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Margie Gosa Shivers
Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: MGS Publishing
ISBN-10: 0974406619
Type: Fiction
Pages: 271
Copyright: Oct, 1, 2003
ISBN-13: 9780974406619
Southern bred 28-year old married, Cara Fleming, is forced to leave her six year marriage after someone maliciously framed her as an adulteress. Her quest to prove her innocence inadvertently brings her husband’s best friend, Chicago homicide detective Lester Miller to her defense and while they search for the culprit, a secret buried by Mario’s parents for 30-years and someone she meets over the internet provides a direct link to solving her dilemma.
Their uphill battle involves a questionable Chicago alderman, anonymous stalkers, her husband’s former mistress and constant interference from her parents and in-laws. Passion and romance creeps into their newfound friendship but can she fall for a man with a reputation of a womanizer? Someone wants Cara dead. Will she find the culprit before her untimely death?
Two hours later, she arrived home with the most perfect outfit - a flowing sleek golden duster pant set with sparkling white embroidery and bugle beading. It was sensually feminine and showed off her honey brown skin. She took a long hot bath and rubbed a peach-scented lotion all over her body, leaving no area untouched. Then she applied a medium beige foundation to her Alicia Keys look-a-like face, slipped her five-foot-six slender body into the new outfit and brushed her long dark brown hair as far as her arms could stretch. To set the mood, she selected a Barry White CD and poured chilled champagne into two flutes. When the last song played, she checked her watch. Darkness would soon claim her private view of the lake. Where was he? He had promised to be home an hour ago. Had he been in an accident?
She tried to calm her nerves by watching a popular game show, but that didn’t help.
She walked to the full-length window and peered into the darkness of the night. It was a little after seven. Suddenly, she heard keys rattling at the door.
"Cara Slater!" His voice was loud enough to wake up a dead man. She knew something awful had disturbed his goat. The last time Mario called her by her maiden name was on their wedding day.
Eager to greet him, she rushed down the hallway toward the door and stopping abruptly, she gazed at Mario fearfully as he wobbled his five-ten, athletic body closer to her. He wore an orange T-shirt, and matching white shorts and gym shoes. But mostly, she took notice of the evil look on his face and wondered for the first time in their marriage, if she should fear for her life.
Instinctively, she stepped back and put her hands against the wall for support. "Mario, what is wrong with you? You're late. We're going to miss the concert."
"Forget the frigging concert," he shouted, throwing his keys on the glass-top table in the foyer. “You've been cheating on me Miss Angel, Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”
Cara’s breathing shortened and she tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. Mario walked toward her, eyes watery, eyebrows furrowed and thin moustache slanted in a frown. Without looking at her, he headed straight to his liquor cabinet in the corner of the living room. He poured a shot of Wild Turkey and almost fell over when he tilted his head back to toss down the golden fluid. He stumbled to the sofa and plopped down. "So, the lady wants to know what's wrong? I'll tell you, Miss Lady. While you were out, an anonymous caller gave me the sordid details. From all he said, one thing convinced me he wasn’t lying. Oh, and the jerk explained why he wanted me to know.” Mario sprang from the sofa and walked toward her, stopping to sip his drink. “The evidence speaks for itself, Miss Lady.”
"What evidence?” Cara screamed. Tears trickled down her face. “What did the caller tell you?”
“Enough,” he said bluntly.
“Enough about what?” Cara stared at Mario and remained silent.
“Why should I tell you what you already know? Anyway, you want to know what ripped my heart out? That the two of you are planning to get married.”
"I have no idea what you’re talking about. That is ridiculous!" Cara cried.
“You’re lying. I can’t believe anything you say,” Mario said with disgust. “And you know what else Miss Lady? I don’t believe Ashley is my child."
"First of all, stop calling me Miss Lady. I have a name, remember?" Cara said with authority in her voice. "And, you could never be more wrong about our daughter. You were the first and only man I've been with and you know it."
“I’m not so sure about that,” Mario said.
