Fatal Impulse: A Widow's Web Novel (10 page)

Ms. Stevens nodded her approval. "I'm a fan, also." She bent to help restack the books.

Andi said, "You know, there are a lot of writers from Maine. Have you ever thought about having writers come to the Harbor Fest?"

"Of course. You know, Bangor attracts a lot of readers as tourists, but that has slowed down a bit since Stephen King moved to Florida."

"Well, there's Lea. Paul Doiron. I bet they'd help us get in touch with other Maine writers."

"Interesting idea." The woman straightened in her chair, then picked up an elegant burgundy fountain pen and began to tap it on her desk. "Perhaps Portia Woodson would be willing to help. She's become a bit of a patron of the arts."

"Is she part of the famous Woodson family? From up by Bangor, right?"

“Yes, she’s August Woodson’s granddaughter. So sad. Her parents were killed in a horrible automobile accident a few years ago, and her father was the only son of August Woodson. That girl and her sister will inherit a fortune when he passes away.”

“That’s so sad,” Andi murmured. Chad would have been set for life if he had survived. Once he divorced her, of course.

“Yes, it is. And it sounds like Auggie Woodson isn’t doing well. The poor girl and her sister will have a lot of their shoulders when the old man passes away.”

She shook her head slowly, then slipped her glasses back on and studied the application centered on the desk in front of her. After a moment, she peered at Andi over the rims and said, “Aren’t you the woman whose husband just died?”

"That's right." Andi squared the stack of books and slipped back into her seat.

The woman pursed her red lips. “You sure you’re ready to start a new job?”

Andi nodded.

Mildred raised her thin eyebrows and lowered her chin even more, “It’s been quite a while since you’ve held down a job, Mrs. Adams.”

“Yes, ma’am. I assure you, I'm motivated. I need a job. Frankly, I need the money.”

The older woman snorted and frowned, “Well, this isn’t a charity. And this isn’t a counseling service for new widows. You work for me, you work. Understand?”

Andi suppressed a smile and nodded. “If you take a chance with me, you won’t regret it. I’m a hard worker.”

"You'll have to be. Tourist season is upon us." Ms. Stevens pulled a paper from one of the folders on her desk and slid it across to Andi, “Fill this out, then I'll give you a set of keys. Report to work Saturday morning at 9 o’clock sharp. Any questions?”

Andi neatly filled out the W-9, then handed it to Ms. Stevens, who gave her a quick rundown of what to wear and what exactly the job would entail. The urge to sing the Mary Tyler Moore theme was overwhelming as she left the building, and headed home, proud of herself for getting a job. The very first job she applied for. It took her the rest of the week to decide what to wear on her first day of work.

The job itself wasn’t much of a challenge, but it gave her a regular schedule. She had a purpose, someplace to go, a reason to get dressed in the morning. Her new “office” had a storefront that looked like a little white cottage. Various potted plants and two Adirondack chairs filled the front porch. Inside, there was a display counter showing artifacts that had been found in the area, a few examples of rough gemstones for the rockhounders, and a display on lobstering. Pictures of happy people fishing, sailing and otherwise enjoying the water hung around the perimeter of the room. The tourists who came in were nice for the most part, though sometimes tired and cranky.

In her free time, Andi read the brochures and discovered that there were a lot of attractions in the state that she didn’t know about. Her mother always said that about Missouri, too – lots of great things to do and see within driving distance, but everyone thinks they’ve got to leave the state when they go on vacation.

Andi collected brochures and studied the maps, making plans to explore the area on her days off. One of the proudest days of her life was the following Friday, when she arrived at the little office and discovered an envelope in the drawer with her name on it. She slipped her thumb under the flap and tore it open to find her very first paycheck. Sure, she’d had part-time jobs when she was in high school and college, and worked as a waitress during college. But she’d never had a real job before, nothing full time. Once Chad entered her life, there was never another thought of a career.

It had been a whirlwind romance, and he was offered a thriving dental practice in Buccaneer Bay before he even graduated, thanks to his family's connections. Her mother had been heartbroken when Andi dropped out of college to get married. He insisted that there was no need for her to finish school, since her job would be to take care of him. At first, she'd been happy to go along with him.

But now she
was
making it on her own, delighted to discover it was a good feeling. She photocopied the check before depositing it, framed the copy and hung it in the den.

