Chapter 18
Nora
I’M HALFWAY THROUGH my burrito bowl when my phone rings. All eyes turn to me as I remove it from my purse, but I only look at Jack as I identify the caller.
“It’s Stella,” I tell him. “From work. Should I answer?”
He nods. “But maybe outside?”
We both stand, the other three look like they want to come as well, but Jack shakes his head at them. This is a relief, since I have no idea how this conversation with Stella is going to go. The last thing I need is an audience.
As we head out of the restaurant, Jack’s hand finds the small of my back, sending a zing of pleasure zipping through me. He pushes the door open for me and I lament the loss of contact between us as I step outside ahead of him. There’s no time to think about this, though, since I need to answer this call before it goes to voicemail.
“Hey, Stella,” I say into the phone, surprised when my voice comes out breathy rather than nervous. I suppose that’s the Jack effect.
“Norrraa,” she stretches out my name. In my periphery Jack motions for me to put the call on speaker. “Thank goodness you answered. Do you have any idea what’s been going on here? You picked a heckuva day to play hooky and get marr-ied,” she sings the last word. “Still can’t believe that. Who even is this Jack guy?”
I try not to wince at this question, oddly worried that it might hurt Jack’s feelings and really wishing that I hadn’t listened to his request to put this call on speaker. Stella didn’t work at the pharmaceutical company when Jack and I were dating. She only started eight or nine months ago. So, since I have always made a point of not talking about Jack, there’s no way she could ever have heard of him. But still, his friends’ wives knew about me, and now Jack is finding out my friends don’t know about him. It feels…off.
Especially since the reason I never talked about him was because it was too painful to revisit those happy times in my life all the while knowing I’d never have that with him again.
I’m nowhere near ready to admit any of that to Jack, though.
“Um, he’s Jack,” I say out loud. “My husband.” I trip over the words as Jack steps closer to me. I wonder if my use of those two words has the same effect on him as his use of the words my wife. Is he now playing his own game of romantic-feelings whack-a-mole?
It would serve him right.
“Yeah, I know he’s your husband,” Stella whines. “I’m just wondering why I’ve never heard of the man before your weird voicemail this morning. Thanks for calling me at the buttcrack of dawn by the way.”
“It was almost 7 when I called you,” I protest.
“That’s what I said,” she retorts. There’s the sound of a wrapper being undone in the background then she continues talking. “Anyway,” she says around a mouthful of food, “none of that’s important right now because you are missing everything! We just got raided by a trio of hot detectives,” she exclaims. “And do you know why?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. “Because someone murdered Ian!” Stella breaks off expectantly and suddenly I can relate to horrible Connie Wharfman a bit more, as I experience my own moment of heavy panic about whether or not I’m supposed to know this. Thankfully the panic is short-lived, as I realize that of course I should know this.
“I know,” I say to Stella. “Didn’t you hear where they found him?”
“Nooo,” she’s back to stretching out the words. “They wouldn’t really tell us any details. Why? Wait, do you know?”
“Oh yeah, I know,” I tell her with a heavy sigh. Jack’s hand slides into place around my waist, supporting me without words. Too bad I can’t just hang up on Stella and sink into him, letting him chase my problems away.
“Tell me, tell me!” Stella cries. She sounds excited about the prospect of insider information rather than upset about the untimely death of our boss. That tracks though, considering how much Stella always disliked the man.
“You have to promise me not to freak out,” I say carefully.
“Me? Freak out? Please.”
She’s totally going to freak out. But it would be weird not to tell her considering she’s going to find out at some point.
“He was found on my front lawn,” I say without further fanfare.
“What?!” Stella’s answering shriek reverberates through my phone speaker. She swears loudly, but then her voice goes hushed. “You didn’t kill him, did you? Because you know you could tell me. I wouldn’t tell a soul. In fact I’d thank you–then ask what I can do to help with the coverup.”
The irony of her words is not lost on me, and hysterical laughter starts to bubble up inside me. I choke on it, sputtering incoherent things into the phone as I try to regain my composure.
“I was only joking!” Stella says over my sputtering. “Calm down, girl. Breathe!”
Jack’s hand squeezes my waist and my laughter dies as all of my senses tunnel in on that one spot on my body. I think I’m having a conversation, but I don’t care because now his thumb is tracing the curve of my hip. For the second time today, I’m pretty sure he’s intending for his touch to be a comforting thing. Not like he’s trying to light my skin on fire.
The man is so infuriatingly stupid.
How can he be so unaware of his effect on me?
