"She's home? You're not kidding me, are you, Rosanne?" Relief shot through Ron Schuyler's body, as clear and as pure as the shot of very expensive vodka he'd just downed. He hadn't been all that worried about where his wife was until Tyler dragged in the police. Somehow answering questions to the local men in blue had made the whole ordeal a lot more real and a lot more scary than it had been when he'd assumed Mavis was off getting her pores vacuumed or her thighs wrapped.
"No, Mr. Schuyler. She just walked in the front door." Ron could hear the tears of gratitude in their housekeeper's voice and for a moment he wondered why she was so happy. He knew what a demanding boss his wife was. Well, Rosanne was simply a nice person which explained why she kept house for the Schuyler's and they paid her. Nice guys--and housekeepers--had a tendency to finish last. "She's upstairs taking a shower. She said she'd call you in a little while."
"I'll come home," Ron said recklessly.
He heard the housekeeper gasp. "You never come home. Not even when Brad and Tyler both broke their arms on the same day or when I accidentally set the kitchen on fire."
"This is something above the ordinary household disaster," Ron huffed, "and I'm still not totally convinced that the kitchen fire was really an accident. Tell my wife I'll be home within the hour."
Ron hung up the phone and contemplated the many feelings that were coursing through his veins. Relief, of course. Relief that Mavis was apparently all right and also that there had been no ransom demands. That would have been an expensive proposition, although he suspected that the longer any wannabe kidnapper kept Mavis, the lower the ransom would go. He was also feeling an element of fear. This whole thing with Mavis disappearing had reminded him a lot too sharply of Mary Austin and what had happened after she was murdered.
Ron was well aware of the fact that there were still people living in Schuyler Square who thought he had killed Mary. Sure, he'd been having an affair with her but was that a crime? No, it wasn't. Immoral, yes but criminal, no. Not like murder.
Murder. His stomach churned. Ron had never been officially questioned over Mary's death but remembering those days still made him sick to his stomach. All those veiled looks he'd gotten from the good people of Schuyler Square. The questions Mavis had thrown at him nightly, like little darts that hit their target every single time. He was glad Veronica had been gone when all of that had gone down--all though if she'd stuck around maybe he wouldn't have gotten involved with Mary Austin in the first place.
OK, enough of this stroll down Memory Lane. Ron didn't really like going down Memory Lane. There were far too many pot holes. He was going to go home, hear what the hell had happened to Mavis and, if the time was right, start laying the groundwork for the divorce he planned on getting. After all of this settled down, of course, and things got back to the Schuyler's version of normal. It wouldn't be very nice to tell Mavis he wanted a divorce the same day she got home from being kidnapped.
Ron left his office, pleased with himself for the surprising amount of sensitivity he was showing toward Mavis. Ron knew that he was many things but insensitive wasn't one of them. Well, not totally insensitive.
"So where were you?"
Mavis glared at her husband in the reflection of her dressing table mirror where she was putting a thick layer of moisturizer over her overly dried face. "I already told you, Ron! I was locked in a very dirty, damp, cold tool shed! It was possibly the most miserable experience of my entire life, if you don't count the two weeks I spent at the girls' camp in northern Wisconsin when I was 12. It was dreadful."
"But I don't understand how you got there."
"Well, neither do I! All I know is that I woke up there with a bump on my head the size of the Hope diamond."
"Where were you before you got hit in the head?"
Mavis broke her glare away from Ron and instead focused on the jar of cream she was holding. No way was she going to tell Ron that she'd been at the County Line Inn motel with Peter Van Husen. She may have done a dumb thing once or twice in her life but she wasn't insane. "Shopping," she mumbled.
"What?"
"I was shopping when someone hit me over the head. Right in the dressing room at Garnett's. I didn't see a thing and I barely remember what happened other than that I was about to try on the sweetest dress when suddenly everything went black."
Mavis felt more than a little guilty over the whopper she was telling but in this instance, a lie was far preferable over the truth. To her everlasting relief, Ron bought it.
"Well, I'm glad you're home. The kids will be too. I just hope whoever is behind all this doesn't try to grab you again. Come down when you're ready and I'll get you a drink."
Ron dropped a kiss on her cheek and left Mavis alone. Mavis continued to stare down at the jar of moisturizing cream. Ron was being awfully nice. What was up with that? And why had he made that remark about her getting grabbed again? That wasn't going to happen.
Mavis raised her eyes and studied her frightened reflection. Was it?
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