The Artist's Paradise (22 page)

Chapter
37

As Jonathan entered the Baker home, Hanna escorted him into the cheery red and yellow kitchen—reflecting a décor of apple trees and sunshine. He mused as Hanna paced the small kitchen space wringing her hands. Should he be concerned or amused?

She
lifted her arm, palm up, and pointed to the table. “Coffee?”

“Sure, thanks. I take mine black.”

She scurried to the coffee maker next to the sink, filled an apple red mug with Hazelnut
flavored coffee, and returned to the table area. “Sit, here,” she said as she handed him the freshly brewed drink. “We need to talk.”

He
pulled out a kitchen chair and plopped down. He placed his elbows on the table and sipped the life-saving caffeine. His left hand clinched into a fist, “I haven’t been able to reach my wife for days. Do you know where she is?”

“Well, yes and no.
Last night I heard shouting and doors banging. Then an hour later, an ambulance arrived.”

Jonathan sat up, eyes wide open, and breathless. “Ambulance?”

“Wait. Let me tell you what I saw.”

Biting his lower lip, he sat back and pretended to relax. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“Naturally, I got out of bed to see what was going on. There sat a fire truck and an ambulance parked in the driveway next door. The attendants were in the small cottage in the back, not the main house.”

He stiffened. “Was Angie hurt? What
else did you see?”

“I couldn’t see much
, but they must have been tending to the professor. After about fifteen minutes at the back cottage, the ambulance drove off—hot—lights flashing and sirens screaming in the night. It looked like Angie was in the front seat. I left a note on Angie’s door asking her to call when she got home, but I didn’t hear from her.”

“No, she hasn’t been good about returning calls, lately.” He gulped his coffee. “And this morning?”

“Earlier today, I think it was around 7, I saw Angie leave her cottage and drive away in the professor’s car.” Hanna pointed out her kitchen window. “I shouted at Jack, but he basically ignored me. I feel as if something’s wrong.”

“What do you
mean, specifically?” Jonathan asked.

Hanna
leaned closer, as if sharing a national secret. “In the past five years, I’ve seen three young women come and go next door. After a few weeks, it starts—the yelling, screaming, and things being tossed that went bang in the night. Now it’s happening again, with Angie.” Hanna adjusted herself on the cushioned-bench and sighed.

Jonathan leaned forward. “
Did you call the police?”

“Like all the other times, I never saw anything to report.  Even the yelling stopped after a time.” She sighed. “Since she appeared fine this morning, I decided not to call for help.”

“You don’t really know if she was fine or not.”

“
Honestly, no. But my husband, Jack, is a retired police detective. Like he said, what could I say? Help. My neighbor just drove off. Come quick.” She shook her head. “All I could do was wait. At least, it appeared that Angie was alone and seemed okay. Jack thinks I’m a busybody. Maybe I am, but when I see what goes on over at the professor’s house, I can’t ignore it.”

Jonathan slammed
his cup of coffee down on the table. “What else have you seen since Angie arrived?”

“
One morning, when the professor was away, we had tea together. She asked a lot of questions about one of the previous female artists. And she told me the professor had lots of rules about how she must spend her time. And I see him going over to her cottage a lot.”

Was that why she never called home? His face
burned—
why would that professor need to be at the cottage a lot?
“We need to find out where she is.” He paced the kitchen, mug in hand, as Hanna droned on again about the three female artists she’d seen over the past five years. He found it telling that the last two young women left by midsummer. Only the first artist had stayed well into the fall. “He sounds dangerous.”

“Yes. I agree. I think we need a plan to find your wife.”

He glared at Hanna. She certainly wasn’t action oriented. All she seemed to do was watch and worry. “Did you call the hospital to find out if he was admitted?”

“No. With all the hospitals he could be in, I decided to wait until today to follow up on that. Besides, my husband would have killed me. He is pretty upset with my involvement in the professor’s life.”

