by A. R. Torre
“Cat. William.” Chief Danika McIntyre appeared in the open doorway. “Good afternoon.”
I rounded the edge of the table and smiled, accepting the hug that the tall woman provided. Danika McIntyre had been our chief for eight years and had, during that time, coordinated several toy drives and charity projects through our Winthorpe Foundation. “I’m sorry about the middle-of-the-night call.”
“No apologies needed. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to get here. But don’t worry, we’ve been very busy on this case. I had a judge sign off on the warrants as soon as the courts opened, so we’ve been able to get quite a lot done in the last ten hours.”
I spoke before William did, hoping that he wouldn’t question the purpose of warrants. “That’s great to hear. Please, sit down. Have you eaten? I can have a plate fixed for you—anything you want.” From behind her, I spotted two officers hovering in the foyer, and I paused.
Following my gaze, she gave a regretful smile. “Unfortunately, this isn’t a pleasure call. Mr. and Mrs. Winthorpe, this is Detective Cullen and Officer Anders.”
I shook both of their hands, as did William.
“They need to speak to you, Mr. Winthorpe. Privately. If you’d like your legal counsel to join us, that is certainly within your right.”
“You can question me here, in front of Randall. And I’d like Cat to stay. We have no secrets.” He hesitated. “Not anymore.”
What a laughable statement. He may not have any secrets from me, but I had a mountain of them from him.
“Very well.” The chief pulled out one of our linen-wrapped chairs and sat, gesturing to the other uniforms to follow suit. “We need to ask about your relationship, or lack thereof, with Neena Ryder.”
“We had a friendship, one that felt inappropriate at times. She made it clear that she was interested in a physical relationship. I declined her advances, for the most part.”
“For the most part?” Detective Cullen spoke up. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t answer that,” Randall drawled. “The extent of William and Neena’s relationship has no bearing on this conversation.”
“Did Neena ever speak to you about a future between the two of you?”
“No.”
“Do you think she believed that there was a chance of a real relationship between the two of you, if Cat or Matt were out of the picture?”
He frowned. “I don’t know what Neena believed, but I never led her to think that there was any possibility of a relationship. I love my wife, and I made sure Neena understood that.”
Oh yes. I’m sure he was just gushing about me in that private boardroom. I’m sure Neena never even considered the possibility of stealing him away from me.
“We did uncover some unsettling items in the Ryders’ bedroom. Photos of William, some of both of you.” The second officer produced a file and pulled out photos, sealed in protective bags. William and I leaned forward, examining the pictures.
They were all familiar snapshots of our lives, and I glanced up at our visitors. “These are all from my Instagram profile. I’ve posted all these. She must have printed them out.”
William inhaled as he took in the large number of images.
“You said there were some photos of the two of us?” I prompted.
“Yes.” He pulled a second set of images from the accordion file. This set, when placed on the table, caused a visual flinch from William.
Hack jobs of my favorite photos. One of William looking tenderly down at me, my face replaced with a cutout of Neena’s face, beaming out. Another—one from our wedding, my dress topped with a too-large image of Neena, her grin angled toward William’s handsome face. And worst of all—the photo of him and me and my baby niece. She’d replaced my entire body with hers, the three of them making a demented Frankenstein family.
“There are also these.” The chief moved three more photos out of the stack, each one a demonic hack job of a group photo where Matt’s and my heads were cut off.
“This is psychotic,” William said quietly. “We need security on Cat. I’ll pay for protection for Matt as well—at least until Neena is locked up permanently.” He looked up at me. “You were right about her. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
I studied his taut features, the guilt and emotion clogging his eyes. Did he mean it? Was he sorry? I thought he was, but would I ever be able to trust him again?
I cleared my throat. “What exactly happened inside the house? Someone tried to attack Matt? Did they break in?”
“The intruder either had a key, or a door was left unlocked. He seemed to be a professional. There are no fingerprints, no shoe prints, no hair. He came in around two forty-five in the morning, put a gun in Mr. Ryder’s mouth while he was sleeping. Mr. Ryder woke up, then the intruder pulled the trigger.”
