For Your Love (17 page)

He missed Carla. He’d heard her voice messages and steeled himself not to return her calls.

During his waking hours, he found his mind drifting back to happier times spent with her. He could hear her laughter ringing in his ears and wanted to reach out to touch her—something that gold ring around her finger prevented him from doing. Her marriage to that philandering excuse for a man infuriated him. The man had a treasure in his grasp and abused it.
If he ever gets the chance—stop! That will never happen in your lifetime, buddy.

He knew Carla would be ready soon to give Martin her ultimatum to drop his bimbo as part of her plan to save her marriage. The last time he’d seen her, she looked good—damned good. But, to be honest, he’d probably loved her from day one even before the weight loss. She radiated love and beauty from the inside out. He wanted to break his self-imposed exile, but knew it was best not to. The last thought Richard had before falling into a fitful sleep was that if Martin kept breaking Carla’s heart …he’d kill him.

* * *

When Carla opened her eyes it was morning. Martin was gone and a note telling her how much he loved her was left on his pillow. She groaned when she read it. It felt as if a ping-pong game was taking place in her head from all the champagne the night before. She forced herself out of bed and into the shower.

Feeling a little better, she emerged from the bathroom as the phone began to ring. It was Lynne checking up on her.

“Hello,” was all she managed to say without having any coffee in her system.

“You sound exhausted. Must have been some night,” Lynne said cheerfully.

“About last night…”

“Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound so good.”

Carla related what had happened.

“That’s great! Er…isn’t it?” Lynne said uncertainly, hearing Carla’s strange tone.

“Do you remember the day you told me that goals change?”

“Uh-huh. Oh, no.” Lynne sat up perfectly straight in her chair as if it would help her hear better.

“Oh, yes. I want to divorce Martin.”

“You’re joking, right? Or did you have too much champagne and are still hung over?”

“I’m sober and dead serious,” Carla replied. “Months ago, when you gave me your advice I wasn’t listening carefully and now I’m sorry for it.”

“Could your feelings for a certain other person have anything to do this with surprise decision?” Lynne finally asked, a huge smile appearing on her face.

“You were right. I’m in love with Richard.”

“Does he know?”

“You’re the only person I’ve told.”

“So you haven’t told Martin yet?”

“No,” Carla said quietly.

“He’s going to freak.”

“Especially after he confessed his skirt chasing to me last night and promised I’d get all his future business.”

“His ego won’t allow him to take this lightly, you know,” Lynne cautioned Carla.

“Don’t I know.”

“He won’t hurt you, will he?”

“I don’t think so.”

There was a pause, then Lynne said slowly, “You can always stay with us.”

“Us?”

“Haywood and me. Don’t you remember, we’re living together.”

“Yeah, right. That’s great.”

“Yeah, it is. But, right now it’s you I’m concerned about.”

“Don’t be. No matter what, I’ll land on my feet. I promise,” Carla replied with false bravado.

“What’s your next move?”

“Well, since I’ve got the crying part done, I can skip to the next step.”

“Which is?”

“Tell the guys,” Carla muttered.

“Good, luck, babe.”

“Yeah, that will certainly come in handy, though a small miracle might work a lot better.”

* * *

Martin had driven to work smiling. The distance that had existed between Carla and him had been spanned and he felt once more like a newlywed. He’d come clean and she accepted it. What a wonderful woman she really was and he was a very lucky man to have married her.

His smile widened and then faded, as a vision of Heather popped into his head and rained on his parade of happiness. He’d given a great deal of thought to why she’d thought Orson knew about them. Apprehension reared its ugly head as he wondered if she’d made it all up. Had she decided to get rid of Orson for his money? And was he included in her plans?

Until Martin discovered what was going on with Heather, he had to act as if nothing had changed—except his running the old showroom, of course. He definitely didn’t want to make her angry knowing she was capable of telling Orson that he was making advances to her. He’d get the boot in the blink of an eye. And that was the thing that scared him the most.

