Fatal Impulse: A Widow's Web Novel Page 5

  Andi grabbed a cork coaster from the end table and slipped it under her mother’s mug. “Don’t you think Mandy could find somebody for just a few more days?”

  Mama laughed, “No, she depends on me to be there when Jakey and Romy get off the school bus.”

  Andi frowned. “She takes advantage of you.”

  Her mother shook her head, “No – I’m glad to do it. Being a grandma is a blessing!”

  Andi merely grunted in response, not sure what words could express what she felt. Even though she understood in her head, it still hurt in her heart. She was the oldest, the responsible one, and Mandy was the baby of the family that needed looking after. But she had her husband and her two kids. Andi had no one.

  “What’d you say?”

  Andi’s voice trembled when she replied, “It’s just that Mandy has you all the time, and I need you now. It’s my turn.”

  “Now, Andrea, that’s no way to talk. You know I dropped everything to be here, and I will stay until the funeral’s over. But then I’ve got to get home. I have responsibilities there,” Martha said, kindly but firmly. She waited until Andi met her stern gaze, “I’ll buy you a plane ticket. Come home with me.”

  Andi sighed and shook her head, then flipped the television on. The two sipped their cocoa as they watched the news and gossiped about folks back home. They talked until the wee hours of the morning, something they hadn’t done once since Andi’d gotten married after her junior year at college and moved out to Maine with Chad.

  The next day Andi buried her husband, which was much harder than she’d anticipated.

  6

  The funeral service was brief, and tasteful, even though Cora’s outbursts and theatrical sobs interrupted the eulogy a couple of times. Andi sat on the front row, tissues clutched tightly in both hands. More were tucked into her purse in case she needed them. Martha sat to her left, and Dana to her right.

  Andi glanced around at the mourners, wondering how they knew her husband, how well they knew him. Watching them made her feel isolated. They were her husband’s friends, not hers.

  Her mind wandered, thinking about their courtship and the marriage, and wondering how it had all turned so sour. She didn’t know. The framed portrait on the easel next to the casket showed a tanned, healthy man with a beautiful smile, but that smile never touched his cold, gray eyes.

  Finally, they climbed into the black limo and left the historic old Yager-Wilson Funeral Home, up Second Street past the fire station. Half a dozen firefighters stood at attention as the procession passed. The hearse turned right on Maple, then a quick left onto First Street. Police cars with flashing lights blocked the intersections. Children played in the playground at the school, oblivious to the mourners passing them.

  The procession continued north until it reached the arched iron gate. The limousine turned right and the cemetery sprawled before them, neat rows of gravestones marking the final resting places of the dead. Ahead and to the left, Andi noted the white tent that had been set up to cover Chad’s grave. The black Towne Car glided to a stop.

  Martha gave Andi’s hand a squeeze. “You’re almost through it, honey. Let’s go get this over with.”

  Andi nodded and got out of the car. The long black hearse squatted directly in front of them, the back open. The pallbearers carried the casket to the gleaming gurney waiting under the shade of the tent. She turned away, directing her gaze at the long row of cars winding through the cemetery behind them. Dana’s tan Impala was five cars back, and Andi was relieved Edward gave her friend time off work to attend the funeral.

  The funeral director led Andi and her mother to the white folding chairs facing the yawning black hole. Everyone gathered around, their whispers lost in the cool spring breeze. The minister said a few words and led them in prayer, then approached Andi and whispered words meant to console.

  She tried to focus on the words, but simply couldn’t. Instead, her thoughts turned to the insurance policy Chad had insisted they buy. Everywhere she looked, she saw bills. The gleaming casket. The concrete vault in the ground. The tent flapping overhead. The gravediggers waiting discreetly behind a stand of oak trees. Worry niggled at her. How would she survive without Chad? People milled around, then the crowd drifted away from the tent in small groups. Andi wanted to leave, but was anchored in place by mourners paying their respects.