Quickly, I yank myself out of his grasp, needing space from him. I take a deep, steadying breath. Confusion is dulling my ability to function. I can’t make sense of how I feel about the man I just pulled away from. Obviously, I’m physically attracted to him…that has not changed in three years. But it’s not being physically attracted to him that I’m afraid of. No, what I’m afraid of is being attracted to the very core of who Jack is. I’m terrified of the emotional connection I feel to him…of his magnetic personality…of the hold he seems to have on my heart.
I think part of my heart may have stayed with him all these years– and that it will stay with him again when this is over.
If it’s ever over.
What does it say about my emotional state that I’m saddened at the thought of this murder investigation being over because it might mean the end of our marriage?
“Nora, did I lose you?” Stella blares into the phone. “You still there?”
“I’m here,” I say over the noise of my heartbeat in my ears. I have got to get a grip. This marriage was never meant to be forever. Just until there was no danger of Jack needing to testify against me. And that is exactly how I want things to be.
I am not Mrs. Jack Reynolds. I am Nora Evans, temporary wife of Jack Reynolds.
Look at me, following in my mother’s illustrious footsteps.
There’s some sarcasm to brighten my day.
“Phew. Okay, spill the tea,” Stella says. “Why was Ian’s body on your front lawn?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. Sure I have my suspicions, but until I know who moved the body from Jack’s garage to my lawn, I’m as confused as anyone about the presence of Ian’s body on my lawn.
“You don’t know? How can you not know?” She sucks in a breath. “Wait, you two weren’t, you know…” she trails off.
“Oh my gosh, Stella. No! I wasn’t even home when they found him. I was at Jack’s house.”
“Ooh, yes, Jack.” She’s temporarily distracted. “When do I get to meet this husband of yours?”
“I don’t know,” I say flatly. I’m irritated with my friend for even asking about Ian and me. Sure, Stella has always been more casual about…things than me, but I thought she respected–or at least knew– where I stood on the topic of romance. Namely, that I’m saving sex for marriage.
My gaze hitches on the diamonds around my ring finger, reminding me that technically my saving days are over. My cheeks flame at this thought and I start up with another coughing fit.
Jack cannot read your mind, I remind myself as he starts thumping me on the back.
“Nora, are you okay?” he asks in concern, breaking his silence in response to my continued coughing.
“Oh my goshshsh,” Stella exclaims, stretching out the end of the word. “Is that Jack I hear? Hi, Jack! I’m Stella! Your wife’s work friend. Speaking of work–I know your wife currently covers the geriatric route, so she probably doesn’t have any sample pills you might need…hopefully,” she adds with a wicked laugh, “but I work the dermatology route which has a much wider scope. I’m not technically saying that I could hook you up, but if you do find yourself with any dermatological needs you know where to go.”
“Stella!” I exclaim, my coughing fit mercifully over.
“Kidding!” she cries. “Gosh, you’re so touchy today, Nora. Sorry, Jack. I can’t actually give you samples, since that would be super illegal. I was trying to test you, make sure you were worthy of my girl Nora, but clearly I offended Nora’s scruples in the process. Don’t you just love what a good human she is?”
This is so Stella. Right when I’m wondering why I’m even friends with her, she turns around and says something sweet like that.
“She’s the best human I know,” Jack says into the phone. My head whips over to him, certain I’ll find him winking at me or giving me some other nonverbal clue that he’s saying that for Stella’s benefit, and it's not how he truly feels. Instead he’s simply staring at me, and the soft look in his eyes makes my stomach tip.
“Awww,” Stella squeals. “What a line. Are you a writer or something?”
“Uh no,” Jack replies. Considering Stella’s clear lack of concern for privacy, it’s not surprising that he doesn’t offer up his real career.
“You’re not a doctor are you? Because Nora never mentioned meeting any cute doctors on her route. And I tell you what, I swear half the women working here are on the prowl for cute doctors. Probably because Cleo can’t shut up about her doctor husband. Gives them all unrealistic expectations.”
“I’m definitely not a doctor,” Jack tells her with a glance my way. I blush for no reason at all.
“Tell me, Jack,” Stella moves on to the next topic, “what are you planning to do about the fact that a dead body was found on your wife’s front lawn?”
“Former front lawn,” Jack corrects. “She’s moving in with me.”
“Of course,” Stella says dismissively. “But still…aren’t you upset? Somebody was murdered on her front lawn! What if they were after her? We need to investigate! The police seem to think someone here might have done it, but I’ll tell you what–my money is on his wife. She hired a private eye to spy on him, you know that?”
“Wait, what?” Jack straightens, eyes now focused on the phone. “Connie Wharfman hired a private eye to spy on her husband?”
