Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery) Read Free Page B

Rose Marie was
    probably twirling in her grave in the black wrinkle-free pantsuit she'd kept hanging in the closet under plastic with a sticky note
    on it that read, "Bury me in this."
    The sprawling white-brick colonial had been built before garages were in vogue, but Rose Marie had conceded and built
    a carport several years ago. Natalie pulled forward and edged the Cherokee beneath the ivy-covered, corrugated tin roof, loath
    to go in after the thug Butler's eerily accurate description of their home.
    But the need to speak to Raymond overrode her fear, so she hurried through the side door and into the kitchen. She kicked
    off her soaked Hush Puppies and traipsed through the downstairs rooms, turning on every light in her wake, half expecting to
    confront a smirking Brian Butler behind every lamp. She backtracked to the kitchen and plugged in the coffeemaker and the
    little black-and-white television on which Rose Marie had kept up with her favorite soap operas while she puttered around the
    gas stove. The noise of canned sitcom laughter comforted Natalie, as did the cheery yellow walls.
    Knowing she needed to eat, she withdrew enough vegetables from the side-by-side refrigerator to build a passable salad.
    She halfheartedly tore at the lettuce, then tired and sank onto a sunflower-upholstered stool in front of the bar between the
    kitchen and the eating area. Fighting a headache, she pulled the phone close, called Raymond's number again and decided the
    weather must be affecting his cell phone's reception. Next she called the after-hours banking line and listened as an electronic
    voice divulged the balance of their savings and checking accounts.
    "Your... balance... is... twenty... two... dollars... and... seventy... two... cents."
    "Your... balance... is... fifty... eight... dollars... and... ninety... nine... cents."
    "Your... balance... is... one... hundred... sixteen... dollars... and... zero... cents."
    "Impossible," she breathed. She didn't know how seriously Raymond might have compromised their finances, but if she
    lost Rose Marie's house... Natalie reached over and extracted a meat cleaver from the butcher block, then whacked a cucumber
    in half.
    With a burst of energy, she charged into the library, swept aside a stack of new country music CDs—another recent
    deviation for Raymond—and flipped on the computer. After a few key taps, she launched the personal finance program, only to
    be encountered by a flashing box requesting a password. She tried every magic word she could think of—his name, her name,
    their last name, their address, their anniversary, and even a few offensive words for Raymond that she typed in just for spite.
    She was holding the keyboard overhead, contemplating where to aim it, when the land line phone rang.
    She didn't recognize the number, but Raymond sometimes called from customers' offices. She yanked up the receiver,
    prepared to let him know he was not welcome to come home. "Hello!"
    "Natalie Carmichael?"
    Deflated, she slumped. "I don't accept calls from telemarketers—"
    "This is Kentucky State Trooper Nolen. Raymond Carmichael has been involved in an automobile accident."
    She inhaled sharply. "I-Is he...?"
    "He's fine ma'am, but his car was totaled and he has a broken arm, so he'll be needing a ride home. He's at Dade General
    in Paducah."
    Weak with relief, then bolstered by renewed anger, Natalie gritted her teeth. "Thank you for calling, officer, but you might
    want to swing by the hospital later, because I'm going to kill him when I get there!"

    * * *
By the time Natalie reached Dade General, she'd had two hours to work herself into a lather. Two hours to remember all
    the wonderful little items Raymond had treated himself to lately—a gold watch, Italian shoes, expensive ties. He'd always been
    a bit materialistic, but conversely, he'd always worked hard. Now it seemed he was working hard to keep his gambling secret
    from her.
    She had trusted him. He knew how important