Chapter 14
Jack
ADMITTEDLY SETTING UP this carriage ride was stupid. There’s no real explanation for what possessed me to call Charlie and ask him to come. There’s just something about Nora that makes me want to do special things for her. Just to see her smile.
It’s like a compulsion. Like gambling or hoarding or overeating.
I know I should stop. That it’s not healthy. But there’s no helpline to call for my problem. So the compulsion wins.
Of course I didn’t get myself a smile this time. Nope. Which leaves me a man chasing his next hit.
Don’t ask me to explain why, even after she completely decimated my pride by asking how I paid for this carriage ride, I’m still going for that smile of hers.
Charlie leads the horses back into the parking lot of the courthouse. I spot my friends all sitting on the curb as they wait for us to return. They’re all touching each other. Stafford is massaging Lucy’s lower back, Mel’s head is resting on Anderson’s shoulder, and Montgomery has his arm slung around Emily’s neck, his thumb tracing the arc of her shoulder.
I look down at the foot of space separating me from Nora. We are most decidedly not touching. Us, the newlyweds.
Something inside me deflates. This isn’t the kind of marriage I wanted. Call me old-fashioned but I always imagined getting married to a woman who would want to cuddle with me in the back of a horse-drawn carriage. Or cuddle with me anywhere, for that matter.
Quite suddenly Nora slides across the bench, her thigh pressing against my thigh in a way that sends zings of pleasure through my body. I look over at her and she must see the surprise on my face, because she jerks her head toward my friends.
“Since your three best friends went and found themselves women who they apparently can’t stop touching, we’re going to have to try and keep up,” she explains. “We are supposed to be newlyweds, after all.”
“Not just supposed to be,” I mutter, “we are newlyweds.”
She flushes. “You know what I mean. We’re supposed to be in love.”
“Right. In love.” I nod. “I’ll do my best to pretend.” I sling an arm over her shoulder and pull her against me in the name of being pretend in love with her. But the deep inhale I take of her hair as she settles against me has more to do with me being actually in love with her.
“The lovebirds have returned,” Lucy trills as the carriage pulls up to them.
“Just in time too,” Anderson says, hopping to his feet, then offering Mel a hand up. “We got an ID on the body. Ran his photo through some facial recognition software.” Next to me Nora stiffens. I wish we could have a quick sidebar so I could tell her how to react when he says the name, but since we can’t I just work on schooling my own features into the appropriate expression of concern over this new information. “The dead body is a guy named Ian Wharfman.”
Next to me Nora gasps. I hold back a sigh of relief. A gasp was a good response.
“You know him?” Anderson asks, correctly interpreting her gasp.
“H-h-he’s, or rather he was, my boss,” Nora replies faintly. I guess I didn’t need to worry about her responding with the appropriate mix of shock and horror. She’s nailing it. When I look her way, though, I realize that some part of her is not faking it.
Her face is pale and her lower lip is quivering. Her body starts trembling in a classic stress response.
“Nora, honey,” I whisper, the term of endearment slipping out before I can think better of it, “it’s okay. You’re okay.” I pivot my body, place a hand on each of her shoulders, then look her straight in the eye.
“Oh my,” I hear someone say behind us. “I think she’s having a panic attack. Reed, we need to do something.”
“I think Reynolds has got it, Em,” Montgomery replies, voice low.
“Maybe she needs some water,” Lucy suggests. “Nate, can you get her some water?”
“Focus on me,” I say to Nora, attempting to tune them all out. But they keep on going.
“She should breathe,” Mel says. “Tell her to breathe, Reynolds. Sounds silly, but half the time when my residents are panicking they forget all about breathing.”
“Breathe, Nora,” Lucy instructs. “In and out.” She demonstrates the basic body function loudly, only she must’ve been to a birthing class recently because instead of steady in and out breathes her breathing sounds like hee-hee, hoo-hoo. A fact Stafford is quick to point out.
“She’s not giving birth, Red,” he teases.
“I sounded like I was giving birth?” Lucy asks, stopping her breathing demonstration. “Oh thank God, because you know I’ve been worried I won’t actually be able to handle giving birth, but if I can sound like I’m giving birth that’s half the battle, right?”
“Uh, sure,” Stafford agrees, sounding anything but.
“Ignore all of these nutcases behind me,” I tell Nora and her lips twitch. She shudders, heaves a giant breath, then slumps forward against me, her face hitting my shoulder. I lift my arms, encircling her body with my own. “You’re okay,” I whisper into her hair as her breathing slows back to normal.