William let out a low curse.
“The gun misfired, Matt tried to grab at the gun, and the man fled. We weren’t able to track him down.”
“But you think he was hired? This isn’t someone who’s going to come back and try to kill Matt again?”
“We’re keeping two cars stationed at the Ryder house for the next few days, but our current thought is that Mrs. Ryder—or someone else—hired the hit. We’re doing an audit of Mr. Ryder’s bank and business accounts but haven’t found any evidence of gambling, money owed, or suspicious contacts. He seemed to be well liked and honest, so the list of people interested in killing him is slim.”
“He’s a good guy,” William said quietly, and I resented the look of guilt on his face. Matt was a good guy, but I had been a good wife. He had sworn to love, honor, and protect me, and that’s where his guilt should have been focused.
I straightened in place. “Where’s Neena now?”
“She’s at the station being questioned. They’re going through all the evidence with her. I’d like to say that we’ll keep her there, but to be frank, we have a lot of speculative evidence but nothing hard. Though this has been a very scary incident for Matt, there hasn’t been an actual crime, just an attempt at one. And we’re going off Matt’s testimony for that—nothing else.”
William raised a brow at me, and I knew what he was thinking of—my trip to the emergency room. The poison in my system. Just yesterday we’d gotten the call from the hospital confirming the presence of antifreeze in my stomach. I shook my head at him, wanting him to stay quiet.
“Is William an official suspect?” Randall spoke up from his end of the table.
The detective and chief exchanged a glance. “At this moment, he’s not even an unofficial suspect. We will let you know if that changes.”
“In that case,” William said, “I think we’re done for now.” He pushed on the arms of his chair and stood, running a hand roughly through his hair. “Please, take those photos. Looking at them makes me sick.”
The chief was the first to rise, and she gave a curt nod. “We appreciate your time, Mr. Winthorpe. We’ll be back in touch if we have any more questions.”
“Call me William,” he corrected, coming around the desk and extending his hand to her. “And thank you for your discretion.”
“Well.” She grimaced. “I can’t promise it will last very long.” She opened up her large leather bag and slid the file and photos inside it. “We may need you to come to the station at some point, but I’ll try to contain everything, as best as I can, from this end.”
I waited until she shook Randall’s hand, then gave her another hug. “Thank you,” I whispered in her ear. She squeezed me in response.
As they headed for the door, my phone buzzed with a response from Matt.
I’m at the White Horse. In a horrible mood, but misery loves company. I’ll save you a barstool.
CHAPTER 47
CAT
The White Horse was the sort of place I used to find my dad at on Saturday nights during football season. The bartender had giant breasts, a pierced eyebrow, and an infinity sign tattooed on the inside of her
wrist. I navigated past a family of five, a dozen empty tables, and an old man gnawing on a chicken wing, then spotted Matt almost hidden behind a poster-covered column. I set my purse on the counter and straddled the stool next to him. “Hey.”
He turned his head and lifted his chin. “Hey, there.”
I peered at the collection of empty glasses before him. “Wow. You’ve got a serious doom-and-gloom thing going on.”
He chuckled and slid his drink toward me. “Want to join in?” He pointed to a card tent stuck along the back of the bar. “I’m moving down the drink list. Five more to go.”
I eyed the list, a little concerned that he had already knocked back three stiff drinks. “I’m game to try a few. But I have a driver. Promise me you’ll hitch a ride back with me.”
“Fine.” He slid his drink closer and peered at the contents. “I’ll take a ride home on William Winthorpe’s dime. He owes me that at least.”
I didn’t respond, catching the bartender’s eye as she moved toward us. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
“Sure thing.” The brunette snapped her gum and collected two of his empty glasses. “Here you go.” She set a bowl of Chex mix in front of me, and I vowed not to get drunk enough to eat from it.