Keeping Heather happy wasn’t the worse thing he’d have to do. She was the best lover he’d ever had. Sex with her was always exciting. She was the one woman who knew how to blow his mind with her unpredictable moves. Funny though, he should have heard from her by now.

He entered the showroom and greeted the other salesmen as he passed their desks. The sight of all those shiny new Mercedes usually made him smile as he passed them, but not today. Heather was on his mind and he wondered why he hadn’t heard from her. Dropping into his leather chair, he reached for the phone. Her voice mail came on and he disconnected.

Chapter Thirty-One

Carla called Richard’s cell hoping she might catch him. A recorded message came on informing her that the number she was calling was not in working order. She didn’t dwell on the reason. Richard could have lost his phone or switched companies. Instead, she called his apartment.

The answering machine picked up again. She wondered where he might be since it was Saturday. Hey, he did have a life she reminded herself and left a message asking him to call her. She’d tell him of her impending divorce and her feelings for him when she saw him in person. Though she couldn’t wait to let him know all this earth-shattering news, it wasn’t something that should be left on an answering machine.

As for Martin, she’d tell him when he came home that evening. The sooner the better. She did not look forward to it.

* * *

Jessie made an appointment with Heather and then called Jake Saturday afternoon, at the no-tell motel he’d been hiding out at, to tell him she was heading over to Heather’s. Hemmings had made things easier for her by being away for the weekend. She hadn’t wanted him to know her business.

Just as Jessie was walking out the door, the phone rang. It was her aunt. Was she calling to tell Jessie she would give her the money?

“Hello, Aunt Louise.”

“I’m just calling to thank you again for helping Haywood. He’s seemed to have found himself a girlfriend because of it. He’s very happy.”

I’m glad,” she said. So are you going to lend me the money?

“Were you able to straighten out your
financial
crisis?”

No thanks to you
, Jessie thought, so she stretched the truth. “Heather Hemmings, my boss’s wife, has graciously offered to lend the money to me. In fact, I’m on my way there now.”

“Good. Hopefully that husband of yours has learned his lesson and repaired his ways. Take care, Jessie.”

It took Jessie a moment to realize her aunt had hung up.

As she drove Jake’s pickup truck to Heather’s, Jessie thought of several ways to ask for the money. Too desperate, she hadn’t wanted to consider what she would do if Heather turned her down. She had to get the money from her. There was absolutely no other person she could go to for help.

This was it.

There were no other options.

* * *

Heather opened the door to find Jessie Thompson standing there thin as a rail, looking like a former inmate in a concentration camp. Her face, drawn and sallow, held sad, lusterless eyes. A slight tic by her right eye and a trembling lower lip finished the picture. Heather had never seen her high school friend looking so awful. She put Lovey down and the dog sniffed at Jessie’s feet before going back to her master.

“Jessie! What’s wrong?”

“I need your help.” Jessie sounded as if she’d break out in tears at any given moment.

“Come inside. We can talk. Orson’s away.” Heather closed the door and followed Jessie inside. She took Jessie into the den. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Jessie shook her head no, but Heather walked over to the wet bar and poured two glasses of wine, anyway. Her friend looked like she needed something to help settle her nerves. She handed a glass to Jessie who clasped it between both her trembling hands before setting it down on the cocktail table.

“I really didn’t want to come to you—but I’m desperate and have nowhere else to turn. You’ve to help me!” Jessie grabbed at Heather’s arm before she sat down with such urgency she nearly knocked the wine off the table.

Heather knew she owed Jessie. If it wasn’t for her, she would have been snagged by that PI her husband had hired. “What’s wrong, Jessie?”

“Jake’s in serious trouble. He’s gotten in over his head with some bookie.”

“How much does he owe?”

Jessie gulped down some of the wine. “Fif…fifteen-thousand dollars.”

“Christ! I dunno…Hmm…maybe ten—”

“They’re gonna kill him if he doesn’t come up with all the money!”