  Off to the side, Detective Johnson stood by himself, his feet planted shoulder width apart and his thick hands clasped in front of him. His gray suit looked as if it had been purchased off the rack at Sears, and the front of his jacket didn’t meet. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, but Andi could feel him staring at her.

  The Towne Car waited, and Andi escaped to it as quickly as possible, winding her way through mourners who watched her with sad eyes. The cop stepped into her path. Before he could utter a word, the limo driver slipped between them and took Andi’s elbow. She got into the car, and her mother followed.

  Martha yanked the door shut and frowned, “That was rude. Why would he do such a thing?”

  Andi shrugged. She stared out the tinted window and watched the detective walk away, his gait stiff. Dana walked past and Andi waved, but her best friend continued on, talking with a short, curvy woman with strawberry blonde hair who worked at the library. She had never felt so alone.

  As they drove off, and Martha talked about how nice everyone was, Andi glanced back and watched as they lowered the polished casket into the ground.

  7

  Andi poked her head into the guest bedroom. “Want me to carry your bag?”

  Mama stood next to the bed, beaming. She held out a white envelope. “Surprise!”

  The return address was the Buccaneer Bay Travel Agency. Andi turned the envelope over. Her name was written on the outside. “What is this?”

  Her mother clapped her hands together, as excited as a child on Christmas morning, “Go ahead - open it!”

  Andi slipped her thumb under the flap and popped it open. She pulled out a boarding pass, then asked again, sounding out each syllable, “What is this?”

  “Come home with me.” Martha spread her arms wide. “We’ll get someone to help box up the stuff you want to keep and we’ll have it shipped. The rest of the stuff can be auctioned off.”

  Andi shook her head and stepped back, blinking rapidly. “Mama, I can’t go back. This is my home.”

  Martha snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Missouri is home.” She stepped around Andi and walked across the hall to the master bedroom.

  Andi hurried after her, anxiety building in her chest. Panic began to set in. “Mama, listen to me. I’m staying here.”

  Martha opened the closet and leaned forward to peer in. “We’ll just pack a few things now. Everything you need is back home. You can have the basement if you don’t want to stay in your old room.”

  Andi’s breath came quickly. The last thing she wanted was to go back to the way things were. It would be like she’d never left. She’d worked hard to build a life for herself here. Served on the Board for the Friends of the Library. Took pride in her flower garden. She grabbed her mother’s arm and tugged until her mother turned to face her. “Mama, I said I am staying here.”

  Martha’s gray eyebrows pushed together and she wilted. Her shoulders slumped and her jaw dropped. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “But … But I already bought you a ticket.”

  Andi almost gave in, then swallowed the lump in her throat. Her mother couldn’t afford this grand gesture. Though her mother would be hurt, Andi had lived for everyone else too long. “You’ll just have to come out for another visit. I’m sure we can get the airline to issue a credit.”

  Her mother sighed and seemed to shrink two inches. She stared at Andi for a beat, then pushed past her and hurried across the hall. Andi followed, feeling like a heel for dashing her mother’s hopes. Martha snagged her blue bag and
dragged it off the bed, so it hit the floor with a thump. Andi reached for the carry-on, but her mother yanked it away then stomped down the stairs.

  After they got into the Toyota, Martha fastened her seatbelt and asked, “My flight isn’t until 4. Could we go up Highway 3?”

  Andi nodded and smiled. “That’s about the only way to get there. We’re on an island, remember?”

  Her mother dug in her purse. “Do you want some gum?”

  Andi shook her head. She refrained from warning her mother about the dangers of the sugary treat.

  “You sure?” Martha held out the package. “You used to love gum. Were always digging through my purse for a stick of gum.”

  “I’m not a kid anymore.”

  Martha tucked the gum back in her purse and stared out the window at the expanse of sea off to their right that appeared and disappeared through the trees. The ocean drew Andi toward it like a magnet. There was something majestic and awesome about the way it stretched to the horizon.

  “You are so lucky,” Martha breathed.

