Sherry Carter was getting a jump on the next day’s puzzle when a car came up the drive. She frowned. Aaron was back too soon. Another fifteen minutes and she’d have had it knocked. She should call him on his cell phone, send him on an errand to the store.
It occurred to her that was not the type of thing a young woman should do until
after
she was married. When it crossed her mind, she was angry. Why did she have that thought? That was not her thought. That was Cora’s thought. That was a cynical old married woman’s thought. Not the happy, carefree thought of a young woman in love.
Okay, Sherry realized. Her initial premise was wrong. She should not be irritated that Aaron was back early. She should be delighted. She should meet him at the door. Perhaps in a special garment. Well, let’s not go overboard. It was, after all, still mid-morning on a Monday. A cheerful “how do you do” should suffice.
Sherry heard Aaron at the front door. She slapped a smile on her face, skittered down the hall.
Stopped dead.
Dennis Pride stood in the doorway. He’d been drinking. Sherry didn’t even have to smell his breath. Not that he was disheveled. He wore a suit and tie, and his hair was combed. But there was something in his manner. He had a look in his eyes. A look she knew well. Back in the days when he was still her husband. When he used to drink.
And hit her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he said.
The words sent a chill down her spine. That was what he used to say years ago. When they were married. Those simple words. That escalated into arguments, no matter how hard she tried to diffuse them. Arguments that led to a slap. Or a punch. Or a kick. Followed by sobbing apologies, pleas for forgiveness, and promises to do better. The nightmare. The never-ending nightmare.
Sherry hesitated, knowing anything she said would be wrong. As would saying nothing. Even a simple, “Hello, Dennis,” wouldn’t do. In his present state of mind he could twist and turn even the most innocuous remark.
There was no reason for pretense. Sherry’s only course of action was the one she wished she had the strength to take throughout her whole rocky marriage. Telling him simply how she felt.
“You shouldn’t be here, Dennis.”
His lip curled. “Oh, really? You’ve got a lot of nerve telling me that.”
“I’ve got a restraining order, Dennis.”
“Of course you do. You can’t trust yourself to tell me to stay away. You know you couldn’t do it.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Oh, look who’s talking. How’s your head feel this morning?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You didn’t get drunk last night? Am I misinformed?”
“Who told you that?”
“So, it’s true, is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re lying. Strange. Lying isn’t like you. Or is it? All those times you said nothing was going on. Maybe there really was. You just wouldn’t admit it.”
Sherry’s head was coming off. He was right about her hangover, wrong about everything else. And here he was, back in predivorce mode, jealous, suspicious, paranoid, irrationally accusing her of assignations that had never taken place, indiscretions not committed, whipping himself into a frenzy upon getting no satisfaction, because there could
be
no satisfaction, only a spiraling descent into frustration and abuse.
“Don’t touch me Dennis. If you touch me, you know what happens? Brenda dumps you, her father cuts you off, and you go to jail. I swear to God, I’ll make it happen.”
“Bitch!” Dennis snarled. But he held his ground.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to leave, and I’m going to forget you were ever here. I’m not going to report this to the police. I am going to butt out of your life. Just like you are going to butt out of mine.”
“What about the paperboy?”
“We’re not talking about Aaron.”
“No. We’re talking about the guy in the bar. Does the paperboy know about the guy in the bar?”
“Drop it, Dennis.”
“He looked like a Jap. Is he a Jap?”
Sherry’s face froze. “You were there?”
“Ah, now you’ve changed you tune. Can’t deny it now, can you?
“Dennis, you can’t follow me around.”
“Hey, if you’re going to let yourself get picked up in a bar, and start slugging them back with some Asian playboy—”
“It was a business deal! Didn’t you see me sign the paper?” Sherry was furious. Not at Dennis. At herself. For explaining. For answering his charges. As if he had any right to make them. As if she had anything to explain.
Dennis had won and he knew it. His lip curled in triumph, gloating. “So why’d you have another drink? After you signed the paper?”
