Your Bed or Mine? Read online

  Days slipped into weeks.

  Now, they were approaching what Tish called their one month simultaneous orgasm anniversary.

  Zada’s road to happiness was no longer under construction. All of the potholes had been filled in. And she found herself sitting on easy street.

  Life was good.

  Everyone was happy.

  Well, maybe not everyone.

  Zada thought this as she hooked Simon’s leash to his collar and headed out the kitchen door for their morning walk.

  Alicia had avoided them like the plague since the Sunday she and Rick received the hang-up phone calls. She’d even turned Tish down flat to come over for coffee one morning.

  Tish’s ulterior motive, of course, had been to show Alicia Zada’s new ring. Let Alicia see for herself that if she had made the phone calls, her plan to cause trouble between them hadn’t worked at all.

  Alicia had claimed she was on her way out that morning, which rang a false note. Since her divorce, Alicia rarely went anywhere. And everyone in the neighborhood knew it.

  They’d been surprised when Alicia did go out that morning—a fact they’d confirmed a few minutes after Tish hung up the phone. The three of them were again standing at Tish’s dining room window, watching as Alicia drove away.

  Zada liked to think Alicia had given up, and had accepted the fact she and Rick were back together. But despite protests from her and from Jen, watchdog Tish had continued to monitor Alicia’s comings and goings on a daily basis. Tish was fully convinced Alicia had been staying away from home as much as possible, because she was up to more mischief.

  “You can’t let your guard down where Alicia is concerned, Zada,” Tish kept insisting. “Alicia’s still fuming over us standing her up, and don’t think she isn’t. I don’t trust that witch. And you shouldn’t, either. Not even for one minute.”

  Zada kept insisting Tish should drop it.

  Alicia simply wasn’t worth the worry.

  Besides, Zada had other things to worry about.

  Like the snag she’d run into with her new book.

  Zada led Simon toward the walking path, aware that one of the main reasons she was having trouble with the book was because Miss Neighborhood Organizer Tish kept interrupting her writing time obsessing over the annual neighborhood Fourth of July party. They were having the party this weekend on Saturday, though the Fourth fell on the following Monday this year.

  The closer it got to the party, the more frantic Tish became.

  And since it was Wednesday—only three days away from the party—Zada had decided to do the unthinkable and skip morning coffee with Tishzilla and Jen.

  Being assigned yet another new errand was not on her list of things to do today. Taking a long walk with Simon so she could sort out the problem with her book was Zada’s Wednesday morning mission.

  She walked along with Simon, deep in thought.

  Her big dilemma?

  How to correctly portray that pollution kills innocent wildlife without angry parents suing her later when their scarred-for-life children ended up in therapy.

  Simon’s low growl jerked her out of the book.

  And right back to reality.

  A guy was walking in their direction, less than fifty feet away. He was no one Zada knew, but he was nicely dressed, tall, dark and handsome—the kind of guy she would have been attracted to in her pre-Rick days.

  Simon growled again, causing her to put her own guard up.

  Zada glanced to her left.

  When she saw a party of four on the golf course, she breathed a little easier. The men were on the putting green, in full view. Which also meant if she could see them, they could see her and the stranger who was almost on top of her now.

  “Good morning,” the guy said when he reached her.

  Zada nodded and stopped walking.

  The second she stopped, Simon sat down obediently. He didn’t growl this time—sensing she wasn’t afraid.

  “Nice dog,” the guy said, looking down at Simon.

  “Thanks,” Zada told him.

  “My wife and I have been looking at a house over on Woodberry Way,” he said. “I’m checking out the golf course this morning. You know us guys, first things first.”

  Zada laughed. “You just described my husband to a ‘T,’” Zada said. “No pun intended.”

  The guy laughed. “Have you and your husband been happy here in Woodberry Park?”

  “Yes,” Zada said. “We love it here.”

  He leaned toward her suddenly, touching her hair.

  Startled, Zada jumped back.

