Broken Vows Mystery 02-For Richer, for Danger Read online

  “Love you, too.” Ray’s words sailed back to me over his shoulder as he disappeared out the door.

  Calls at all hours of the day and night were nothing new. Ray’s job as deputy sheriff required unpredictable hours. Accidents and crime didn’t occur on a set schedule. And, of course, Gumby had taken off for Cabo San Lucas for his honeymoon and Darrel was still recovering from his bypass surgery.

  I just hoped Ray didn’t get called in on Monday. We’d have to find another babysitter so I could trek to Canandaigua. And I wasn’t ready to broach the subject of Erica again this soon.

  I settled in front of the television and began to race through the channels, hoping for a chick flick like When Harry Met Sally or Must Love Dogs. A movie designed to make me forget my troubles in both life and love, with the promise of a happy ending even when things did go bad. After the third click of the channel changer, it hit me.

  When Ray got a call, the first thing he did was put on his uniform.

  Tonight he’d skipped out the door in his shorts and polo shirt.

  So who called and where the heck did he go?

  I didn’t get a chance to ask Ray the next day. Sometime between seven-thirty Saturday night and seven Sunday morning, he had been home, dressed in a uniform, and left me a note about a suspicious fire in a warehouse fifteen miles outside Wachobe. His note indicated he might be tied up all day.

  I spent the morning cleaning the house and taking Noelle for a brisk turn around the block in her stroller. I had just flopped onto the couch to nap with her on my chest when the doorbell rang.

  I deposited Noelle in her crib without waking her and opened the front door.

  “When are you going to give me my own key?” Erica sauntered into the house wearing her Daisy Duke shorts again and a tube top that I’d thought had justifiably gone out of fashion years ago. She dropped onto the spot I’d vacated on the couch.

  “When you stop dressing like a hooker.” Or when Ray okayed it, which ought to be just about the time hell froze over.

  “That’s nice, Jo, really nice. You know, Dr. Albert says those kind of comments are damaging to my psyche.”

  I wished people would stop telling me what I knew. Lately, I didn’t know anything until they told me. “So, how have you been feeling?”

  Erica picked at a worn spot in her shorts. “Confused. Sam and I had a fight last night.”

  I tried not to get excited or hopeful, but fighting was good. Fighting might end all their romantic notions as well as their wedding plans. “What about?”

  “He wants to get married next week. I want to get married next month, on August 12th. Mom suggested the date. It’s her and Dad’s wedding anniversary, you know.”

  This time I did know. I also knew how their marriage had ended. Somehow I didn’t think my bipolar, suicidal sister should marry a sociopath on the same date. Call me crazy.

  “What’s the hurry? I read in Cosmopolitan that long engagements are all the rage nowadays.” I had read it on the cover while in the checkout lane at the grocery store, along with a tabloid’s teaser about a two-headed alien baby. All quite newsworthy.

  “Sam lost his job at the nursery. They caught him lying under the dogwood he was supposed to be planting, smoking weed.” Erica slumped farther into the couch cushions. “I think he wants me to support us.”

  A flawed plan, if ever I heard one. As a bipolar, Erica was often angry and demanding, alienating her peers. Always, she was incapable of holding a job, although able to obtain one during her manic periods. The telephone calls to her co-workers at all hours of the day and night usually did her in. Her three-month stint at the local saloon had set her all-time record for consecutive months of employment. No matter what Dr. Albert said about improvements in medications and a new outlook on life, Erica could not be relied on to support herself indefinitely. Nor could she even dream of supporting Sam, who came from a family with expensive tastes including membership at the local country club and several boats docked at the local yacht club. I swallowed my immediate reaction—to laugh—and searched my mind for a more Oprah-like response. “How do you feel about that?”

  “Well, someone has to stay home with the kids. Why not Sam?”

  I tried not to panic. “Kids?”

  “Sure. I want to have a girl like Noelle. Maybe a boy. Sam wants a boy to play football with in the yard.”

  It sounded picture perfect. Too perfect. “Erica, have you been taking your medicine?”