Jonathan refilled his coffee cup and stepped back to the kitchen table. He stood silent, rubbing his chin. After a few seconds, he sat back down. “I agree with your assessment of the situation. If you saw Angie this morning driving the professor’s car, she’s probably safe, at least for now. But we have to act. This situation could change quickly. The professor must have been admitted to an area hospital.”

Hanna nodded. “What’s our plan?”

He checked his watch. It was already past noon. “We’ll get the phonebook out and call every hospital in the area. If that bastard is hospitalized, we need to know where. Angie will probably be there, too.”

For the next
half-hour, they sat in the kitchen on separate cell phones calling area hospitals. Finally, Hanna yelled, “Eureka. I’ve found him.”

“What hospital? Where is it? We need to get going
.” He jumped up and headed for the backdoor.

“Wait. He’s not there.”

“What?”

“
They released him this morning. My guess is that when Angie drove off earlier today, she went to check him out. She’ll most likely bring him home.”

He let out a long breath
Wait here?
He preferred taking action. His chest tightened as his stomach swirled. “You’re right. We’ll confront him here.”

Hanna smiled and patted his arm. “I suspect you’d like to hit first and ask questions later, but let’s think about the approach. If your wife is in danger, we need to know it and plan accordingly.

He leaned forward, hands on the table. “I can’t afford to take any chances with her life. I’m going to confront him and take Angie home.”

“Angie told me you were a pretty good attorney. If you want to win this case, the plan should be well thought out and executed safely. You aren’t a thug, are you?”

“I’ve tried the logical patient planning. Now I’m going to pound that jerk into the ground.” He slammed his open hand on the kitchen table and stormed out the backdoor.

#

A few minutes past one p.m., the BMW pulled into the driveway. The professor slammed on the breaks and announced, “Finally, we’re home. I’m starved. That gruel in the hospital was awful.”

“
I know you didn’t eat much. I don’t think anyone likes the food when they are in the hospital,” Angie said, almost in a whisper.

“You never should have called them. I am not sure I will forgive you for that. You had no right. Do you understand? Don’t let it happen again.”

Her trembling hands reached for the car door. She opened it and crawled out. Her mind replayed the past several weeks repeatedly like a bad summer TV rerun. She had to leave.

“I’m not hungry,” she said. “You get something to eat and then we can talk.”

He glared at her, his usually warm brown eyes, cold as ice. “Talk? Talk about what?”

Angie leaned on the car. “About you getting help, about me going home, about the last few days—all of it.” She slammed the door and stomped down the flagstone path to the cottage.

The professor jerked his driver side door open and leaped out. “You come back here.”

Damn
him. Her pace increased as she heard steps pounding on the flagstone path behind her. His breath heavy and labored, he grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her to face him.

“Don’t touch me.
” She pushed him back. “I’ve tried to help you, but you’re sick” She froze in place, hands on her hips. “I won’t stay here one more day. I’ll call the police if you don’t stop.”

The professor wrapped his arms around her to catch the swinging fists.

“Let go. You can’t stop me from leaving.”

“You are not leaving. You told me you’d stay. I won’t let you go.”

Angie glared into his eyes. “I don’t need your permission.”

Unfazed, h
e pulled her closer, leaned down, and pronounced every word in a staccato-like pace, “You are
not
going anywhere. You
belon
g with me.”

“No, she belongs with
me.”

Was it possible?
The professor released his grip, and she stumbled back, spinning toward the ground.

Jonathan swiftly grabbed her and helped her regain her balance. “I’m here, Babe. You don’t have to put up with this man.
Tell me you want to come home, and I’ll end this nightmare.”

“I’ve made such a mess of everything. Can I really come home?”

The professor, moving with the ease of a martial arts expert, landed a hard blow with his right foot directly into Jonathan’s ribcage. Jonathan recoiled and doubled over, grasping his chest. He yelped and fell to the ground.

“Jonathan,” Angie screamed. She dropped to her knees and cradled his head in her arms. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Jumping up, she pushed the professor away from where her husband lay. “You’re a monster. Get back from him. You’re not going to kick him again.”