“Who’s the big guy in the corner? That your driver?” Matt nodded to my new shadow, a massive redheaded Irishman who could kill any threat just by sitting on them.
“He’s actually private security, borrowed from Winthorpe Tech. The driver is out in the car. William is a little paranoid with everything that has happened.” I gave an apologetic frown. “Sorry, if he bothers you—”
“No,” Matt scoffed. “I should be the one apologizing. I’m the one married to the lunatic.”
“Speaking of which . . . I saw them put Neena in a police car. Have you heard from her?”
“Not since . . .” He stabbed at the screen of his phone. “Two and a half hours ago.” He turned the display so I could see the row of missed calls.
“They showed us the pictures they found in your bedroom. Scary stuff.”
“They tell you about the cash? Bundles of it stacked underneath our floor.” He belched, then apologized. “Around eighty grand. Who knows where she got that.” He glanced at me. “Could William have given it to her?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I can check our safe and accounts, but I don’t know why he would have.”
“Well, she can find her own way home from the station.” He took a long sip of his drink. “And she’s not staying at home. I’m going to let her pack a bag, but then she’ll have to find a hotel.”
“Good. I hope she ends up at a Motel 6.” Taking my drink from the bartender, I held it out in a toast. “Here’s to misfires.”
He winced, then nodded, clicking his drink against mine. “To misfires.” Our eyes met; then I lifted the drink to my mouth and took a sip. It was strong, the mixture almost pure liquor, and I swallowed it with a bit of a cough. “Jeez, that’s strong.”
He nodded at the brunette, who was drying off glasses by the sink. “Amber’s the best. Hey, Amber!”
She looked over one shoulder, a glass still in hand.
“This is Cat.” He gripped my shoulder. “She’s the only person in the world right now who understands my pain.”
“It’s true,” I agreed, smiling at him. “We’re tortured twins.”
“Tortured twins!” He cackled like it was the wittiest thing in the world. “Amber, Cat is married to the man who has been screwing my wife.”
“Wow,” she said slowly, setting the glass up on the shelf. “You guys are an unexpected pair. Where are the cheating scoundrels?”
“Well, my wife is in jail,” he said grandly, and I let his exaggeration slide. “And her husband is . . .” He squinted at me. “Well, I don’t know where William is. Somewhere expensive.”
“My husband is talking to his attorney and figuring out the best way to fire your wife.” I took another sip of the drink and shuddered.
“Ha.” He slid the glass in a circle on the bar top. “You know . . . I’ve been thinking about what would have happened if the gun hadn’t misfired.”
I watched him carefully. “If the gun hadn’t misfired . . . ,” I said slowly. “You’d be hurt, or dead.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “But”—he raised a finger in speculation—“would she have gotten away with it?”
I frowned. “They would have done the same investigation, right? Still discovered the photos and the money. And the photos were what really caused them to find the affair, right?” My voice broke a little, and he reached over and patted my arm in the helpless manner of a man who didn’t know what to do.
“You know . . . ,” he said carefully, “I don’t know why he did anything with her when he had you. It doesn’t make any sense.”
I swallowed a burst of emotion that threatened to bring on tears. “Thanks,” I said quietly. Thanks, but so what? It didn’t matter if I was prettier or younger. Sweeter. Less psychotic. He still went for her. If I hadn’t stepped in, how far would it have gone? What could have happened?
He withdrew his hand. “Have you talked to him about it? Found out how it started? Or why?”
“Yeah. He—” I took a deep breath. “He said it just happened. That it was a mistake. That he didn’t know how it got to that point, but it had.”
“Sounds like bull,” he growled.
“Yeah.”
He hunched toward me. “Did you suspect it? Anything between them?”
I made a face. “I haven’t been a fan of your wife for a while now. I thought they were spending too much time together, but he brushed off my concerns.”
The bartender paused by us. “Ready for the next on the list?”
Matt nodded, then glanced at me. “Are you staying with him?”