“Well, sort of,” Stella says with a little laugh. “Frank isn’t technically a private eye, but for all intents and purposes that’s what Connie was using him as. It worked out well because Frank was already here so much of the time working as a security guard.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I interject. “Why would Frank do that? He loved Ian Wharfman.”
“Hmmm,” Stella hums. “I don’t know. I guess his allegiances changed, because he definitely was spying on Ian for Connie.”
“How can you be so sure of that?” Jack asks.
“Simple. Nora, do you remember how Frank accidentally got into my car last week?”
I nod, then realize belatedly that she can’t see me and say, “Yes, of course.”
“Well, he didn’t just leave his spilled coffee behind,” Stella dangles this carrot, obviously enjoying being the owner of such juicy information. This isn’t the first time I’ve found myself in such a situation with Stella and usually I’d tease her a little bit by acting like I don’t care what information she has, but today I care way too much about this information to play games. So I bite her dangled carrot without further overtures.
“What else did he leave?”
“A picture,” she reveals dramatically. “It must’ve fallen out of a file or something because they found it under my seat when I took my car in to be cleaned post coffee spill.”
“What was it a picture of?” Jacks asks.
“Ian, of course, with another woman.” Stella is still enjoying the dramatics of this whole affair—no pun intended. “It looked exactly like those pictures you see on TV, you know the ones PI’s take where the focus is zoomed in on the couple in question doing something…illicit.” She pauses. “Thankfully Ian was only kissing Cleo in the picture,” she finishes.
“Cleo?” I exclaim. “Ian was kissing Cleo?” Nausea churns in my stomach as I think about Ian telling me I could have the promotion Cleo and I were both vying for if I slept with him. Had he made the same promise to Cleo but with different results? A shudder runs through me and again Jack is there, this time simply giving my hand a comforting squeeze.
“Yup,” Stella pops the last p of the word. “Ian and Cleo. Can you believe it? Two of our married coworkers, caught in their indiscretion.” She tuts in disapproval and something new occurs to me.
“What did you do with the picture, Stella?” I ask.
There’s silence on the other end of the phone.
“Stella,” I prompt.
More silence.
“You kept it—didn’t you?” I say.
“Fine,” she cries. “Yes, I kept it! So sue me! I just thought, hmm maybe this could come in handy some day.”
“As in a blackmail type of handy,” Jack says dryly.
“Okay, look,” Stella replies in a lets-all-be-reasonable tone, “clearly I am making a horrible first impression, Jack. But I swear, it’s not like I had specific plans to blackmail the man, just if a need presented itself I felt better having that picture in my back pocket. Besides, not to speak ill of the dead, but Ian Wharfman wasn’t exactly a nice guy. I didn’t kill him, though,” she adds hastily, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Jack says. No duh. We already know who killed him. But the police don’t. Suddenly I’m nervous for my friend.
She may be a bit brash and yes, she has a gossip problem, but she’s also supportive and a good listener. And honestly, work has been a lot more fun since she started at the company last summer. Anyway, regardless of either her flaws or strengths, she doesn’t deserve to go to prison for a murder I committed.
Nobody does.
“Did you tell the police any of this?” Jack asks her. “The stuff about the photo, I mean.”
“Of course not.” Stella lets out an uneasy laugh. “I’m not looking to become a suspect. I probably shouldn’t have even told you two. I have a way of oversharing.”
“No, it’s good you told us. Tell me more about this Cleo person. Is she at work today?” he asks.
“Oh she’s here alright.” I can practically hear Stella’s answering eye roll–it’s her go to action when it comes to Cleo. “Took over Ian’s office the second his death was announced.”
“She’s the one I was competing with for that promotion,” I tell Jack. His expression turns pensive.
“Do you think she knew about Frank investigating Ian?” Jack asks Stella. “Or about you having that incriminating photo.”
“No. If she did I’m assuming she’d be a little nicer to me,” Stella snorts. “I go to the same gym as her and her husband, so it would be very easy for me to pass on the information about his wife’s affair.”
Goodness. Humanity is so depraved.
And I realize that I have no higher ground to stand on with that comment seeing as I’m a murderer– but let’s all take a moment and remember that I killed in self-defense.
“Oh speak of the devil,” Stella mutters. “I have to go. I’m out on the balcony eating my lunch, and I can still hear Cleo shouting at everyone. She better not get that man’s job.” She hangs up before we can respond.
Jack and I stand there, both staring at the phone.
“What are you thinking right now?” I ask.
Jack sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “That this whole who-moved-the-body case of ours just got a little bit more complicated.”