Lost Are Found (A Prairie Heritage, Book 6) Read online

  The coveted position at UNM had come through, and the first semester had turned into a year and then the year into three years before he’d “confessed” that he’d never thought of himself as “good parenting material.”

  The dreams had started dying then. Now, at thirty-eight years of age, Kari had to admit to herself that she was too old to find someone new and have children. She had to face the harsh truth that her hopes of having a family and a home—a real, enduring home—were over.

  Done.

  Shattered.

  She would be alone soon. Again.

  What a fool I’ve been. I never should have quit my job!

  Kari sat staring at her husband and, as much as she knew she needed to harden her heart toward him, she couldn’t help but see him right then as she had when they’d first met and married. Tall and wonderfully good looking, David could glance at her, and Kari would heat inside with longing.

  We were a striking couple once, she reminded herself. She was tall and slender and, against his chest, the long strands of her light brown hair had shimmered with golden highlights, the perfect complement to his darker looks.

  He was everything I needed! Everything I wanted! she mourned. We were going to have a good life together!

  Especially after her disastrous first marriage.

  Both David and Kari had been married previously. Kari’s first husband had been mysteriously unable to stay employed, and they’d struggled for three years until she’d stumbled on the evidence of his many lies and his longstanding drug problem.

  According to David, his first wife had been blatantly and shamelessly unfaithful, something he declared he would never again tolerate—which was what had prompted his insistence on a prenuptial agreement.

  Kari had understood his reasoning at the time, especially the adultery clause. But now . . .

  “Yes, David, I remember,” she answered softly.

  “Well, then. My lawyer can work out the numbers. You’re entitled to a small percentage of the equity—not a lot, since you didn’t contribute much—and I’ll cash you out, but I don’t plan on selling this house. Not now that we finally have it fixed up right.”

  We? We have it fixed up right? Kari swallowed down the anger churning in her stomach.

  David lifted his right hand, one finger pointing upwards—a gesture that signaled that he had already moved on to another, more important topic and was impatient to drop the present one. It was the same gesture he used to manage discussion in his classes or departmental meetings.

  I didn’t contribute much? I quit my job to make a home for us! I turned this drab shell of a house into a place of beauty and comfort! I cooked and cleaned! I—

  Kari took a calming breath; she couldn’t go there—and she didn’t need to. She squared her shoulders, unconscious of doing so.

  “David, do you remember the adultery clause in the prenuptial agreement?”

  Ah.

  She noted the color leave his face and saw his jaw clench, followed by a hasty attempt to cover his shock.

  “Come on, Kari, I think I know you better than that,” he bluffed. “You’d be the last person in the world to commit adultery.”

  He laughed a little to cover his unease, but his right hand was hanging uncharacteristically still at his side. His ‘tell.’ “So, what? Are you about to confess some torrid affair to me?”

  “No,” Kari murmured. “I’m about to confront you with yours.”

  They stared at each other for a long, charged moment. Kari willed herself not to look away first.

  Finally David snorted in derision. “Yeah, right.”

  He started to turn away but whirled back, the anger she’d anticipated barely in check. “As usual, you’re being totally ridiculous—and it won’t work, Kari. My God! I should have left you last year.”

  “You mean last year when you were having an affair with Jules Rivera? Or last year when you dropped her to seduce Gil Trask’s wife?”

  David mouth twisted and he shook his head viciously. “Oh, no, Kari. This won’t work on me.” He jabbed his finger close to her face. “I won’t listen to you slander me like this. And if you talk this kind of trash to anyone outside of this room, you’ll live to regret it.” He turned away and moved toward the door.

  “You know, I’m not concerned with Jules Rivera or Molly Trask anymore,” Kari replied, her words contemptuous. “Beth Housden is your current ‘flame,’ isn’t she?”

  Kari took advantage of David’s facing away from her to stand, her legs wobbling, and edge away.

  But when he spun back, instead of hurling the filthy insults she’d expected, he studied her hard for several thundering beats of her heart.

