Fatal Burn (West Coast 2) - Page 76

“Then I’ll see you there.”

With that he took off in a roar from his piece-of-shit car’s powerful engine. A BMW! When they were up to their eyeballs in debt! Her fault again, he’d said. Because she didn’t work outside the home and so they had no money.

But didn’t taking care of the kids—his kids!—count for something?

“Dick-head,” she muttered, pulling a bottle of Chardonnay from the refrigerator and yanking out the cork. She filled a tall, stemmed glass with the lovely amber fluid, and didn’t dwell on the fact that it had been years since Robert and she had shared a bottle of wine.

Toting the glass and bottle into the master bath, she placed them both on the rim of the jetted tub, then peeled off her clothes. First her tight pants, then her blouse that had showed off what she’d hoped was just enough cleavage to get Robert interested. She figured she’d fight fire with fire to get him back and to that end she’d purchased a low-cut black push-up bra and a god-awful matching thong. Now, staring at her reflection in the mirror, she decided she didn’t look too bad for a woman who had borne two nearly ten-pound babies. She worked out and tried to keep her body toned, but all she ever heard from Robert were complaints about the cost of the athletic club and personal trainer who had helped her form her exercise routine.

There had to be a way to win him back, she determined. She just had to think of it. In the past, sex had worked, but this time…Oh, hell, this time he acted as if he was in love. Love! With a twice-divorced lawyer who had no kids. It was all so wrong.

Angry all over again, she wiggled out of her bra and what no one in her right mind would think of as “panties,” and filled the tub with hot water. Turning on the jets of the whirlpool, she decided to take advantage of the fact that the kids were out of the house. She sipped her wine and she doused the water with scented oil and bubble bath, then wrapped a short robe around herself and walked into RJ’s room, pulling open his dresser drawer to reach the stash of candy bars tucked inside. She would have preferred imported truffles, but the Snickers and Butterfinger would have to suffice. Peeling off the candy bars’ wrappers, she bit into the Snickers and let out a soft “Ooh,” for the indulgence she rarely allowed herself.

In just the robe, she walked into her bedroom and found a favorite Dixie Chicks CD. Slipping it into the disc player, she cranked up the volume, then returned to the bathroom where mountains of suds were building into frothy white mounds. Quickly, she finished her first glass of wine, well, third, if you counted the two she’d had before calling Liam and accosting Robert. She poured herself another, nibbled at the chocolate, then hung her robe on a hook near the tub.

Before sinking into the bath, she lit the candles that decorated the sill of the frosted-glass window as well as the tile ledge surrounding the Jacuzzi. Slapping at the wall switch cut off the glaring overhead lights. The candles flickered softly.

The bath looked delicious.

She slipped into the hot water, feeling its silk surround her, seeping into her tired bones. She grabbed some suds and blew them off her palm, smiling a little. Even though it was eighty degrees outside, she loved the heated liquid around her, easing her out of her stress.

She sipped her wine more slowly now.

A dozen little tea candles reflected in the mirror and window over the tub. Despite all her troubles, she felt a bit of hope.

She’d get Robert back.

She always did.

This was just a slightly harder challenge than the last time.

Sadly, she considered the undeniable fact that Robert would never quit cheating. If not on her, then on the next woman in his life.

Shifting in the water, she felt the sweet buzz of the wine in her bloodstream. She’d heard the warnings often enough about not mixing booze with antidepressants. But she’d been taking them since Robert’s last affair and she’d never stopped drinking. And so far no problem.

Come on, what could a glass or two of wine hurt?

She sculpted the soap bubbles over her breasts, singing along to the ballad about heartache and sorrow. Soon, she knew, there would be the song about killing off an abusive husband.

Just like Shannon had.

Mary Beth, like everyone else in her family, was convinced Shannon had set up her cousin Ryan. There had been the restraining order and then, when Ryan broke it, pictures of Shannon bearing bruises he’d sworn could not have been made by him.

Well, Ryan had been a piece of work, too.

If Mary Beth had been married to him, yeah, maybe she would have found a way to get rid of him, too. He was an A1 bastard, even if he had been her first cousin.

“Bad blood,” her mother had always said when referring to Ryan. But then, who knew how good or bad his blood was? He’d been adopted before Mary Beth had been born.

And, at one time, Shannon had been her best friend. That’s why testifying against her during the trial had been so damned difficult. What would she have done if someone continually beat the crap out of her? Just take it? No way! And how about the fact that in one of the worst incidents, Shannon had miscarried?

Mary Beth frowned. She didn’t want to think about Shannon and her problems. Let her deal with them. Mary Beth had her own. Tipping back her glass, she thought she heard a neighbor’s dog bark. She twirled the stem in her fingers and sang along as the next song started to play. Midway through the ballad, she sensed something, a breath of the hot summer breeze, slip through the room, shimmering the tower of bubbles over her breasts. She felt a second’s panic before remembering that she’d opened the windows to help cool the house.

She was probably imagining the air disturbance. Or, more likely, she was reacting because of the wine. Chardonnay had a way of going straight to her head. That’s why she loved it so much. Lately she’d really craved the soothing magic that it brought to her, the way it calmed her nerves after her arguments and fights with her stupid husband. Sighing, she finished the second glass of wine and leaned back against the rim of the tub, closing her eyes, letting the hot water ease some of her tension.

She’d get Robert back.

It was only a matter of time.

Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery
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