Chapter 12: It Could Get Nasty

Blaine stared at the divorce papers in his hands in disbelief. Divorce was the last thing in the world he wanted. The house was worth close to a million dollars, and the antiques were worth at least sixty thousand. He would lose it all to Susan if they divorced. He picked up the phone and called Danielle Spelling, the lawyer that had filed the divorce papers. She was sixty miles away in Columbus.

Blaine knew Danielle was a bitch as soon as he heard her voice. He’d asked nicely for a way to contact Susan, and she’d been firm and concise. “You can’t go near your wife. She has a restraining order against you. She considers you a threat.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Blaine said through clenched teeth. “I love Susan. I would never hurt her.”

Danielle answered in a crisp voice. “That’s what they all say. My advice to you is to get an attorney and get this wrapped up.”

Anger rising, Blaine said, “You don’t understand—I don’t want a divorce. I need to talk to Susan about counseling. I want to save my marriage.”

“Your wife has indicated that she wants the divorce finalized as soon as possible,” Danielle said in a crisp voice. “You cannot talk to your wife or contact her. Please have your attorney contact me.” Click.

“Fuck you, bitch,” he yelled into the phone even though he knew she had hung up.

Then he shouted, “Where are you, Susan? Where the hell are you?”

He had gone to Savannah and only came back with a bag of pralines. He’d been caught by the police trying to break into Susan’s aunt’s house and had spent a few hours in jail until he’d made bail. And they’d turned him away at the nursing home, saying Susan’s aunt was not allowed visitors.

Blaine had gone to places that he knew Susan liked to frequent: the library, the bookstore, a coffee shop. He showed people Susan’s picture telling them he was looking for his niece, who was missing. He’d given them a card with a number to call—in case she turned up. She had to be in Savannah. Her aunt was her only family. There was simply not another place for her to go. He envisioned Susan in Savannah browsing through antique shops and cleaning up the large house on the water that had looked like it was full of dust and cobwebs when he’d peered into the window.

After returning home, Blaine had searched the house again with a fine-tooth comb. Everything was neat—too neat. He wondered how long she had been planning her escape.

The doorbell rang, and Blaine looked out the peephole on the door. Kate stood wearing black slacks, a tight-knit shirt, and black spike heels. He’d told her never to come to the house. What the hell was she doing here?

Blaine jerked the door open.

“You’re complicating matters, Kate,” he admonished, his blue eyes hard.

“We need to talk. My customers at the nail salon have been gossiping. I thought you might like to hear what they’re saying about you.”

He looked around, then opened the door wide.

Kate brushed by him. “You sure do have a nice place,” she said as her sharp dark eyes scanned the elegant living room. “Can I sit down?” There was something pitiful about her expression—as she made a forced effort to hide her desperation.

It didn’t sit well with Blaine that she’d turned up on his doorstep in the middle of the day. His blue eyes turned steely. “Have you told anyone about our relationship?”

She blinked her black false eyelashes. “I told my priest.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Why would you do such a thing?” She wasn’t even religious. She had a stack of vampire books by her bedside and a tattoo of a black rose on the right cheek of her ass that he’d once found fascinating. Now, the sight of her sickened him.

Blaine sat down on the sofa across from her. “What’s this about?” he asked, with a ‘let’s get down to business’ expression.

Kate got that look on her face like she was about to tell a classified secret that would determine the fate of the world. He used to find it amusing, and now he found it barely tolerable.

“Well, there’s been talk at the beauty shop that you had something to do with your wife’s disappearance,” she said with a twang that was somewhere between the West Virginia and the Ohio state line. “I need to know if it’s true.”

“I assure you, I had nothing to do with Susan’s disappearance. I’ve been trying to find her.”

Kate wagged her finger at him. “But you told me you didn’t love your wife. You said you were living separate lives. Why are you trying to find her?”

“That’s what every man says when he wants to cheat on his wife,” Blaine said as he watched her pained expression. “I was trying to find Susan because I’m her husband, and I need to know that she’s okay. I care about my wife.”

“Well, the way I look at it—she’s gone—and we don’t have to sneak around. We can have more time together.”

“That’s not the way it works, Kate. The sheriff is watching me. Susan sent a letter to the sheriff and told them she believes I murdered my first wife.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “She told the authorities she’s afraid of me.”

“I know. The ladies were talking about it at the shop,” Kate said in a blasé tone tapping her manicured red nails on the arm of the blue velour wing back chair.

