He didn’t cancel the party. How could he? The show had to go on; appearances were everything. She’d tried to be witty and charming and elegant, she really had, but her brain was on fire, and once she’d seen William talking to Noah, eyes darting her way, no doubt discussing cutting her out of his life like a cancer, she’d become too loud and too bright, like one of the circus acts she’d hired rather than a woman of substance, spinning and whirling from one group of people to another, welcomed by none without her rich husband by her side. Then there was Marcie—Take care of your own shit—who wouldn’t even listen to her and then had vanished.
She’d drifted then. Drifted and drank. Flashes of the night came to her. Emmett and Jason around the side of the house, away from the crowd. Jason shouting, gesticulating. Emmett shrugging and walking away, leaving the handsome man to beat on the wall. Jason hadn’t even wanted to speak to her, instead barging past to go inside. Julian and Pierre exchanging a look, darkly entertained, Keisha not the only one watching the party from the outside. Emmett and Virginia dancing, Emmett with his eyes on William as he talked to Iris. Everyone smiling and laughing and pretending to have fun, but all the while simply vipers in a nest, watching and waiting to strike or be struck. That’s how she’d felt. She’d wanted to cry and laugh and dance all at the same time, and that’s when she’d seen her.
Zelda. Just standing there on the grass, watching. A spider in her web. Who else would have taken that picture and sent it? Who else wanted Keisha gone so badly? Keisha couldn’t remember much of what she’d said or how she’d said it, but she stormed through the party and raged at the housekeeper. Noise came out of her, coarse, crude words, angry, upset, accusing, and then there were Iris’s dry, cool hands—Good lord dear, what on earth has upset you, what’s the matter—Virginia’s arm wrapped around her, surprisingly strong, so much floral perfume on her skin.
They pulled her away inside, sending Elizabeth running to get a glass of water in the kitchen, where she collided with Jason coming the other way, and then Elizabeth sent him to help get Keisha into a quiet room as if she were an invalid like the last wife. It was like some poor farce. She couldn’t remember if he helped. She couldn’t remember much before being left alone upstairs while the party emptied out, Iris and Virginia smoothing everything over with a wave of their hands, guests melting into the night as the music stopped, Julian and Pierre left to survey the desolation that had been their great pièce de résistance, before even they were ushered out.
Keisha had waited like a frightened, chastised child until finally she and her husband were the only ones left. William hadn’t spoken to her. He hadn’t even come to their bedroom but instead had gone straight to a guest suite. She’d been relieved and panicked at the same time. She didn’t have to have him near her and she didn’t have to face his wrath, but it was also obvious that their farce of a marriage was over and they’d made a laughingstock of each other. He would not forgive that. He would want to destroy her for it. Maybe if he’d let her have the pills she’d needed then none of this would have happened. If he’d been a kinder husband. If, if, if. Now he was going to take everything and leave her back where she started. Worse than where she started. Back in the gutter, stripped of her Versace and dressed only in stinking humiliation. Her breath caught in her chest. It had all crumbled so fast.
She got to unsteady feet, one hand still gripping the bottle of champagne she’d brought up from the party wreckage downstairs and drained to try, in vain, to help her sleep. What would happen tomorrow? A small suitcase? A plane ticket?
Flies buzzed in her head, scratching at her skull, making it hard to process anything. She should have gotten that prescription. She’d maybe have been able to think on her feet like she used to, found a way to explain that photo, make him feel sorry for her all over again. But still. That was done. It was all done.
She went to the window and stared out. How many nights had Eleanor gazed out from here while she was dying, too afraid to sleep? Looking down at the wonderful gardens and thinking how bittersweet their beauty was, how soon she’d be nothing, like her boy had become, and they’d all still be here and so would her husband and her friends and there would be a new, cheaper, younger woman sliding into her place. Would it have given the sainted Eleanor a last laugh to see how it was turning out for Keisha?
