His Missing Wife by Jaime Hendricks (nice books to read .TXT) 📕

Okay, they weren’t there to jump down his throat and accuse him of being a killer. It was going to be a good visit.

James opened the door wide and welcomed Hobart and Pearl into his home. Pearl immediately flung her arms around him. “You poor dear. We don’t believe what they’re saying about you.”

Her eyes filled with tears as James shook hands with Hobart, who also came in for a hug.

“We know you wouldn’t hurt Tessa,” Hobart said.

James led them inside to the kitchen. Hobart had an aluminum tray in his hands, and he placed it on the counter.

“This is some fried chicken and hoppin’ John,” Pearl said proudly. “I made extra last night to bring today. We know you can’t leave and assumed you haven’t been eating, but my cooking will have you busting your belt. Sit, sit,” Pearl commanded, in James’s kitchen. “Where are your dishes?”

“Thanks, Pearl, but you’re a guest. Please, let me,” James said.

She shook her finger at him. “You best get your butt in that seat next to Hobart.”

Sometimes, James forgot that women of her generation were raised to be accommodating. His own mother was the same way—cooking and cleaning, serving and tidying. He didn’t want Pearl to feel insulted, so he pointed to the cabinet where the dishes were and put his butt in that seat as she demanded.

“James,” Hobart started. “What’s going on?”

James told Hobart and Pearl everything, everything that he knew, from beginning to end as Pearl heated up the chicken. He cried again, and so did Hobart and Pearl when James told them about how they met, about Damon.

“This is my fault,” Hobart said. “If that bastard Damon took her or did something to her, I’ll fix him. I’m the one who took her there that first night.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hobart,” James said. “How were you supposed to know that the bartender was an asshole?” His head swiveled to Pearl, preparing food on the plates. “That smells fantastic. Excuse my ignorance, but what is hoppin’ John?”

Pearl clapped. “First timer! This is my momma’s momma’s momma’s recipe. Straight from the old South. I use bacon instead of sausage or fatback, and I use a little vinegar. Just a drop, but it makes a difference.” She put a plate in front of both of them, then prepared one for herself and joined them at the table. Before James picked up his fork, Pearl took James’s and Hobart’s hands and closed her eyes, murmuring, “Lord, thank You for this food. Bless my family and my girls and Mr. James Montgomery, and please hold his dear wife Tessa in Your arms until her safe return.” She opened her eyes and nodded. “Go ahead, now.”

They stayed for three hours. Hobart was more forthcoming about a few things. James didn’t know what Tessa’s first few days were like when she got to New Jersey. He assumed she’d always been in the hotel where she was when he met her. He didn’t know about the Empire Motel, and what happened there, and how Hobart had to pull a gun too.

As they left, Hobart and Pearl promised to be there for James if he needed anything.

“Thanks for bringing dinner,” James said, then rubbed his stomach. “You were right. I didn’t know how much I need a home-cooked meal.”

“You call us anytime, baby,” Pearl said. “Anything you need.”

“Thanks. It really means more to me than you know.”

After another hug, James closed the door behind them. In a better mood, he should’ve tried to end the day on a high note. But he didn’t. He opened the computer to a new headline:

MURDERED VALLEY LAKE WOMAN ROSITA MORALES SIX WEEKS PREGNANT.

MORE CHARGES PENDING

31

Tessa

James told me he needed to talk to me about something important tonight, so I’ve had swimming fish in my stomach all day. To be honest, I haven’t felt a hundred percent right in a few days anyway. I probably caught a bug from that woman who was openly sneezing all over the produce section at the grocery store last week. Still, there was something in James’s voice that was insistent. I know he’s been busy this week trying to land a major builder for financing a new town center. It’s nearly five-thirty, and my nerves are getting the best of me.

When his car pulls into the garage, Candy starts to bark, as usual. He comes inside and he kisses me hello and smiles, so I assume he’s in a good mood and whatever he needs to talk about so desperately is no big deal.

“How was work?” I ask. “Any news yet on the bid for the town center?”

“No, nothing yet. Me and Trey and Rosita have to take them out this Thursday night after work. Hopefully it’ll help make the decision. Could be a nice bonus come Christmastime. I’d like to get you a proper diamond.” He taps on his own wedding band and smiles. “What’s for dinner? You want me to throw something on the grill?”

“I was planning on making tacos.” I open the refrigerator and scan. During these months, James always likes to have hamburgers or hot dogs on tap, just in case he wants to grill. He loves barbecuing and we probably only have another month or so until the weather turns. “We’ve got some burgers, but we’re out of buns. We’ll have to make a quick run to town; we can be there and back in ten minutes. Or I can just make the tacos.” Or you can just tell me what’s bothering you. Either/or.

“Sure, tacos sound good. We can grill Friday. I’ll pick up buns on my way home from work.”

So accommodating, all the time. “Great.” I grab a pan out from under the kitchen island. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Oh. Yeah. Do you want to sit down for a sec?”

Crap. “Sure.”

“Hang on. I have to grab something.” He runs back into the garage, and I hear trunk open and then slam