Shortly after she got the job, she was running errands in town when she spotted the colorful window display at Bunch o' Blooms. Instantly, she remembered the second, smaller funeral spray. The older woman behind the counter had slightly gnarled fingers and sharp blue eyes.

Andi explained, "My husband, Chad Adams, died in May, and you prepared the floral arrangements for his funeral."

"Ayuh." The woman stared at Andi through narrowed eyes.

"There was a smaller arrangement that was so thoughtful. I'm working on thank yous, and want to make sure I send a note to the person who sent it, but the card got separated from the arrangement." Andi stopped when she realized the words were tumbling out too quickly.

"You're not from 'round these parts." It was a statement, not a question.

Andi shook her head. It wasn't the first time she felt like an outsider. Locals tended to think you were a stranger if you weren't a third generation Mainer. Andi's shoulders dropped and she turned to leave.

"Most young folks don't get the importance of hand writing thank you notes anymore."  The woman looked skeptical, but pulled a stack of order slips from beneath the counter and flipped through them.

Andi froze.

Finally, the woman said, “Ah, here it is. Ordered by someone at Woodson Enterprises. Home office in Bangor is the billing address. No name.”

Andi nodded, thanked her for her time, and wondered how her husband had ever gotten involved with an heiress. Detective Johnson seemed to know more about Chad than Andi did, but it wasn’t as though she could ask him about it over coffee.

As each day passed, she began to worry less about her dead husband, and began to think that she might truly survive by herself. The burden of being a widow, of being alone in the world became a little easier to bear as time went by, even on a shoestring budget. At least her water and electric hadn't been shut off. Detective Johnson hadn’t made an encore appearance, the sun shone brightly, and bright dandelions dotted the yard. Andi's tennis shoes crunched in the gravel as she walked down the curved driveway to the mailbox. The mailman returned her wave as he continued along his route.

              She pulled the various envelopes and catalogs out of the box and flipped through them as she walked back towards the house. Her feet stopped moving of their own accord when she saw a plain brown envelope. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and her stomach did a little back flip. She slipped her thumb in and tore the envelope open, then pulled a single sheet of paper out.

"I know what you did, and you have something I want. I will be in touch."

Ever since she'd woken up in bed after the accident, there had been the nagging fear that the police would come and take her away to live out her days in a small concrete cell, and now this. The weight of the world crushed her like a bug.

Now it wasn't just the police she had to worry about. She looked up and down the quiet residential street. Someone was out there, watching her.

Was that person following her?

She jogged up the driveway, heart and mind racing.

T
wenty minutes later, she stood in line at Harbor Regional Bank, the check from the attorney and a completed deposit slip gripped in her hand, the paper crinkled and moist from her sweat. When her turn came, she slid the crumpled check and deposit slip across to the teller, a well-endowed young woman who looked like she was trying too hard to be attractive. The blonde peered at Andi, then at the deposit slip, then examined the check carefully. When she looked down, her fake eyelashes lit on her cheeks like butterflies.

              The lashes fluttered up and she pursed her lips. “It’ll be just a moment, Mrs. Adams.”

She stepped around the counter, hurried across the lobby and whispered to a man in a glass-enclosed office. The two peered out at Andi, then bent close and whispered some more. The woman pointed at the check, then hooked her thumb towards the lobby. Panic began to build. Andi glanced at the door, and debated for a moment on running. Her eyes slid back to the suited man. He nodded, then he and the teller came out and approached Andi. She swallowed hard, hoping that the others in line couldn’t hear her heart thudding in her chest.

“Mrs. Adams, could I see you a moment?” The man said as he motioned for her to follow him to his office.

As she strode across the lobby, she felt the eyes of everyone in the bank on her back. She held her head high and walked with all the confidence she could muster. He sat behind his desk and she took a seat in a poorly cushioned blue chair that was surely uncomfortable on purpose.

Her voice cracked when she asked, “Is there a problem?”

“Oh, heavens, no! I simply wanted to suggest some options for you.” He pulled some brightly colored brochures from a stand on his desk and spread them out like a deck of cards.

It took every ounce of self-control to keep from letting her breath out in a whoosh. He started by saying that he didn’t intend to pry, and then did just that because he assumed the check drawn on the attorney's trust account was an inheritance. After a brief explanation on Andi's part, he proceeded to tell her about the various investments available, and explained that an interest bearing account would be to her benefit. He jotted a few figures down for her, and it dawned on her that she knew nothing about money, how to invest it or spend it wisely. Her head swam with figures and decisions.