  Andi had to agree with her. Even though the locals still considered her an outsider, she felt like a Mainer. “Why don’t you come back out next month?”

  Martha smiled, then patted Andi on the forearm. “I’d love to, but it’s so hard for me to get away.”

  Andi knew the answer before she’d asked. Maybe that’s why she asked. She got points for asking, without dealing with the guilt trip. Suddenly, the evergreens gave way to water as they crossed over to Thompson Island. That little stretch of road had surprised her when she first moved to Mount Desert Island. On the map, it looked like there was a bridge. In reality, the highway straddled a muddy bit of land between the two islands. Crossing Thompson Island took only minutes, and then they were again surrounded by water as they crossed over to the mainland. In a few weeks, the tourists would start pouring in and Highway 3 would be slow-going.

  At the Hancock County-Bar Harbor Airport, the two said their goodbyes and hugged several times before Martha disappeared through the security checkpoint. After she passed through the metal detector, she turned to wave one last time, and Andi blew her mother a kiss. Her mother would be in Boston and then on to Kansas City soon, and Andi would be left all alone in Buccaneer Bay.

  But she still had Dana, she reminded herself. Thank God for Dana.

  Shortly past the bridge at Hancock, a little red coupe zipped around her. The speedometer indicated she was driving nearly ten miles an hour under the speed limit, which was the exact opposite of how she usually drove. Andi sighed and shook her head to clear it, then glanced in the rearview mirror.

  A light gray sedan followed a car’s length back. The driver wore dark sunglasses, but Andi thought she recognized Detective Johnson. Why does one always feel nervous when followed by an officer of the law, even when doing nothing wrong? She pressed down on the gas until she was up to the speed limit, and he matched her speed. Sweat trickled down the back of Andi’s neck, and she swallowed hard. She set the cruise just under 55, hoping he would pass, but even at that reduced speed, he kept following her. A chill ran down her spine, and she tried again to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. She wished he would just pull her over.

  He followed her all the way to her house, turn by turn, but continued on when she pulled into the driveway. As she forced herself to walk casually up the brick walk, the sedan’s engine rumbled behind her. She glanced over her shoulder as she inserted the key in the front door, just as he turned right at the end of the block and disappeared from sight.

  Once inside, she collapsed against the door and waited for her heartbeat to return to normal. Her head tipped back against the door and she stared at the ceiling. Her imagination ran wild, imagining what the police were after, that she was going to be arrested, that her freedom was short lived.

  She’d done nothing wrong. Why was she freaking out? Her legs shook, but she pushed away from the door and peeked out the sidelight. No sign of the police. She shook her head and frowned. He was trying to shake her up, that was all. She had nothing to hide.

  At least, she didn’t think she did.

  She knuckled away the tears that threatened to spill over. Chad was gone. She was a widow, and she had to find a way to continue without him.

  She dragged herself up the stairs one step at a time. Her legs felt heavy as lead. She gripped the handrail tightly and pulled herself along. The emptiness in the house surrounded her like a living, breathing thing. It still didn’t feel real, being a widow. She’d never lived alone, and she dreaded it. How would she survive? What would she do?

  Upstairs in the bedroom, the red message light blinked on the answering machine. As expected, there were several messages, including one from Mrs. Harrison who had received some of Andi’s mail, and one from Detective Johnson, who said he had some routine questions. The first message was pleasant in its pure normalcy (Mrs. Harrison collected their mail “accidently” on a regular basis), but the second was cold as black metal.

  Andi called Mrs. Harrison and told her she’d be over later, but decided to put the other call off until she could talk to Dana.

  But before Andi talked to Dana, she wanted to look through Chad’s den. He kept that door closed and locked. He hadn’t even allowed her in the room to clean.