“Sorry,” I hear her whisper back, then, so softly I almost miss it, she adds, “But this just got really real.”
I don’t reply. The enormity of our situation has clearly hit her, but I can’t let her panic spread to me. I have to stay strong. And I will stay strong–for her.
So I rub her back in soothing motions and wait for one of the other three detectives present to restart their investigation.
It’s not one of them who speaks first, though, but Lucy. “Okay, well, clearly this has all been quite a shock to Nora. Maybe we should let Reynolds take her home. It is their wedding day, after all. It’s unfortunate that her boss turned up dead on her front lawn, but is that really their problem?”
I purse my lips against an unexpected laugh. Sometimes Lucy’s brand of logic astounds me. I appreciate the sentiment of support, though.
“Listen, I know the timing is unfortunate,” Anderson says, “but Reynolds knows as well as any of us, that we need to dig into this investigation sooner rather than later. When a dead body is found on someone’s front lawn, it sort of becomes their problem, whether or not they were involved.”
“Well, of course Nora wasn’t involved!” Emily cries. “She didn’t even know about it until Mel told her this morning. Isn’t that right, Mel?”
Mel doesn’t answer right away, but then finally she nods. “Uh, yeah. That’s true. She didn’t know.” Something in her tone upsets me. It sort of feels as if she doesn’t believe the words she’s saying. But I was there in the room when Mel told us about the dead body. Sure, Nora’s exclamation of surprise at the time came off as a little bit contrived, but other than that, I thought we gave a convincing performance of not having known about any of this before that moment.
“I never said she was involved,” Anderson replies calmly. “I’m saying that whether or not she was involved in the murder is inconsequential. Questions need to be asked of her simply because of the location of the body.”
“Right, of course,” I say quickly, wanting to appear like my usual by-the-book self. “And Nora will answer your questions, but perhaps we can relocate somewhere more private. Maybe get her something warm to drink. This is obviously going to be difficult for her, so I want her to be as comfortable as possible. And of course, I’ll be staying with her during the conversation.”
I can feel the weight of all of their stares on me as I step out of the carriage, then help Nora out behind me. Each person seems to have a different response to my words.
Lucy’s got heart eyes on, clearly impressed by my display of protectiveness for my new wife.
Stafford is smirking at me like he always knew I’d end up just as gone for someone as he is for Lucy.
Emily looks concerned, as if remembering her own stint with police questioning.
Montgomery’s brow is furrowed, but I can’t tell what’s on his mind.
Mel is darting glances between the two of us, shaking her head. She lifts a hand and starts chipping away at her nail polish. I know from Anderson that this either means she’s worried about something or thinking really hard.
And lastly, Anderson is frowning. He doesn’t like this. Not one bit.
But why? What is up with the suspicion from him and Mel?
“Yeah, okay,” Anderson finally grunts. “Let’s head somewhere more…comfortable. How about your place, Reynolds. Since I assume that’s where the two of you wanted to head regardless. Not that you called in sick today, so technically you should be on duty right about now.”
Shoot. I grimace. I completely forgot to send an email saying I’d be taking the day off. How could I have forgotten? I don’t forget items on my to do list. I just don’t.
Then again, usually I get more than an hour of sleep and don’t have the woman who drives me to distraction wandering around my home first thing in the morning.
Whatever. It really doesn’t matter all that much. Forgetting to send an email doesn’t incriminate anyone in any crimes.
And yet, I’m unsettled by it.
“Chief won’t let him work this case regardless,” Montgomery pipes up. “Not with his wife being semi-involved with it.”
His wife. My heart squeezes with warmth at the words. Geez. I’m like an overeager labrador, desperate to win over the disinterested human who just entered their vicinity.
“Exactly, so he should just take the rest of the day off,” Lucy chirps. “Enjoy the time with Nora.”
“Sure,” Anderson relents, “but after we ask our questions. I’m sure Reynolds wants to get this all cleared up, make sure his wife is not in danger.”
“You think she’s in danger?” Emily asks in concern.
“Hard to say, but a murder did take place on her front lawn and now it turns out it’s her boss.” Anderson shrugs. “So I don’t think we can completely eliminate the possibility.”
Oh great. So now, on top of everything else, I have to pretend to be worried about Nora’s safety. Obviously if Nora were actually in danger, you could bet your last dollar I’d be worried. But since she’s the murderer we’re after, I have no cause for fear. It’s not like she’s going to murder herself.
Unfortunately, having to act all concerned and extra attentive to her is not going to help me stay in control of my feelings for her. Concerned husbands watch over their wives…and they keep their eyes on them at all times…and they dote on them.