  Simon growled low and mean and lunged for him.

  “Whoa!” the guy said, jumping back out of Simon’s reach. He held up a caterpillar. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You just had a hitchhiker in your hair.”

  Embarrassed, Zada apologized.

  He shrugged, waved, and headed down the path.

  As an afterthought, Zada called out, “Hey, we’re having our annual Woodberry Park Fourth of July party at the clubhouse on Saturday. You and your wife should come.”

  “Thanks,” he yelled back. “We’ll do that.”

  Sheesh, Zada thought as the poor guy disappeared up the path. The whole situation with the phone calls, and with Tish playing super-sleuth day and night, was making her some kind of paranoid.

  Still, Zada reached down and gave Simon a proud pat on the head. “Good boy,” she told him.

  She’d said it before, and she’d say it again: If there was anyone she could depend on, it was Simon.

  “Thank God it’s Friday,” Rick said when Scrappy walked up beside him.

  “Amen to that,” Scrappy agreed.

  They were standing on the sidelines, watching their soon-to-be-graduated recruits lead their dogs around the obstacle course for the last time that day.

  “I still think you should come help me out at the Fourth of July party tomorrow,” Rick told him.

  “And you’re entitled to your wrong opinion,” Scrappy said. “But while you’re trying to keep a bunch of screaming kids from putting each other’s eyes out with those sparklers you bought, I’ll be kicked back with a brewski in one hand and the remote in the other, watching the tube and enjoying the peace and quiet.”

  “Wiseass,” Rick said.

  Scrappy grinned. “I am a wiseass. That’s why I’m not stupid enough to go to some neighborhood party.”

  “Did you pick up the mail?”

  “Just got back,” Scrappy said. “I had to sign for one of the envelopes. Probably those contracts you’ve been waiting on from Bill Harris. Thought I’d come and wrap things up while you go over the mail.”

  “Thanks,” Rick told him.

  Scrappy said, “I’ll take the recruits back to the classroom after we finish here. Thought you might want to thank them for a job well done this week, before you send them off for the long Fourth of July weekend.”

  “You can say that again,” Rick said.

  “What?”

  “‘Long Fourth of July weekend,’” Rick said. “I’m really looking forward to three days off.”

  “You’re getting slack on me, Rick,” Scrappy grumbled. “There was a day when you would have been at the center even on the Fourth of July.”

  “Those days are gone,” Rick said. “I finally realized how much I wanted a life with my wife.”

  “Better you than me,” Scrappy told him.

  Rick laughed and started for his office.

  “I put the mail on your desk,” Scrappy called after him.

  Rick threw up his hand and started up the stairs.

  A few minutes later, Rick flopped down onto the chair behind his desk, and began sifting through the mail. He came to the large envelope on the bottom of the stack and put everything else aside. He was reaching for the letter opener when the telephone rang. Rick picked up the receiver, held it between his shoulder and his chin, and punched the blinking light.

  “Security Detection Ser
vices. Rick Clark speaking.”

  Rick sliced through the top of the envelope.

  “Hey, Bill. Talk about perfect timing. I just got my first chance to look at the mail today. And I think I’m getting ready to open the envelope with your contracts.”

  Rick reached into the envelope.

  “Really?” Rick said. “Okay. Then I’ll look for the contracts the first of next week, Bill. Thanks for calling to let me know you’re mailing them today.”

  Rick put the phone back in the cradle, and pulled the contents out of the envelope. Forty-five minutes later, he was still staring at the eight-by-ten glossy color photograph he was holding in his hand.

  Scrappy stuck his head around the door.

  “The recruits are waiting. Did you get lost or something, Rick?”

  “Or something,” Rick said.

  Scrappy walked into the office.

  Rick handed him the photo.

  “Son of a bitch!” Scrappy said.

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Rick.

  He’d told Scrappy about the phone calls. Surprisingly, Scrappy had been the one to advise him to get a private telephone number and put the past behind them.

