Broken Vows Mystery 03-In Sickness and in Death

In Sickness and in Death: A Broken Vows Mystery
© 2011 by Lisa Bork.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

As the purchaser of this ebook, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. The text may not be otherwise reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or recorded on any other storage device in any form or by any means.

Any unauthorized usage of the text without express written permission of the publisher is a violation of the author’s copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First e-book edition © 2011

E-book ISBN: 9780738729442

Book design and format by Donna Burch

Cover design by Kevin R. Brown

Cover images: Cooler illustration © Michele Amatrula,
Diamond ring © iStockphoto.com/George Peters

Editing by Connie Hill

Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

Midnight Ink does not participate in, endorse, or have any authority or responsibility concerning private business arrangements between our authors and the public.

Any Internet references contained in this work are current at publication time, but the publisher cannot guarantee that a specific reference will continue or be maintained. Please refer to the publisher’s website for links to current author websites.

Midnight Ink

Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

2143 Wooddale Drive

Woodbury, MN 55125

www.midnightink.com

Manufactured in the United States of America

For Adam and Chelsea

I heard the baby
crying, soft whimpers punctuated by fearful wails. My feet slipped off the bed and hit the floor, carrying me across familiar ground even while my eyes remained closed, exhaustion hanging on my body like a shroud. I pushed open the door and crossed to the side of her crib. My arms reached out for her. They met empty air. I searched the mattress, my hands skittering from the center to each vacant corner. The sheets were cold. A cloud of dust tickled my nose. I sneezed. My eyes flew open.

The room stood bare, as it had for almost four months, waiting for the child who would never return. She lived with her birthmother now, only a bittersweet memory for us.

I heard Ray in the doorway behind me. “Are you all right?”

“I heard Noelle crying. She was afraid.”

Ray’s warm hands cupped my shoulders. He leaned close. “She’s happy and healthy. You’ve got to let her go.”

I stiffened. “I did.”

Ray released me. “Not really. You’ve had the dream twice this month already.”

I tried to ease the tension with a joke. “I’m making progress. That’s half as many times as last month.”

The rocking chair creaked as my husband lowered his six-foot-three, 220-pound frame into it. I turned toward him in time to see his hand rub his temple. “Darlin’, Noelle didn’t die. We took a chance on the adoption, and we lost out. We were lucky to have her as long as we did. But we have to move on.”

I slid down to the floor, too tired to support my weight. “I moved on.”

Ray buried his forehead in his hands, his dark hair falling forward and hiding his face. “Not true. When was the last time you went into the shop? Cory doesn’t even call here anymore to ask your opinion or your permission. He’s running the whole show alone.”

I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hardwood floor. “Maybe I should offer to sell out to him. Hawking used sports cars doesn’t help the world. I should find something to do that helps people.”

“First you have to help yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ray raised his head from his hands, his expression etched with concern and something I couldn’t quite name. “You don’t shower. You don’t get dressed. You don’t clean or grocery shop. We don’t have sex. You don’t even know your sister is making a fool of herself all over town. All you do is watch television or stare out the window. It’s not normal and it’s not healthy, Jolene.”

When Ray used my given name, for the most part he was pissed or feeling the urge. I bet on pissed this time.

I fingered my over-sized sleep shirt. It smelled of body odor, and the yellow stain on the area covering my belly button showed up even in the moonlit room. My scalp itched. My toenails were like daggers. I didn’t care. My baby was gone.

“Here’s the deal, Jolene. Tomorrow morning you are going to get out of bed, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and go to work, where you will remain at least half the day. Then you’re going to go to the grocery store. I made the list up already. And when I get home, you’re going to have dinner on the table. If you don’t, I’m calling Dr. Albert and asking him about treatment programs.”

“Ray!” Okay, so I’d been a little down lately. He was overreacting, wasn’t he? But the creases edging the corners of his brown eyes had deepened over the last few months, giving him the perpetual worried look of a bulldog. Was that my fault?

“I’m serious, Jolene. This shit has got to stop.” The rocking chair banged into the wall as he left the room.

Seconds later, our bedroom door slammed.

I stretched out, the floor cool against my flushed cheek.

Resentment simmered inside me. I didn’t like being told what to do. Normally I would go out of my way to do the exact opposite, but Ray meant business this time. Worse, he was right.

He wouldn’t be enrolling me in any mental health programs. No way. I’d spent too much time in the mental health community while my sister Erica received treatment for her bipolar disorder, suicidal tendencies, and a myriad of other things, including shooting a man four months ago. Not to mention I’d spent three days in the psychiatric wing at the age of twelve after finding my mother’s dead body in the family garage. I feared a return engagement. They might never let me out again.

Ray’s comment about Erica bothered me. She hadn’t been around much lately, but I hadn’t given it much thought. Then again, I hadn’t given anything much thought for the last few months. I assumed she was working and dating one of the many men who crossed her path at the restaurant bar where she waitresses. She’d held the job for over six months now, a lifetime achievement for her. It seemed like when she got her act together, my world had fallen apart.

What was I missing, hiding out here at home? Had she lost her job and failed to inform me? Was she having public sex, the final frontier for her? Would the word
robbery
soon be mentioned in the same breath as her name, as it had been more than once in the past? Or some worse crime?

I stretched out farther on my stomach, trying to work the kinks out of my spine. It had compressed with all the months of sitting around doing nothing but staring out the window. I might not even be five-four anymore.

Something brushed my cheek. I swatted it away. As my fingers tangled in it, I realized it was a dust bunny. I’d let more than myself go over the last few months. Our bungalow needed a thorough cleaning. So did Ray’s pipes.

I reached for the baby quilt draped on the side of the crib. I could handle Ray’s ultimatum. It was time to resurface. I wouldn’t even bother to point out to him that tomorrow was Monday and my sports car boutique would be closed. But first I needed a few more hours of sleep.

____

Ray banged the cabinet doors in the kitchen. When I rose onto my knees, my whole body ached. The floor hadn’t made for warm, restful sleep.

I snuck past Ray and hit the bathroom. Ten minutes later I’d nicked my legs five times while shaving and washed my hair twice. I was pleasantly surprised to find the brown locks had only a few new strands of gray to betray my thirty-eight years. I could use a haircut though. It took me twice as long to blow dry the wavy hair that fell to my shoulder blades. Then I tackled my overabundance of eyebrow and toenail.

Getting dressed proved more difficult. I hadn’t eaten much in the last four months, and my size eight clothes hung on me. I found a long black skirt with an elastic waist, slit the waistband, hacked off several inches of elastic, and safety-pinned the edges together. When I teamed the skirt with a white sweater and my favorite black dress boots, I didn’t look too bad. A touch of blush made me look less wan. Mascara made my eyes pop.

I approached the kitchen with trepidation, hoping Ray wouldn’t pick up yelling at me where he’d left off last night.

Instead, one of Ray’s famous Belgian waffles awaited me, drenched in syrup and whipped cream. He used to make them every Sunday, but I couldn’t remember the last time he had. For an all masculine male, he could be very Betty Crocker.

He looked up from the paper, his gaze raking me from head to toe. “You look gorgeous.”

I felt immediately forgiven as I slid onto the stool next to him at the breakfast bar. “Like Valerie Bertinelli?” Ray had a thing for her all through high school, with her pictures adorning his locker. My resemblance to her had attracted him.