The sky had cleared and the stars twinkled, fairy lights in the night, and for a moment, in the shadows under the trees, she was sure she saw the flicker of a silver dollar being tossed in the night, and her soul calmed. She wouldn’t give all this up. Not yet. There were many dark hours before morning. Anything could change by then. Anything.
She’d always thought that when a body was found, screaming would wake the whole house. It turned out not to be true. No one screamed when William was found and it was at least fifteen minutes before anyone thought to wake Keisha, and by the time she was up, bleary, dazed, and confused, the ambulance was there and people were shouting commands and asking questions that she didn’t understand.
It was only later that she thought, as the police came to question her, that perhaps no one screamed because you only scream to try to wake the dead. And William wasn’t dead.
Part Three
Epigraph
All day I’ve been wondering what is inside of me?
Who can I blame for it?
I say it runs in the family . . .
“Runs in the Family” by Amanda Palmer
41.
“They think it was some sort of stroke. Or heart attack. Something awful like that. He’d been on the treadmill. I guess that must have brought it on.”
“Zelda found him just after ten. She’d let Elizabeth in to coordinate the party cleanup.”
“As he collapsed, he hit his head on the corner of the desk. There was blood everywhere. Shocking.”
“He was so cold Zelda thought he was dead. Must have been lying there at least an hour or two. Thankfully, Elizabeth found a pulse, didn’t you, dear?”
“I was just lucky, but dear lord my own heart nearly stopped. He looked deathly.”
“Where was he?”
“In his study. Straight to work, you know William.”
“It’s so shocking. I can’t believe it.”
Marcie wasn’t sure that an overweight old man with a wild young wife having a heart attack was all that surprising, but she didn’t say anything, hanging back as Jason quizzed Virginia, Emmett, and Elizabeth. She didn’t have the energy. She had problems of her own. Jason hadn’t come home until late, after one a.m., muttering something about Keisha having a meltdown, and when Marcie had asked if he wanted to talk, he’d simply gotten up and gone to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms, leaving her lying awake and worrying. Jacquie had been at the party. Is that what had kept Jason there? Some illicit rendezvous in plain sight of everyone? He’d always liked taking risks. He’d taken them with her, why would he be any different now? No one changes.
She’d finally fallen asleep at around five and the next thing she’d known Jason had been shaking her awake, telling her to get dressed, and that they had to get to the hospital. Seems like Jason hadn’t gone to sleep till dawn either, because they’d missed several calls and slept through various texts, and now here they were at four in the afternoon, surrounded by their friends and catching up on the horror of this Sunday morning’s excitement. Even Jason had come alive as he’d questioned the others. There was a spark in his eyes again. Wolflike. She wasn’t sure she liked it.
“Where’s Noah?” he asked.
“At William’s house,” Emmett said. “He arrived at the same time as the paramedics apparently. William had asked him to come for a brunch meeting.” He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of person has a breakfast meeting the morning after a fabulous party?” He paused momentarily before answering his own question. “I suppose the kind of man who has a heart attack after jogging too early in the morning after a fabulous party.” He smiled, louche, and shrugged. “Anyway, he stayed behi
nd while Elizabeth came here. Making phone calls, I imagine. Taking charge.”
“Something was bothering him,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, his old friend nearly dead on his study floor, I should imagine,” Virginia cut in sharply, and Elizabeth said no more.
Marcie was glad of the quiet. For her part, she’d had enough excitement. She wanted life to go back to how it was before Keisha. Her safe, dull existence where she was the beautiful second wife. Keisha. She looked around and frowned.
“Where’s Keisha?” she asked softly.
“With Iris,” Virginia said. “Over there around the corner. She’s a little . . . unsteady.”
Marcie ignored the gossipy tone and drifted away from the group to the smaller section of the relatives’ room tucked around the corner from the counter, where the coffee machine and cookies were. They were seated against the far wall, Iris holding Keisha’s hand in one of hers, two cups of coffee untouched on the table in front of them.