Heather saw the naked desperation in Jessie’s eyes. She needed all of her money for her new life away from Orson, however, she couldn’t let Jessie down. An idea came to her. She unclasped her new diamond necklace and slipped it around Jessie’s neck. “Here, take this. It’s got to be worth at least five grand. I’ll go get my checkbook for the rest. It’s upstairs in my purse.”

Jessie grabbed Heather’s hands in hers. Breathing hard she cried, “I’ll pay you back every cent. Thank you!”

The doorbell rang as Heather climbed the stairs with Lovey in her wake. Thinking it was the delivery Orson had mentioned, she called, “Get that for me, Jessie, I’m expecting a delivery.”

“Sure.”

Jessie went to the front door and opened it. Her eyes widened as she stared into the business end of a sawed-off shotgun.

“Orson sends his love.”

Her brain hadn’t even the time to process what her eyes had seen or what she’d heard before her entire world was obliterated with the flick of a finger as the rest of her body sank to the marble floor.

“Who was at the door, Jessie and what the hell was that noise?” Heather asked as she rushed down the steps with Lovey in her wake. The words caught in her throat as she saw her friend’s body lying on the floor, in a gory pool of blood. Her head was almost totally destroyed above the gleaming necklace. The front door was still open but there was no one there.

“Oh, my God! Jessie!” Heather screamed staring at the splattered gore. That could have been her. In a flash of understanding Heather realized that it was
meant
to be her. “Screw the money!” She was taking the first flight out of there.
I can’t believe it! Poor, Jessie
. Heather scooped up the dog before it could run into the mess and put her in the garage.

She closed the front door and raced back upstairs. Tripping on the fourth step, she got up and continued to hustle the rest of the way. When she reached her bedroom, she forced herself to take deep calming breaths to rein in her emotions. Then she pulled out a large suitcase from a storage closet. She threw in the essentials. Before leaving the room, she made sure it looked neat. If she wanted to fool Orson, the last thing she needed was to have it look like she hastily packed clothes and bolted.

Back downstairs, she went back to the kitchen and washed the wine glasses. Placing her cell phone in a purse, she left it on the kitchen counter. Then she grabbed Jessie’s purse and car keys from the coffee table and left through the rear of the house. Driving Jake’s beat up pickup truck to the airport, Heather hoped she had erased all traces that Jessie had ever been there. She wanted that pig Orson to think she was dead. That way, he wouldn’t come after her.

* * *

When Carla left the last message on Richard’s answering machine, she’d hoped he’d call back soon. Now that she realized how much she cared for him, she had this burning desire to let him know—like yesterday. She could hardly focus her attention on anything else. Like a kid with Attention Deficit Disorder, she couldn’t sit still.

As she paced aimlessly in circles, wondering why she hadn’t heard from him, doubts chipped away at her resolve. Despite her new found self-assurance, she found some insecurities resurfacing. Quickly one awful thought after another filled her head.

Then her mind wrapped around the worst of the lot.

Richard had moved on and no longer cared for her. He’d even found a new love interest. That thought especially hurt! Perhaps she shouldn’t have called him and asked to meet. The more she dwelled on it, the more she regretted her actions and felt like a fool.

To end this matter before it drove her crazy, she decided to give Richard a day or so to respond to her. At that point, she’d call one more time before she forced herself to leave him be. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt—and herself some breathing room. He could be totally immersed in the case and not have the time to check his calls. She wanted so much to believe that one.

Why was life so crazy? Or was it merely her? Why didn’t she want Martin now that he wanted her? When he’d made love to her the night before, it was Richard’s face she envisioned at the moment of climax. How she’d wished it had been Richard’s hands that touched her, not Martin’s. Carla doubted she’d ever be able to make love with Martin again. She no longer loved him. She felt a new resolve surge through her. No matter what, whether Richard cared for her or not, she intended to ask Martin for a divorce. She and Blondie would be just fine.