The Husband She Never Knew

Vicki felt a blush of mortification creep up her neck to her cheeks. “I guess that’s him,” she admitted.

“You want his address?” Weaver asked.

“Definitely.”

“It’s simple enough. Jamie Malone, Pintail Point, Bayberry Cove, North Carolina. I looked on a map. It’s in the extreme northern part of the state, on the coast.”

Vicki thanked the detective and told him to send her the bill. After disconnecting, she stared at the address she’d written in her day planner. Those few words abruptly connected her to Jamie Malone in a way she’d never expected to be again. She’d only seen him twice in 1990. Once at the courthouse and then again six months later at an INS office where they’d somehow managed to pass the required post-wedding interview. They’d exchanged extremely personal information over the phone a few days before the interview, and luckily, they’d memorized the very details the official that day had wanted to know.

Today Vicki recalled some of the particulars. Jamie had said he was an early riser. He slept in boxer shorts. As a child he’d had chicken pox and measles, nothing more serious. His mother lived in Ireland, but he hoped to bring her to America. He watched very little television, since soccer matches weren’t broadcast much in the U.S. He didn’t smoke, but appreciated his Guinness. He ate red meat and liked to run in the evenings before his shower. He had no political affiliation, and he wasn’t religious, but if it turned out there was a God, it was okay with him.

Vicki also remembered that Jamie claimed he had a healthy sexual appetite, something Vicki had to admit, as well, in front of the INS agent. In fact, recalling how they’d professed to making love every day of the week made her face flush with heat even now.

At the INS interview, his hair had still been long and wild. There’d still been stains under his fingernails. And his smile had still been eager.

Vicki closed her planner and tucked it into her purse. She’d never have believed she could dredge up so many details about a man she’d only thought of over the years as a problem she’d have to address one day. Well, today was the day, she thought as she picked up the phone again and punched in Louise’s number.

“What’s up, Vic?” Louise asked.

“Draw up my divorce papers, Lulu. I’m heading to Bayberry Cove, North Carolina.”

CHAPTER TWO

THE FIRST SNAG in Vicki’s foolproof plan to obtain an uncontested divorce occurred two days later at the Norfolk, Virginia, airport. Minutes after her plane landed, Vicki and other passengers with schedules to return the next day were summoned by an airline representative. This woman calmly explained to the ticket holders that they should call the airline to confirm that their return flights weren’t being affected by the approaching storm.

Storm? What storm? Vicki remembered a local TV weatherman’s vague reference a couple of days before to a tropical storm in the Atlantic Ocean. But since it was October, near the end of hurricane season, and the system was well north of Florida, she hadn’t paid much attention. Now, suddenly, she was well north of Florida and that feathery white ripple she’d seen on a meteorological radar screen had acquired a name and a circular motion. Unbelievably, Tropical Storm Imogene was targeting a still-unspecified patch of land somewhere along the North Carolina/Virginia coast.

Wonderful. Vicki slung her garment bag over her shoulder and made her way to the rental-car counter. She had a reservation at a hotel near the airport for tonight, but her flight back wasn’t until noon tomorrow. She had more than twenty-four hours to sweat out Imogene’s eventual landfall—at the same time she was sweating out her meeting with Jamie Malone.

After a thorough search, the rental-car agent found the small town of Bayberry Cove on a map. It was situated on the shore of Currituck Sound in the lowland marshes between the North Carolina mainland and the Outer Banks. A bird could have probably made the journey from Norfolk in about half an hour, but thanks to the narrow, twisting two-lane road Vicki had to take, she arrived at the town boundary sixty minutes later.

Now Vicki’s problem was to find the even more elusive Pintail Point. And she didn’t have time to waste driving aimlessly. She headed down Main Street, searching for a busy establishment where locals might direct her to where Jamie Malone lived. She chose the Bayberry Cove Kettle, a small, pleasant-looking café with ruffled curtains in the windows and an open parking space in front.

A hand-printed sign on the door reminded her of the approaching storm: “Closing at 3 p.m. Imogene’s coming.” Vicki entered the crowded restaurant and took the only available seat, a stool at the counter. Apparently the residents of Bayberry Cove were indulging in a last hearty lunch before holing up in their houses for the duration of the storm.