  Rick almost laughed.

  It was hard to put the past behind you when it was staring you in the face.

  “Same as the phone calls, Rick,” Scrappy said. “The past is the past. This picture could have been taken before you went back home.”

  “Great theory,” Rick said. “Except for Simon’s new SDS collar.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Scrappy said again.

  “Maybe we should count the door prizes again.”

  “Tish!” Zada said. “We’ve counted the door prizes twice already. We have more than enough prizes for the games we’ll be playing tomorrow.”

  “Okay, okay,” Tish said. “I just don’t want anyone to be left out.”

  Zada looked at Jen.

  Jen looked at Zada.

  Jen said, “You go through this every year, Tish. We never run out of anything. And to my knowledge, no one has ever been left out.”

  “Get a grip on reality, why don’t you?” Zada threw in.

  “Reality’s for people who can’t handle drugs,” Tish said, already counting the prizes again.

  “Then maybe you should up your Prozac,” Jen mentioned.

  “I agree,” Zada said. “Either up your medication, or share your Prozac with me. But do something, Tish. I can’t take much more of your hysterics.”

  Tish glanced out her kitchen window, then back at Zada.

  “And I can’t take much more of you and Rick.”

  Zada blinked. “Excuse me?”

  Tish pointed to the window. “Rick. Home early again. Probably to bring you another fabulous present.”

  Zada walked to the window in time to see the Hummer disappear into her garage.

  “I agree with Tish,” Jen said. “This coming home early and showing up with fancy presents is starting to piss me off. In fact, I might just sucker punch Charlie when he walks through the door tonight.”

  “I bet he has my pearls back from the jeweler,” Zada said happily. “Poor baby. He felt so bad after he broke them. I ask, is my husband a sweetheart? Or is my husband a sweetheart?”

  “You’re seriously making me gag here,” Tish grumbled.

  Zada smiled an eat-your-heart-out smile.

  She bowed dramatically to Jen and Tish.

  “As you can see, ladies,” she said. “I’m bowing out now.”

  Jen looked at Tish.

  Tish looked at Jen.

  They both looked back at Zada.

  Tish said, “If it’s a diamond tennis bracelet instead of your pearls, I don’t want to know about it.”

  Jen said, “I don’t want to know about it even if it’s just a dang candy bar and a pack of peanuts. Charlie never buys me anything.”

  Zada made a mad dash across the street.

  She ran around the side of the house, and hurried up the back steps. She walked into the kitchen. Rick was standing in the den off the kitchen, his back to her.

  “Hey you,” Zada said, walking toward him. “Tish and Jen are green with envy. They’re convinced you came home early to bring me another present. Please tell me it’s my pearls back from the jeweler.”

  Rick turned around.

  Zada stopped walking.

  He didn’t have to say something was seriously wrong; his ice-cold blue eyes said it for him.

  “I’m the one who got a present today,” Rick said.

  He handed her a photograph.

  Nothing could have prepared Zada for the shock.

  She looked at the photo, taking it all in at once.

  Her.

  The guy on the walking path.

  Him, appearing to caress her face.

  Her chin tilted sideways, appearing to let him.

  She looked back at Rick. It broke her heart to see the tears in his eyes. “Oh, God. Rick.”

  “Zada, don’t,” he said. “Don’t say a word. I don’t want to hear it.”

  He walked over and sat down on the sofa. He wouldn’t even look at her.

  “I know what this looks like,” Zada said, her voice quivering. “But, please, Rick. Let me explain.”

  He shook his head disgustedly. He still wouldn’t look at her.

  “I don’t even know this guy,” she began.

  Rick exploded. “Christ, Zada!” He spit the words out at her. “He’s caressing your face, dammit. Give me a fucking break!”

  “He is not caressing my face!”

  Zada sat down on the sofa beside him.

  Rick jumped up from the sofa when she did.

  He stood above her, hands at his waist. He was more angry than she’d ever seen him.

