Ulterior Motives

  Anne deserved a husband who was strong, resourceful, able to provide. Up to now he’d been none of those things. It was long past time to change that. No matter how many paintings he’d sold, no matter how many important showings he’d had, no matter how many art critics were writing positive assessments of his work, it didn’t amount to anything when he was broke, homeless, and lying in a jail cell.

  The roach dropped onto his chest, and he jumped up and brushed it off. He kicked it under the bars, out into the corridor, then leaned against the cold iron and looked up the darkened hall.

  Would they let him out tomorrow? They had to. He couldn’t bear the thought of being in jail until his Grand Jury hearing, separated from his children and his wife.

  Somehow, he had to get out tomorrow. And Lynda Barrett was the only one who could get him out. She was Sharon’s friend, and one of those superstitious Christians. Still, he did trust her.

  After all, he had little choice. There were ways to change his family’s luck. But he had to be free to pursue them.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It was after midnight when the telephone rang in Anne’s motel room. She hurried to answer it before it woke her children. “Hello?”

  “Anne, is that you?”

  The voice sounded distant, and the static over the line made it difficult to hear. “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Nelson,” the voice said. “Nelson Chamberlain. I’m in London, but I’ve just heard about Louis’s murder.”

  Chamberlain, who lived in St. Clair even though he traveled most of the time, was one of Ben’s biggest supporters. He’d bought at least four of his paintings and sold several more for him in just the past year. He had also been one of Louis Dubose’s closest friends. “It was a shock to all of us,” she said, shoving her hair back from her face. “Did they tell you who’s been charged with the murder?”

  “I heard they’d arrested Ben. Is that true? Anne, what’s going on?”

  “Nelson, it’s a long story, but Louis fired Ben yesterday for some unknown reason and told us to move out. The police think that Ben killed him for revenge or something. He’s in jail right now.” Her voice cracked, and she looked up at the ceiling, trying to fight the tears. “The arraignment is tomorrow. I don’t know what we’re going to do. I’m worried sick that they’ll hold him until the Grand Jury investigation. Longer, if he’s indicted. He’s been framed, Nelson. All the evidence points to him, but I swear he didn’t do it.”

  “This is incomprehensible,” Nelson said. “I can’t believe it’s happening.”

  “Me either. And if they do set bond, I have no idea how to come up with it. A bail bondsman might not give it to us—we’re not even employed.”

  “Don’t worry about the bond, Anne,” Nelson said. “I’ll post it. I’m not at a number where I can be reached tomorrow, since I’m hoping to fly home to St. Clair for the funeral, but I’ll phone the courthouse in the morning and have the money wired to them.”

  She caught her breath. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course I would. I know Ben didn’t kill anyone. We’ve got to get him out of jail.”

  “You’re saving our lives,” Anne cried. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Thanks aren’t necessary. Just tell Ben to keep his chin up. I’ll call you when I get back.”

  When she had hung up, Anne sat back against the headboard of the bed and savored the relief that she would at least be able to post bond. Nelson hadn’t set a cap on the amount he was willing to pay, and she knew that he’d get his money back when Ben was acquitted. It was the one bright spot in an otherwise horrible day.

  She slid back under the covers and tried to sleep. But sleep didn’t come. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, until morning intruded on the room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The day was unusually cold for Florida, but that was no surprise. Everything else seemed out of kilter, too. Sharon walked into the courtroom and glanced around at the faces of other family members, lawyers, and accusers who had come to face the judge today. On one side of the courtroom sat the row of inmates awaiting arraignment. Ben was among them in his orange jumpsuit, looking as haggard and disheveled as she had ever seen him.

  Jenny had brought Christy earlier; they were sitting with Anne. Jenny was holding little Bobby in her lap, bouncing him to keep him content, while Emily squirmed restlessly in her mother’s lap—holding the army men that Christy had insisted on bringing her this morning. Christy sat beside Anne, dark circles under her eyes, dressed in her Sunday best with a big white bow in her long hair.

