And the answer is obvious: Ruth. Lauren and I are both women scorned. Women betrayed. We are members of an elite and exclusive club, one that requires a banding together. But while the answer may be clear, my willingness to use it is shaky at best. Arthur isn’t obvious about his affair; in fact, he takes great pains to keep it under wraps. But in a town as small as Sorenson, secrets are hard to keep. Maybe Lauren already knows about Ruth, I surmise, but if she doesn’t, do I want to be the one to tell her? Not only does it feel kind of mean, the whole thing could backfire and blow up in my face. Telling Lauren something as explosive as this might make her so angry that I’ll lose whatever camaraderie we do have.
No matter how I look at it, it is a gamble, but one that offers the promise of worthwhile rewards. I figure I’ll meet with Lauren and try to get the information out of her without playing the Ruth card, maybe by hinting around the idea of Arthur as a suspect in Karen’s murder. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to decide how far I want to push the issue—a decision I know I won’t relish making.
Though I figure Lauren is my best chance at getting to some facts, I briefly consider adding some of the other doctors’ wives to my mental interrogation list. I mull over and discard Marjorie Dunn; even if she does know something about Mick’s business interests, getting it out of her will be damned near impossible. Then I consider Gina. She knew what Robert Calhoun was going to discuss with Sid last night and seems to be up to speed on Sid’s business dealings in general. And she’d all but begged me to call her and do lunch, so why not take her up on it? I’m not sure if I’ll get anything useful from her but I figure it’s worth a try.
I get out of bed early on Saturday morning and plan my strategy over coffee and a half-dozen oatmeal cookies. First I call Lauren, explaining that I want to drop by to discuss something with her. She graciously extends an invitation, as I knew she would, and I arrange to come out around ten. I then place a call to Gina to set up a lunch date. Knowing how busy Gina’s schedule is, I expect to have to wait several days before we can meet. But Gina surprises me by suggesting we get together that day. Sorenson only has a handful of restaurants and nothing that might be called fancy. So after a brief discussion, Gina and I agree to meet at noon at Carver’s, a sit-in family restaurant that is one step above the typical fast-food outlet and serves the most wonderful turtle sundaes.
I head out for Lauren’s house a short while later, my nervousness making me feel restless and fidgety. I arrive fifteen minutes early, and to kill time, I drive around the neighborhood, noticing as I make the first circuit that a burgundy-and-gray van seems to be following me. It stays far enough back that I can’t see who is behind the wheel, but something about it strikes me as familiar. I watch it in my rearview mirror, trying to remember if I know someone who drives such a van.
On my third time around the block, just as I’m thinking about pulling over and waving the van past me, it hangs a left when I turn right and disappears. Then, as I pull my car into Lauren’s driveway and think about the meeting ahead, my rising level of anxiety erases all thoughts of the van from my mind.
If Lauren suspects an ulterior motive or harbors any concern about the reason behind my visit, she hides it well. She greets me with a quick but warm embrace and a cheerful smile.
“You look great,” I tell her. And she does. Her cheeks are rosy, her blue eyes sparkle, and her skin bears the remnants of a healthy summer tan. She’s been working in the yard and even though the air has an autumn bite to it, she’s managed to work up a bit of a sweat that makes the curls in her hair spring to life.
“Thanks. You look pretty good yourself, though perhaps a bit worse for wear,” she says, eyeing the bandage on my head.
“Oh, this,” I say, touching it. “No big deal. Just a freak accident, actually. I broke a glass and a piece of it ricocheted up and cut my forehead. Took three stitches.”
“Ow,” Lauren says, grimacing. “You’re lucky it didn’t hit your eye. It looks like it came close.”
“It did.”
“Well, come on in. I just put on some coffee and I have a sour cream coffee cake that’s been calling to me all morning.”
I follow her inside to the kitchen, where the smells of just-brewed coffee and cinnamon permeate the air. Lauren pours two mugs full, slices two generous helpings of the cake, and sets us up at the kitchen table. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and I can see dirt beneath her fingernails. That’s one of the reasons I like Lauren. There is no pretense, no sense of falseness about her. She is who she is and makes no apology for it. I taste the cake, which melts in my mouth, compliment her on it, and then set to devouring the rest of it.
“Thanks for inviting me over on such short notice,” I say between bites. “As I mentioned on the phone, I have something I need to talk to you about, something related to my new job. I work at the medical examiner’s office now.”
“So I’ve heard. Arthur told me about it last night. It sounds exciting. Do you like it?”
“So far. Though I haven’t been at it long enough to encounter anything too awful yet.”
Lauren nods knowingly.
“What I want to discuss with you is…well…it’s a bit…awkward.”
Lauren smiles. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve listened to Arthur talk about some of the stuff he’s encountered in his work and I know it can get pretty gruesome at times. I’m used to it.”
“Well, it isn’t your tolerance for gruesome that I’m concerned about, Lauren. It’s your privacy. I need to ask you about some very personal stuff.”
That seems to give her pause but she recovers quickly. “Do what you need to do,” she says brightly.
“You’re aware of the Karen Owenby murder, aren’t you?” It is more or less a rhetorical question, an icebreaker of sorts, since I have no doubt everyone in Sorenson knows of it by now.
“I am.”
“Well, I spoke with a woman who knew Karen and she said that Karen mentioned some sort of business dealings—investments she called it—with some of the surgeons. It may have nothing to do with Karen’s death, but it doesn’t hurt to check everything out. I thought you might be able to tell me if you knew of anything like that, any business dealings that Karen might have had with Arthur or any of the other surgeons.”
Now it is Lauren’s turn to look hesitant. “Have you asked David about this?”
“I have. He won’t tell me anything.” I hesitate, then decide that a shared confidence from me might make Lauren more likely to reciprocate. “I don’t know if you’ve heard or not but we’re separated. He…um…had an affair.”
Lauren nods and looks at me sympathetically. “I had heard. I’m sorry, Mattie.”
I shrug it off, trying to pretend it’s not a big deal. “Anyway, since David knows I intend to file for divorce, he refuses to discuss anything to do with money or business, fearing it may somehow affect the outcome.”
“Divorce,” Lauren says, making a face like she just tasted something disgusting. “Why does it always have to be so nasty?”
I wonder if Lauren’s attitude toward divorce will be any different by the time I leave. I also sense the merest hesitation, the barest flicker of doubt in her voice.
“People do some strange things when they’re emotionally wrought,” I say, watching her face closely. “Particularly when there’s money involved. I don’t know if David’s reluctance to talk to me about business stuff means he’s hiding something or not. But I’m going to try to find out.”