When Love Goes Bad Read online

  I stood up and looked out at the blue and green sea. I stepped out onto the deck to smell the air. I breathed it in deeply, and then, despite the fact that I knew I should be showering as Brady requested, I decided to walk just a little on the beach.

  I was at the end of the path when a woman’s voice called out to me. She was waving her hands in the air as if she knew me. She came running up to me dressed in an orange terrycloth robe and squealing, “Hey, girl, where have you been?” When she got close to me she stopped suddenly and asked, “Jane, is that you?”

  I froze on the path, not knowing whether to run back inside or face the woman who had obviously mistaken me for Brady’s first wife. I didn’t reply to her question. She came closer and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought you were Jane Parker. You look exactly like her.”

  I gave her a polite smile. “No, I’m not Jane,” I said. “My name is Rachel, but I am going to marry Brady.”

  I held out my hand to her but she stood still. Finally, she gasped. “But what about Jane? Did he find her? Are they divorced now?”

  “Divorced?” I asked. I assumed by that time that the woman didn’t know Brady and Jane as well as I had at first thought. “Jane died. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Died?” she screamed. “No way. I saw her driving by just the other day. When did she die?”

  I was getting exasperated and very uncomfortable trying to explain things to this overwrought woman. Brady would be coming back and I wouldn’t be waiting for him as we had planned.

  “You couldn’t have seen Jane,” I said a bit sarcastically. “Jane has been dead for at least a year.”

  “No way,” the woman said. “That isn’t true.” She paused and put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun. “What has he been telling you? He is so crazy when it comes to Jane. I’ve seen her several times since Brady closed the house after they separated.”

  I guess I looked stunned and sick because the lady started to apologize. “Oh gosh, you thought she was really dead. That imbecile told you that she died? He’s lying to you and he is crazy when it comes to Jane. You better ask him to tell you the truth. Oh, I hope I haven’t said too much. I don’t want any trouble from him.” With those words, she ran away across the sand without looking back.

  When Brady came home, I was waiting for him in the tiny living room at the front of the house. He stopped with a slight jerk of surprise when he saw me. He set the groceries down carefully and said, “This isn’t what I asked you to do.” He did not look disappointed as he said those words to me—he looked angry and cold.

  “Jane isn’t dead, is she, Brady?” I asked in a voice that sounded much calmer than I really felt.

  He stared at me as if I had thrown a lamp at him. “What are you talking about?” he said, but he looked away and started walking to the kitchen. He spilled a box of rice onto the floor and started swearing viscously, a long string of horrible words that I had never heard him utter.

  I followed him into the kitchen but he kept his back to me, standing straight and staring out to sea.

  “I want you to tell me what’s going on, Brady. I was just told by someone who knows Jane that she is still alive and that she even drives by the house on occasion.

  Brady twirled around, his face red and his eyes wild. “Who said that?” he demanded. “Who has seen her and when?”

  My heart felt as if it were shattering inside me. I had hoped so much that the woman on the beach was mistaken about Jane, but now I knew for certain that Jane was still alive. I sat down on a barstool and put my face in my hands.

  “What game have you been playing with me?” I said between sobs.

  “Playing?” he sputtered at me. “It’s you who has been playing games, not I.”

  “What are you talking about?” I nearly screamed.

  “I suspected that Jane had sent you to that hospital when I first saw you. It must have taken her a lot of time to find someone so physically like her.” He walked over and pulled me off the barstool. He started to shake me violently, so hard in fact that it felt like my teeth and jaw were rattling around inside my skull.

  “Stop it,” I cried, trying to break free. “You’re hurting me.”

  “I intend to hurt you,” he bellowed. “I knew that if I brought you here it would only be a matter of time until I found out what game you were playing with Jane—what new gambit she had for torturing me. Well, you’re not leaving here, my dear, until she comes to get you.”

  He twisted my arm and bent his head close to mine. “I have a nice room all ready for you, and when Jane comes calling, she can join you.”