  “I don’t know how you concocted these interesting stories, Kari, but your strategy is ingenious. Too bad for you that your accusations are baseless. Not that you would have benefited from that morality clause even if you could prove your lies. I believe I had my attorney write the clause to apply only to unfaithfulness on the wife’s part.”

  “My attorney believes it can be enforced on either party.” Kari was breathing hard now.

  “Your attorney?” She’d surprised David again.

  “Yes. The one I retained three months ago—when I found you’d sold off 850 shares of our stock. At $67 a share, that was a nice little chunk of change.”

  “I reinvested the money elsewhere,” he retorted, but his gaze wavered.

  “Oh, yes. I know. A sapphire and diamond necklace—from an estate sale through Beauchamp and Company—was part of your ‘reinvestment,’ I believe.” Kari sniffed, her derision out in the open now.

  She was ready when the flat of his palm connected with her face. She even managed to stay standing despite the ringing in her ears.

  “You—!” He cursed her vilely, ending with, “I promise you’ll get nothing from me, do you hear me? Nothing.” His face was suffused with anger and he spat the last word.

  “Well, I don’t need anything from you,” Kari hissed, “because this house, everything in it, your investments, and even your retirement are mine, thanks to your own actions and your tidy little morality clause. My attorney says I can take it all—everything—and walk away from you, shaking your dirt off my feet on the way out the door.”

  David laughed, his mirth ragged. Harsh. “This is great, Kari. You’re playing the part very well. It’ll be interesting to watch you try to pull this off. Not only will you be unable to prove any of this, but I’ll countersue and keep you in court so long that, even if your lawyer works on contingency, he’ll give you up long before it’s over. I’ll empty the checking account and cut you off from the credit cards before the bank closes today. You won’t even have grocery money by the end of the week.”

  Kari, her breathing uneven, didn’t answer. She walked on shaky legs to her dresser, pulled open the top drawer, and removed a thick manila folder.

  “These are all copies. The originals are with my lawyer. The investigator I hired in December of last year is very good and very thorough. Even the photo quality is good, don’t you think?” She spread the folder’s contents on the bed.

  David gaped at color eight-by-tens of himself and Beth Housden—outside her apartment door, inside his car, seated in several restaurants: kissing, petting, smirking. In several photos Beth wore a very nice sapphire and diamond necklace. From Beauchamp and Company.

  Kari was panting and growing light-headed. She edged toward the door of their bedroom. “I told my lawyer that we would take it easy on you, that I just wanted out with my fair share. I still feel that way, but I can be persuaded to change my mind.”

  David’s dark, smoldering eyes burned her.

  “By the way,” she added, “I paid my lawyer a $10,000 retainer. Maybe a little over the top, but you never can tell how long these things will drag out—right?

  “How did I pay him? I cashed in a few of ‘your’ CDs. All of them, actually. And did you know? There’s quite a penalty when you cash them out before mat
urity! I opened my own account at the credit union with the remaining money. Just in case you wanted to play hard ball.”

  She reached for the door jamb to steady herself. “Oh, right. And my lawyer has already moved to freeze all of your other assets including the joint bank accounts and your retirement. You can’t sell any more of your stock now, my darling, and I doubt if Beth Housden will want you long after she sees what you’re left with.”

  Kari was struggling to suck in air and, despite her determination, tiny black spots danced before her eyes. O God, I'm panicking. No, please! I can’t! Not here! Stop it. STOP IT RIGHT NOW!

  She forced herself to keep breathing even as her vision darkened around the edges. “One teensy thing more, David. My lawyer will have this lovely bruise on my cheek photographed tomorrow morning when it’s looking its very best. I’m sure the judge will want to see it when I request a restraining order against you.”

  She hugged the bedroom door, gutting out her anxiety attack. “And now I would like you to leave. I’ll be living here until the divorce is final and the house sells. I want you, your clothes, and your personal items out. Now.”