  Lynda Barrett was the only one among them who looked confident and unafraid, as if she knew what she was doing here. Risking Anne’s wrath, Sharon approached Lynda and quietly leaned over her shoulder.

  “How’s it looking?” she asked.

  Lynda looked up at her hopefully. “Things are moving pretty fast this morning,” she said. “The judge must have a golf game this afternoon.”

  The judge hammered his gavel, marking the decision in the previous case, and Sharon found a seat a couple of rows back.

  “St. Clair versus Robinson,” the bailiff called out.

  Ben got to his feet, and Lynda went to stand beside him. After hearing the charge, the judge asked, “What is your plea?”

  “Not guilty,” Ben said loudly.

  Lynda requested that Ben be released on his own recognizance pending the Grand Jury investigation, but the prosecutor pressed to keep him in jail, citing the violent nature of the crime Ben was accused of and suggesting that the streets of St. Clair weren’t safe with Ben free. Lynda refuted his points one by one, making special note of Ben’s alibi.

  “Your honor, since my client has no criminal record, not even a traffic violation, it would be senseless to keep him in jail. He has a wife and four children who depend on him.” She gestured toward them.

  The judge regarded the family. Then, taking off his glasses, he read back over the forms on his table. “Miss Barrett,” he said, looking up at Lynda and shoving his glasses back on. “I see here that Mr. Robinson was evicted from his home just two days ago.”

  “That’s right, your honor.”

  The judge braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward, peering at her with impatient eyes. “Explain to me how I can release him if he doesn’t have an address.”

  Lynda didn’t hesitate. “Your honor, he’s going to get an address very soon, but he has to be out of jail to do so. He was just evicted the day before yesterday. Yesterday he was arrested. He hasn’t had time to find a place for his family to live.”

  The judge shook his head. “I’m sorry, but in light of the fact that this is a murder charge, and he is homeless, I can’t in good conscience release him. It’s hard enough to keep up with people until a trial when they do have an address. When they don’t have one, it’s just impossible.”

  “But your honor, it’s not his fault he was evicted!”

  “Your honor,” the prosecutor interrupted. “The fact is, the murder followed the eviction. The murdered party was his landlord. It seems obvious to me that his homelessness and the murder that took place shortly thereafter are related, so I strongly advise you not to let this man back onto the streets.”

  The judge nodded as he looked back over the papers. “I’m sorry, Miss Barrett, but unless a man has an address, there’s no way that I can release him. I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay in jail pending the Grand Jury investigation, Mr. Robinson.”

  “No!” Anne cried, springing up. Jenny began to wail, covering her face and shaking her head.

  Suddenly, Sharon rose. “Your honor.”

  The outburst surprised the judge, and he looked back into the crowd, trying to figure out who had had the audacity to interrupt his court proceedings.

  “Your honor,” she said again, drawing his attention to her. “I am Ben Robinson’s ex-wife. My name is Sharon Robinson. And he does have an address.”

  The judge looked back at
his papers. “Well, it says here—”

  “Your information is out-of-date,” she said, slipping out of the row she was sitting in and heading toward the bench. “Your honor, Ben and his family are going to stay with me until he’s acquitted.”

  Jenny caught her breath.

  Ben looked at her as if she had just turned into a chicken and begun to cluck.

  Sharon couldn’t believe what she had just done. She looked back at her older daughter, saw the gratitude in her eyes, and hoped that, alone, would be enough to see her through this.

  “Your honor, I’m absolutely certain that my ex-husband did not commit this crime. And to prove that, I’m willing to have him and his family live in my home until the hearing. They will have an address, your honor.”

  The judge looked dumbfounded.