  I was overwhelmed with fear and the instinct for survival. I knew now that Brady was completely mad and that my life was in danger. I reached up to scratch his face but he ducked, and instead I grabbed a handful of his hair. I looked in horror as his hair pulled away from his scalp and I was left holding a toupee. Instead of that silver mane I loved, Brady’s head was now a shining, gleaming naked globe.

  “You are insane and you are a phony,” I shrieked at him, half-laughing and half-crying. His face turned blue with rage and humiliation as he tore the toupee from my hands. I saw my chance to run as he tried to put his false hair back on. I dashed out the front door, grabbing my handbag off the small table where I had left it. I was very grateful for the time I had spent running in the park because I ran as fast as I was able, out and away from him.

  I could hear him shouting something from behind me, and then I heard the sound of a car starting up. “Oh, please,” I sobbed as I raced down the quiet street. “Somebody help me.”

  It was at that moment that a little black car pulled up and a woman shouted to me, “Get in.”

  I hesitated for only a moment as I peered inside and saw a woman who could have been my twin sister. I knew it had to be Jane.

  Brady followed us closely until we turned into the police station. He sped away then, looking back at us with a menacing glare. The two of us sat in the car for a moment without speaking, and then Jane began to talk.

  It was very awkward talking with her at first. Neither of us knew what to say. Then, Jane made a little joke about finding her very own stunt double. That eased the tension just enough to get us taking, first in spurts, then in flows of words. Our conversation was all about Brady and what he had done to us.

  “He left town and it’s just been impossible to get him to settle on terms for the divorce,” Jane said in a tired voice. “He won’t let me go.” She turned to look at me. “You know he’s insane, don’t you?” she asked in a matter of fact tone. “I mean he really is psychotic.”

  “I know it now for sure,” I said through a fresh batch of tears. “I suspected something was wrong, but I just didn’t want to believe it.”

  Jane reached over and patted my arm. “You got away from him just in time. It’s me he’s after.”

  “I should have known better,” I whimpered. “I was a perfect target for him because I allowed myself to be vulnerable. He just swept me off my feet.”

  Jane nodded her head in understanding. “I know what you mean. He can be so charming, but he really is very dangerous.” She gave a little laugh. “I have been driving past the house for a few weeks, trying to get the nerve to go back inside and get some of my things. But even though it was dark and there were no signs of life, I was always afraid Brady might be lurking inside. Now, it’s time for me to insist on some legal protection.”

  Jane offered to drive me back home, but I insisted on taking a bus. The ride gave me time to decide what I had to do.

  I never went back to work at the hospital. Instead, I got a job in a pediatric clinic across town. After a while, when I could bear to talk about it all, I called Julia and told her the whole humiliating story. Like the good friend she is, she mourned with me and then coaxed me into laughter.

  I don’t know what happened to Brady because no one I knew ever saw him again. I never heard from Jane again either. Sometimes, I think about her wi
th gratitude for showing up when she did on that awful day. I hope, for her sake, that she managed to get as far away from Brady as she could.

  One day, several months later, I was running in the park when I saw a little boy that I recognized. It was Zig. I stopped, panting with breathlessness, and smiled at him. He was standing next to a tall thin man with the kindest face I had ever seen.

  “Zig, is that you?” I asked. “Do you remember me?”

  His face bloomed into a smile. “Sure I do,” he said. “Do you remember me?”

  I laughed and touched his cheeks. “I told you I would never forget you and I haven’t.”

  “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend, Zig?” the man said.

  “This is the nurse I told you I wanted to be my mom.” He looked at me with a sly smile. “This is my dad. You can marry him if you want to and I won’t mind.”

  I could see Zig’s father was embarrassed, but there was a look of interest in his eyes too. I found his look of interest encouraging, because I liked the look of him myself.

  “Well, how about for today we just all get some ice cream?” I suggested.

  “Okay,” Zig said, sounding content with my offer. So, I took his soft little hand in my own and I joined them. THE END

  This member of the jury finds you. . .