“He’s fine. Just a few cracked ribs. He can’t protect you. Now, get into the cottage and unpack.”

The professor grabbed Angie by the shoulder and pushed her toward the cottage door.

She
spun away from his grasp and refused to budge. “I’m not staying. Get away from me.”

Jonathan pulled himself into a sitting position and called out to the professor, “You heard her. Get your clammy hands off
of my wife.”

The professor glared for only a second, and then he raised his hands in combat position. With his elbows bent, hands flat and raised, he kicked Jonathan again. This time the blow came directly to his head. Jonathan fell to the ground, out cold.

Angie threw herself on top of Jonathan as if she were a bulletproof vest. If anyone should die, it would be her. Jonathan loved her. He’d come for her. Oh my God, what had she done to her husband?

A shadow fell across Jonathan as he lay on the ground.
“Stop.” Jack Baker, Hanna’s husband marched toward the professor, gun beaded directly at his chest. “Put your hands in the air and step back.”

The professor turned
toward the voice and laughed. “Hey, Jack. Glad you are here. This guy tried to kidnap my summer student.”

Angie glared and shrieked, “The only one trying to kidnap me is
him
.” She pointed at the professor. “That’s my husband on the ground. The professor tried to kill him.”

“Keep your hands up, Turner. The real police will be here soon, and they will straighten this all out. In the meantime, we need an ambulance for this poor guy. Your legs and hands are lethal weapons. I think you may find yourself in trouble with the law this time.”

He gazed down at Jonathan and then said, “Hanna already called 911. The cops and ambulance will be here soon. I’ll keep things quiet until the police get here.”

Chapter
38

For the second time in as many days, Angie rushed into the ambulance front passenger seat, strapped on the seatbelt, and readied herself for a ride to the hospital. Hands trembling, she recognized the
familia
r ambulance driver. His eyes widened when she turned toward him. His face held an inquisitive look. “You sure have had a couple of rough days.”

“Will he be okay?”

“Now
little
lady, you know the drill.” He puffed out his chest. “We are the best. We’ll have him to emergency in fifteen minutes flat. When he arrives in my bus, he is first up with the trauma team. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Maybe all men are
egotistical jerks.

“How bad
is
he?”

“Not sure. He has several broken ribs and a nasty blow to the head. We’ve stabilized him
, but they will want to run some tests on the head injury.”

“That professor is a lethal weapon. My husband is really hurt.”

“Your husband, hum mm?” The driver winked, hit the siren, and off they whirled. “Sit back and relax. Let us handle the rest.”

She
slumped in the front seat, crossed her arms, and rested her head against the ambulance window. She’d only wanted painting lessons. Jonathan offered her lessons in Chicago. She should have taken him up on the offer. She had been so sure she had to leave home to restart her career.

Anyone looking from the outside would have said her life had been perfect. Jonathan easily generated the means for her to pursue a career in art or anything else she desired. He’d
never fought her idea to continue her focus on art. But perhaps she had given up on herself.

W
omen must suffer from midlife crisis the same as men. Was this experience in Knoxville her coming of age? Most of her life she allowed others to take care of her, make her decisions, and fill a huge void in her heart.

Her childhood memories seemed to reinforce her search for approval.
Only a few were special times with her mother. She recalled, one day when she was about four, sitting on the floor relishing the gentle touch of her mother brushing her hair. Yet, so many memories flooded her when she thought of her father. He called her his princess. When he came home from work, he’d spend the evenings with her. After dinner he’d gently pull her up on his lap, read her books, and tickle her with kisses. But that time of her life had ended. She was an adult. She had to stop searching for approval.

#

Angie stared down at Jonathan in his hospital bed. He tossed and turned in a fitful sleep. He appeared small and vulnerable. His broken ribs were wrapped to help stabilize them. The x-rays indicated internal bruising, but his lungs had not been punctured. He had a concussion that required a twenty-four hour stay in the hospital. The doctor assured her he would be back to normal in a few weeks, except for some dizziness and headaches that might last a few months.

