My Husband Is Dead Or Is He? novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Welcome Home

Marlo hides him from Bernadette and smuggles him to the lake house, where he stops under her welcome banner.

He moved faster than I thought he could.

He pushed off the chair, caught the lamp cord in his good hand and yanked it from the wall.

The room went black.

"Bathroom," I whispered. "Window. Go."

I heard the bathroom door click shut as the knock came again.

I waited a beat, then opened the door of room nine.

Bernadette stood on the walkway in her camel coat with her handbag held in both hands.

Dale Wiedenbeck was a step behind her, with the leather folder under his arm.

"There you are," Bernadette said, and her whole face softened. "Oh, sweetheart. You're white as a sheet."

"How did you find me?"

"Your phone is still on my family plan, honey. I've never gotten around to taking you off." She touched my sleeve. "I saw it sitting at a motel by the ore docks and I thought, she's not safe. Can we come in?"

I didn't want to let her in.

But the lamp was off and my voice was shaking, and I didn't have a reason to say no that I could say out loud.

I stepped back.

She walked into the dark and found the switch on the wall.

The overhead light came on, flat and yellow.

The chair by the window was empty, and the bed was made.

There was a paper cup on the nightstand, and I knew it wasn't mine.

Bernadette's eyes went to it and back to me.

"I was going to meet a man," I said. "He said he was Hamish."

"Oh, Marlo."

"He didn't show."

"Of course he didn't." She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the blanket beside her. "Honey, listen to me. I've buried a husband and I'm going to bury a son. People smell grief. They send a text and a voice and they wait for you to open the door."

"They wait for what?"

"For your signature," Dale said quietly. "Your shares are worth a great deal."

"Is that all it's about?" I said.

"It's about you getting hurt," Bernadette said. "If any man ever tells you he's Hamish, he is a con man. I'm not saying it to be hard. I'm saying it because I love you."

From the bathroom came a small scrape, a boot against the sink.

My stomach dropped.

Dale turned his head.

"What was that?"

"I was sick," I said. "Earlier. The window sticks."

"I'll just check," Dale said, and started across the carpet.

I stepped in front of him.

"Don't."

"Mrs. Lindmark, please."

"Hey!" Someone pounded on the open door. "Marlo! Twenty minutes was twenty minutes ago!"

Skye came through the doorway with her nursing bag on one shoulder and her red curls coming out of their clip.

"Is that a stethoscope?" Dale said.

"It's a blood pressure cuff, and I'll use it," Skye said. "She has been through a trauma, Dale. Are you medically licensed? Because if she faints in front of you, I need a name for the report."

"We were only worried," Bernadette said.

"Then you can be worried in the parking lot." Skye took my arm. "We're leaving."

Bernadette stood.

She looked at me for a long moment, and then she pressed a kiss to my cheek.

Her lipstick smelled like roses.

"Whatever you need, honey," she said. "I'll keep him safe for you. Hamish, I mean. I'll take him back to my house until you're ready."

"The box stays at mine," I said.

"Of course," she said. "Of course it does."

She took Dale and went out.

Skye shut the door and put her back against it.

"If that is not a human snake," she whispered, "I have never met one."

"She's grieving."

"She stuck a tracker on your life."

"Skye."

The bathroom door opened.

He came out with dust on his sleeve and his cap pushed low.

He had gone out the window and come back in the same way, and he was breathing hard.

Skye took one look at him and reached into her bag for the cuff.

"Hi," she said, very pleasantly. "Who's this?"

"Hamish," I said.

"No, I know the name he's using."

"He's my husband, Skye."

"Then he can come sit in my car," said Skye, "and I can look at him with the dome light on."

We went out the back, and he lay down on the floor behind the front seats with Skye's winter coat over him.

I sat in the passenger seat.

Nobody said a word until we turned onto Ironwood Road.

The lake house was dark except for the porch bulb.

Skye killed the engine and sat very still.

"I'm coming in with you," she said. "I'm bringing my phone and a flashlight, in case this goes badly."

"It won't."

"You don't know that, honey."

I unlocked the front door myself.

He came in behind me, slowly, with the cap in his bandaged hand.

I turned on the kitchen light.

The banner hung over the table where Skye and I had stuck it that morning, in gold paper letters with one crooked O.

WELCOME HOME.

He stopped under it.

The lasagna was still on the counter, cold, with the foil crimped over the corner.

The beer was still in the fridge.

He looked up at the letters for a long time.

"Welcome home," he said aloud.

Then he put his good hand over his eyes, and his shoulders started to shake.

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