Kate removed the tea bags, squeezed all the water from them, and then poured the tea into the pitcher. When it was stirred well, she took a glass down from the cabinet, filled it with ice and tea, and carried it to her bedroom. She gulped down a third of the tea, set it on her dresser, and reached for her laptop. She opened a new folder and typed:
Information about Conrad:
Conrad came home at least one day toward the end of every third week. He would meet with his accountant to discuss his business and sign any tax papers or forms that she needed him to take care of. He’d draw out his monthly paycheck at that time, and he’d be at the house when I got home from the office. The conversation was always the same. He wanted me to divorce him. I refused. He’d have his evening meal in the dining room and I’d take mine to my bedroom. My house was simply a free hotel for the night.
She closed her laptop and drank the rest of the tea. When she went back for a refill, there was not one drop left in the pitcher. Her sandwich was gone and now her tea—it was the old proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. She marched out to the porch to find Jamie and Gracie sipping away at a glass each and Amanda on the other end of the porch chomping on the ice pellets left in hers.
“What’s your problem?” Amanda asked.
“That was my tea and it was my sandwich in the refrigerator,” Kate said.
“Well, pardon me,” Amanda said with a head wiggle. “I was hungry, and it was the only thing in the house. Conrad never said I couldn’t eat something that was left in the refrigerator. And I was thirsty, so I had a glass of tea. What do I owe you?”
“Being the first wife don’t give you the right to get all bitchy over a glass of tea,” Jamie said.
“Conrad is dead, so what he said in this house does not matter. And I’m not the first wife. I’m just likely the oldest one alive today. Didn’t Hattie tell you about Iris?” Kate propped a hip on the porch railing.
“Who is Iris?” Amanda asked.
Kate told them the story, continuing, “I have started a file with things I can remember, like how Conrad only came home a day a month to talk to his accountant—or maybe I should say he came to my house. If you’ll do the same, maybe it will help that detective to see that we aren’t guilty of conspiracy to commit murder.”
“I’m not doing one blasted thing,” Jamie said.
“Then if he finds us guilty, you’d better get your affairs in order as far as Gracie is concerned, and you’d better have someone designated to raise that baby, Amanda.”
“You are just trying to scare me.” Amanda frowned.
“No, she’s not. She might have money, but . . .” Jamie stopped.
Gracie picked up a couple of dolls. “I’m going to my room where it’s cool. When is supper, Mama? I’m hungry.” She slammed the screen door on the way inside.
Kate almost smiled as she remembered how she used to get into trouble from every single nanny she’d ever had for slamming the back door at her house in Fort Worth.
“But what?” Kate shook away the memory and glanced over at Jamie.
“Do you have children?” Jamie asked.
“No, I do not,” she answered.
“Then she has less to lose than we do if that detective makes a case against us,” Jamie said. “And she’s not trying to scare you. I can prove the days that Conrad was with me and Gracie with my credit card accounts. I charge everything to get the points and then pay it off at the end of the month. Until the past eight or nine months, he came home on Sunday night and we always went to McDonald’s for supper, and every evening after we had supper at home, we went to Culver’s for an ice-cream cone. He said it was his way of spoiling Gracie since he didn’t get to be with her all the time.”
Kate set her mouth in a firm line. “He was spoiling her, but you paid for everything, right?”
Jamie shook her head. “He took care of the taxes and insurance on the house and paid the mortgage.”
“No!” Amanda slapped the arm of her rocking chair. “I wanted to buy a house instead of living in an apartment, but he said we had to pay off this cabin first. I’ve been giving him five hundred dollars a month to make an extra payment on this place.”
“He inherited this place and it’s paid for,” Kate said bluntly.
“Then where was my five hundred dollars going?” Amanda asked.
Kate shrugged. “Maybe to buy lots of flowers for other women.”
“Mama”—Gracie poked her head out the door—“I’m really hungry.”
“We’ll have to go to the store. Maybe we’ll get pizza,” Jamie answered.
“There’s sandwich stuff in the refrigerator,” Kate offered.
There was no way she was going to let a child go hungry, not even for the length of time it took to drive into Bootleg and get a pizza from the deli part of the convenience store.
“Oh, so she can have some of your food, but I can’t?” Amanda shot a dirty look toward Kate.
Kate ignored it and sat down in her favorite chair.
“Go on and play five more minutes,” Jamie told Gracie. “And then we’ll see about making sandwiches.”
“Okay, Mama. Can I get a glass of milk until then?”
Jamie looked at Kate.
“Of course, she can have milk. I’m not a monster.”
“Yes, you may,” Jamie said and waited until the door slammed again. “I teach school in inner-city Dallas. Shall we set down some classroom rules here, since we are all living in the same house?”
“Maybe I’m sorry that I didn’t ask before I ate the sandwich or drank the tea, but rules or no rules, I’m staying right here until September,” Amanda declared. “Aunt Ellie says I need to get my head on straight.”
“Apology accepted,” Kate said, ignoring the latter part of her statement.
“I vote that we each take care of our own space, keep things picked up in the living area, buy our own food, and do our own cooking. Any leftovers that go in the refrigerator are up for grabs unless we put our name on them,” Jamie said.
“Fair enough. Where’s the nearest store?” Amanda asked.
“About six or seven miles south in Seymour,” Kate answered. “Open until nine every evening. Hopefully the whole thing will be settled by the end of summer.”
“The business part might be all done and finished by summer’s end, but I’m scarred for life,” Amanda whined.
“Stop the dramatics. Think about him in bed with a fifty-five-year-old woman,” Jamie said.
“Yuck!” Amanda’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “My Conrad wouldn’t do that. He might have married her, but he didn’t go to bed with her.”
“Or all those women he brought up here toward the end of the month? You stupid enough to believe they weren’t screwin’ like minks?” Jamie argued.
“How do we know Hattie isn’t lying or just sayin’ those things because Iris was her friend?” Amanda asked.
“It’ll be easy to verify,” Kate said. “I can check his bank records as soon as the lawyers get this straightened out. I bet we see where he deposited your money, Amanda. There are probably receipts where he bought gasoline right here in Bootleg at the end of every month.”
“How could he do this to me?” Amanda whispered.
“You? Do you think you are the only one? He was cheating on all of us outside of being married to us,” Jamie said. “Grow up. How old are you anyway?”
“Twenty-eight,” Amanda said defiantly.