Chad had taken care of the finances. He gave her an allowance, enough for groceries and household supplies. She'd muddled through things since the accident and succeeded in keeping a roof over her head and the electricity turned on, but that was the extent of her knowledge. She worried that she shouldn't be doing this, but she needed money in the bank. It was time to look out for herself.

After asking a few questions, she followed the banker's advice, filled out the appropriate paperwork, and left the bank with a new checkbook and a slick folder full of information to look over. After she left the building, the blonde teller pushed out the door and ran after her.

The girl grabbed her arm. “Mrs. Adams?”

Andi stopped and turned. “Yes?”

The blonde's buttons pulled on the front of her shirt, showing a peek of white lace underneath. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am. For your loss, I mean.”

“Thank you.”

She looked down at her pink pumps. “Chad was a wonderful man. I understand he died quickly?”

Andi stood, finger poised over the unlock button on the key fob, and looked closer at the young woman. A dark streak down her part marred her blonde hair, and her brown eyes were sunken and hollow.

Something clicked in Andi's brain and she narrowed her eyes as she examined the blonde. “I’m sorry – do I know you?”

“No. Not really. I just knew your husband from when he came into the bank.” She shrugged and smiled tightly, “He was always very nice. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

She spun around, took two quick steps to the entrance of the bank and yanked the door open. As Andi watched her hurry away, she wondered if that girl was the type to go away to Atlantic City for a weekend, then stepped into the Grand Cherokee and pulled out of the lot. Without consciously deciding where to go, she headed out of Buccaneer Bay and found herself at Harbor Chrysler. Right there in front was a beautiful Sahara package Jeep Wrangler, dark green with a tan soft top, just begging to be driven along the shore. Andi wheeled into the lot and sat looking at it, as her thoughts turned to Chad.

It had been a Saturday. He planned all week for them to get a new car, and spent hours researching the specs on various vehicles. She'd wanted a Jeep for years, so she'd lobbied the entire week to go look at them. She found a red one with a black soft top that was perfect for them, since they didn’t have kids yet, and didn’t plan to start a family for a couple of years.

When the salesman approached, she asked about the red Jeep. Chad smiled as if to apologize, then told the salesman they were interested in a Grand Cherokee Limited.

“But, honey, could we test drive both of them?” she'd asked.

He smiled again, lips stretched tight over perfect teeth, then apologized to the salesman for the interruption. When the salesman pulled a Grand Cherokee Limited around for a test drive, Chad opened the back door and motioned for her to get in. She did. He and the salesman chatted in the front seats, and the young man glanced uncomfortably at her more than once.

That afternoon, after the paperwork was complete, they walked onto the lot to drive the new Grand Cherokee home. He led her around to the passenger side. For a moment, she thought he was being chivalrous, but should've known better. They were alone. The only time he opened doors for her was when he was performing for someone.

He stared at her with cold, gray eyes, then opened the back door. It was his way of putting her in her place.

She shook her head to clear the memory. He couldn't treat her like that ever again. If anyone had known how he really treated her, they probably
would
think she'd knocked him over that guardrail on purpose.

Maybe she had, without even realizing it.

She sat in that very same Grand Cherokee, looked at the Wrangler and thought about Atlantic City, blondes and back seats, until a young man in khakis and a blue dress shirt strode across the lot. She parked and got out, waving at him. He waved back and headed her direction.

He ran through his sales pitch, but all she could think about was the freedom that Wrangler represented. She'd done everything Chad wanted for so long, and now that he was gone, she felt an uncontrollable need to do something for herself. She was ready to declare her independence. The salesman offered her his card, and asked, “Will your husband be coming by for a test drive?”

“No.” 
I’m a widow
, she thought, as she pointed to her vehicle, “I'm thinking about trading the Grand Cherokee in."

It felt good to take control, but she was terrified. Buying a vehicle was a big step. Chad always handled things like this. A short time later, she clutched her purse in her lap while she talked to the salesman and the sales manager. If they recognized her name when she filled out the paperwork, they gave no indication.

She wrote the check for the Wrangler that afternoon, and waited nervously as the finance manager called the bank to confirm that the funds were there. Of course, they were, and she was treated like a queen. Though it scared her to spend that much money, the doubts dissipated as she spent the remainder of the afternoon driving aimlessly, and ended up pulling off the side of the road and watched the sun paint the sky pink, red and orange over Eagle Lake.