  David swore violently and bore down on her, fists lifted to strike. He jerked back when a short, stocky man with silvering hair appeared behind Kari in the bedroom doorway.

  “Who the devil are you?” David demanded.

  The man nudged Kari aside and nodded at the folder on the bed. “Anthony Esquibel, private investigator. I see you’ve been admiring my work.”

  He pulled an Asp—a short, telescoping baton—from his back pocket and, with a flick of his wrist, extended it. “I believe you’ve been asked to leave. I’ll give you ten minutes to get your clothes together and make your exit—during which time you will mind that foul mouth of yours.”

  David gaped at him and Esquibel slapped the baton once on the door to get his attention. “Listen up. Kari’s gonna have around-the-clock security here until the restraining order is in place and all the locks are changed. Any questions?” He glanced at his watch. “No? The clock has nine minutes and twenty seconds on it.”

  David didn’t move.

  Esquibel whipped the baton against the doorframe, splintering its wood with a resounding crack. “Nine minutes, fifteen seconds.”

  “Son of a—!” David screamed.

  “Yes, you are. Now, get moving. With or without your clothes you will be out in another . . . eight minutes and fifty-five seconds.”

  Kari’s soon-to-be ex-husband left the house with five seconds to spare. She sank down on the living room couch feeling emptier than she could ever recall feeling.

  “You okay?” Esquibel asked quietly.

  “Thanks to you.”

  “How ’bout some ice for your cheek? That eye looks a bit puffy.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t we want it to look really ripe for the picture tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think ice will detract from its photogenic quality.”

  “That good, huh?” Kari leaned her head back against the cushions.

  “Believe me, I’ve seen worse.” Esquibel wandered through the living room and back. He hesitated and then asked, “Kari, has David ever really . . . I mean really hit you before? Like, beat on you repeatedly? Have you had any broken bones, been to the E.R.?

  “I probably should have gone once or twice, but I got over it.” She crossed her arms and rubbed them.

  “Look, you hired me to do a job for you, I get that, but some of my clients kinda grow into friends. I start to care for them. A few of them have gone through worse than this; some of them less, but they all feel the same after it’s over. Pretty much like, well, poop, if you get me.”

  “Yeah?” Kari laughed at his reticence, but she felt resentment simmering in her gut. “Like I said. I'll get over it.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, see? That’s the deceptive part of this. They didn’t just ‘get over it’. Which is why, mija, you being one of those clients I consider a friend, like I just mentioned, I want to make a very strong suggestion to you.” Esquibel reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved a card. “Take this.”

  “What? A social worker? A shrink?” Kari’s anger was burning hotter and, as much as Anthony didn’t deserve it, he was going to be on the receiving end of it shortly.

  “Nah. This woman is another friend of mine. She has sort of a gift for helping women put the blame where it belongs and get back on track again after something like this.”

  He sat down across from Kari and gently took her hand, placing the card in her palm. “I think you’ve just done the bravest, most difficult thing you’ve ever had to do in your life, and you’ve done it with strength and dignity.”

  When she didn’t respond, he insisted, “Kari, look at me for just a second.” Kari might have believed she was masking her feelings, but he’d seen them too many times to be fooled.

  “The past few months have been . . . difficult, but in the next few days and weeks you’re going to go through something far worse.”

  Her face twisted. “Are you kidding me? How can anything be worse than,” she gestured haphazardly, “than all this?”

  “It will be worse because now you have to deal with the future, with who you are after all this. Please trust me on that count.” He closed her hand over the card. “I’m going to tell this woman that you’ll be calling her. If she doesn’t hear from you, I’m going to give her your number. Are you okay with that? Kari?”

  The doorbell rang.

  Esquibel sighed. “That’ll be Gabe. He’ll be here, in the house, until seven in the morning. Peter will relieve him and will be changing out the locks. I’ll be by to escort you to Baldonado’s office at ten. We should have the restraining order in place by tomorrow evening.” Esquibel tipped her chin toward him, and she grimaced.