  To her surprise, the handle turned easily and the door swung open to reveal his den – his retreat, he called it. The smell of fine quality cigars lingered in the heavy tapestry drapes. The humidor she’d given him for Christmas a couple of years ago sat on his desk, along with a crystal ashtray and a black coffee cup rimmed with gold. The large mahogany desk dominated the room, with a burgundy leather executive-style chair behind it. It was turned slightly to the side, as if Chad had just stood up and left a few moments before. The room was too dark for her taste, all mahogany and deep reds and greens. She tugged the drapes open and sunlight streamed in.

  A picture of Chad and Andi on their wedding day, in an ornate silver frame, and a small paperweight from the Trump Tower in Atlantic City huddled together on the desktop. An oversized book on Maine gems sat atop the credenza. She flipped through the slick pages idly, admiring the photography. A post it note poked out, marking a page with the word “pegmatite” jotted on the yellow tag. The word was vaguely familiar, probably from the gentleman at the dinner party who talked about some of his legendary finds in the surrounding mountains. She pulled the tag off and crumpled it up, then took the book out to the living room to display it on the coffee table.

  By the time she finished going through Chad’s desk, the shafts of sunlight on the worn Oriental rug reached the opposite wall. Neat, tidy piles gave her some sense of what needed to be dealt with. Mostly bills. The credit card bills were the most worrisome, so she flipped through them page by page. She reached the American Express bill, and stopped cold.

  A charge to the Sapphire Star in Atlantic City for the first weekend in April caught her attention. The weekend of her birthday. The weekend she spent alone because Chad had a dental conference in Boston that he just couldn’t miss. There were also a couple of restaurant charges in Atlantic City.

  Tears welled in her eyes. She’d suspected he cheated on her but she’d never had proof. This hurt like a knife through her heart. Her shoulders drooped under the weight of this new knowledge. She sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out in a huff. This wasn’t fair. She couldn’t even confront him.

  She shook her head, dropped the file folder on the floor and tugged open the wooden file cabinet beside the desk and flipped through the hanging folders. Her eyes drifted to the Insurance folder, but she forced herself to be methodical. The thin Auto folder contained paperwork on the Grand Cherokee, saying he refinanced it in March. That was odd. It would have been paid off in August. She examined the signature on the promissory note. Her signature on the loan papers looked suspiciously like Chad’s receptionist’s writing, round and almost juvenile.

 
She flipped ahead to the Insurance folder.

  Both policies were in the file folder. She pulled his out and skimmed it. When finished, she leaned back against the wall and stretched her protesting legs in front of her. It appeared to be a $250,000 life insurance policy with a clause that said if he died in an accident, the policy paid double. Relief washed over her like a wave. She’d have enough to pay the bills! She’d be able to keep the house!

  If the insurance company paid.

  The phone jangled and she pushed herself to her feet to answer it, stretching and massaging her tingling legs to restore the blood flow.

  She was pleasantly surprised to hear Dana’s voice. “Hey, things are quiet here at the office and Edward said I can take the day off. I’m about to ready to wrap things up at work and head for home – mind if I stop by?”

  Andi rolled her shoulders and smiled, “Not at all! I’ve got a couple things I want to talk to you about anyway.”

  8

  She sat the insurance policy on top of the desk and returned to the hanging files in the file cabinet again. The file marked “Legal” contained photocopies of their Wills. Chad’s small, neat print on the bottom of each indicated that the original was in the safe deposit box at Harbor Regional Bank. She pulled his copy out and laid it on top of the insurance policy, and continued through the files. Just as she was about to close the drawer, a plain manila file folder stuck in the very back of the cabinet caught her eye. The hand-written label simply said, “Will.” She frowned and leaned in to get a closer look. The blue manuscript jacket indicated that it had been drawn up by an attorney in Bangor by the name of Benson Harrington III.

  She scanned the document, shocked to discover he specifically excluded her from his estate. Explicitly. He left everything to his trust, and named the attorney as Trustee. She flipped to the last page. The signature was dated only three weeks before.

  Why would he do that to her? Had he hated her that much? He was such a perfectionist, so concerned about image. He had told her on more than one occasion that he would never, ever, get a divorce because he did not fail. What changed his mind?