"I can’t believe you just said that.” Icy contempt flashed in her eyes, as she shook her head, trying to ignore the sting of pain that knifed through her. "I know you’re sleeping with another man. So just stop lying to me.”
“I am telling you the truth,” she spouted the words slowly.
Suddenly, he put his glass down on the bar and stormed off toward their bedroom. Taking short steps, she quietly followed, and watched him remove his gun from the drawer. Without waiting around a second longer, she dashed out into the long hallway. She took off her heels and fled with all the speed she could rally. Realizing the elevator would slow her down she opened the door leading to the stairway. Taking two steps at a time, she was in the lead, at least by four floors.
When she reached the fifteenth floor, she realized the silence behind her. Still running like a bat out of hell, she started to think he’d stopped to rest or he was too drunk to continue. Maybe he went back to the apartment. Worst, maybe he would take the elevator down and catch me on a lower floor.
As she quickened her pace, she slipped on the tenth floor. Whisked in a surge of energy, she got up and ran some more, ignoring the pain that writhed through her tired body and aching feet. It wasn’t long before she saw the sign on the back of the door below that told her she was about to reach the first floor.
Breathing hard, she quickly slipped on her shoes and walked slowly into the lobby. To her left, voices drew her attention to where people sat in the lounge watching the big screen television. A lady stood alone peering through the window.
She took a deep breath and crossed the lobby. Cara walked toward the circular desk guarding a paneled wall with closed doors. Her high heels pierced the marbled floor, alerting the tall and muscular security guard who looked like he could be Aaron Neville’s twin. He was wearing a matching dark blue shirt and trousers and a shiny badge. That's it, she thought. He can protect me, hide me in the back room, and call the police.
Without his permission, she walked behind the security desk and kneeled to the floor.
"Hey lady, you can’t play hide-and-seek here,” the guard chuckled.
Index finger over her lips, she whispered, “This is no game. I can’t let my husband find me. Help me, please!”
At that moment, Mario rushed through the lobby calling her name. He ran outside, looked up and down the streets and didn’t see her.
“Humph, stay down and don’t move.” The guard’s lips compressed. He watched Mario run back inside the building and head toward the security station. He got up and stood at the entranceway, shielding Cara.
Mario nodded a hello to the guard and edged closer until he stood directly in front of the guard. He looked down at the floor.
Doggone it! Cara thought, as she looked up at Mario.
“I looked all over for you,” Mario said, holding both hands out to her. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” His tone was civil.
Cara stood, looking briefly at the guard. It wasn’t the time nor did she feel comfortable making a scene for the public to know that she was scared of her husband and while she believed he wouldn’t harm her, she prayed that her instincts were right. "This is my husband, Mario.” Reluctantly, she stepped toward him and walked with him to the elevator as if nothing was wrong.
Mario pushed the button and she looked back at the guard as the elevator door opened. The guard removed his hat and scratched his head. Once they were inside, a thirty-something black couple got on the elevator, flirting and holding hands. When the door closed, Mario stared at Cara, which made her wonder if he would lose it once they were behind closed doors. The man and woman tried not to stare. Afraid to say anything that might rouse his anger again, she pressed her lips closed and breathed deeply.
When the elevator stopped on the twenty-seventh floor she let him lead the way to their apartment.
Inside, she sat on the sofa and quietly thanked her guardian angel for sparing her life.
"We need to talk about this,” Mario said, sitting down in the love seat facing her. "I’m sorry. I was so angry. I wanted to shoot myself, not you. Don’t you know I’d never harm you?” He held his head down and she started to sense his regret.
For a moment her brown eyes darkened. "Read my lips, Mario. I was scared,” she demanded. “Just what did you expect me to do? Stand around and let you put a bullet through me?”
“You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that,” he said in frustration.