“You were spying on me?”
“We’re talking about you. After you signed the paper, you stayed and had another drink.”
“People drink on a deal,” Sherry said, and immediately regretted it. Another justification.
“But you
had
a drink,” Dennis said. “You signed the paper, you sat there, you finished your drink. Sushi-Boy ordered another.”
“Damn it, Dennis!”
A car pulled into the driveway. Sherry had never been so happy to hear the sound of tires on gravel.
“We’ve got company, Dennis. Who do you think it is? I bet you ten bucks it’s Brenda. When you show up here, she’s never far behind. She’s very intuitive. Always knows when you start to lose it.”
“It better not be.”
It wasn’t. It was Aaron. He came in, saw Dennis. Stopped. Set his jaw. “All right. You got ten seconds to get out that door, before I carry you out in little pieces.”
“You know where she was last night?” Dennis grinned wickedly. “You tell him where you were?”
“I mean it, Dennis.”
“She tell you about her little business meeting?”
“One, two …”
“You’re not really counting to ten, are you? How childish.”
“ … three, four …”
“She tell you about the drink
after
she signed the contract?”
“ … five, six …”
“I mean, why should she get drunk with the guy after the business deal is done?”
“ … seven, eight …”
“Fine. I’m going. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.” Dennis went out, slamming the door.
Aaron turned to Sherry. “What the hell was
that
all about?”
“He’s drunk, Aaron.”
“I see that. What’s he doing here?”
“Why are you asking me? He gets drunk, he acts out. I have no control over him.”
“You call the cops?”
“Not yet.”
“What do you mean, not yet?”
“I was afraid he’d get physical. He was right on the edge.” Aaron took a breath. “What was he talking about?”
“What do you mean?”
“About the contract.”
“You
know
about the contract.”
“About having a drink after the contract?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”
“Don’t get angry at me. He’s the one who brought it up.”
“And now
you’re
bringing it up.”
“Well, what did he mean?”
“He didn’t mean anything. He’s upset we’re getting married. He’s trying to break us up.”
“How did he know about your business meeting?”
“I guess he was there.”
“Last night?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see him?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Why do you say ‘of course not’?”
“If I had, I would have told you.”
“Would you have called the police?”
“Huh?”
“Last night. If you’d seen him in the Country Kitchen.”
“Aaron, don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Blame me for what I might or might not have done. It is not my hypothetical fault.”
“No, of course not. So what’s this about an extra drink?”
“What?”
“After you signed the contract, you stayed for—”
“That’s it! I’ve had it! I can only deal with one jealous moron at a time!”
“You’re equating me with Dennis?”
“You’re equating yourself with Dennis. Don’t do it.”
“Fine,” Aaron said. “I just stopped by to see how you were. I guess I shouldn’t have bothered.”
Aaron slammed out the door.
Sherry heard his car start.
Oh, hell. What had she done? Was it her throbbing head that made it hard to think, made her mistake which man she blamed for what?
Sherry ran to the door, flung it open.
Aaron was backing down the drive.
She waved, but he didn’t see her. Either that or he pretended not to. His head was turned. She couldn’t tell.
“Aaron!” Sherry cried.
The car kept going. It reached the bottom of the drive, backed out into the road.
Sherry stumbled down the driveway, waving her arms.
In the house, the phone was ringing, but Sherry couldn’t hear.
Sherry’s world had shattered. Cora knew it the moment she walked in the door and smelled pancakes. Sherry never ate a hot lunch unless she was upset. She made sandwiches, nibbled on salad greens. Pancakes was comfort food.
Something had gone wrong.
Cora came into the kitchen where Sherry was poking the batter with a spatula. “You make enough for me?”
“You can save me from eating eight.”
“You in an eight-pancake funk?”
“Damn near.”
“What happened?”
Sherry told Cora about the dustup between Aaron and Dennis. Cora sat at the kitchen table, pulled out her smokes.
“Not while I’m cooking,” Sherry said.
