The Secret Wife

J.D. froze. His eyes narrowed. “They didn’t tell me anything. Just that you’d been brought in for questioning and had asked them to call me. I figured the only reason you were being questioned was the fiasco at the banquet. I thought you’d agreed not to leave the hotel.”

“No, I didn’t agree. You assumed.”

“Semantics.” He grasped her arms, his voice harsh when he said, “Tell me the truth. Did you kill my brother?”

“No, I didn’t. He was dead when I got there.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Why shouldn’t you? There were certainly enough other people who might want to see him dead.”

He glanced down at her arms, where his fingers dug into her flesh. He dropped her arms as if he’d been burned. “But I know them. I don’t know you.”

“If the sheriff really thought I did it, he wouldn’t have released me. Can we argue this another time? I’m about ready to drop.”

“No way. We’re gonna hash this out before I let you anywhere near my grandmother. Tell me what happened and I’ll judge for myself.”

Maggie drew a breath and counted to ten. Then she told him everything.

“Okay, your story is plausible. But my bet is that you were hopping mad when you met with Eric. He’d made a fool of you.”

Maggie winced.

“Maybe things got out of hand and you grabbed the knife….”

“I did not kill Eric. I didn’t even get the chance to talk to him. He was already dead.”

“So you say. Just like you claim he married you.”

“Of course he married me. I have the wedding license to prove it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So prove it.”

“The license is safe at home. And filed with the State of Arizona. Check it out if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I will. I’ve already contacted a private detective.”

“You did what?”

“Look, sweetheart, this isn’t anything new. You aren’t the first woman to breeze through town claiming to have a romantic involvement with my brother. Although, I hope you’ll be the last, God rest Eric’s soul.”

Maggie saw red. “I can prove I’m his wife. And I’m not going to let you brush us away as if we were dirt. David deserves better than that. I deserve better than that.”

He eyed her thoughtfully. “Documents can be altered. But one way or the other, I’ll figure it out.”

“And what if I’m telling the truth? What then? Are you going to welcome me to the family with open arms?”

His mouth tightened. “Sweetheart, if your story holds up and that kid is my brother’s, I’ll be the first in line. But that doesn’t change the fact that both my grandmother and Nancy are going through a difficult time.” His voice grew rough. “Eric’s death hit us all pretty hard. The last thing we need is you running around telling wild stories.”

“Isn’t that why you brought me here? To make sure I don’t run around telling stories about the sainted Eric McGuire?”

“He wasn’t a saint. But he was my brother. And I won’t have you upsetting my grandmother. If that means I have to babysit you for a couple days, I’m willing to do it. My grandmother and Eric’s wife, his real wife, deserve to mourn his death in peace.”

“You don’t get it, do you? I’m his real wife. In here.” She tapped her index finger on her breastbone as her eyes filled with moisture, blurring her vision. “And I’m the mother of his child. Yes, it’s despicable if he married me while he was still married to another woman. But it’s not my fault. And it won’t change the fact that he’s dead. Or the fact that his son will grow up fatherless.”

J.D.’s eyes reflected the loss she described, but only for a second. Then his expression grew closed, as if he were afraid to let anyone see inside.

Her throat tightened. Wiping her cheeks, Maggie drew in a shaky breath. She gestured toward David, sitting near a burnished coffee table. “How can you hold it against an innocent child? He didn’t ask for any of this.”

J.D. folded his arms over his chest, but his face softened as he watched the baby scoot across the floor on all fours. David’s tiny hands made little slapping sounds against the wood as he made a beeline for a corner shelving unit, where some old, rusty tools were displayed. Several had sharp edges.

Unable to get her brain and feet to connect, Maggie watched helplessly.

J.D. was quick on his feet and scooped up the boy in the nick of time. “Oh, no, you don’t, buddy.”

David giggled.

“You like that, huh?” J.D. grinned, tossing the baby up in the air. His smile grew wider as David laughed and clapped his hands. “You’re a little daredevil, aren’t you?”

“Just like his daddy,” Maggie whispered.

MAGGIE SIPPED HER ICED TEA and wished she were anyplace else but McGuireville. She sat in the sunroom of Eric’s childhood home watching his grandmother and brother argue over whether she’d told them the sordid truth about her pseudomarriage to Eric and the circumstances of David’s birth. It seemed surreal that the news had superceded Eric’s murder, but she supposed it was a way of coping.

Edna McGuire sat opposite Maggie on a wicker love seat and J.D. paced nearby.

“Paternity tests are ninety-nine point nine percent reliable,” J.D. said.

The old woman stiffened. Her nostrils flared with indignation. The slight tremor to her hand and bluish tint around her mouth was the only indication that she might not be as hale and hearty as she wanted to pretend. “Nonsense. It’s not seemly. No need to draw attention to the fact that Eric’s child is a bast…was born on the wrong side of the blanket. Your father must be rolling over in his grave. Anyone can see the baby is a McGuire through and through.”

J.D.’s face flushed like a reprimanded boy. His tone was slightly belligerent. “Not seemly? This whole thing isn’t seemly. It’s just like you to open your heart and your home to some woman with a hard-luck story and a baby she claims is Eric’s. You know as well as I do it’s not Eric’s child.”

Maggie swallowed hard. The two had apparently forgotten her presence. How could anyone even think of using such a despicable term as bastard to describe David? But J.D.’s insinuation stung as much as his grandmother’s assessment. It seemed like a betrayal coming from the man who had rescued her only hours earlier.

“Don’t you take that tone with me James David. I know my own flesh and blood when I see it. My great-grandchild will stay with me. Tests or no tests.”

“We’ve been over this before. There’s no need for you to undergo the added stress. The funeral will be hard enough. Maggie and, um, David will stay with me until the paternity tests come back. Then, if they come back positive, you can cuddle and fuss over the child to your heart’s content. Spoil him rotten for all I care.”

The old woman tried to stand, but sank back to the love seat. Her pallor was a pasty gray.

“The funeral,” she mumbled. Big, sad tears rolled down her cheeks and plopped onto her lap, leaving spots on her navy shirtdress.

The woman’s grief pulled at Maggie. It was an instinctive reaction that went back to her childhood. Grief touched something inside her, some well of empathy that made counseling the bereaved seem more like a calling than a job.

She went to the older woman. Holding David close to her chest, she knelt at Mrs. McGuire’s feet and gazed up into her stricken face. “I know this is a hard time and you don’t know me that well. I’m grateful that you’ve invited me into your home, considering, well, the circumstances.”

Mrs. McGuire waved her hand, as if she could wave away the pesky details like bigamy, murder and an illegitimate child. “Nonsense. I’m a good judge of character I don’t believe for a minute you had anything to do with Eric’s death. And you’ve obviously told the truth about the baby. Why, he could be Eric at the same age.”

“Thank you. It means a lot that you believe me.”