Cara didn’t want to hear anymore. She stood up and walked out onto the private balcony. She held onto the iron railing, body still flushed in warmth, undaunted by the coolness of the night. Dappled light fell across the plants hanging from the balcony. Sounds of water splashed against the cement wall bordering the lake. She stared at the sky, black and dotted with millions of sparkling stars. The night view was spectacular. Even that couldn't erase the desolation that swept over her. She just couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t reveal to her the evidence that made him believe she’d been unfaithful. Not to mention that he practically knew her daily routine; the time she left home, where she was going and what time she would arrive home. Did he ever stop to ask himself when did she have the time to have an affair? None of it made any sense to her. Cara let her mind drift back to the allegations and the insults. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got and she could physically hear the thumping of her heartbeat, which was racing a hundred miles per second. She even wondered if he’d made the whole thing up. Oh sure, in the past Mario lied and cheated on me, but never has he lied about something like this. He was immature, extremely jealous, self-centered and easy to anger. But this time he has gone too far, she thought.
“I need the truth,” Mario said, walking out to the balcony. “You hurt me. Can’t you understand that?” he said in a pleading voice.
Looking around at him and filled with disgust, she brushed past him and went back inside. He followed her inside to the living room.
Slowing her steps to turn and face him, she said, "Considering your track record, I find what you just said amusing.”
"Throwing mud in my face again?"
"Not exactly," she said, without a blink of the eye. "After what you just put me through tonight, it was the perfectly logical thing to say."
“How many times do I have to apologize for cheating on you?
“Whatever,” she said angrily.
Mario rushed over to his white, gold-trimmed bar, poured another shot of bourbon and stared at her. The longer he stared, the more he poured. Once the liquor took effect, there was no telling what Mario would say or do.
She walked toward him and stopped. "You can believe this so-called anonymous caller if you want. But I don't do adultery; that's your style, not mine!” She turned around and walked to the guest bedroom and locked the door. Not long after, she heard him stomp down the hallway and shut his door. After long moments of thinking and nursing her emotional wounds, finally she slept.
At exactly eight o’clock the next morning, she woke up. It took more than ten minutes to move her body out of bed. Instantly, she realized it was Sunday and she got up and showered. Mario had left the apartment. It was his regular day to be on the tennis court.
Two hours later, she was dressed in a two-piece oyster white suit and her hair was perfectly styled in a french roll, held in place with a sparkling hair clamp. She grabbed her long, black leather coat from the closet and quietly shut the door behind her.
Cara arrived at church an hour later. Sitting on her favorite pew, she prayed and recalled the life she and Mario had back in Memphis. She had been honored with the teacher-of-the-year award. As one of the best coaches in the region, Mario had received numerous track and field awards for his outstanding coaching. However, the low wages, combined with Mario’s spendthrift habits, forced them to pursue a better life in Chicago.
She found herself standing and singing the opening hymn. She thought about their daughter, Ashley. She missed Ashley and she wanted to feel her daughter’s short arms draped around her. Her parents, motivated by fear and concerned about the safety of their almost three-year-old granddaughter living in the big city, had pressured Cara to let them take care of Ashley in Memphis for a little while longer or at least until she and Mario were firmly settled into their new life. Just three days ago, however, Cara decided since the public schools would close in June for the summer and Mario had opted not to work the summer session, he had the time to go to Memphis and bring back their daughter.
When services ended she eased past everyone, not in the mood for small talk, and greeted those she recognized with only a friendly smile. She got into her car and drove home. It was a sunny, cool day and there was little traffic on the streets.
Arriving home, she opened the drapes and sat on the sofa looking around the living room. Lots of mirrors were on the walls facing the balcony door; their reflection gave extra daylight for all the plants and made the room look even bigger. Ceiling high plants rested on both sides of the large window. A hand woven basket in between the sofa and loveseat was filled with Ebony, Jet, Essence and People magazines. She reserved the top of the floor model color television for displaying brass-coated frames containing colored photos of her, Mario and Ashley. Realizing that Mario wasn’t due to arrive for another three hours, she undressed and changed into a sleek leopard caftan and matching ballerina shoes. She opened the drapes, checked her phone and e-mail messages, watered the plants, paid the household bills, and baked a cake.