  GUILTY AS CHARGED

  I faint at the sight of blood, so I never wanted to serve on a murder trial. Still, here I was, right in the front row of the juror’s box, avoiding the accusing stares of the defendant’s family. How did I get here?

  “I know this sounds nuts, but can I take some time off?” I’d asked Sherrie, my boss at Bebe’s Delicatessen. I’d only been on the job for about two months, but Sherrie was totally cool about it. She was making hummus, and her spoon never missed a beat when I flashed the jury summons in front of her.

  “Yeah, I did that once.” Sherrie wiped a drop of hummus from her cheek. She pursed her lips and studied the butcher chopping block. “Let me think. I had to go down to the courthouse about four times, I guess.” She scooped the hummus into a white bowl with a pretty blue shell pattern around the edge. “I’d sit there for about two hours with fifty other people. Then they’d tell us that we could go home. It was a piece of cake.” She winked at me.

  “You don’t mind then? I’ll come in at night and help you get ready for the next day.”

  “It’s a deal. We’ll manage.”

  When I got to the courthouse that first Monday, a long line of people stretched from the metal detector through the huge brass doors, right out into the street. It was kind of like an airport. After wandering through the long halls, I finally found the room, which was a major crowd scene that Monday. People sat all over the place, reading the morning paper or paging through dogeared magazines.

  Well, I wasn’t sent home that day. Not by a long shot.

  A drop-dead gorgeous guy wearing a khaki suit and a blue shirt that matched his eyes came in with a piece of paper. Why had I worn jeans that day? I ran one hand through my blonde curls, which sprang into crazy corkscrews to my shoulders.

  He was the bailiff, but I didn’t know that yet. Michael Hunter was about to turn my whole world upside down, but I didn’t know that yet either. Those were my innocent days, which were about to disappear like snow on a summer day.

  Snapping the paper in his hand, he began to rattle off twenty-two names.

  “Brooke Walker?”

  I held up my hand, feeling like I was back in first grade. “Here.” His blue eyes met mine, and it was like a laser burned through me.

  Before I knew it, I was sitting in the jury box and a prosecutor was firing questions at us. You could tell this guy thought he was hot stuff—he had that cocky strut and walked like the jocks in high school.

  “So you work at a delicatessen, Ms. Walker?” He’d grilled everyone else and now it was my turn. “You must be a great cook.”

  “Well, actually, I—”

  “Where’d you go to school?”

  “Um, McAllister High.” Then I ducked my head. Everyone else seemed to have terrific jobs or three degrees, and I was feeling out of my league. Twisting my purse in my hands, I slid down in the chair.

  “This is a murder case,” the prosecutor barked. His steely eyes scanned the twelve of us. “Nothing pretty here.” His partner in the chair next to him scowled, his eyes moving over us as if we were the ones on trial.

  The defendant, the guy they thought might have committed the murder, sat slouched in a chair next to his attorney. We were all about as jumpy as the hot oil Sherrie splashed on her grille to see if it was ready. How I wished I were back behind the shining white counter of the deli asking customers how much ginger salmon they wanted.

  “Anybody here going to be bothered by seeing bloody pictures?” The prosecutor’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  My stomach did a slow turn and I swiveled my head to the right, looking for some hands in the air. Bloody pictures? I shivered, too scared to raise my hand.

  Just then, the bailiff caught my eye. Michael Hunter was sitting back in a leather chair, looking pretty comfortable at a high wooden desk behind the prosecutor. Those blue eyes snagged mine like a fish net scooping up baby goldfish. With a slow nod he seemed to be telling me, “it’ll be all right, Brooke Walker.”

  I slowly exhaled and threw Michael a grateful smile. My shoulders dropped from where they’d been pinned up next to my ears.

  Later when we were trooping out for a lunch break, Michael caught up with me. His eyes straight ahead, he matched his long stride to mine. “So, I bet you’re a great cook, Brooke.”