Most of the customers didn’t seem too worried. In fact, several of them were concentrating on triangular-shaped puzzle boards spaced across the length of the counter. Each puzzle had a dozen wooden pegs sticking up from holes. Vicki remembered playing these leap-frog games when she was a little girl in Indiana. These, like the ones she recalled, came with cardboard instruction sheets that described the participant’s mental capacity according to the number of pegs left in the board when he ran out of moves. If the player left one peg, he was a genius. If he left five or more pegs, he was a blockhead.

A full-figured waitress with short platinum hair took Vicki’s order. “What can I get you, honey?” she asked. Her voice was decidedly Southern. So was the name on her lapel badge. Bobbi Lee. Her smile was wide and friendly.

“Just coffee,” Vicki said. “And directions, if you don’t mind.”

Bobbi Lee set a steaming mug of coffee on the counter. She slid a chrome pitcher of cream and two sugar packets toward Vicki. “I don’t mind a bit. I probably know every address in this little town. Lived here all my life.”

Vicki took a sip. It tasted better than Florida coffee, probably because there was a bit of October chill in the North Carolina air. “Do you know where Pintail Point is?”

Bobbi Lee’s cherry-red lips tugged down at the corners. She leaned one well-rounded hip against the counter and stared at Vicki. “Pintail Point? Now why would you want to know where that is? It’s way outta town in the marshes. There’s nothing much out there but ducks.”

“Maybe so,” Vicki said, “but someone lives there I used to know. I need to find him.”

Bobbi Lee tapped her pencil against her order pad. A bit too loudly and a bit too fast. “You just continue down Main Street till you hit Sandy Ridge Road. Turn right and in about three miles you’ll see the causeway that’ll take you to Pintail. It’s only one lane, so make sure nobody’s comin’ the other way.”

Vicki dug in her purse for her wallet. “I will. Thanks.” She left two dollars on the counter. “By the way, do you know which house belongs to Jamie Malone?”

Bobbi Lee snorted and jabbed her pencil into a tight wave over her ear. “There aren’t any houses out there,” she said. “But Jamie won’t be hard to find. He’s the only man that lives on the point.”

No houses? One lone resident? Vicki took a healthy swig of coffee.

“You do know a storm’s comin’?” Bobbi Lee said. “Pintail’s no place to be.”

Vicki picked up her purse and headed for the exit. “I won’t be there long,” she responded. “Thanks again.”

Bobbi Lee only nodded, but as Vicki went out the door, she distinctly heard the waitress say, “Now, why would that woman be lookin’ for a married man?”

Married? Jamie Malone was married? Bobbi Lee had said Jamie was the only man on Pintail Point. She hadn’t mentioned a woman at all. Vicki slid into the driver’s seat of her small rental car. She took a moment before starting the engine to think about this latest shocking information. What kind of trouble was she heading into with the only man who lived on Pintail Point? Was she meeting with a bigamist? Jamie must have married another woman because surely he didn’t still think of Vicki as his wife. Vicki definitely didn’t think of him as her husband. Would she face an irate woman who knew nothing of Jamie’s past? And why did the waitress proclaim Jamie’s marital status in a voice loud enough to ensure that she heard it? Was it a warning of some kind?

Vicki turned the key in the ignition, relieved to hear the steady hum of the engine. This little car would take her away from Pintail Point as reliably as it got her there.

“You’ve come this far, Vicki,” she said. “Just get it over with.” She pulled out of the parking space and headed in the direction of Sandy Ridge Road. In her rearview mirror she saw Bobbi Lee watching her departure from the open doorway of the Bayberry Cove Kettle.

ANY NOTION that the airline representative might have been wrong about the approaching storm vanished when Vicki left the town limits of Bayberry Cove and turned onto Sandy Ridge Road.

The two-lane paved road hugged the shore of Currituck Sound, and on a sunny day would have provided scenic glimpses of the protected waters between the North Carolina coast and the Outer Banks. But today the horizon was gray, leaving the far islands blanketed in charcoal shadows. White-capped waves crashed against the sea wall, spewing frothy streams of brackish water over the edge of the road.

