Marriage Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story (A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery) (20 page)

Yet. And I hoped they never would.

“But I
had
to tell them he was at the Grey Gull Inn, Nancy. You see that, right? I’m so sorry. For everything.”

There was complete silence from Nancy after I (finally) finished my story. I mean, no reaction at all. Time ticked by. The rest of us just sat there, waiting for her to say something.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The silence was unnerving.

Finally, Nancy started to laugh. Well, not laugh, exactly. More like, cackle.

“You know, if I’d planned a punishment for Bob to pay him back for what he’s done to me, I don’t think I could have come up with anything this creative. Or harsh. He’s really suffering. I love it!”

Mary Alice spoke up first. (Believe it or not, I was too shocked to speak.) “Nancy, how can you say that? He’s still your husband, for heaven’s sake. No matter what he’s done. And you don’t mean you wished Tiffani dead!”

“Wanna bet?” Nancy asked. “The first few nights after Bob dumped me for Tiffani, I really did want her dead. Him, too, for that matter. Oh, don’t look so shocked and judgmental. If it happened to you, I bet you’d feel the same way.”

I doubted it, but said a silent prayer that I wouldn’t be put to that particular test.

“You’d better not let the police hear you say that,” Claire said. “You could be arrested, too.”

“Don’t be silly, Claire,” Nancy said. “I wasn’t serious. I was just angry at Bob. In fact, I still am.”

Her eyes narrowed, and we could all see how angry she was. And she wouldn’t let her anger go any time soon, if I knew Nancy. And, believe me, I knew her. Very well.

“Anyway,” she went on, “I’ve decided to let Bob sit in jail for tonight,” Nancy said. “Maybe, for tomorrow night, too. Let him stew for a while. I’m going to keep my date with Linus tonight.

“And when I’m good and ready, I’ll help Bob prove his innocence. With a little help from my friends.”

She looked at me. “Especially you, Carol. You’ve already solved two cases that stumped the local police. I know you can figure out this one, too.”

“But, Nancy, this is different,” I protested. “I’m actually a witness in this case. And this didn’t take place here in Fairport, where I have Mark to help me.” (Or the other way around.)

“This one is on Nantucket, where I have no pull with the police at all.”

Nancy waved her hand dismissively at my protests. “I know you’ll figure out a way to prove Bob is innocent, Carol. Who better than you? You were on the scene when it happened, and you know Bob. I’m sure it’ll be a piece of cake for you.

“Now,” Nancy said, “will someone please get me a cup of coffee? And let’s talk about something else. Like my date tonight.”

Chapter 25

You won’t know how I feel until you’ve walked a mile in my saddle shoes.

By silent agreement – the kind of instantaneous telepathy that only passes among the closest of friends – Mary Alice, Claire and I opted to go along with Nancy’s abrupt change of subject. After all, it was her husband in jail, not ours.

If you don’t have the gift of close girlfriends, you may not understand this. And if you don’t have the gift of close girlfriends, you’re also missing out on one of the best things life has to offer.

Mary Alice took over the conversation, following Nancy’s lead.

“Are you sure this Linus guy is on the level?” she asked, pouring us all another cup of coffee from the large thermos Claire had brought from The Paperback Cafe. I took another gulp of caffeine and reminded myself I was way over my limit of two cups a day. On the other hand, I was way over my limit for a whole bunch of other things, too. Like finding a dead body or two. So what did additional caffeine matter in the overall scheme of things?

“Remember what happened to me over the weekend, Nancy,” Mary

Alice cautioned. “I know I told you about it.” “You didn’t tell me,” said Claire.

“Nor me,” I added.

“Well,” Mary Alice said, looking ill at ease, “I didn’t mention it to either of you, because I didn’t think you could relate to what happened to me. After all, it’s been a long time since you two have dated anybody.”

“True,” said Claire, laughing. “Larry doesn’t like me to date anymore.” “But we still want to hear your story, Mary Alice,” I said, happy to get off the subject of a possible murder and onto the equally unfamiliar topic of dating after the age of fifty. I’m always eager to learn something new.

“You know that Nancy and I have both registered with Dream Dates, right?” Mary Alice asked Claire and me.

“Of course we know,” I said. Sheesh. Sometimes Mary Alice takes longer to get to the point than I do. And that’s saying a lot.

“So what happened? Did you go on a date?”

“I signed up for Dream Dates because I liked their slogan, ‘Dating

With Dignity After Fifty,’ ” Mary Alice continued.

“You signed up because I talked you into doing it,” Nancy countered. “It wasn’t easy to convince her, either,” she told Claire and me. “But it hasn’t been all bad, right Mary Alice?” Nancy asked. “Admit it. We’ve had some fun over the past few days.”

Mary Alice laughed. “Let’s just say that I’ve met a few people I wouldn’t have known under any other circumstances. Fun, well, I’m not sure I’d call my experience with Internet dating ‘fun.’ It’s been… interesting. But, so far, the man of my dreams hasn’t shown up. Maybe he took a wrong turn on the Internet superhighway.”

I couldn’t resist. “He probably got lost, and didn’t ask for directions.” Prompting guffaws from my friends, all of whom had been in that situation too many times.

“Isn’t it funny that, at our age, we’re still talking about boys?” Claire asked. “Only now, we call them ‘men.’ ”

“So, since Claire and I are living vicariously through your new adventure,” I said to Nancy and Mary Alice, “you have to share your dating stories. And don’t leave out any of the juicy details.”

“That’s right,” said Claire. “Do we have to beg you? Or are you afraid us old married women will be jealous?”