  “Well, uh, Mrs. Robinson—it is Robinson, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “This is highly unusual, and it’s against my better judgment. The man doesn’t have a criminal record, though, and looking out here at his family, I don’t relish the thought of locking him up for an extended period of time. In my courtroom, I prefer to think that a man is innocent until proven guilty. Therefore, if I could have Miss Barrett’s word that this is not some kind of farce, and that this man will not take this opportunity to skip the country, then I suppose I could grant you your request. I’ll release him on $100,000 bond.”

  There was no relief in the breath Sharon took. In fact, it was full of dread.

  Turning, she caught the full impact of Anne’s reaction. Anne’s eyes were narrowed, glaring with shock and anger, as if she had no intention of doing what Sharon had suggested.

  “Thank you, your honor,” Lynda said.

  The gavel hammered again. The next case was called. And Ben was taken back out until his bond was posted.

  Lynda hurried across the floor to Anne and Jenny to explain the procedure for posting bond. Sharon stood back, watching her teenager weep with a mixture of despair and relief.

  Lynda ushered them from the courtroom, and Sharon followed them to the hall, keeping her distance as if she would be flogged if she were caught hanging too close. Christy spotted her and ran toward her, her bow bouncing as it slipped lower on her hair. “Mommy! Daddy got out of jail!”

  “I know, honey,” she said.

  She looked toward them again, and saw Lynda starting back toward her. Her friend’s eyes were sympathetic and grateful. Lynda hugged her. “That was a really great thing you did,” she whispered.

  Sharon’s eyes were filling with tears already. “You can call for the men in the white coats now. I’m ready for them.”

  Lynda smiled. “It was the only way he could have gotten out,” Lynda said.

  “But how am I going to stand this?” she whispered. “I don’t get along with his wife, and I barely get along with him.”

  “Then why did you do it?” Lynda asked.

  Sharon glanced at Jenny, still weeping openly with joy. Christy wasn’t sure what was going on, but she had gone back to Emily and was holding her hands and jumping up and down. “I did it for my children,” she said. “It would kill them to think of their father in jail for any length of time. I’m not going to make them go through that.”

  “So instead you would put yourself through this?”

  Sharon breathed a deep breath and wilted. “Don’t overpraise it, Lynda. I wish I could say I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart, but I’m afraid I’m going to spend the next few weeks seething. But I know that Ben is not a murderer. And the sooner we prove it, the sooner this nightmare will be over.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  An hour later, Sharon watched out the window as Ben’s station wagon pulled into her driveway. She could just imagine what had taken place when Ben had encountered Anne. He’d probably been lambasted. By now, the whole idea of moving in with her husband’s ex-wife had probably sunk in, and Anne must be livid.

  Ben got out of the car with the baby on his hip and grabbed one of the suitcases he had stuffed in the back. Anne lingered behind as if to busy herself with something—anything—to delay her entrance into the home.

  Ben came tentatively to the open door and peered inside. “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” Sharon returned, all business. “Come on in. I’m putting you and Anne in the bedroom at the back, third door on the left down the hall. Emily can sleep with Christy upstairs in Christy’s room, and I got our old crib out of the attic for Bobby. He’ll be in the room next to you.”

  Ben whistled under his breath. “I guess I’ve never been farther in than the den. I didn’t realize you have two extra bedrooms.”

  “It’s a big house,” Sharon admitted.

  He stood there staring at her for a moment, holding that baby on his hip. If he’d been anyone else, she would have been reaching to hold the baby by now. She had always wanted another one of her own. But now she tried not to even look his way as he came in.

  “This was really nice of you, Sharon,” he said. “You didn’t have to do it. It was the last thing I expected.”

  She turned away and began chopping carrots on the big island at the center of her kitchen. “I did have to do it,” she said. “I saw the look on my daughters’ faces. And last night, Christy was so upset—I’d do anything to spare the children from the pain of seeing their father stay in jail.”

  “Well, whatever the motive, I appreciate it.”

  A moment of loud silence passed between them as Sharon continued chopping the carrots.

  “I didn’t kill him, Sharon.”

