Deconstructed(36)

Cricket trained her blue eyes on me. “You’re good at this.”

“Not really. But I ain’t bad at it, either.”





CHAPTER TEN


CRICKET

After seeing my private investigator take a bribe from my husband, I couldn’t seem to calm down. I tried to do some centering thing that a yoga instructor had once shown me, but that was like throwing a teaspoon of water on a grass fire. So instead of trying to channel the flames, I called Patrick Vitt. He didn’t answer, of course. So I left a message telling him that I had seen him accepting the bribe and that if he didn’t want me to report him for unethical behavior, he would send me my dang payment back and keep his mouth shut. And I also called him a disgraceful human who deserved to be roasted on a spit. Then I felt a little bad, so I added that I would pray for him.

But I would not.

After I pressed the END button, I felt better. But that didn’t change the fact that time was ticking. I needed to protect myself, my daughter, and my future, so I had to get proof of Scott’s adultery before he could better position himself. And Scott would probably do that. He could fight tooth and nail to take everything down to the dust gathered in the corners of the house if I didn’t safeguard myself.

I climbed in my van, still struggling to figure out how I had been so betrayed and if perhaps I was getting accustomed to men betraying me. Which was a very cynical position to take, but that’s where I was.

Ruby was right—I needed to let Scott make the first move and play it cool when he arrived home. If he arrived home. Maybe the whole jig was up and he would just say Screw it and stay with Stephanie. But I suspected he wouldn’t. Scott played his part in life well—an upstanding businessman who loved his community and church. A man like him wouldn’t willingly admit to any wrongdoing . . . even if he knew people suspected he was having an affair.

So I went home and tried to be the woman I had always been. I was standing in the kitchen chopping lettuce for a salad when Scott came in the back door. I gripped the knife tight and said a little prayer that I could hold it together. After all, Scott didn’t know that I knew that he’d paid my guy off. And I wasn’t sure that Patrick had admitted to my hiring him, though I couldn’t see Scott not asking. So I knew my husband probably knew that I had hired an investigator. Which meant there was a lot of knowing and very little owning up going around.

Glancing up as the door opened, I said, “I ran a little late today, so you guys will have to settle for a salad tonight.”

Scott set his briefcase on the mudroom bench as Julia Kate came in, earbuds in place, head bopping in time with whatever music likely abused her eardrums. “Oh, sure. I’ve been cutting down anyway.”

“You have seemed interested in dropping weight lately,” I said casually, trying not to interject any meaning into my words.

“Exactly,” he said, assessing me with a look that could have been anything.

I held his gaze.

A few seconds ticked by before he smiled. “How was your day? Things good at the store?”

Pippa arrived on the scene, dancing merrily around Scott and Julia Kate, the official “welcome home” whirligigging that always brought a smile. Julia Kate dropped to a knee and gave the little dog the attention she demanded.

Just another day in the Crosby household, looking the part of the all-American family.

“Yep. We got a new shipment in. étienne stuck some fun detective books in with the shipment. Took me back to when I was a girl, and I thought JK might like a few.” I glanced at my daughter.

Julia Kate pulled the earbuds from her ears. “Huh?”

I gave her the look my mother had given me my entire life. That hook of eyebrow that had always made me squirm. Of course, Julia Kate never squirmed.

“Oh. Sorry. I meant, ma’am?” Julia Kate dumped her book bag and tennis racket on the bench and headed to the pantry.

“Books,” I said, nodding toward the stack I had brought home. “I found some fun vintage detective books today in a shipment. I thought you might like them.”

Julia Kate emerged from the pantry with a bag of pretzels, chomping away. She narrowed her eyes at the stack. “Those are, like, old.”

“Yeah, but old doesn’t mean they aren’t good. I loved these sorts of books when I was your age. And why are you eating? I’m making us a grilled chicken salad.” I thumped the knife against the cutting board for emphasis.

“Yuck. I’ll have some macaroni and cheese instead.” She went on chomping on the pretzels.

This was a conversation we’d had many times in our lives—the daily minutiae, the give-and-take, the crumbs on the freshly swept floor. Same routine, different day. But today it bothered me. Not merely the fact that Scott had committed the ultimate betrayal of our little family. But that my daughter had come in, dumped her crap, rejected my healthy dinner, and now expected me to make her something different and unhealthy for her dinner. “Fine by me, but you’ll have to fix it yourself. Boxes are in the pantry.”

Julia Kate gave me a look. “But you always make it for me. You make it the best.”

“You can eat salad or make your own dinner. Your choice,” I said, cutting through a juicy tomato that Jade had brought me. Her grandmother grew hothouse tomatoes and knew how much I loved them homegrown. The scent of summer wafted up, like a little promise that things would get better.