“Hah,” said Nancy. “We’ve met some clunkers, that’s for sure. A few have even made Bob look good to me.”

Her face clouded over briefly, and I was afraid we were going to return to the Nantucket debacle, but Mary Alice jumped right in and saved the day.

“Ok, here’s my example of a so-called hot date. I went to meet a man I thought was fifty-five years old for coffee at The Paperback Cafe on Saturday afternoon. It seemed like a safe place to meet. We were warned on Dream Dates to be sure and choose a public place for the initial meeting.

“My dream date turned out to be seventy-five years old, not fifty-five. The profile picture he’d posted on the website was more than twenty years old. I couldn’t believe anyone would be that sneaky.”

I bit the inside of my lip to keep myself from laughing, because I knew how sensitive Mary Alice was and I didn’t want to offend her.

“I found out it’s very easy to put up an old photo and fake a profile on the Internet. Nobody bothers to check the posts to be sure they’re truthful,” continued Mary Alice, who I don’t think has ever told a lie in her whole life.

“But, knowing you, even though you were disappointed, you were so gracious that the man never caught on, right?” said Claire.

“I did my best to carry on an upbeat conversation. We talked for about twenty minutes, mostly about all his health problems. I felt like I was being interviewed to be his private duty nurse! Not exactly the date I’d spent most of the day getting ready for.

“Come to think of it, that’s probably why he wanted to meet me. I’d included the fact that I’m a private duty nurse in my profile posting. I just realized that now, talking to all of you about it.

“Anyway, I finally asked the waitress for the check. It was worth it to me to pay for our coffee just to get away from him. But, get this. When he found out I was paying, he had the nerve to add a take-out sandwich to the check. He said the sandwich would be his supper, because he had no one to cook for him. I paid for that, too! What a cheapskate. And he didn’t even thank me!”

“Well, talking about dating is certainly more fun than talking about

Bob,” Nancy said.

“But you’re right, Mary Alice. It’s very easy to post fake profiles and old photos on dating sites. Not that I would ever do such an underhanded thing.”

“How about letting Claire and me look at your profiles on Dream Dates?” I asked. “You have to join in order to get access to the site, right?” “That’s a great idea,” said Claire. “It’ll be fun. Mary Alice, where’s your laptop?”

“Right here,” she said, plunking it down in front of us and firing it up. “Let’s go to my profile first, ok? It probably could use some editing. Carol, that’s where you can help me, with all your writing experience.”

A few clicks, and we were all transported to the magical world of Internet dating. I hated to be a wet blanket, but I was nervous when I saw that Dream Dates asked for personal information, like date of birth, social security number, and a credit card. And of course, being me, I started to say something.

But Claire, wife of the lawyer, beat me to the punch. “I hope you two didn’t share that kind of personal information,” she said. “With identity theft becoming a national epidemic, that’s asking for trouble.”

“We had to give a credit card number,” Nancy said, “or we couldn’t register. And we gave our birth month and date, but left the year blank.” “And neither of us filled in our social security numbers,” Mary Alice said. “We’re not that stupid. Dream Dates took our registrations anyway.” I noticed there was a disclaimer that said all registration was private and would not be shared. Cynic that I am, I wondered how true that really was.

“Here’s my profile,” said Mary Alice, after signing in with her membership user name and password. I couldn’t help but notice this time (remember, I’d seen this once before), that her user name was Nice Nurse. I didn’t want to criticize one of my dearest friends, but what kind of dates was she hoping to attract with that? No wonder that old guy was hot for her.

Of course, what do I know? I’ve never posted a profile on one of these sites. Nice Nurse could have a whole lot of other connotations to certain people, if you get my meaning.

“Do you think I need to change anything?” Mary Alice asked me after Claire and I had a chance to scan her profile. “Do I sound boring?” “Not at all,” I said. (Refer to a previous sentence – what do I know about any of this?) “Your profile makes you seem like a loving, caring person, which is exactly what you are. And your picture is beautiful. In fact, I think I took it at your retirement shower last year, right?”

Mary Alice beamed. “You did take the picture. It’s one of my favorites. I’m glad you think what I wrote is ok. That makes me feel good.”

“Now, Nancy,” Claire said. “What about your profile? Can we check out that, too?”

To my surprise, Nancy blushed. Then backpedaled. “You don’t want to see mine,” she said. “Mary Alice’s is much better.”

“Oh, come on, Nancy,” Mary Alice said. “I shared mine. It’s your turn now.” And, ignoring Nancy’s protests, she entered another user name and password.

And there was Nancy, on screen and looking incredible. In a photo that I knew for a fact was taken twenty years ago at a dance at the Westfair Country Club. How was I so sure? Nancy had borrowed one of my New York-style cocktail dresses to wear to that party. Black, of course.

I wondered what happened to that dress. Did she give it back to me? Did I donate it to Sally’s Closet, our local thrift shop? I remembered how much I liked it, because it made me look thinner. (Note to self: Check out garment bags in attic to see if black dress is there.)

“Well, what do you think of my profile picture?” Nancy asked us. “Now that you’re into my Dream Dates page, some feedback would be appreciated. After all, you know me so well.”

“I don’t know how to say this,” I began. “I’m sure you’re going to be insulted. But I know that picture is an old one, Nancy. You’re wearing a dress you borrowed from me for a dance at the club. Why didn’t you put up a recent photo?”

Nancy colored, a sure sign that she was about to veer from the truth. “The photo isn’t that old, Carol. You’re definitely mistaken. It was taken three years ago at one of Bob’s office parties.