I’m supposed to be working on not doting on her, darn it.
And staring at her less. That’s also on my to do list.
Now I have to throw away said to do list and be a freaking loving husband.
In that vein I reach over and put an arm around Nora. “Nothing is going to happen to her on my watch,” I declare, sounding like I belong in The Incredibles movie. Next I’ll be putting my underwear on over my pants then standing with fisted hands on my hips as my cape blows ominously in the breeze behind me.
“Awww.” Lucy, of course, finds this whole charade to be touching.
“So back to your place, Reynolds?” Anderson asks. He takes his keys out of his pocket, jiggling them expectantly.
“Yeah, okay.” Annoyance makes the words come out as a grunt. That’s right, I’m annoyed with my partner. I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated by this realization. Anderson is just doing his job. He’s a good detective. Did I really think that he would just skip over talking to Nora?
“We’ll be right behind you,” Montgomery announces as Stafford steps up next to him.
“We’re coming too,” Lucy says quickly, grabbing Emily by the elbow and beckoning Mel over.
“I really don’t think it’s necessary for everyone to come to my house,” I tell them, but they all wave away my protests.
“Reynolds, we have to go to support Nora,” Emily explains, talking to me like I’m a 5-year-old from her Intro to Martial Arts class.
“I’ll follow behind in my car too,” Mel says from her new spot next to Lucy.”
Wow, a five-car caravan. We might as well be Ian’s funeral procession. Not that the man deserves one after what he did.
“There’s no point in arguing with us,” Montgomery tells me. “We’re all going to show up whether you want us to or not. Don’t worry, though, once the interview is done we’ll get out of your hair. Give you some privacy.”
I know he’s right, but I’m not upset about it from a privacy standpoint. I’m upset about the fact that the emotion I’ve been working so hard to hold off since my friends appeared on the scene has now clawed its way to the surface— guilt.
It hits me hard and fast like a punch straight to the gut, sucking away all my air and leaving me with a permanent ache.
I’m lying to them. All of them. And the worst part is that Anderson seems to know it—maybe not the specifics, but he knows something is off—and he’s still here supporting us.
No, actually, the real worst part is that despite my guilt I know that this is how things have to be. For Nora and for them. Telling them the truth would only incriminate them in our lies.
This is just how it has to be. All I can do at this point is pray that the murder never gets traced back to Nora so we can all move on with our lives.
Wordlessly I nod my head at Montgomery, then head over to my car with Nora in silence. I open her door then hurry around to mine, settling myself in the driver’s seat and fighting the urge to rest my forehead against the steering wheel and scream. I need to keep my composure. I can’t let Nora see how this is all affecting me.
“Maybe we should tell them,” Nora says as we drive out of the lot.
“Tell them?” I echo in disbelief.
“Yeah. It’s obvious you’re upset about lying to them.” It’s obvious? How is it possible that something I’ve been concentrating on hiding from her is apparently nonetheless obvious? “And like you said, Anderson and Mel already seem to know that something is up.”
“So your plan is to what? Tell them and hope they don’t arrest you on the spot? Or, what, do you think they’ll want to join in on the coverup? Make themselves all culpable?”
Nora flushes. “No. I mean, I don’t know.” She sits back against her seat with a thump. “Fine. We can’t tell them. I know that. I just—” she breaks off and when I look over at her she’s staring listlessly out the window.
“You just what?” I prompt in a far gentler tone.
She rotates my way then inhales deeply through her nose, rushing out the words with her exhale, “I just hate that I’m coming between you and your friends.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens; the physical manifestation of my frustration. What I’d like to do is turn to this completely preoccupying woman and tell her that there’s nothing I'd like more than for her to come between me and my friends. If she’d let me I’d make her the number one person in my life in a heartbeat.
I’m not saying I’d turn my back on my friends, but, as all of them would agree, when you find your other half, that person’s wants and needs eclipse the wants and needs of anyone else in your life. They just do.
Still, I understand the sentiment behind what she’s saying, and, while ideally, putting her wants and needs above the guys’ wants and needs wouldn’t have included covering up a murder, this is where we find ourselves.
“It’s fine,” I grit out. “Any of them would do the same for the women in their lives and while you’re not exactly the woman in my life by typical romantic standards, you are, nonetheless, my wife.”
There, that was good.
“Right,” she says quietly. “And you’re my husband.”
This time the hand clenching has nothing to do with frustration and everything to do with stopping myself from pulling this car over and kissing my dang wife.