“Ah, hell,” Cora said. “How do you expect me to play therapist if I can’t smoke?”
“I don’t expect you to play therapist.”
“Well, someone better. You’re not doing yourself any good.”
“Do you blame me?”
“No. You’re a victim of circumstance. Now, circumstance is over. Time to climb out of it.”
“Like it was that easy.”
“Fine.
Don’t
climb out of it. Just get happy enough to share some pancakes. You got any syrup?”
“In the cupboard.”
Cora took out the maple syrup, came back and put it on her pancakes. “Okay, I heard about your troubles, let me tell you mine. The dead guy they found yesterday is a private eye from New York. The clues are all in the city so I can’t follow ’em.”
Cora brought Sherry up to date on the investigation.
“I guess we’re both a little down on our luck,” Sherry said.
“Yeah. And why do you keep avoiding the Japanese guy? He’s trying to get in touch with you.”
“Why? I signed the contract.”
“I don’t know. The guy seems to feel the deal isn’t finalized. You sure it was a contract, not a letter of intent?”
“It doesn’t matter. Either one would seal the deal.”
“Well, will you call him and tell him so he’ll stop bugging me? He acts like you’re ducking him.”
“Oh?”
Cora’s eyes widened. “Of course. You
are
ducking him. Dennis thinks you got too cozy with the guy. Just because he’s Dennis doesn’t make him wrong. You came home drunk last night. Dennis got Aaron all worked up about it. Instead of telling Aaron Dennis is all wet, you’re sulking and eating pancakes. Why? Because you feel guilty. For going out drinking with a dashing young rogue with bedroom eyes and a scar on his chin.”
“Scar?”
“Amazing how it adds to his mystique. I can think of a lot of men I’d have married if they just had a scar.”
“He doesn’t have a scar, Cora.”
“Don’t be silly. Hideki has a scar on his chin.”
“Hideki?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not his name.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Cora, you’re terrible with names.”
“Not that one. It’s the same as Hideki Matsui, the star Yankee outfielder.”
“His name’s not Hideki, Cora.”
“Oh, my God! Where’s the contract?”
“In the office.”
“Get it.”
Sherry took one look at Cora’s face, and headed for the door. She was back in moments with the contract.
Cora snatched it from her. “Well, no wonder Hideki’s so frantic to see you. You signed a contract with Aoki Yoshiaki!”
Sherry was beside herself. “How could this have happened?”
“I have no idea.”
“I wasn’t that drunk.”
“I’m not saying you were that drunk.”
“Well, I wasn’t.”
Cora shook her head. “This is a politically incorrect nightmare. We’ve mistaken one Japanese man for another. Like all Japanese men look alike. Japan will stop importing my cereal.”
“They import your cereal?”
“How the hell should I know? How could you make this mistake?”
“It was easy. You told me I’d be getting a call from a Japanese publisher. I
got
a call from a Japanese publisher. I can’t help it if it was the
wrong
Japanese publisher.”
“We’ve gotta break the contract,” Cora said. “Can we do that?”
“I don’t know. Under what grounds can you break a contract?”
“If it was entered into under duress.”
“That would be hard to prove.”
“Or deception.”
“There you go.”
Cora grimaced. “The guy called you up, asked you out to discuss a contract, bought you a drink, showed you a contract, which you signed. The only thing he did deceptive was look Japanese, which I do not believe is legal grounds for breaking a contract.”
“Shall we call Becky Baldwin?”
“Yeah, right,” Cora said. “Now your ex-husband’s stuck his nose in, let’s throw Aaron’s ex-girlfriend in for good measure.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to sit down with Hideki, and we’re going to be very contrite, and we’re going to apologize, and we’re going to see if there’s any way out. He’s a publisher, surely this has happened to him before.”
“You mean we’ll ask him what to do?”
“Exactly.”
“Fine. We’ll do that.”
“Just one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You know how bad I am at faces.” Cora grimaced. “Scar or no scar, if I start to introduce you to the wrong Japanese publisher, kick me in the shin.”