Wind buffeted Vicki’s little car. She gripped the steering wheel to maintain a straight course. The marshes were eerily void of wildlife, and there wasn’t a boat in sight. Vicki imagined that on any other day, fishermen would be working these waters and cursing the many pleasure-boaters.

After three miles, she spotted the causeway Bobbi Lee had mentioned and turned off Sandy Ridge. Her tires crunched on the gravel surface of the one-lane spit of land bordered by sloping rock embankments. The causeway appeared to be about half a mile long, and at the end, through a thickening haze, Vicki detected a couple of low buildings set amongst a copse of trees.

This path was more treacherous than Sandy Ridge. Currituck Sound attacked the causeway from both sides, sending churning waves onto the road and leaving the driving surface riddled with puddles, gravel and seaweed.

In the distance, clouds swirled in ashen bands heavy with moisture. The weather was deteriorating quickly, Vicki realized, and she would be wise to leave the causeway as soon as possible. Once Jamie signed the papers, she could wait out the storm in a hotel near the Norfolk airport.

The buildings on the point of the causeway were more recognizable now. Vicki slowed her car under the wind-whipped branches of a tall pine. Bobbi Lee had been right. There were no houses on Pintail Point. There was, however, a large metal shed with a tin roof. And a houseboat.

Vicki parked next to a pickup truck with a light film of sand on its metallic-blue panels. She removed her briefcase from a zippered compartment in her garment bag and examined the point, which was no more than two acres.

She didn’t see anyone around the houseboat, a one-story structure with a sundeck occupying half the roof. The boat was painted forest green with tan trim around the windows and shake cedar shingles extending from the slightly peaked roof. Window boxes gave the compact place a whimsical look, almost like a mountain chalet.

Vicki closed her eyes and took a fortifying breath. A clear image of that other time she’d met Jamie Malone flooded her memory. She was even more anxious now than she’d been on the courthouse steps. On that day, however, she’d known what to expect. She and Jamie had followed the advice of a mutual friend who’d guided them through the marriage and green-card process. Now she had only herself to rely on. There was no intermediary to witness this odd reunion, except perhaps Jamie’s wife.

Vicki shivered. She buttoned her jacket, stuffed her car keys inside the pocket and wrapped a trembling hand around the door handle. “Just go,” she said to herself. “Find this man, get him to sign the papers, and you’ll be on your way in a few minutes.”

She opened the car door and stepped into a fierce wind that whipped her hair from its tortoiseshell clip and battered strands of it against her cheeks. For a moment she felt like the heroine of a gothic novel. All the elements were here. The wind, the threatening rain, the isolation of Pintail Point. And even worse, a man who was just as much a stranger to her today as he’d been thirteen years ago when she’d married him.

She approached the houseboat. “Mr. Malone?” she called, and realized her words had been swept up in a gust of wind. “Hello!” she hollered. “Mr. Malone, are you here?”

She heard a bang and a crack. She couldn’t identify the sound, but it was repeated twice more before someone shouted back, “Yes, I am, though if the wind gets any stronger up here, I might be blown to the mainland.”

Up here? Vicki held the hair out of her eyes and stared at the top of the houseboat from where the voice with the hint of an Irish accent had originated. A man appeared on the roof. He braced his feet apart against the force of the wind and looked down at her. “I can’t imagine what you’re doing on the point today, but as long as you’ve come, would you toss up a box of staples?”

Vicki followed the imaginary line from the tip of the man’s index finger to a red metal toolbox on top of a large wooden picnic table. She went to the edge of the table and grasped the latch of the toolbox. She’d just opened the lid when a loud snuffling sound came from the ground. A second later a heavy weight landed on the toe of her loafer. Vicki screamed, jumped away from the table and leaned over to see what had attacked her shoe.

A large, pointed dome of patchy gray fur poked out from underneath. A pair of small amber eyes on each side of a long, grizzled snout looked up at her with an expression of casual canine interest. “My God,” she gasped, “does he bite?”

The answer came from the top of the houseboat. “Beasley? Only the occasional gnat. And it had better be flying low.”

Vicki shifted her attention from the strange-looking dog to the man. He wiggled his finger with an edge of impatience, reminding her of his request. He obviously had no idea who she was.