  “Yes, Jolene, I’ve been taking my medicine. And I’ve been seeing Dr. Albert like a good girl. I’m not manic. I’m in love.” Erica stood and yanked down the crotch of her shorts. “Can you go shopping for a wedding dress with me or not?”

  “Now? Noelle’s taking a nap.”

  “Okay. I’ll go home and put on underwear so I can try on things. Come pick me up when you guys are ready.”

  As I agreed reluctantly, I tried not to look at her butt and wonder why she had gone commando today.

  ____

  Two hours later I arrived at Erica’s home, my old apartment in an 1870 white Victorian two-family house on Wells Street, where Erica occupied the first floor and the landlord, the second. The place looked a little different than the last time I saw it.

  Garden gnomes covered the entire front yard. Seven of them looked like Snow White’s dwarfs marching off to the gem mines with pick axes in hand. The rest had a variety of poses, attire, and expressions. One of the gnomes holding a sword looked like he was eying me.

  Erica had collected thousands of wine corks and bottle caps in the past. Now it appeared she’d branched out. Of course, Dr. Albert would probably tell me lots of people collected things and decorated their yards. He’d probably tell me I was holding Erica to a higher standard than the norm again. He could tell me anything he wanted; this time I was the one who knew. Erica was sinking again.

  I scooped Noelle out of her car seat and dashed onto the front porch, skirting the gnome with the sword.

  I rang Erica’s bell repeatedly. No answer. I knocked. Still no answer.

  “She’s not home.” A rough voice from my past wafted over from the yard next door. Mr. Murphy, my old neighbor and nemesis. Was he coming over to complain about where Erica set the trash cans?

  “Hi, Mr. Murphy. How nice to see you again.”

  Mr. Murphy, a sprightly old guy with two tufts of hair sticking out just above his humongous earlobes, loped closer. He didn’t seem to have heard me. “She left with some wild boy in a shiny black car. Reminded me of how you used to roar in and out of here.”

  His comment offended me, but I let it pass. “Okay. I’ll call her on her cell phone.”

  Mr. Murphy tugged on his right earlobe. “That your baby?”

  “Yes. Her name is Noelle.”

  “She looks just like you.”

  My heart filled with pride, even though she didn’t really. We both had blue eyes and brown hair, but the resemblance ended there. “Thank you, Mr. Murphy. Take care.”

  I waved and rushed back to the Lexus before he could start in on Erica’s behavior again. Mr. Murphy loved to spread rumors with the best of them. Sometimes he even got the story right. I knew he contributed to Erica’s wild reputation around town. I supposed she didn’t make him work all that hard at finding things to talk about.

  I dialed Erica’s cell number. It went to voicemail. “Erica, Noelle and I are at your house. You’re not here. I thought we were going dress shopping. Call me. Bye.”

  I looked in the backseat at Noelle. She flashed her toothless grin at me. “We’re going to have a little talk with Auntie Erica just as soon as we find her, aren’t we, sweetie?”

  Noelle blew spit bubbles in agreement.

  ____

  The phone was ringing when Noelle and I entered the kitchen at home. I grabbed it. “Erica?”

  “No. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, Ray. I was just expecting Erica to call; that’s all. What’s up?” I set Noelle in her playpen and
gave the noisy rolling toys on it a spin. She reached for them.

  “Good news. I got a call from security at the racetrack in Canandaigua. They paid out some winnings last Monday to a guy who matches Theo’s description. They think he comes to the track every Monday.”

  “No way.”

  “They also think they have him on camera with a girl, a girl with light brown hair.”

  “Hair like Noelle’s?”

  “From the sounds of it.”

  I sank onto the couch. “It’s hard to believe they’ve been that close all along.”

  “Close, but not in our county. Depending on where they’re holed up, they might never be noticed in a town the size of Canandaigua.”

  “But why didn’t they leave the state?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I wonder if they’re still in touch with someone around here.”

  Ray’s snort created static on the phone line. “Someone like Sam?”

  Or worse, someone like Erica. She didn’t seem to be as distressed about our losing Noelle as I thought she’d be, especially considering the fact Erica said Mom had suggested she obtain Noelle for me in the first place. Maybe because Erica was working some angle of her own. Not good. Not good at all.