She pulled up the visitor’s chair
, and clasped Jonathan’s hand. As the tears rolled down her cheeks, she prayed, “Dear God. I’ve made such a mess of my life. Please help him heal. Please save our marriage.”

Startled as Jonathan’s hand pulled away from her, she reached out to pat his shoulder and said, “Sweetheart, you’re going to be fine.”

“Angie?” He struggled to open his eyes. “Angie. You’re beautiful. Where am I?”

She leaned closer to the bed and stroked his thick hair away from his forehead. “
You’re in the hospital. You have three broken ribs and a concussion. The doctor has assured me you’ll heal quickly.”

“Broken ribs? Concussion? What happened?”

“You and the professor got into a fight.” She kissed his cheek. “He has a black belt, and you have a concussion and three broken ribs. I’m so sorry it came to this. I never meant for anyone to get hurt.”

He tried to lean up onto his left elbow, but the pain sent him flat onto his back. “
Oh yes, I remember. That bastard attacked me.”

She touched his hand and squeezed. She would no longer react when
Jonathan raised his voice. The professor, out of control and threatening, was the one man she feared.

He raised his voice again
. “I’ve been calling you for weeks. You never called back.”

He w
as right. What could she say?

“
Then I find out from your nosey neighbor that the bastard spends all of his time in the cottage where you live. Why haven’t you called me? Why does that guy think he owns you?”

Before she could respond, he blurted out.
“He said you belonged to him. What did he mean by that?  What’s going on, and you had better have a good explanation.”

Her face flushed. She pushed back the chair and stood
, as if a brace was holding her back firm and straight. “I’ve made mistakes, but I won’t be talked to like that. I’m not your child. I’m your wife—your equal.” She pushed her bangs back off her forehead and stomped toward the door.

Jonathan pulled himself up on his elbow and pleaded, “Wait
. Don’t go. I need to understand why you were gone, and what happened with that man? We can’t make it together if we don’t talk it out.”

Angie stopped at the door and turned. “
You’re right. I do owe you an explanation. But you owe me the courtesy of listening without judging or raising your voice. Deal?”

“Deal.”

She returned to the room and seated herself next to the bed. “What do you want to know?”

#

For the next hour, Angie attempted to describe her life since they had first started dating ten years earlier. When she graduated from college, she had her dreams. When they met, everything changed. Somewhere during their early years, she’d laid down her own plans to adopt his. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time. He’d convinced her that he had only a few short years to reach his career goals. Being eight years younger, her plans could wait. She had gotten behind his dreams, played the good wife, and thought that once he reached a position of equity partner, there would still be time for her to begin her own career and start a family. At forty, his career clock was growing short.

“Looking back on all those decision points, it’s clear to me that I chose the easier route. Standing in your shadow, helping when needed, had been relatively risk free.”

“Free from what?”

She leaned closer and put her two hands on each side of his face. “Free from my own failure.”

“I guess I can understand what you’re saying about our lives. How does the professor fit into all of this?”

“Oh, Jonathan, the professor’s a master of manipulation. He must have
sensed my vulnerability the first time we met. He flattered me. He promised to fulfill my dream of an art career. He convinced me that with his help, I could be great, truly great. I would have it all. He tossed in his hook with the perfect bait and reeled me in.”

Jonathan frowned
. With a halting voice, he asked, “Did you have an affair with him?”

“An affair
—no never—you must believe me.” She shuddered, shaking her head. “He courted me, yes. I received praise, wonderful trips, gifts, and masses of flowers.” She sighed. “If he hadn’t been insane, I admit, the way things were going between us, I thought him attractive. But I also faced his wrath, his disappointment, and his control.”

She turned her head and stared out the window. “He
had rules, so many rules. I never seemed to have the time or the energy to make personal calls. He made sure my time, my needs, and even my meals depended on him.”

Turning back to
face him, she admitted. “He isolated me from you and Vicki. I felt trapped and afraid. But I hungered for the dream he painted in my mind. Vicki warned me about Professor Turner. But my life had been lonely for so long, and I was immature and stupid.”