Vicki hadn’t known what she would find on Pintail Point, but she’d half expected the past thirteen years would melt away and she’d recognize the ruddy face of the scruffy carpenter she’d married. The man giving her an expectant look from twelve feet above was Jamie Malone all right, but thirteen years had made a difference in him, as they no doubt had in her.

“The staples are in a red-and-white box,” he said. “I’m up here with a roll of plastic and a staple gun that’s just run out of staples. And a sky that tells me I’m running out of time.”

“Oh, right.” She rummaged through the toolbox and found the requested item.

Jamie approached the edge of the roof and bent slightly. “Just toss her up. I’ll catch it.”

The tail of a green flannel shirt flapped around worn denim jeans that accentuated long, lean legs. At the open yoke, a white T-shirt stretched across the tapered chest of a well-developed male, not the skin-and-bones frame of the young Irish immigrant who’d looked as if he’d survived on one meal a day.

He showed her his open palm. “Before I grow a beard, miss.”

Beard? He hadn’t had one thirteen years ago, at least not on his wedding day. Now he had the shadow of one, lending a nonchalant dignity to his face. His hair was still a tangle of coffee-brown waves, though it fell no longer than the edge of his collar. The wind played havoc with it, but Vicki had the notion that it would look pretty much the way it did right now even on the calmest of days. And Jamie’s smile, the feature she remembered most, was still the solar center of his face. With a frown that said he didn’t have time for conversation or even a serious inspection of his visitor, he held up his staple gun to bring her back to her senses.

She threw the box underhanded. It somehow defied the wind and landed in Jamie’s grasp.

He opened the stapler, filled it and snapped it closed again. “Thanks. As soon as I get this tarp secured, I’ll come down and see what brought you out here on this wicked day.” He went down on his knees beyond the slight peak of his roof and she had only the sound effects of his work to identify where he was.

“Yes, please,” she shouted to the general vicinity of the stapler. “I won’t take much of your time, but I need to speak with you and be on my way as quickly as possible.”

After another minute the stapling stopped. Jamie stood up again and looked toward the mainland. He shook his head once before returning his attention to her. “Doesn’t look like you’ll be going anywhere today,” he said.

She stared across the sound. The waves had increased in size, but it wasn’t as if Pintail Point was no longer connected to the mainland. She could simply drive away, couldn’t she? “What are you talking about?”

“Causeway’s washed out. You can’t see it from where you’re standing, but I can. The water’s claimed the road about halfway between Pintail and the coast.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I’m afraid not. It happens with every good storm. In a day or two it’ll dry out.” He looked over his shoulder toward the Outer Banks and frowned. “Though this storm seems a bit worse than most. Come aboard and see for yourself.” He gestured. “The ladder’s just at the bow there.”

After considering for a moment that only a lunatic would climb to the roof of a houseboat in a fiercely blowing wind, Vicki headed for the ladder. She had to see for herself if Jamie’s assessment of the situation was correct. She crossed a narrow bridge from the ground to the boat, set her briefcase on the deck and moved around to an open porchlike space that spanned the front of the houseboat. The hull made a squeaking sound as it rocked against the rubber bumpers connecting it to the sturdy wooden dock.

Vicki had climbed nearly to the top of the ten rungs when Jamie appeared from above and offered his hand. When she looked up at him, his entire face changed. It was as if the sun had broken through a menacing layer of clouds. His green eyes sparkled and his wide grin produced a pair of distinctive dimples. “Bless my soul,” he said. “I thought you looked familiar, Vicki. After all these years, my sainted wife has come to me.”

Startled by his enthusiastic greeting, Vicki grasped his hand and stepped onto the upper deck. “I’m surprised you remember me.” She tried to hide the strangely pleasing effect his recognition had produced behind a sober expression.

“A man never forgets his first, Vicki darlin’,” he said. He was still holding her hand, she realized, and staring at her in an odd, almost familiar way. “How did you find me?”

Omitting the detail of the detective, Vicki said, “You were on the Internet.”

Jamie laughed. “I’ve achieved cyber-fame? Has the INS posted a Most Wanted list?”

The response, though meant to be humorous, still spawned an uncomfortable twinge of nerves in the pit of Vicki’s stomach. “Let’s hope not,” she said. “Or if they have, let’s assume they’ve got more desperate criminals to find than the two of us.”

