The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [54]
Then there were the Sunday mornings when Teddy would crawl into bed with them, and J.T. had finally understood why people loved the smell of talcum powder.
Shit.
He didn’t want to think about any of that.
That was always the kicker for him. He didn’t have the stamina for the bad memories or the strength for the good.
“You want to talk about Roger?” he asked Marion, apropos of nothing.
“No.”
“I thought you guys had a good marriage, you know—other than the fact that he was Daddy’s hand-picked henchman and had absolutely no redeeming qualities of his own.”
“Didn’t I just say I didn’t want to talk about it?”
“Yeah, but we both know I’m a son of a bitch.”
She snorted at that and they both drifted into silence. “He left me,” she said finally, her voice flat. “He found some young cocktail waitress and decided she was the love of his life.”
“Bastard.”
“Yeah. Guess you can say you were right, J.T.”
He nodded but didn’t actually say the words. He didn’t have the heart to do that to her, not to proud Marion, who he would have sworn had actually loved Lieutenant Colonel Roger MacAllister. “I’m sorry, Marion,” he said softly. “I . . . When Rachel died . . . It’s tough. I know it’s tough.”
She was silent for a moment, then turned toward him. “I hate him, J.T. You can’t imagine how much I hate him for betraying me.”
He wanted to reach over and take her hand. He was afraid if he did, she’d snap it off at the wrist. “You’re better off,” he said, but the words sounded weak. “He wasn’t strong enough for you, Marion. You need a real man, not some army bureaucrat. That’s the lowest life-form imaginable.”
She returned to staring at the sky. “Maybe.”
“Have you filed for divorce?”
“I should. It would kill Daddy though. He’s already furious with Roger and me for not having produced grandkids.”
J.T. read between the lines. Angry at her and Roger? He doubted it. He bet the good old colonel called Marion into his room on a regular basis and screamed that she was a bad wife, disobedient daughter, and an all-round failure as a woman for not giving birth. Yeah, Colonel was probably spitting mad at not having another life to ruin.
“Daddy’s already dying, so I’d go ahead with the divorce. If it kills him a little faster, well, there are a whole host of people willing to pay you for that. Of course, I top the list, or I would if I had money. I’ve lost all that now.”
Her lips thinned disapprovingly, but for a change Marion didn’t pursue the subject of the colonel.
“I think Angela is a fraud,” she said, abandoning traditional battlegrounds for new territory. “She lies through her teeth.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Why, J.T., I thought you hated liars. I thought your twisted moral code did not tolerate such behavior.”
He shrugged. “I’m getting old, Marion. The world is wearing me down.” He turned to look at the woman in question, her shoulders covered by old towels, and her eyes closed while her hair marinated. He remembered her pounding his chest with those tiny hands that now gripped the chair arms.
She was bright, she was proud, she was determined.
She’d shot her husband. He’d tried to beat her with a baseball bat.
“I want to know who she is,” he said. “Can you help me, Marion?”
There was a long, long silence. “What do you mean?” his sister asked carefully.
“I mean, of course she’s lying and of course Angela’s not her real name. Normally I wouldn’t pursue the matter. It’s bad for business. But now I want to know. I want to know who she is, who’s her husband, and what the hell has he done.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“I already started.”
“What?”
“I took her fingerprints,” Marion said calmly. “I faxed them in to be analyzed against the national database. It’s already been twenty-four hours.