Free A Real Basket Case by Beth Groundwater Page A

Roger’s passport and one of three copies of the agreement the bondsman had handed her. “Let’s go.” He strode out of the office without looking back.
    Claire trotted after him, glad to escape outside into the clear, cold air. She followed Dave down the block and across the street into the courthouse.
    Without a word to her, he worked through the process to release Roger, handing over the passport and bond agreement.
    Relieved to be free of the confusing paperwork, Claire focused on Roger’s homecoming. She would fix his favorite meal of lamb chops and baked potatoes. Maybe she could find some asparagus at the market, and a chocolate cake. Open a bottle of the French Pinot Noir they had been saving for special occasions. Then she would beg his forgiveness.
    Dave escorted her down a corridor and into another room. While she sat and waited, he paced, his dress shoes clicking on the linoleum floor.
    A uniformed officer led Roger through the door. Roger’s eyes looked gaunt, and he needed a shave. He wore the same suit he’d had on when he was arrested, now wrinkled and limp.
    Claire rushed to give him a hug but stopped short when he held up a hand.
    His jaw was set in a hard line. “I need time alone to think, Claire.”
    Her heart sank. “But I need to talk to you. I have so much to explain.”
    “I’m not in the mood to hear it right now.” Roger glanced at his watch, then at Dave. “If you drive me home so I can change, I’ll make it to the office in time to convince Ned I should speak at the investors’ conference.”
    What? He was thinking about work? Claire’s blood began to boil, but she stifled her immediate reaction. She needed to salvage her marriage. “I can drive you home.”
    Roger refused to meet her eyes. “I’d rather have Dave drive me. I’ll be taking some of my things, too.”
    Claire’s insides twisted. She clutched herself in a tight hug that she desperately wished came from him.
    “I’ve accepted Dave’s offer to stay at his place for a few days.” Roger ran his fingers through his gray fringe. “Then I’ll decide what to do next.”
    Claire stepped closer. “Roger,” she whispered, “give me a chance. Please.”
    “I don’t have time to deal with this now.” He turned away. “C’mon, Dave, I can’t afford to be late.”
    Roger shoved his balled fists into his pockets and walked toward the door. Grim-faced, he turned back to Claire. “I’ve got serious problems to solve at the office. This fiasco could cost me my career.” Then he strode out of the room, followed by Dave.
    Oh, God . With a sob, Claire dropped into a chair and let her tears flow.

SEVEN:
THE GIRLFRIEND
    Dazed with grief, Claire followed a policeman through the narrow hallway of the downtown police station into a large room filled with a dozen desks. She had called ahead from the courthouse to request a meeting with Detective Wilson. Half a dozen detectives sat at the desks, talking on telephones, working at computers or reading case files. Two men scribbled something on a large whiteboard then passed her on their way out.
    When he saw her approach, Detective Wilson removed a stack of files from the chair next to his desk and offered it to her.
    Claire slumped into the chair.
    After a glance at her tear-streaked face, Wilson said, “I’ll be right back.” He walked away and returned with a glass of water. “Here, drink this.” He slid a box of tissues toward her. “And feel free to use these.”
    He settled into his chair and waited while she gulped some water and blew her nose. “Tough day?”
    Claire shredded a tissue. “You don’t know how much I wish I could live yesterday over again. If I hadn’t agreed to a massage, Enrique Romero would be alive and Roger would . . . Roger would still be living with me.”
    Wilson frowned. “I heard he made bail. But he’s not returning home? Where’s he staying?”
    “At Dave Kessler’s place.” Seeing the detective’s puzzled expression,