Jamie chuckled. “That’s a good bet. Anyway, it’s nice to see you again, Vicki. Even on a day such as this one.”

“You’ve been on my mind lately, Mr. Malone.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. “I’m flattered,” he replied. “But it’s ‘Mr. Malone,’ is it?”

She looked down before he could read her embarrassment in her face. It was, after all, a ridiculous way to address one’s husband.

“Are you certain you’ve got your footing?” he asked. “The wind’s blowing hard up here.”

She nodded and he released her hand but stayed by her side. Vicki cleared her throat and spoke close to his ear so he could decipher her words in the wind. “As I said, I’ve been thinking about you. About what we did. That’s why I’ve come. And I can’t stay but a few minutes.”

He pointed to the causeway. “You didn’t believe me, but have a look for yourself.”

Vicki stared across the sound from this improved vantage point and gasped. The mist was thickening, making visibility difficult. “I can hardly see anything,” she said. He took her hand and guided her to where she could make out a stream of water surging in frothy ripples across several yards of the gravel surface she’d driven over not twenty minutes before.

“Do you see that?” Jamie asked.

It looked as though the causeway had broken in two. She dropped her forehead into her hand and fought a rising panic. “Maybe if I leave now, I can just make it.”

“In that little car?” Jamie nodded toward her rental.

“Of course.”

“You’d be swept off the road and into the sound like a teacup in a whirlwind. I wouldn’t even attempt it in my truck.” He shrugged one shoulder with matter-of-fact acceptance of her predicament. “Guess you’re stuck here for the duration.” He touched her arm, drawing her attention to a spot in the distance. “Do you see that man on the mainland?”

She did. Barely.

“I’m betting that’s Deputy Blackwell putting up barricades like he does whenever the causeway’s washed out.”

Through the soupy mist she detected a figure on the coast, and suddenly a location a mere half mile distant seemed a continent away.

“It’s official,” Jamie said. “Luther’s not letting anyone on or off now.”

The deputy swept his arm in a huge arc over his head, and Jamie waved back. Then Luther Blackwell, the man who’d just decided Vicki’s fate for the next several hours at least, climbed in his patrol car and headed on down Sandy Ridge Road.

“I can’t miss my flight home,” Vicki said.

“Maybe you won’t,” Jamie said. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow at noon.”

He squinted at the darkening horizon. The first fat drops of rain pelted them, driven by a sudden gust of wind. “On the other hand, maybe you will.”

She was trapped on a virtual island with a man who was practically a stranger! Vicki couldn’t imagine a worse outcome to what was supposed to have been an uncomplicated mission. She knew nothing about Jamie. He could be half-crazy living out here in the middle of nowhere. Or worse.

“Let’s get down to ground level,” he said. “This roof’s as secure as she’s going to get, but we humans are tempting the elements.”

She tried to control a trembling that began in her legs and was working its way up. And I’m tempting fate, she thought.

Jamie helped her to the ladder. “Are you cold, Vicki?”

“No, I’m fine.” She scurried down and retrieved her briefcase while Jamie stowed his tools in the metal box. He whistled for his dog, who still lay in unperturbed comfort under the picnic table. By the time Jamie opened the door to the houseboat, the rain was hard and steady. Since escape was impossible, Vicki went inside. Jamie took her jacket, hung it on a hook by the door and handed her a towel. She dried off as best she could while watching the darkening sky through a large window over the kitchen sink.

“Maybe I should turn on CNN,” Jamie said. “We can get an update on the storm.”

Vicki stepped over Beasley, who was now sprawled in the middle of the floor and followed Jamie from the kitchen to a living area furnished with a beige leather sofa and two matching leather chairs. It certainly didn’t look like the accommodations of a psychopath—not that she knew how psychopaths lived. He picked up a remote control from a glass coffee table with a ship’s steering wheel as its base. The brass trim on the spokes shone as if they were polished regularly.

The rest of the room showed similar attention. A pine dining set occupied one corner of the room. Its top was clear of clutter, prompting Vicki to remember her own dining table, which was currently layered with unopened mail and magazines. Nautical paintings hung in groups around the walls of the houseboat. Remembering her surprise at hearing Jamie was an artist, Vicki wondered if he’d painted the canvases himself.