Blaine was keenly aware that Kate lacked something that Susan oozed of—class. Kate looked strangely out of place, sitting in the exquisite chair that had been part of the décor long before Susan had inherited the house from her mother. Susan took pride in her furniture. It was in perfect condition.

Blaine was more than annoyed. “For Christ’s sake, Kate, stop with the nails. You’re leaving marks on the chair.”

“Damned. You are touchy.” Kate’s dark eyes scanned the elegant living room with dollar signs in her eyes. “I would never leave all of this.” She snapped her gum. “Were you abusive to your wife? That’s what the customers at the shop are saying. They said she told a friend at the library that she was afraid of you.”

“Susan’s gone over the edge,” Blaine said. “She hasn’t been well for a long time. The truth is—I love Susan, and she loves me. They’re just a bunch of gossipy old women trying to stir up something.”

“They said she often came to work with bruises and made-up excuses.”

“Everyone gets bruised from time to time, but it wasn’t from me.” Blaine cringed as Kate dug her spike heel into the cream-colored carpet. Everyone removed their shoes in the foyer. His face turned dark. Everything she did irritated him. He was getting that strange feeling inside him, and the voice in his head began to shout commands. Kill the stupid bitch. She’s going to talk.

His eyes focused on her mouth, caked with red lipstick. She was talking, but he didn’t hear the words. All he heard was the voice inside of his head.

Shut her up. Shut her up.

Blaine stood up and jerked Kate up from the chair. She threw her arms around his neck and looked into his crazed eyes.

“Here?” she asked. When Blaine didn’t answer, she reached down and unzipped his pants. “I’ve missed you, baby. You didn’t answer my calls. I was starting to think you didn’t love me.”

An impulse to shut Kate up overtook Blaine. He watched her expression turn from passion to horror as his hands encircled her neck. “What do you want from me, Kate?” he asked, applying pressure to her long white neck.

Kate was a fighter. Blaine wreathed in pain as she dug her long red nails into his arms, drawing blood that was as red as her nail polish.

The doorbell rang. It was loud and played a little jingle. Susan liked it because she could hear it all over the house. The sound of the doorbell rang in Blaine’s ears. His hands dropped to his side and became fists.

“You like kinky,” he said in an accusing voice as if Kate had been the one to incite the action.

Kate staggered away. Blaine could hear her gulping as she tried to breathe.

In a choked voice, she asked, “Are you fucking nuts?”

Blaine’s expression was grave. “Don’t say anything. I wasn’t going to hurt you. You like rough sex.” He pulled five one-hundred-dollar bills from his wallet. “Buy yourself something nice.”

Kate’s hands were shaking as she grabbed the money and stuffed it in her bra.

Blaine zipped his pants.

The doorbell sounded again, and then a loud knock. Blaine looked out the peephole and cursed under his breath. The sheriff stood peering at the door suspiciously.

Blaine opened the door with a question in his eyes.

“Just checking to see if you’ve heard anything from Susan,” the sheriff said.

“I’ve heard from her,” Blaine said, his voice calm. “I was served with divorce papers today.”

“Sorry to hear that,” the sheriff said, craning his neck. “You got a visitor? Did I interrupt something?”

“I was just leaving,” Kate said in a choked voice as she rushed out the door and ran to her car. She roared away, leaving a swirl of dust—happy to be escaping with her life.

The sheriff looked at Blaine suspiciously. “Was she okay? She looked mighty pale.”

“She’s fine. She’s a friend of Susan’s. Just stopped by to see if I’d heard anything about Susan.”

The sheriff nodded. He craned his neck again and looked over Blaine’s shoulder into the house as if he were trying to see if anything was amiss.

He eyed Blaine’s arms. “Looks like you’ve been in a briar patch.” He paused, his eyes narrow, as he noticed the blood seeping down Blaine’s arm.

“I was trimming the roses before Susan’s friend came by.”

“Didn’t know roses were trimmed in October,” the sheriff replied.

Blaine shrugged his shoulders. “It’s autumn clean up.”

“You better put something on that scratch,” the sheriff said. “It could get nasty.”

Blaine shut the door and looked down at the red blood running down his arm and dripping onto the hardwood floor. He wet a paper towel with vinegar, wiped it up, and then went upstairs and took a shower. He felt the sting as he washed his wounds, his mind swimming over the events of the day—the sheriff’s words firmly ingrained in his mind.

It could get nasty.