The Alibi

“That’s correct. This is an answering service. Were you trying to reach the doctor?”

At a loss, he said, “Uh, yeah.”

“Your name and a number where you can be reached, please.”

“You know, on second thought, I’ll wait and call during office hours.”

He had hung up quickly, but for a long time afterward, he had sat on the edge of the bed and pondered who the hell Dr. Ladd could be, and why she had been calling him in the middle of the night.

He had run through a roster of names and faces in his memory bank. He mixed socially with a number of physicians. He was a member of two country clubs that were jam-packed with doctors of every specialty. But he couldn’t recall ever having met a Dr. Ladd.

But had he met Dr. Ladd’s wife? Did he know Dr. Ladd’s wife intimately?

Annoyed by that grim but very real possibility, he had forced himself to get up and shower. Not that a hot shower was indicative of anything. Not that he felt guilty and in need of cleansing. If she was married and had lied about it, he was blameless. Right? Right.

After dressing, he had trudged into the kitchen, where he settled for two cups of decaf freeze-dried coffee. He even forced down half an English muffin, chewing and ruminating in sync. She had told him she wasn’t married, but hell, how could he believe a woman who hadn’t even told him her name?

He didn’t even know her name, for chrissake!

She had told him a lot of things. For instance, that she didn’t habitually go to bed with men she had only just met. Casually or routinely. Weren’t those her exact words? But how did he know if that was true?

How did he know that she wasn’t a compulsive liar and slut, who happened to be married to a poor schmuck with a medical degree? She could be a wayward wife who had cheated on Dr. Ladd so much that he was no longer surprised by telephone calls in the middle of the night.

The more Hammond thought about it, the more morose he became.

As he straightened up the kitchen, he had checked the wall clock and was surprised to see that it was already midafternoon. How could he have slept so late? Easy. They hadn’t stopped making love.… They hadn’t drifted off to sleep until nearly six.

He hadn’t intended to return to Charleston until dark. He had planned on spending a leisurely Sunday fishing, or sitting on the porch and taking in the scenery, basically doing nothing that required him to think too much.

But staying in the cabin hadn’t held much appeal. Nor had thinking. So he had locked up the place and headed back ahead of schedule. Now as he crossed Memorial Bridge into the city, he wondered if she was a Charlestonian who had taken a similar route home.

What if they bumped into each other some night at a cocktail party? Would they acknowledge their night together, or would they greet one another like polite strangers and pretend they had never met?

It would probably depend on whether or not they were with other people at the time. How would he feel if he was introduced to the seemingly happy couple, Dr. and Mrs. Ladd, and was required to look her husband in the eye and shake his hand and make small talk and act like he hadn’t had carnal knowledge of the woman standing beside him?

He hoped for many reasons that he would never be faced with a situation like that, but that if he was, he would handle it with a reasonable degree of aplomb. He hoped he wouldn’t look like a sap. He hoped he would be able to turn his back on her and walk away.

He wasn’t sure he could. That’s what worried him most.

When faced with a moral dilemma, Hammond usually chose on the side of right. Beyond normal childhood pranks, high school mischief, and college debauchery, his conduct was unimpeachable. Whether he was cursed with an extra measure of virtue or merely cowardice, he customarily abided by the rules.

It hadn’t always been easy. In fact, his unshakable sense of right and wrong had been at the crux of most of his conflicts with friends and colleagues, even his parents. Especially his father. His father and he didn’t abide by the same rules of behavior. Preston Cross would consider this quandary over a woman amusing.

Turning into the condo complex where he lived, Hammond asked himself what would have happened if he had walked in on her moments earlier last night and had heard her say into the telephone something to the effect of, “Darling, since it’s so late, I’ve decided to stay over with my friend [insert feminine name here]. That is if you don’t mind. I thought it might be dangerous to drive back alone this late. All right then, see you in the morning. Love you, too.”

When the automated door opened, Hammond guided his car into his narrow garage. But for several moments after he had turned off the engine, he sat there and stared into near space, pondering whether or not he would have passed or failed that particular test of his moral fiber.

Finally, annoyed with himself for engaging in such pointless speculation, he got out of his car and let himself into his townhouse through the door connecting the garage to the kitchen. Out of habit, he headed for the telephone to check his voice mail. On second thought, he ignored it. There was bound to be at least one message from his father. He wasn’t in the mood to rehash yesterday’s confrontation. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone.

Maybe he would go for a quick sail. There were a few hours of daylight remaining. The sixteen-foot craft, a gift from his parents when he passed the bar, was moored across the street at City Marina. That’s why he’d bought a condo in this complex; it was a short walk to the marina.

Today was a perfect day to take the boat out. It might help clear his mind.

Quickening his pace, he went through the kitchen, into the hall, past the living room, and was headed for the stairs when he heard a key being inserted in the front door lock. He barely had time to turn before Steffi Mundell came in, a cell phone held to her ear.

She was saying, “I can’t believe they’re being such hard-asses about this.” Juggling keys, phone, briefcase, and handbag, she waggled her fingers in a hello wave. “I mean, food poisoning isn’t exactly bone cancer.… Well, let me know.… I know I don’t have to be there, but I want to be. You have the number of my cell, right?… Okay, ’bye.” She clicked the phone off and looked at Hammond with exasperation. “Where the hell have you been?”

“What happened to hello?”