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“Yeah, I know he’s your husband,” Stella whines. “I’m just wondering why I’ve never heard of the man before your weird voicemail this morning. Thanks for calling me at the buttcrack of dawn by the way.”
“It was almost 7 when I called you,” I protest.
“That’s what I said,” she retorts. There’s the sound of a wrapper being undone in the background then she continues talking. “Anyway,” she says around a mouthful of food, “none of that’s important right now because you are missing everything! We just got raided by a trio of hot detectives,” she exclaims. “And do you know why?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. “Because someone murdered Ian!” Stella breaks off expectantly and suddenly I can relate to horrible Connie Wharfman a bit more, as I experience my own moment of heavy panic about whether or not I’m supposed to know this. Thankfully the panic is short-lived, as I realize that of course I should know this.
“I know,” I say to Stella. “Didn’t you hear where they found him?”
“Nooo,” she’s back to stretching out the words. “They wouldn’t really tell us any details. Why? Wait, do you know?”
“Oh yeah, I know,” I tell her with a heavy sigh. Jack’s hand slides into place around my waist, supporting me without words. Too bad I can’t just hang up on Stella and sink into him, letting him chase my problems away.
“Tell me, tell me!” Stella cries. She sounds excited about the prospect of insider information rather than upset about the untimely death of our boss. That tracks though, considering how much Stella always disliked the man.
“You have to promise me not to freak out,” I say carefully.
“Me? Freak out? Please.”
She’s totally going to freak out. But it would be weird not to tell her considering she’s going to find out at some point.
“He was found on my front lawn,” I say without further fanfare.
“What?!” Stella’s answering shriek reverberates through my phone speaker. She swears loudly, but then her voice goes hushed. “You didn’t kill him, did you? Because you know you could tell me. I wouldn’t tell a soul. In fact I’d thank you–then ask what I can do to help with the coverup.”
The irony of her words is not lost on me, and hysterical laughter starts to bubble up inside me. I choke on it, sputtering incoherent things into the phone as I try to regain my composure.
“I was only joking!” Stella says over my sputtering. “Calm down, girl. Breathe!”
Jack’s hand squeezes my waist and my laughter dies as all of my senses tunnel in on that one spot on my body. I think I’m having a conversation, but I don’t care because now his thumb is tracing the curve of my hip. For the second time today, I’m pretty sure he’s intending for his touch to be a comforting thing. Not like he’s trying to light my skin on fire.
The man is so infuriatingly stupid.
How can he be so unaware of his effect on me?
Quickly, I yank myself out of his grasp, needing space from him. I take a deep, steadying breath. Confusion is dulling my ability to function. I can’t make sense of how I feel about the man I just pulled away from. Obviously, I’m physically attracted to him…that has not changed in three years. But it’s not being physically attracted to him that I’m afraid of. No, what I’m afraid of is being attracted to the very core of who Jack is. I’m terrified of the emotional connection I feel to him…of his magnetic personality…of the hold he seems to have on my heart.
I think part of my heart may have stayed with him all these years– and that it will stay with him again when this is over.
If it’s ever over.
What does it say about my emotional state that I’m saddened at the thought of this murder investigation being over because it might mean the end of our marriage?
“Nora, did I lose you?” Stella blares into the phone. “You still there?”
“I’m here,” I say over the noise of my heartbeat in my ears. I have got to get a grip. This marriage was never meant to be forever. Just until there was no danger of Jack needing to testify against me. And that is exactly how I want things to be.
I am not Mrs. Jack Reynolds. I am Nora Evans, temporary wife of Jack Reynolds.
Look at me, following in my mother’s illustrious footsteps.
There’s some sarcasm to brighten my day.
“Phew. Okay, spill the tea,” Stella says. “Why was Ian’s body on your front lawn?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. Sure I have my suspicions, but until I know who moved the body from Jack’s garage to my lawn, I’m as confused as anyone about the presence of Ian’s body on my lawn.
“You don’t know? How can you not know?” She sucks in a breath. “Wait, you two weren’t, you know…” she trails off.
“Oh my gosh, Stella. No! I wasn’t even home when they found him. I was at Jack’s house.”