Cara returned to the guest room and took a nap. An hour later, she awoke thinking she heard Mario come home. She got up and pushed the master bedroom door open hoping to talk to him. She checked the kitchen, the bathroom and the balcony. He must have come in and left again.
* * *
The next day, Mario was stuck in rush hour traffic on the Ryan Expressway hoping to get home before Cara. He reflected on the way she had talked to him, intimidating his male ego. How could she do this to me? What a fool I've been, he thought.
Then he remembered when they lived in Memphis and how badly he felt when Cara found out about his affair. Her words still rang in his head. "The hotel clerk said you checked in under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Mario Fleming. Since I didn't go with you, it's obvious you had another woman at the hotel." Her eyes were set ablaze like cackling wood burning in a fireplace on a cold winter night. She spent two weeks in their guest room until he broke the ice and begged for her forgiveness.
Somehow he believed the magic would work this time. It didn’t. Now, the shoe was on the other foot. He started to think: She’s in the hot seat now and won’t admit her guilt like I did. Maybe she just forgave me and didn't forget.
Soon he parked his white Thunderbird in the underground garage. Feeling completely worn, he walked into their semi-dark, quiet apartment. Mario's thoughts had left a bad taste in his mouth, so he headed straight to the liquor cabinet.
He lit a cigarette and turned the television to Channel 7 Eyewitness News. The male reporter was interviewing an alderman about a good deed he’d done for the people in his ward. Mario barely caught the name, Alderman Giles Bennett. He lowered the volume and sipped the rest of his drink.
He looked at his watch thinking Cara would walk through the door in an hour.
Fifteen minutes later, relaxed, though still not at ease, he heard the door open. Cara placed a basket of clothing on the kitchen floor. Did she take the day off? Maybe, she called in sick again, like the caller said.
"Hello Mario," she said without expression.
“What happened? You and lover boy get your signals crossed?”
Here we go again, she thought. She knew it was best to keep quiet and not respond. If she didn’t respond with one of her smart remarks, maybe he'd leave her alone.
He got up and walked to the bedroom.
She breathed a sigh of relief and put the neatly folded clothing away. Then she started preparing dinner, pepper steak with steamed rice and a tossed salad. As she washed the tomatoes, lettuce, and cucumbers, she thought about how it was going to be nearly impossible to get along with him if he continued to believe that she was having an affair. If I leave him, how will I support myself?
An hour later, Cara stood outside their bedroom door. "Mario, dinner is ready."
He slowly came out a few minutes later and sat down at his end of the table. He acted hungry and didn't wait for her to bless the food. The silence was unbearable until halfway through the meal.
"So, how was your day?" he asked.
"Not so good,” she replied, looking at him. “How was it for you?”
"Same here,” he answered, without looking at her.
Cara sipped her white zinfandel. "Have you called your parents?”
"Just my father."
"How’re they doing?”
"Fine. They're doing just fine," he spat, eating the rest of his food like he had to get somewhere in a hurry.
"Spring is here. I suppose Bradley's going to be busy,” she said, trying to fill the silence with small talk. Mario’s father had owned a successful landscaping company since he was a young child. He'd expected Mario to keep his promise and take over the business when he passed on.
"You got that right," he replied, checking his watch. He dropped his napkin on top of his dirty plate. "Thanks for the food.”
She watched him stand abruptly. "I made a pound cake yesterday while you were out. Can I get you a slice?"
He walked away from the table without removing his plate, grabbed his light jacket, and left through the front door.
Still fearful, but without intimidation, she got up and locked the door behind him. She wondered what the anonymous caller told Mario that was so convincing? Who was this man that called her husband? Why were the facts a big secret? How will she defend herself against such blatant allegations?
Cara dashed into their bedroom and located his gun. She walked to the guest bedroom. Mario had left her with only one option.
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