  “Always a dad at heart, right?” she quipped. Then she crumbled.

  Esquibel let her sob on his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s me. Always el papá. And like a good papa, I don’t like matónes beating up on my girls. Let’s see if we can put this behind you, okay, Kari? Let me help?”

  Kari only cried briefly. She’d wept so much in the past six months that her crying jags were short, over in a few minutes. “Okay,” she sniffed, yet she doubted if any of this would ever be “behind her.”

  “Right. Let’s let Gabe in and get you buttoned down for the evening. Don’t forget—we have a car to buy for you this week, too. You must be able to get around.”

  Kari only nodded.

  “Hey, Babe.” Esquibel kissed his wife before wearily dropping into his La-Z-Boy.

  “Is she all right, Antonio? Did everything go okay?” Gloria Esquibel used the remote to mute the television.

  “Y’know, I recognize that this is only supposed to be a job, but after a night like this, I’m really tempted to go back to the firehouse.”

  “Sure you are. At your age? And after all the months we’ve prayed this through? You’re just exhausted. Did she do well tonight?”

  “She did great. Probably the first time she’s ever gotten the best of that . . . Ay! The more I deal with low-lifes, the harder it is to keep my mouth clean.” He raised his right hand to heaven. “God, please help me, I’m asking you.”

  “Well, if you get out of line, I can always run a bar of Dial soap around in your mouth—isn’t that what your mama—God rest her!—used to do to you boys?”

  Esquibel grinned. “She certainly did. The summer I was fifteen she must have shoved this one bar of soap into my mouth a dozen times. And not open my mouth when she told me to? Oh, my! I would never have dreamed of refusing such an order. I believed that God’s lightning would strike me dead if I so much as raised my voice to her. But for some reason, as soon as I was out of her presence, I would go right back to swearing—until spitting soapsuds got real old.”

  He frowned. “And I don’t know how she always knew!”

  “Your mama raised good boys. Fine men,” Gloria answered. “So did you give Ruth’s card to Kari?�
�

  “Yeah. I’ll let Ruth know to expect her call.”

  “Then let me get you some dinner, Corazón. Your sister and I made tamales today. You will feel better after a good meal. Then we will pray for Kari, and God will continue to move on her behalf. Hasn’t he already? And he says that if he begins a good work, he will see it through to the end, no?”

  Esquibel took her hand and pressed it to his lips as she got to her feet. “Ah, how I love you, old woman. You will always be my jewel, Gloria.”

  “Who are you calling old, abuelo?”

  Esquibel grinned. He was feeling better already.

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 2

  With Anthony’s help, Kari stumbled through the next few weeks in a dazed stupor, scarcely conscious of what she was doing or what went on around her. When she came to herself one morning, a plain used car—a white, late-model Reliant—sat in her driveway, and she had new locks on her doors, a restraining order against David, and a court date to commence divorce proceedings.

  She also had an appointment to meet with Ruth Graff.

  Kari stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Instead of her daily hikes in the foothills above their house, she’d holed up, spending hours dwelling on her pain, only leaving the security of her home when necessity forced her.

  Now the image reflected by the mirror was disheveled. She couldn’t remember when she’d last showered and washed her hair. Her usually bouncy locks hung in lank strings. Her eyes were ringed with shadows. And she’d lost more weight.

  She studied her protruding ribs with distaste. You look like a third-world refugee, Kari. Disgusting.

  She sighed and turned her attention to the appointment card in her hand: Thursday, 4 p.m. That would be today.

  She had finally agreed to meet with Anthony’s friend, Ruth, and Anthony had said he would make the appointment for her. He’d stopped by yesterday and pressed the card into her palm.

  “Promise me you will go,” he’d urged in his fatherly manner. And Kari had promised.

  She sighed again, then turned the shower on, stripped off her filthy clothes, and stepped into the welcoming heat.