I had to lie. If I told him the truth, it might give him permission to follow suit. I hesitated, then slowly shook my head. “No.” I met his eyes. “I can’t forgive what he did. Do you think . . . that you would have forgiven her? If she hadn’t—” I waved my hand in the air as if to indicate his situation in general. “You know. Tried to kill you.”
He unexpectedly laughed, a contagious one that started as a chuckle and wheezed through his body, his chest racking, tears dotting the corners of his eyes. I joined in, and it was sad how much he needed my approval, his posture lightening when I began to giggle.
Then, as suddenly as he had started, he stopped. “I don’t know what I would have done,” he admitted. “But this wasn’t the first time she’s cheated on me.” He looked down at his drink, then downed half of it in one continual sip. “Last time I didn’t even confront her with it. I found out and never did a thing about it.”
“Wow.” My faux shock delivered well, but I wasn’t surprised. I had pegged Neena for a cheater from the very beginning. And while Matt played the clueless husband to perfection, no one was that dense. We all had our instincts. He had to have known, at some point in his marriage, that he was playing the fool.
“I have all of the text messages between them,” he confessed. “The detective is giving them to me. And the call logs. In case you want them.”
“That’s nice of you. And of the detective.” I glanced at him. “Is that normal? Sharing all that?”
“I don’t know. They—” He reached into the Chex mix and grabbed a handful, then offered me the bowl. I shook my head. “They are kind of putting this in my hands. They can’t—at least not yet—find proof of a connection between the shooter and Neena, especially since they don’t have any idea who the shooter is.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, they’re putting it in your hands?”
“The next steps. We have a meeting with the district attorney tomorrow to discuss my options.”
“You and Neena?”
“No, me and Detective Cullen.” He glanced at me. “I was wondering if you could come.”
I hesitated. “Would that be appropriate? I’m not sure—”
“It’d be nice to have a friendly face there. Someone I trust. I . . .” He paused, as if he were trying to find the right words. “You’ve been through this. Right alongside me. Maybe not last night, but with you going to the hospital for poisoning, I think we’re about even.” He gave me a weak smile, and I returned the gesture.
I wanted to be there when they decided her fate. Desperately. Still, I feigned apprehension. “Honestly, I’m not sure Detective Cullen would even let me—”
“Cat,” he chided, “if there’s anyone in town they’d bend a rule for, it’d be you.”
“Me or William,” I said quietly, my gaze floating around the bar as I killed a dozen seconds of time. “Okay,” I said as reluctantly as I could, “I’ll come.”
CHAPTER 48
NEENA
Ten hours after a police car took me from my own home, I stepped outside the cab and stared at our house. The porch light was on, illuminating the bright-yellow tape that stretched between each column and to stakes in the yard. I stepped forward, my tennis shoes crunching across the gravel as I hefted my purse over my aching shoulder.
It should be a crime to be this exhausted, my emotions and body stretched beyond reasonable limits. Ten hours of waiting, of questions, of explaining my story over and over again. Constant accusations and photos and speculation and lies. Ten hours that had convinced me that someone was behind all this and out to get me. As I trudged up the steps, my purse slipped off one shoulder and knocked against my knee. I managed the final step and staggered to the front door. I tried the handle, which didn’t give. I jabbed at the doorbell and considered finding my keys, buried somewhere in the bottom of my purse.
I peered in the door’s glass cutouts, the interior dark. Matt had to be here. I opened the top of my purse and flinched when the heavy door moved, swinging inward, the porch light spotlighting a thin sliver that revealed my husband.
I flinched at the sight of Matt, his eyes bloodshot, his hair wild. He looked like he hadn’t shaved today, his paunchy cheeks covered in a fine layer of stubble. His T-shirt, a baggy graphic tee that I could have sworn I’d thrown out, boasted the words Don’t Be A, followed by a photo of a rooster and a lollipop. I hated that stupid shirt. He’d picked it up at a cheap tourist shop on Duval Street and insisted on wearing it on the cruise ship home, despite my staunch opposition to the garment.