix snapped back to attention. "I left, of course. Sons of bitches. Decided to take a long drive, to clear my head." Her

eyes clouded. "I found a rotted apple under my seat and tossed it out the window. A car came up behind me and turned on its

bright lights. I thought perhaps the apple had hit the car and the driver was angry." A fine sheen of perspiration appeared on her

brow. "But it kept tailing me, wouldn't pass. Finally I slowed way down, and the car pulled up alongside me." Her throat

convulsed. "The person driving was wearing a mask and pointing a gun at me. I screamed, and luckily, the bullet went through

the car without striking anything. I ran off the shoulder, and the car sped away. After I collected myself, I drove home, scared

silly."

"Did you report the incident to the police?" Brian asked.

"No."

"Why not? That was a pretty insane reaction to a rotten apple."

"I didn't report the incident because I think the person driving was the rose lady."

Natalie's jaw dropped. "What?"

"They were driving a red Ford Taurus."

"All the more reason to call the police," he said.

"They wouldn't believe me," Beatrix said softly, her eyes glazed.

Brian shot Natalie a look that said,
She's gone mad.

"Beatrix," Natalie said gently. "Were you drinking when this happened?"

The woman shook her blond head. "Sober as the Pope." Then she frowned. "Why are you two here?"

"Brian brought you candlesticks he recovered, and frankly, I was worried about you."

Beatrix tilted her head and smiled. "Ah, that's sweet. But there's no need to worry about me—I got Clarence over there on

the table to protect me." She nodded toward the revolver.

"First, we're going to get some coffee and food into your stomach," Natalie said, "then we're going to the police."

After she herded the woman into an upstairs shower, she joined Brian in the kitchen where he had one of—four?—

coffeemakers going.

"Look at all this stuff," he said. Appliances lined the counters. "She's a pretty eccentric gal, you have to admit."

Natalie accepted a cup of coffee. "Do you believe her story?"

"You're the one who said she was innocent. If that's so, then the rose lady is still out there somewhere."

"But why would she be after Beatrix? If Raymond's murderer is still out there, their best chance of getting away with it is

if the police think Beatrix is guilty."

"Yeah, but if Beatrix is dead..."

"A suicide might close the case, but a shot from a moving car? The police would know the killer was still out there." She

shook her head. "I don't think it happened. Else, why wouldn't she have gone to the police?"

"I usually don't try to figure people out," he said, then one side of his mouth drew back. "There's one people in particular

who's giving me fits."

She ignored his bait with an eye roll, then sighed. "I'm starting to believe Beatrix hallucinated this entire rose lady thing. I

remember her saying her mother had mental problems, so maybe she inherited schizophrenia."

"Maybe you should suggest a full psych workup."

She raised her eyebrows.

He grinned. "Oh, didn't I tell you? Psychology degree from Penn State."

Her eyes widened. "Now you're scaring me." She set down her coffee cup. "I'm going to call Masterson to get his advice."

"I'm going to find a trash bin and get rid of this smelly garbage."

She walked through the hall that was big enough to bowl in toward the massive living room. As she reached the marble

foyer, the doorbell rang, scaring the bejesus out of her. Beatrix was coming down the stairs, knotting the ties of her robe. She

held up a hand to stop Natalie from answering the door.

Natalie's heart pounded as Beatrix stepped to the window of the second-floor landing and peeked through a shutter. Then

her shoulders sagged in relief. "It's just the florist—more goddamned flowers for Raymond."

"Do you want me to answer the door for you?"

"Yeah, but don't tip the kid, for heaven's sake. I've already given him enough for college tuition."

Noting that sobriety had restored Beatrix's good cheer, Natalie unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

Her first thought was that someone was incredibly generous to send such a huge vase of red roses.

Her second thought was that she would be reunited with her beloved Aunt Rose Marie sooner than she'd planned.