  Ray continued, “On Monday I’ll head over there and see if I can spot them. Then I can alert the local P.D.”

  “I don’t think that will work, Ray.”

  “Why not?”

  “Theo and Noelle’s birthmother know you. You arrested Theo. They’re going to spot you, panic, and run.”

  “They won’t spot me.”

  “Ray, you’re six-foot-three. Everybody spots you.”

  Silence.

  “Ray?”

  “So what’s your suggestion, Jolene?”

  “Let me go. We only need the girl. Maybe I can talk to her. Explain how it’s all best for Noelle. Get the information we need. Maybe ask her to set up an appointment to meet with Greg Doran.”

  “And ignore Theo?”

  “I don’t care about Theo, Ray.”

  “He robbed at least two stores, Jolene. Possibly another at gunpoint.”

  “Well, we haven’t had any more robberies. Maybe he’s seen the error of his ways.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Then let the Canandaigua police round him up, after we identify Noelle’s birthmother. Will a few hours make that much difference?”

  “I don’t like it, darlin’.”

  Ray had called me darlin’. I knew I was going to get my way. When he phoned three hours later to say his boss requested he work on Monday, the plan crystallized. All I needed was a babysitter. No way would I ask Erica this time.

  I dialed Cory’s cell phone number later that evening, hoping his big weekend was over. When he answered, I could hear a shower running in the background.

  “Hey Cory, where are you?”

  “At my apartment.”

  “How was your … weekend?” I almost said “big weekend” but I didn’t want to make light of it in case Mark had told Cory the truth.

  “I’ll have to tell you about it later. Mark is in the shower.”

  That response didn’t give me enough to go on. Cory sounded happy, though. “Oh. Well, I think we know where to find Noelle’s mother, and I need a babysitter for tomorrow. Are you free?”

  “Sure. What time?”

  I arranged to have Cory come to our house around 10:30. The racetrack was less than half a mile from the water park in Canandaigua, just off the main thoroughfare of strip malls, car dealerships, and restaurants. I knew almost to the minute how long it would take me to get there. According to its website, the gates opened at 11:30 and post time was 1:10. I wanted to get to the track when it opened so I could watch the wagering windows and check out the enormous gaming room, complete with slot machines and numerous betting opportunities that might attract Theo. The track sounded like a regular amusement park. From the description, I feared I might get lost and never find my way out.

  In the last twenty years, I had driven by the track at least a hundred times and never once had I been inside. Now that I read the website, I couldn’t wait to check it out. I just hoped all the hoopla wouldn’t be too distracting. We couldn’t afford to have me miss Theo and Noelle’s birthmother.

  ____

  Cory arrived twenty minutes early for babysitting on Monday. Since I had already dressed and Noelle was taking a nap, we sat down over a cup of tea and he told me about his weekend.

  “We bought a mailbox in Hammondsport at the craft festival. The lady painted our names on it.” Cory’s eyes sparkled.

  “So Mark agreed to move in with you?”

  “He thought it was a great idea. We’re going to start looking at houses this weekend.”

  Flabbergasted. That was how I felt. Just flabbergasted. And pissed. How dare this man trifle with my friend? “So he didn’t have any concerns about his current lease or any other … commitments he might have?”

  Cory shook his head. “No, it’s full speed ahead.”

  I watched enough Oprah to know she would tell Cory about Mark’s family. And she was supposed to be the queen of compassion. Who was I to argue with her advice? “Listen, Cory, I need to talk to you about something. Remember last year when you said you saw Ray in the bar with Catherine Thomas, but you decided not to tell me about it?”

  Cory spewed tea all over my breakfast bar then scrambled to sop it up with his napkin. “Sorry, Jo, sorry. I was going to tell you. I can’t believe someone told you already. This town cannot keep its mouth shut.”

  I pressed my napkin over a spot of tea he’d missed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Ray and Catherine.”

  The lump in my throat was not an allergic reaction to my tea. “What about Ray and Catherine?”

  Cory froze, his eyes wide. “Isn’t that what you were talking about?”

  “Cory, tell me about Ray and Catherine!”