Tears moistened the corners of his eyes. His face grew pale. “I
think I can understand. I love you so much. You are so naive, sweet, and giving. I played a big part in this mess. Do you want to come home with me and begin again?”

Her naiveté
had been crushed. But that was for the better. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes. I not only want you. I need you. I’ve made mistakes in the past few years, too. While you were gone, I learned a lot about myself and what it takes to have a happy marriage. When
we get home, I’d like to introduce you to Doctor Stephanie King. She’s good at her job.”

“Who?”

“She’s my marriage coach. I think you’ll like her.”

“
You
have a marriage coach?” Angie dabbed at the moisture on her cheeks. Maybe they
could
make it. Thank you, God. She lowered her gaze and exhaled. “Jonathan, all those nights you stayed downtown… Was it really for work?”

His brows furrowed. “What did you think? Of
course, it was for work. I never …. I mean you are the only one for me. My hotel room was never for any other reason. Honest. I was working.”

“Sorry, I had to ask. If we
’re going to be together, there has to be total honesty.” He was hiding something from her. She saw it on his face. Her stomach whirled.

The corners of his eyes filled with moisture. His olive complexion radiated with a ruddy glow. “Babe, listen. When you were gone, not calling, not in communication, I did meet a woman at the Tavern on Rush. She fed my
ego, and I was tempted to…” He leaned forward and grimaced. “That first meeting, she handed me her business card. One evening, I was so lonely and imagining all kinds of things. No excuses, but I called her and asked her out to dinner.”

She raised her hand. “Don’t tell me the details. Were you unfaithful?”

“Honest, nothing happened. It was an uncomfortable, humiliating experience.” He held his breath, waiting.

Angie stepped back from his bedside and stared. “I believe you. Thanks for being open and honest.
Truth must be the foundation for our marriage. Thank you for loving me enough to tell me. I know you well enough to know it must have been embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?
Yes. But I was relieved to get out of a bad situation with only one lesson learned—being marriage to you is all I want.” 

She bent down and wept, as
he showered soft wet kisses all over her face.

After she composed herself,
Jonathan asked, “What do we need to do about that damn professor?”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s been taken to the police station. The officer has set up an informal inquiry today.”

“Why are they calling it an informal inquiry? We don’t do that in Chicago.”

Angie smiled. “No
. We’re not in Kansas either. But I’m told this is how it’s done here.”

“So what happens in this inquiry?”

“The Bakers and I will meet with the professor to get this confusion resolved. Of course, the professor is accusing you of being the aggressor.”

He
gritted his teeth and slammed his hand on the bedrail. “Me, the aggressor? That lying
jerk
.”

She tenderly kissed his cheek and smiled again. “
I’m a big girl now. You let me handle this. I got us into it. Let me get us out of it. All you have to do is get better.”

He raised his head from the pillow and tried to get up again. He winced and then aborted the effort. “I guess I have no choice. Right now, I can’t even get up.”

“When I get back, we’ll start planning our future.”

“Has the doctor said when I could travel?”

“Nothing is definite. But he’ll be back later this afternoon. We can ask him. My guess is he’ll discharge you tomorrow.”

He gazed into her eyes
. “I need to tell you something else. You and I are really going to start over. I’ve resigned from the firm.”

She gasped. “Resigned? Why?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. You take care of the professor. See to it he stays in jail, or I’ll be a hunted man for murder.”

“I don’t want to settle for weekly visits at the prison. You stay here and behave yourself.”
She leaned over the hospital bed and gently touched his lips with hers. “I have to go. The officer asked me to be at the station by two o’clock for the inquiry. I’ll be back as soon as possible. In the meantime, you stay out of trouble.”

“Yes,
‘mam.” Then he filled his lungs with a deep breath, yelped with pain, and gritted his teeth. Once the pain passed, his eyelids drooped, and his snoring returned.

Angie gently kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Sleep well, my tiger. We have a lot to do in the next few weeks.”