“You okay?” Marcie said, taking the seat on the other side. “I’m so sorry. It must be such a shock.”
“It’s my fault,” Keisha whispered. Her body twitched occasionally, and her eyes, no makeup lining them, were bloodshot and teary. “It’s all my fault.” She didn’t look at Marcie, lost in her own world. Marcie wasn’t even sure Keisha knew Iris and she were there. “I found the doll in my drawer this morning when I was getting dressed,” she continued. “It’s my fault. I wished it, don’t you see? It’s what I wanted.” She started to cry, a soft keening sound filled with fear. She stared into space. “There was a boy who was never there and now I’m cursed. It’s all my fault.”
“Hush now, sweet girl.” Iris rubbed Keisha’s hands between her palms. “Take deep breaths. Try to relax.” She looked across her at Marcie. “Do you know if she normally takes any medications? She wasn’t herself last night and she certainly isn’t today.”
Marcie wasn’t sure what to say, how much she should admit to knowing, but there was no denying that Keisha was twitching. “I gave her some Xanax the other day because she was struggling. She normally has a Valium prescription but she hadn’t told William. When he found out he threw her tablets away. Said she couldn’t have any more.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous,” Iris tutted. “And dangerous. And so typical of that man. No wonder the poor girl is all over the place. You stay with her, Marcie. I’m going to find a doctor and get her something. She has enough to cope with at the moment without withdrawal on top of it.”
Marcie simply nodded; her surprise was too great to speak. Was this really Iris talking? Iris with the perfect life who spent it gazing down at them all from the dizzy heights of the top of the social tree? Since when was Iris sympathetic to addicts? As the birdlike aged beauty strode purposefully out of the room—good luck to any doctor who thought about refusing her—a man and a woman stepped inside. Their clothes—both wearing smart trousers and shirts under casual jackets—were not expensive enough for this waiting room. Neither were their haircuts. Marcie’s skin prickled. They looked around the room, the woman’s cool eyes lingering on Keisha for a moment before scanning the others. The woman moved out of sight and her sidekick followed.
“Keisha, I need you to listen to me.” Marcie’s stomach was in knots as she took the other woman’s hand. Her voice was quiet but firm, hiding her own panic. “Look at me, Keisha.” Keisha did, reluctantly bringing herself back to the present from whatever hell her imagination was creating for her.
“Whatever happens, you can’t say anything about us, okay?”
“I love you, Marcie. You know that don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. And I love you too. But you can’t say anything about us to anyone. They’ll use it against you. Do you understand? You can’t say anything. We were friends, that’s all. You got that?”
“Friends.” Keisha nodded. She frowned as Marcie’s words sank in. “Who will use it against me?”
The two strangers came back around the corner and this time Noah was with them. Plainclothes detectives. She’d recognize them anywhere. Noah couldn’t look at her. Whatever had been bothering him, she was at the center of it.
42.
“Is he dead?”
The noise in Keisha’s head had finally deadened, but she felt hazy now under the meds. It seemed like a lifetime and only moments since the hospital. She’d been feeling sick, waves of nausea not helping her confusion. Marcie had been sitting beside her—you can’t say anything about us—and then this woman, this Detective Anderson, had said they needed to talk to her. Not at the hospital. They had questions about the accident. And then she’d been crying and Iris had been there with some medication, trying to get the detective to take it with her, while Marcie shrank back into her seat and she was sure that Jason had almost laughed as they took her away, and Keisha had been left to wonder how Iris was suddenly her only friend.
She’d gone into a full meltdown then, hating the feel of their hands on her as they took her into the station. She remembered hysterically crying. Wanting to go home, wherever home was. A doctor came and gave her something to calm her and then the world had faded and she’d spent the night cocooned in her nightmares in a strange unnatural sleep.
A different doctor came back in the morning and gave her a pill that she presumed was some sort of Valium. She didn’t recognize the name and she didn’t much care.
