Mean Woman Blues

I think his name is Todd. He’s an ex-Dallas Cowboy.”
    Skip looked very serious all of a sudden. “Todd who?”
    Karen thought,
What the hell does it matter?
but something in the woman’s manner was intimidating. She searched her memory. “Todd Lyman, I think. Layton, maybe. Something like that.”
    Skip said, “Excuse me a minute,” pulled out her cell phone and made a call: “Hey, Turner! Any I.D. yet on that guy they found at the Owens house? She lived with a man named Todd Lyman or Layton. Oh, you did? Okay.” She rang off.
    Karen picked up the past tense like a dog grabbing a scent. “What’s happened?”
    “Todd’s dead. Somebody shot him at Rosemarie’s house.”
    Karen’s hands fluttered. “David…”
    “No sign of either him or Rosemarie. May I ask you something, Karen?”
    “Sure.”
How can it get worse?
she thought.
    “Did you know your husband was once married to Rosemarie Owens?”
    That almost made her laugh. “No, uh-uh. He was her husband’s best friend. Not Todd, the real husband. That’s the connection. David wasn’t married to her.”
    “Oh, really? He was if he’s Errol Jacomine. They got married in their teens, ran away to Alabama, had one son, Dan, now serving time for crimes he committed with his father. Anyway, he and Rosemarie split up, and years later he married Irene, whom he renamed Tourmaline. He likes to control everything, Karen. Haven’t you noticed that? They had one son, Isaac.”
    “Where’s Isaac now?” It was kind of an automatic question, just making conversation. This had nothing to do with her.
    “He’s an art student in New Orleans. Where he lives with his girlfriend, Terri Whittaker.”
    There was something familiar about the name. A shiver ran up Karen’s spine.
    “Terri was a guest on
Mr. Right
earlier this week. Haven’t you wondered about the timing on all this?”
    Karen lifted her iced-tea glass but somehow missed her lips. She busied herself wiping spilled tea while she thought about timing. That was the night David hit her. The night he changed.
    “Isaac was shot yesterday morning in New Orleans.”
    Karen didn’t get it. “What does that… mean?”
    “It means he put out a contract on his own son.” Skip’s voice was gentle. “He found out before the show that Terri’s boyfriend was Isaac, and he knew Isaac would watch. He was the one person in the world who might both watch the show and recognize him.” She smiled. “I would have recognized him. I’d know him anywhere. But I had no reason to see the show.”
    “You’re telling me that you actually know Errol Jacomine and that he’s my husband?’
    The cop pulled a videotape out of the Walgreen’s bag.
    “You can see for yourself. We’ve got lots of tapes of him. He ran for mayor of New Orleans, you know. He’s always got something grandiose going.”
    Karen felt as if a ghost had laid a cold hand on her neck.
    Like running for president?
she thought.
Would that be grandiose enough?
God, what a fool she’d been!
    Skip was staring at her, assessing. She was holding up the tape. “You up for this?”
    Karen nodded, not speaking. She wasn’t sure she could speak.
    She led Skip into a little den on the first floor where her uncle and aunt liked to watch the news and sat down while Skip popped the tape into the machine.
    At first, she didn’t get it at all. “
That’s
Errol Jacomine?” The weak-chinned little rodent with the redneck accent was no more her husband than Harrison Ford was.
    But as the tape ran, she began to hear the voice and not the accent, began to see familiarity in the way the rodent moved and, without warning, felt nausea rising so fast she had to run to the bathroom.
    After a discreet minute or two, Skip followed. Karen had left the door open. She was rinsing her mouth. “You okay?” the cop said.
    Karen felt oddly violated. “Just give me a minute.” The cop left. This time she did close the door and she started over, washing her whole face, wanting to rip off her clothes and stand under a hot shower, but there was no shower, this was just a powder room, and so, for the moment, there was no escape.
    She more or less staggered back into the little den, where, she was glad to note, it was blessedly silent. Skip had taken the tape out and was waiting quietly.
    “Let’s go back in the living room. It’s too claustrophobic in here.” She needed as much air as she could get.
    When they were once again seated in her aunt and uncle’s