something and was holding this information over you—a blackmail of sorts.”
Judi couldn’t avoid his direct gaze. His quick perception of the situation petrified her. He was right, of course—except in opposite order. She didn’t suspect Nathan until later. She closed her eyes in a supreme effort to calm the wild fluttering of nerves racing through her.
“I can see that at least one, or possibly both, of my assumptions are on target,” Nathan assessed with annoying self-confidence.
“I tried to make you see, Nathan….” Her voice trailed off nervously. “Then I had proof that you were the one sending the letters.”
He stared at her in amazement. “What could possibly make you think I’d sent you these types of threatening notes along with vandalizing your car and presenting you with a dead, vile rat?” He tossed an agitated hand into the air. “First off, the handwriting is nothing more than cursive scrawl. I have flawless print!” Then as if carefully weighing an opening statement in front of a jury, he cocked his head thoughtfully in her direction. “I may not be a poet, but the grammar and hacked prose could be improved upon by a five-year-old. At least give me more credit than that.”
Judi struggled to keep a flush from creeping up into her cheeks as he threw a frustrated glance to the ceiling.
“Another thing,” he went on, landing his gaze back on her. “If I’m as compulsive about every detail as you’ve always claimed, I can assure you that I wouldn’t be able to create such a cheap product.”
A hot protest rose in her throat. “You would if you were trying to disguise your handwriting. So not everything you’ve said is quite true. You don’t
always
print, Nathan.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are times when you write in cursive,” Judi continued, “and no matter what you claim, your script writing is worse than scrawl. That’s why you prefer to print.” She lifted her chin. “And the cursive writing matches closely enough to raise a valid question.”
“The
only
time I write in cursive is to sign my name,” he argued. “How could you match the writing with only a signature?”
Squaring her shoulders, she shifted uneasily under his scrutiny. “Not true! When you paid bills, you wrote the entire check in cursive. Remember? You always said the checks should look uniform and that meant they couldn’t be done in print
and
cursive.”
Nathan’s lips twitched in contemplation, and he leaned back to sit on the edge of the table. He gave a low grunt at the idea. “I suppose you’re right! I’d forgotten. I used to write the checks that way.” The tightness of his mouth twisted into a firm line. “With the age of electronic transactions, it’s no longer necessary to write checks, and it seems like ages ago. Guess I just didn’t remember.”
“So we’re right back to the beginning,” Judi pointed out. “The handwriting in those notes does look like yours.”
“Now wait a minute,” Nathan quickly protested, lifting himself from the edge of the table. He scooped up another letter from the box and scanned it intently. “It’s really been a long time since I’ve written in longhand, but still, I still don’t see the similarity. I mean, this writing is absolutely terrible.”
Judi couldn’t prevent the wry smile from forming at the corners of her mouth. “So is yours.”
“This bad?” His question seemed genuine.
Her mouth pulled knowingly to the side and she nodded. “Yes.”
Nathan made a face and she could tell he was fighting the idea. His fingers fidgeted with the paper in his hand and he glanced at it again. Something in the boyish confusion marking his features moved her. A dangerous spark of feeling she thought was well hidden in the depths of her contempt for the man who was her husband was beginning to surface.
Was she crazy?
Nathan gave a sigh. “I still don’t see it.”
“Look at each
R
and
S.
Look at the swoops on the
Ls
and
Judi couldn’t avoid his direct gaze. His quick perception of the situation petrified her. He was right, of course—except in opposite order. She didn’t suspect Nathan until later. She closed her eyes in a supreme effort to calm the wild fluttering of nerves racing through her.
“I can see that at least one, or possibly both, of my assumptions are on target,” Nathan assessed with annoying self-confidence.
“I tried to make you see, Nathan….” Her voice trailed off nervously. “Then I had proof that you were the one sending the letters.”
He stared at her in amazement. “What could possibly make you think I’d sent you these types of threatening notes along with vandalizing your car and presenting you with a dead, vile rat?” He tossed an agitated hand into the air. “First off, the handwriting is nothing more than cursive scrawl. I have flawless print!” Then as if carefully weighing an opening statement in front of a jury, he cocked his head thoughtfully in her direction. “I may not be a poet, but the grammar and hacked prose could be improved upon by a five-year-old. At least give me more credit than that.”
Judi struggled to keep a flush from creeping up into her cheeks as he threw a frustrated glance to the ceiling.
“Another thing,” he went on, landing his gaze back on her. “If I’m as compulsive about every detail as you’ve always claimed, I can assure you that I wouldn’t be able to create such a cheap product.”
A hot protest rose in her throat. “You would if you were trying to disguise your handwriting. So not everything you’ve said is quite true. You don’t
always
print, Nathan.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are times when you write in cursive,” Judi continued, “and no matter what you claim, your script writing is worse than scrawl. That’s why you prefer to print.” She lifted her chin. “And the cursive writing matches closely enough to raise a valid question.”
“The
only
time I write in cursive is to sign my name,” he argued. “How could you match the writing with only a signature?”
Squaring her shoulders, she shifted uneasily under his scrutiny. “Not true! When you paid bills, you wrote the entire check in cursive. Remember? You always said the checks should look uniform and that meant they couldn’t be done in print
and
cursive.”
Nathan’s lips twitched in contemplation, and he leaned back to sit on the edge of the table. He gave a low grunt at the idea. “I suppose you’re right! I’d forgotten. I used to write the checks that way.” The tightness of his mouth twisted into a firm line. “With the age of electronic transactions, it’s no longer necessary to write checks, and it seems like ages ago. Guess I just didn’t remember.”
“So we’re right back to the beginning,” Judi pointed out. “The handwriting in those notes does look like yours.”
“Now wait a minute,” Nathan quickly protested, lifting himself from the edge of the table. He scooped up another letter from the box and scanned it intently. “It’s really been a long time since I’ve written in longhand, but still, I still don’t see the similarity. I mean, this writing is absolutely terrible.”
Judi couldn’t prevent the wry smile from forming at the corners of her mouth. “So is yours.”
“This bad?” His question seemed genuine.
Her mouth pulled knowingly to the side and she nodded. “Yes.”
Nathan made a face and she could tell he was fighting the idea. His fingers fidgeted with the paper in his hand and he glanced at it again. Something in the boyish confusion marking his features moved her. A dangerous spark of feeling she thought was well hidden in the depths of her contempt for the man who was her husband was beginning to surface.
Was she crazy?
Nathan gave a sigh. “I still don’t see it.”
“Look at each
R
and
S.
Look at the swoops on the
Ls
and
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