Chapter 40

In slow motion, Beatrix watched the vase of red roses crash to the ground and a handgun appear inches from Natalie's

face. The delivery person wore a loose uniform over her long curvy figure, gloves, and a snug hood pulled over her head.

But several strands of long hair had managed to escape the hood—several strands of long
red
hair.

She thought she might be sick.

"Move back," the woman ordered, then kicked the door closed.

If she remained perfectly still, perhaps she could go undetected until they moved out of the foyer. Then she could call for

help. Her hungover brain chugged slowly—her revolver was on the table in the living room. Shit. If she got out of this alive,

sweet Jesus, she would never drink anything but Evian.

"Beatrix," the woman growled. "Get your ass down here. Now."

So much for going undetected. The woman swung the gun back and forth to let them know she could pull the trigger at any

minute. Where the hell was that good-looking behemoth when you needed him? Beatrix descended the stairs very slowly, then

walked to stand next to Natalie. Perhaps together they could reason with the young woman. "Ruby, don't do this."

The woman stopped and stood fully erect. "Ruby?" She laughed, a sound that struck a memory chord in the back of

Beatrix's mind. "Well, you're right about one thing. I'm going to let poor little Ruby take the rap, but I think it'll be more fun if

you know the truth." She pulled off the hood in one motion, sending piles of red hair flying. A red wig.

But the face beneath the wig wasn't Ruby's, and it wasn't young. And for one long moment, it wasn't familiar. Then her

heart dropped to her knees. "Blanche Grogan."

The woman smiled. "Hello, Beatrix. It's been a long time. How's that lying, cheating husband of yours? You know, the man

you stole from me, then left me a laughingstock?" She put one hand to her temple. "Oh, wait—he's dead."

Natalie tried to speak past her tightened throat. "You... killed... Raymond?"

"Well, I didn't
want
to. We ran into each other at a conference several months ago, and picked right up where we left off."

Her face was mean and gloating. "I always knew he loved
me
, but your daddy had all the money in the state, so he married

you." Her hand began to shake, and she looked confused, far away. "Raymond told me he'd always loved me and he would

divorce you so we could marry. But I got smart this time and did a little investigative work. Not only had he not divorced you,

but he was married to two other losers besides."

"Wh-What did you do?" Beatrix asked, trying to find something in the woman's eyes that was reasonable, lucid.

"Did you know that I got married?" Blanche asked, lifting her chin.

"Yes, to a doctor, I recall."

"I hated him. He kept putting me in hospitals, telling people I was crazy. He took ouabain for his heart and made the

mistake of telling me one day that too much of it would kill him. So I helped him along."

"What about Raymond?"

"Do you believe he had the nerve to propose to me?" she asked. "When I told him I knew his dirty little secret, he told me

it didn't matter—that no one would believe a crazy woman like me." She laughed. "It was tricky, but this 'crazy woman' was

able to get rid of him and make sure the three of you met at the hospital. I wanted you to suffer, Beatrix. Who knew things

would work out this well? I've been having the time of my life watching the three of you dig yourselves deeper and deeper into

a hole."

Out of the corner of her eye, Beatrix saw Brian sneaking up the hall. "Okay, Raymond's dead, and I've suffered. Why are

you here?"

"Because," she said in a superior tone, "I realized that I could get rid of all of Raymond's wives this way." She whipped

out a tiny plastic bag. "They'll find the two of you dead and a few of Ruby's long, red hairs. Oh, and I rented the Taurus in her

name—it's just down the road. I'll make sure several people see me driving around in the wig. Ruby will go to prison and

guess who has enough money and clout now to adopt Raymond's baby when she has to give it up?"

Not you, you lunatic
. "You'll make a wonderful mother, Blanche. Now why don't you put down the gun and let's talk?"

"Talk?" The woman's arm straightened and she took aim with the automatic. "How about pray?"

With a whooshing sound, Brian tackled Beatrix and Natalie from the side, shoving them so hard they were lifted off the