  Sharon turned back to him and looked down at the floor, studying the big square parquet tiles. “I know you didn’t, Ben.”

  “I’m gonna get out of this,” he said. “I know it looks pretty hopeless, but I’ve got to fight it.”

  “I know.”

  She heard Emily and Christy giggling and chattering as they walked up to the house.

  Anne, on the other hand, was still bitterly angry. She marched into the house carrying a box and wearing a sour look on her otherwise pretty face. Sharon had trouble looking at her. She always had. “Hello, Anne.”

  Anne’s face was red as she lifted her chin and faced Sharon. “I want you to know that I’m against this,” she said. “I don’t like it a bit.”

  Sharon nodded. “That’s fair.”

  “I don’t really know why you did it,” she went on, tears filling her pale blue eyes. “But I don’t trust you. I don’t want any favors from you.”

  Sharon fought the urge to rail back at her that the last thing on earth she wanted was to do Anne Robinson any favors, but instead, she turned back to the carrots. “It doesn’t look like you have a choice,” she bit out.

  “Maybe not for now,” Anne told her. “But the minute I can get into my own place, we’ll be out of here.”

  “Come on, Anne,” Ben said cautiously. “We need to be thanking her instead of badgering her.”

  Anne turned on him then. “Don’t you dare defend your ex-wife to me!”

  “I’m not defending her,” he said. “I’m just trying to point out that you’re being a little irrational. We don’t have a place to live, so she offered us her home.”

  Thick silence stretched out over agonizing seconds as Anne struggled with the emotions battling on her face . . . anger, humiliation, pride, distress. Finally, Ben handed the baby to her. “We’re at the back room on the left. Why don’t you take Bobby and go get settled in?”

  “I’ve got a roast in the oven,” Sharon said to Anne’s back as she left the room. “It’s for dinner tonight.”

  Anne shot her a scathing look, as if about to tell her that that dinner would go uneaten, but then she looked down at Emily and her face softened. The child would have to eat, as would the baby and her husband. Anne herself might fast for as long as she was here, but not her family.

  Sharon almost felt sorry for Anne as she left the room, carrying her box of meager belongings in one arm and t
he baby in the other.

  Jenny, who must have pulled into the driveway behind Anne and Ben, came to the door, her eyes lit up like a little girl in a doll shop at Christmas. Christy and Emily were on her heels. “Oh, Mom, you are so awesome! This is gonna be so great!” She threw her arms around her mother again, almost knocking her down.

  Christy took Emily’s hands and began dancing with her, her long blonde hair bouncing. “Emily gets to live with us! Emily gets to live with us! Mommy, it’s gonna be so much fun! And Daddy’ll be here right where we live, and we can see him all the time.”

  Bitterness welled back up in Sharon. If it hadn’t been for Ben’s recklessness with their marriage, Christy would never have had to know what it was like not to have her father living with them.

  She turned back to the carrots, all her compassion for Ben slipping away. “Well, you guys have a lot of work to do,” she said quickly. “Christy and Emily, why don’t you go unpack? Give her some of your drawers, Christy. You two will be sharing a room.”

  The little girls squealed with delight, and ran up the stairs to Christy’s bedroom. Ben followed them, knowing not to push Sharon any further.

  When Jenny and Sharon were the only two in the kitchen, Jenny asked, “Mom, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. But Jenny, this isn’t gonna be easy.”

  “I know,” Jenny said softly. “But it’ll work out. You’ll see.”

  Sharon checked the stove, as if something might have changed in the last half hour since she’d put the roast in. If it hadn’t been an electric oven, she might have considered sticking her head in it.

  “Mom, I know you and Anne don’t like each other.”

  Sharon breathed a laugh and closed the oven. “Now, there’s an understatement.”

  “But don’t you see?” Jenny asked. “That just makes it all so much greater. I mean, what you did. Letting her come live here, and Dad, and the kids. I mean, it’s easy to do nice things for people you like, but when you do it for people you don’t like . . .”