"I've already thought of that. He says there aren't any candidates."
"Unless he lived like a monk, there are candidates."
"I know, but he won't even give me their names for me to check out on my own."
He came to sit beside me on the bed, looking worried. "What are y'all talking about?"
"You and your women," I said, turning my shoulder to him and scooting farther away so he couldn't eavesdrop.
"I don't have any women," he said in exasperation.
"Did you hear that?" I asked Mom.
"I heard it; I just don't believe it. Ask him how long he was celibate before he met you."
Notice my mother assumed he was no longer celibate. The fact that she was so unconcerned about my current love life told me that she thoroughly approved of him, which is a big thing. Having Mom's approval goes a long way toward keeping our family life smooth and happy.
I looked over my shoulder at him. "Mom wants to know how long it had been since you'd had any, prior to our engagement."
He looked deeply alarmed. "She does not. She didn't say that."
"Yes, she did. Here. She'll tell you herself."
I extended the phone to him, and warily he took it. "Hello," he said; then he listened. I watched two spots of color start to burn on his cheekbones. He put his hand over his eyes as if he wanted to hide from the question. "Uh... six weeks?" he said sheepishly. "Maybe. Could be a little longer. Here's Blair."
He couldn't hand the phone back to me fast enough. I took it and asked, "What do you think?"
"Six weeks is a long time to wait if you're crazy and fixated on someone," Mom said. "He's probably in the clear. What about you? Have you had any former semi-boyfriends who have since hooked up with some nutcase who may have developed intense jealousy over his former relationships?"
Semi-boyfriend means a couple of dates, maybe several, but nothing serious developed and we both sort of drifted out of each other's orbit. Since Wyatt, I'd had a few of those, and at the moment I wasn't certain I could even remember their names.
"I haven't kept in touch, but I guess I can find out," I said. If I could remember their names, that is.
"That's the only other possibility I can think of," Mom said. "Tell Wyatt he'd better get this settled in a hurry, because your grandmother's birthday is coming up and we can't celebrate if you're still hiding out."
After I hung up the phone, I relayed that message to him and he nodded his head as if he got it, but I'm pretty sure he was still in the dark about Grammy. He had no idea of the wrath that would come down on our heads if she felt the least slighted. She said that at her age she didn't have many more birthdays left, so if we loved her, we'd better make the most of them. Grammy is Mom's mother, if you haven't already guessed. She'll be seventy-four on her birthday, so she isn't even all that old, but she plays on her age to get what she wants.
Huh. Genetics is a funny thing, isn't it?
I gave him the beady eye. "So. What's her name?"
He knew exactly whom I was talking about. "I knew it," he said, shaking his head. "I knew you'd latch onto that like a leech. It was nothing. I ran into an old acquaintance at a conference and-it was nothing."
"Except you slept with her," I said accusingly.
"She has red hair," he said. "And she's a detective in-no, hell no, I'm not saying where she works. I know better than that. You'd be on the phone with her tomorrow, either accusing her of attempted murder or comparing notes on me."
"If she's a cop, she knows how to shoot."
"Blair, trust me in this. Please. If I thought there was the slightest possibility she would do something like that, do you think I'd hesitate for a second before hauling her in for questioning?"
I sighed. He had a real knack for phrasing things in a way that left me little wiggle room, and he'd picked it up fast.
"But it's someone who's jealous of me," I said. "Mom's right. I'm right. It's something personal."
"I agree." He stood up and began stripping off his clothes. "But it's after midnight, I'm tired, you're tired, and we can talk about this after we get the analysis on the hair. Then we'll know if we're dealing with a real brunette or someone who may have dyed her hair as a disguise before acting."
He was right about the tired part, so I decided he was right about that, too. I pulled off my clothes and crawled naked between the cool sheets. He turned the thermostat down to Stage Two Hypothermia, turned out the lights, and got under the covers with me, which is when I found out he'd been lying about the tired part.
Chapter Twenty-seven
I dreamed about my red Mercedes again that night. There wasn't a bridge in this dream, just a woman standing in front of the car pointing a pistol at me. She didn't have black hair, though. Her hair was a light brown, the shade that is almost blond but doesn't quite get there. The weird thing was, I was parked at the curb in front of the apartment where Jason and I had lived when we first got married. We hadn't lived there long, maybe a year, before buying a house. When we divorced, I was happy to let Jason have the house and the attendant payments, in exchange for the capital to start Great Bods.
Even though the woman was pointing a pistol at me, in my dream I wasn't very frightened. I was more exasperated with her for being so stupid than I was scared. Finally I just got out of the car and walked away, which shows you how silly dreams can be, because I would never have abandoned my Mercedes.
I woke up feeling puzzled, which is a strange way to feel when you just wake up. I was still in bed-obviously-so nothing had happened yet to puzzle me.