Now she was in an interview room and she had a stranger beside her who’d told her he was here for her and that Iris had arranged it. She didn’t say much to him either. No one had ever really been there for her, so why should she believe this man now?
She was so tired. She wanted to sleep. And yet, even as the sedative calmed her body, soothed the itch, her mind twisted and turned. Had she done it, this terrible thing they were asking her about? It was all a haze, after her rage at Zelda. Even that was just noise. She remembered her anger. She remembered drinking. When had she finally fallen asleep? Could she have done something awful? By accident? Because she was drunk?
Dan Temple, her appointed defense counsel, leaned toward her ear and once again told her to talk only to answer questions when he said it was okay. He was frustrated, she could tell. When he’d arrived she’d been muttering about Auntie Ayo and the boy and everything that had gone before and she’d seen in his face that he’d thought Keisha was crazy.
“Is he dead?” She asked the question again, her heart racing. Detective Kate Anderson, short, squat, and with sandy hair scraped back in an unforgiving bun, and her hulking sidekick, John Washington, hadn’t said a word about William yet and she couldn’t bear the not knowing.
“No,” Anderson answered eventually. “Not yet. Your husband, however, does have severe liver and kidney failure, has lost his sight, and is in a coma. Needless to say, the prognosis isn’t good.”
All that from a heart attack? A stroke? Or was it the fall? Keisha’s hands picked at the skin around her nails as tears threatened her again. Cursed. That’s what she was. And now the curse had taken Billy. It was what she’d wished for.
“He’s lucky to be alive at all,” Washington added. His accent was pure deep South and in other circumstances Keisha would have found it warm and comforting. A voice for bedtime stories. “If Judge Noah Cartwright hadn’t called us yesterday and told us about William Radford wanting to take you out of his will and divorce you, and that perhaps his fall and subsequent injury could be the result of a physical fight rather than an accident, we would never have gone back to search the house yesterday evening. Our forensics team wouldn’t have seen the yellow mark on the carpet and he’d be dead by now.”
“What yellow mark?” She ignored her lawyer’s signal to be quiet. While Iris had been comforting her, Noah had been calling the police. “What happened to him?”
“You tell me.”
Keisha’s eyes stung with frustrated tears as the lawyer spoke for her. “My client has already told you she doesn’t know how Mr. Radford came to be ill.”
“Shall I tell you what we know?” Detective Anderson leaned forward. “Would that make this move along quicker, Keisha? Save us all this ‘my client isn’t able to answer that question at this time’ from your attorney while we play cat and mouse? We’ve had a long night of talking to people and we’re all tired. I know I am.”
Keisha nodded. What could they know? There was nothing to know.
“For the purpose of the tape, Keisha Radford is nodding,” Washington said before Anderson took the lead again.
“We know that the victim was the only person in the house who drank the cartons of coconut water kept in the kitchen refrigerator, and it’s been confirmed by his housekeeper, his friends, and his personal assistant that he always drained a carton after running on the treadmill in the mornings. That was his routine and he stuck to it. Furthermore, we know that the night of the seventh of July, your husband spoke to Judge Noah Cartwright about changing his will to remove you from it. They were meeting yesterday morning to discuss it further. Given that you signed a postnup, this would leave you with nothing even in the event of your husband’s death. It’s also been confirmed by several sources that during the course of the evening of July seventh your behavior was erratic and you screamed at the victim’s housekeeper, Zelda Williams, in full view of your guests, blaming her for your husband’s displeasure and saying that she was trying to get rid of you, with such force that the party was ended early. All good so far?”
Keisha glanced at the lawyer beside her before muttering, “Yes.” If they said it was right, it must be right.
“We found an empty bottle of champagne in a bedroom in the victim’s house—the room that had been occupied by the previous Mrs. Radford, now deceased. We’re testing the rim for your DNA.”
Dead to Her Page 21