  He got off his stool and took the dirty napkins to the trash can under the sink, probably to avoid looking me in the eye. “I saw them Friday night at a bar Mark and I stopped in. They were having a drink together. They talked for about an hour before they left.”

  I blinked back the tears welling in my eyes. “They left together?”

  Cory sat next to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “They walked out of the bar together. I didn’t see what car or cars they got into.”

  So Friday night Ray had walked out on me in the middle of an argument about honesty and trust and met Catherine—Cat—for drinks. I tried not to let my imagination run wild with thoughts of what that said about our marriage.

  “Jo, I’m sure they just happened to run into each other. I’m sure it’s nothing. Ray loves you.”

  And I loved Ray, but sometimes, okay, often according to divorce statistics, love wasn’t enough. I rested my head on my palm and tried to process what Cory had said. What did it mean?

  Cory cleared his throat. “I’m thinking that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about, since you obviously had no idea. I’m sorry. Should I not have told you?” His long girly eyelashes blinked rapidly.

  I thought about him and Mark. Did I need to deliver a blow to Cory that would rock his world the way he just sent tremors through mine? I needed more time to think about it. I sure didn’t want Cory to feel as bad as I felt right now. “No, of course not. I’m glad you told me. I guess Ray and I have something we need to talk about. It’s fine, don’t worry.”

  Cory’s shoulders slumped as though he’d failed me. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

  The baby monitor crackled with sounds of Noelle waking from her nap, saving me from responding. I ran out the door and left Cory to get her up.

  On the way to the track, images of Catherine with her legs wrapped around Ray’s back kept popping into my head. My confidence had taken a hit last year when I realized he dated her for the last months of our separation, unbeknownst to me. Her reappearance now, wh
en our life was in turmoil, only fueled my insecurities.

  I re-examined every word of the conversation they had at Gumby’s wedding, fixating on Catherine’s comment about her resemblance to Valerie Bertinelli. Damn Catherine for having the long hair Ray loved so much. I looked in the rearview mirror and fingered mine, then lunged toward the mirror. Was that a gray hair?

  My car hit the rough edge of the road, making a grating noise and snapping my attention back to driving. I swerved and got back in the center of the lane on Route 5 and 20. No need to become an accident statistic as well as a potential divorce one.

  Catherine’s date for the wedding—Brennan Rowe—sprang to mind. Had she picked him because she knew he was gay and Ray wouldn’t be threatened by his presence? Had Ray and Catherine planned to meet at the wedding all along? They’d certainly had a lot of fun playing volleyball together while I sat on the sidelines with Noelle. My head started to pound as doubt filled it.

  I took a deep breath. Let it go for now. Let everything go for now and focus on the mission. I needed to find Noelle’s birthmother so we could adopt Noelle, beautiful sweet Noelle. The lump filled my throat again. Would Ray and I end up in a bitter custody battle over her some day?

  I brushed away the tear that had jumped unbidden from my left eye. I was going postpartum again. I turned the radio on and listened to the words of the song playing, striving to find my focus. I did. Now if I could just hang onto it.

  I knew I was in trouble the minute I arrived at the track. A gorgeous red Mustang GT V8 convertible sat in the entranceway with a huge sign announcing a drawing for the car this Friday. I had to enter my name. No self-respecting car aficionado would pass up such an opportunity.

  A steady stream of gamblers trailed into the track. It was a motley crew, some dressed for the Kentucky Derby, the majority in casual summer attire. I’d expected them all to look scruffier, like they were here to bet their last dime in order to save their homes from foreclosure. But no, they looked like average visitors to any other tourist attraction.

  I headed for the gaming room. Minutes after I took up watch a few feet inside the door, I realized my location wasn’t going to work out. The gaze of every single person who entered the room immediately flew to my face as though curious as to why I wasn’t playing a machine. I started to circulate, listening to the continuous clanging bells on the machines, feeling their pulsing heat, blinking as the bright lights flashed, wrinkling my nose at the body odors, and almost tasting the smoke in the air from the anxious gamblers who had inhaled one last pack of cigarettes in the parking lot before entering the smoke-free track. My headache intensified. I decided to watch the wagering windows instead. At least they were in the open air.