  I tilted my head up. “Not really. I kind of—”

  Then he winked at me and was gone before I could confess I was just in training.

  I was in training for a lot of stuff. The delicatessen was my first real job. As for dating? Well, I had about zero experience with guys. Most of my dates in high school had been with Noah Benton, my next-door neighbor, until my folks had been killed in a car crash. After that, the house on Frazier Street was sold and I moved in with my older sister Erin, her husband John, and their little girl Nikki. When I wanted to go out on my own after graduation, they helped me out every month until I could get on my feet.

  “A murder trial,” I told Sherrie later, but I wasn’t thinking about the courtroom. Instead, I was thinking about a pair of blue eyes with long curly lashes that any girl would kill for. I could still see the way Michael moved down the marble hall ahead of us, the sun shining on his blonde hair from the high, narrow windows. I started wondering if I should get a new outfit to wear to court the next day—I was not showing up in jeans again.

  “Earth to Brooke,” Sherrie said, laughing. “Are you okay?”

  I cleared my throat. “Uh, yeah. The trial is about some drug deal and one guy got shot.” The judge had warned us not to talk about the case.

  Sherrie was making her yummy key lime pie and I pulled a chilled bowl from the refrigerator to whip the cream.

  “It sounds serious.” She poured the tart filling into the graham cracker shell.

  I sighed. “It is.”

  There was a possibility that the trial could take weeks. Maybe it would turn out to be a big deal like the O.J. Simpson trial and we’d be sequestered in a hotel. Did the bailiff stay with the jury if they were sequestered? The thought of being holed up with Michael Hunter made me feel as jiggly as that key lime filling.

  I turned on the mixer, but the beaters were still in my other hand. I’d forgotten to put them in and Sherrie totally cracked up.

  Juries get pretty close. It’s a bonding experience, and we all ate lunch together. Usually, we’d hit the Rib Shack, Roli Poli John’s, or Stella’s, which had pretty good chicken salad.

  Marissa was about my age, and we ended up sitting next to each other at Stella’s on the second day. Marissa had a little girl named Madison who had the biggest brown eyes—she showed me a picture that first day.

  “Whoee,” she said, wiggl
ing her eyebrows as she tucked the photos back into her purse. “And how about that bailiff? Pretty hot man of the law, huh?”

  “Is he?” I played with the lettuce.

  Marissa burst out laughing. “Yeah, right. Like you haven’t noticed that the dude has been making eyes at you.”

  “You’re imagining things, Marissa.”

  But I was the one who was imagining things and they had nothing to do with the trial. They had to do with blue eyes, a mischievous grin, and a tan that I figured didn’t end at his collar.

  Every morning, we gathered in the jury room that led to the courtroom. We sat in leather chairs around an oval table. Michael would breeze in with his coffee and morning paper, and the good-natured kidding would start. I figured he was trying to break the tension, especially as the days went by and the testimony started. The prosecutor was right; this was not a pretty trial. It had to do with a cocaine shipment, a drug deal about to go down, and one guy who ended up dead. Just following the testimony tired me out, so we needed a few laughs.

  “Hey, you know there’s a law about girls wearing pink mini skirts,” Michael whispered on the second day while we were lining up to go into the courtroom.

  “There is?” I pulled at my skirt with nervous hands.

  Michael chuckled. “Just kidding, Brooke. With legs like yours, it should be against the law to cover them up.”

  My head started to spin, and I had to take a deep breath. Maybe it was that musky cologne he wore. Looking back at Marissa, I caught her satisfied smirk.

  When everyone else was in the courtroom, Michael would open the door and announce, “All rise.” There was something very sexy about the way he said that.

  I kept my eye on the chairs in the jury box when we walked into that courtroom. I didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to look at the prosecutor, and didn’t want to look at the guy this whole thing was about. His mother sat in the courtroom every day, her face folded into worried creases. The mother and father of the boy who’d been killed sat quietly in the back, just listening with the saddest faces in the world. They’d lost their son, and it made me feel bad just to look at them.