  Zada felt like throwing up.

  “I swear to you,” Zada said, looking up at him. “I do not know this guy.”

  Rick started to walk away.

  Zada reached out and grabbed his arm. “He was on the walking path the other morning, Rick. He was walking one way, Simon and I were walking the other way. We said hello to each other and he said he and his wife were moving to Woodberry Park. He reached out and pulled a caterpillar out of my hair. That’s what he’s doing in this photograph. Not caressing my face!”

  Rick jerked his arm away from her, and walked into the kitchen. Zada got up from the sofa and marched after him.

  “I’m telling you the truth, Rick. I just wish whoever took this picture had waited one second longer. Then you would have seen Simon lunging at the guy. He startled me when he leaned too close and touched my hair. I jumped back and Simon almost nailed him.”

  Rick yelled, “You really expect me to believe that some guy accosted you on the walking path, Simon almost bit him, and you didn’t tell me about it?”

  “It didn’t seem important at the time,” Zada tried to explain. “I totally forgot about it. You know how I am when I get engrossed in the first draft of a new book.”

  Rick grabbed the photo out of her hand. He held it up in front of her face. “I don’t call this being engrossed in your new book!”

  Zada grabbed the photo and threw it.

  It floated across the room like a butterfly.

  How ironic, Zada thought, since a caterpillar had started it all.

  “Alicia is behind this,” Zada said, more to herself than she did to Rick. “This picture is just like the one she described in her fantasy. A picture that looks like one thing, but is actually another.”

  “Alicia!” Rick looked at her like she was crazy.

  “Yes, Alicia,” Zada said. “Jen and Tish and I have suspected her from the beginning of being the one who made those hang-up phone calls.”

  “Let me guess,” Rick said. “You’ve been too engrossed in your new book to mention you suspected Alicia made those phone calls, too.”

  “Dammit,” Zada said, “you’re twisting things around.”

  “Me?” Rick shouted. “These stories you keep comi
ng up with are so twisted the next thing you’re going to tell me is that you forgot to mention you’re also a closet contortionist!”

  Rick threw his head back and laughed.

  A rather twisted kind of laugh, Zada decided.

  Zada said, “Would you like for me to call Tish? She’ll be happy to confirm we’ve suspected Alicia all along.”

  “Now there’s a reliable source,” Rick said. “Yeah, sure. Call Tish. Tell her to send Joe on over with the monitor.”

  Zada winced and glanced upward to the ceiling.

  Seriously, God.

  Is it necessary to hit me with every crappy thing I’ve ever done all at once?

  “Just one question,” Rick said. “What possible motive would Alicia have for putting caterpillars in your hair, hiding in the bushes with a camera, and waiting for some guy to come along so she could snap a picture?”

  “See?” Zada said. “You’re twisting things around again. I didn’t say I thought Alicia actually took the photo herself. But I do believe she’s behind it.”

  They stood there in the kitchen.

  Her, staring at him.

  Him, staring at her.

  “Okay,” Rick said. He folded his arms across his chest. “Let’s go over to Alicia’s house right now. I’m dying to hear how she set up that photograph.”

  Zada blinked.

  Several times.

  What we say at the meeting, stays at the meeting.

  Suspecting Alicia was one thing. Getting up in her face with a photograph—and possibly accusing her falsely—was another.

  Zada said, “I said I suspected Alicia, Rick. I don’t have any proof. Not yet. But …”

  Rick stomped back to the den before she could finish.

  Zada stomped right along behind him.

  “This isn’t even about who made the phone calls or who took the photo, Rick,” Zada said, fuming herself now. “What this is about is trust. As crazy as everything sounds, I’ve told you the truth. You either trust me, or you don’t.”

  Rick looked at her for a long time.

  Long enough that Zada knew she was not getting through to him.

  “I need some time, Zada,” he said. “Time to sort things out.”

  “Define ‘some time,’” Zada said.