Wife for Hire by Christine Bell

darling?” Lindy said, smiling brightly at Owen.
    “Of course.”
    “That’s fine,” Nico said, seemingly unaware of Owen’s initial surliness. “And please, should you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me.” The words were harmless, but the flicker of heat in his direct gaze as he bid her farewell sent Lindy’s sleaze-o-meter whirling.
    Owen took her arm and led her to a long table that fairly groaned under the array of food spread out. “I think he likes me,” she said through the side of her mouth as she filled her plate.
    “Maybe that’s the con. He seduces unhappy wives out of their husband’s fortunes.”
    “Or maybe he likes me,” she countered waspishly.
    They’d just reached the fruit station when a male voice boomed, “Howdy!” A robust man in his early fifties held out a meaty paw. “The name is Calvin Cedarhurst. This is my wife, Bitsy.”
    Bitsy Cedarhurst was about the most aptly named individual Lindy ever had the pleasure of meeting. She was a mousy slip of a thing with a sweet smile, and Lindy warmed to her instantly.
    “Nice to meet you both. Let me guess. Texas?”
    “You got it, pretty lady.” He gave her a wink and turned to Owen. “How about y’all?”
    “Long Island is home base right now.”
    “Never been. Worth a trip?”
    “It’s lovely in the springtime, but you might want to pass this time of year,” Lindy said with a polite smile.
    “I’ll keep that in mind.” He tipped an imaginary hat her way and ushered Bitsy toward the pasta bar. “It was a pleasure meeting you. Me and the wife are going to get some food.”
    She and Owen sat with their plates, but before she got a bite in, another couple approached them, this time led by the woman who had visually “shushed” her during Nico’s welcome speech. Lindy pasted on a polite smile.
    “Do you mind if we sit with you?” She didn’t wait for an answer, settling into the chair across from Owen. “All the other seats are taken. They really should’ve planned better,” she griped, barely taking a breath before continuing. “This place is much smaller than I expected, too. Marty’s secretary gave us the name, and believe me, she’ll be hearing from me once we get back.”
    Marty sat down next to his wife and gave them both a nod of greeting. He couldn’t have been more than forty, but the overall weariness he wore like a cloak gave him an older vibe. He had a nice face, the kind that if you saw him on the street and needed directions you’d feel safe stopping to ask him.
    “I’m Lindy,” she said, swallowing hard before continuing, “And this is my husband Owen.”
    “That’s Marty and I’m Jordan.”
    Lindy filed the names away. Marty might not stick in her head, but Jordan rhymed with warden, and that’d be a keeper for sure.
    “I’ve been thinking it’s time to let her go anyway,” Jordan the Warden confided. “Whenever I call she puts me on hold forever. Marty is my husband, and if I need to speak with him, I need to speak with him immediately. I always say, good help is hard to find. Don’t you agree?”
    Marty didn’t react much other than to look away. His wife was an absolute steamroller, and Lindy resisted the urge to hug him. She let out a nervous chuckle, weighing her answer. What would rich folks say here? “I rally do. In fact I was saying to Owen the other day, we need to get rid of the whole lot and start fresh, don’t we darling?” Her voice had dropped into Myrna Loy mode and she saw Owen’s wince out of the corner of her eye.
    “Don’t…no. Not that,” he muttered under his breath with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
    She felt her cheeks flush and cleared her throat before continuing in a more normal tone. “As I was saying, it’s a constant battle.”
    Jordan nodded sympathetically while Marty appeared to contemplate eating a bullet.
    “So, Marty, what type of work do you do?”
    He opened his mouth but The Warden beat him to the punch.