"Where's Mommy?" "She has a headache and is upstairs in your bedroom." I start thinking. Thursday is what she calls one of her me days. She is off work and instead of staying home with her baby girl, she goes shopping, has lunch with a couple of her friends from the hospital, then is home by the time I get here at 5:00 p.m. I need to check something. In my home office, I pull up my diary. There it is.
Every Thursday for the past seven Thursdays, she has come home with a headache or some other excuse for why we cannot make love. Usually, it is Saturday or on a couple of occasions, it was Sunday before we made love. I feel stupid. I should have picked up on that. But now that I know, I may be able to get that irrefutable proof that my attorney said I would need.
I knocked on the bathroom door and asked if she was all right or needed anything. She said no, that she just needed to relax and see if her headache would go away. She asked me to take care of Becky tonight. I agreed and went back downstairs. The nanny had left supper for us, so I fed the baby and then got her bathed and in bed.
I killed time on the internet finding out all I could about Tyrone Williams. At around 11:00 p.m., I showered and went in and got in bed next to Sue. I knew she was awake, but she was pretending to sleep. I let her continue pretending. The next morning, she was up early and off to work.
I got a kiss and was told to have a good day. I had a plan. I went to the university and asked my grad assistant to take my morning class. He was happy to do it. Then I lied and asked to borrow his car.
I drove up to the lake. I parked down the street from the house I wanted to check out. It was locked up tight. There were shades on all the windows and it looked like there were drapes behind the shades. No way was I going to get a photo of what I know is going on inside every Thursday.
I need another plan. I could wait until they are inside, then kick in the front door and start taking pictures. Yeah, that will work. Not. Tyrone is a violent man existing in a violent world.
I am 5 ft 10 in and weigh maybe 180. I have never been in a fight in my life. This guy could kill me and he would not go to jail. I would be the one charged with home invasion if I lived. I walked back to the car.
I thought I saw someone peeking out the window of the house next door, but I could be wrong. On the drive back, I started remembering everything I had read about Tyrone last night. He is married. Maybe I could solicit help from her. Back at the school, I got a call from Sue.
She was going to work a double, meaning she would be home around midnight and you guessed it, too tired to make love. After I had the baby in bed, I did a deep dive into Tyrone's wife. She has a huge social media presence. Lots of pictures of her and Tyrone. This girl is beautiful.
Long red hair, green eyes, and a body to die for. She was a cheerleader in high school then again at the university where Tyrone played. That's where they married 5 years ago. They have no children. As I read through some of her social media posts, I wondered what the hell this girl majored in in college. [expletive], don't be looking at my man. [expletive] no, I ain't sharing his banana, so just forget about it.
She talked like she was raised in a ghetto. She had probably used that hair, her body, and probably that mouth to get herself through college. On Monday, I again borrow my grad assistant's car and drive over to Tyrone's house. Nothing. Neither she nor Tyrone left the house before I had to get back for my afternoon class.
Another idea forms in my mind. It is now Thursday and I am again sitting in front of Tyrone's house. I see him leave for the lake. I give him a couple of minutes, then I start to get out of the car. [expletive]. She comes flying out of the driveway.
I ran back to the car and decided to follow her. She does not go far when she pulls into a Starbucks. I give her a minute then follow her in. She is sitting at a table drinking her $10 cup of coffee with ice cream in it. I do not order just walk over to her table.
She looks up and exactly like I suspected and says, "Who the [expletive] are you?" "The man whose wife your husband is with right now." She motions me to sit. I notice she is wearing the longest fake nails I have ever seen. She just looks at me so I start the conversation. "Every Thursday for the past 2 months they meet up at the lake. She is a nurse and they met when he was in the hospital." "Blonde woman with large breasts?" I started to say, "That is her." But I refused to sink to her level.
"I saw the way he looked at her one night." "Every Thursday?" She asked. "Yes." I replied. "He tells me he is going to a team meeting every Thursday. You say they up there right now?" "Yes, and they will be until about 3:00 p.m." I replied. "I'm going to surprise their asses." She answered.
"Bambi, I need proof for my divorce lawyer. Could you get me a photo?" "I'll get you more than a photo. I'll get you a video." She stormed out the door. I thought that went well. Bambi will find them in bed, probably shoot a video on her phone, then being Bambi she'll probably send it to all her friends.
It'll end up on ESPN. I'll have my proof and be rid of my cheating wife. I went back to school and had lunch in the cafeteria. About halfway through my afternoon class, there was a knock on the door. My grad assistant answered it and then motioned me over.
There was the dean of the school of business and two men. They asked me to step outside. Two police detectives. The grad assistant said he would finish the class and I walked them down the hall to my office. You are Dr. Jones?
Dr. Nevada Jones? Asked one of the men. Yes. I'm Sergeant Detective Joe Friday. This is my partner Henry Morgan.
What kind of name is Nevada? Were you born out west? No. And I use the English pronunciation, Nevada. I was born during a snowstorm.
Detective Morgan nodded his head. He had no clue. We entered my office and I offered them a seat. Joe Friday spoke up. Sorry, Dr. Jones.
There is no easy way to say this. Your wife was murdered this morning. Oh my god. Has there been another mall shooting? Why would you think that?
They asked. It's her day off. Her ME day as she calls it. She told me she was going to the mall and after shopping she would have lunch with her friends from the hospital. She was not at the mall.