“Who do you think did it? Was it the doctor?” Randall Falk asked.
“I wouldn’t know,” Griff said, and shut his mouth tight. He didn’t want to talk about Kate’s death to anybody, let alone to this idiot, who was starting to annoy the crap out of him.
“They found her pocketbook in his car,” Falk said. “To me, that’s pretty compelling. He could say she left it in his car the night before, when they met up at the inn. But that’s not possible, because she would’ve needed the pocketbook Friday morning at the courthouse. So it stands to reason she met up with the doctor again later, on the night she died.”
“I thought you said you don’t know who killed her.”
“I said I wasn’t certain, and I’m not. But Saxman had opportunity, and he had a motive. The guy has a career and three kids to protect. If she was pressuring him to leave his wife, or threatening to reveal the affair, he might’ve killed her to stop her from doing that.”
They pulled up to the house just in time, because Griff was getting ready to punch the guy out for talking about Kate like that.
“Here we are, safe and sound. My mission is complete,” Falk said.
“Thanks.” Griff handed back the business card, but Falk waved it away.
“Oh, no, keep it. Give me a call if you get curious about your wife’s demise. I’d be willing to offer a reduced rate.”
Griff nodded curtly and ran into the house to get away from that guy. Inside, it was dark and airless, and smelled of beer and of Kate’s perfume. Thoughts of her overwhelmed him. He stumbled to the living room without turning on the lights, and collapsed on the couch in a ball, pulling a blanket over his head. A draft rattled the blinds, reminding him of the day that he looked out to see Chief Rizzo and the detective ringing the doorbell, coming to tell him she was dead.
He’d finally remembered where he’d seen Rizzo before. It was at Henry’s Bistro with Kate, on a night Griff had gone out looking for her in the middle of a storm. Figures he’d be trying to make sure she was safe, while she was busy getting it on with some stranger in a bar. Rizzo was just her type, dark and intense-looking, and she never could keep her panties on. But that was ancient history now. Griff was beginning to feel like he’d lived for a long time, that he’d seen and done everything, and that nothing had turned out right. He didn’t know what to do next, so he watched the shadows move across the room, and once it was dark, he slept.
Somebody pounded on the door. Griff sat up and peeked through the blinds. It was Jenny. Strangely, he was happy to see her, or if not happy to see Jenny in particular, then at least relieved to see another human being.
He opened the door.
“Hey,” she said, rubbing her hands together and stamping her feet against the cold. “Sorry to drop by out of the blue like this, but Keniston’s been calling and calling. He said you’re not answering your phone.”
“They confiscated it.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry. Let me look into getting that back for you.”
“Yes, thank you. They said they would mail it, but if it’s possible, I’d like to get it right away. It had pictures of Kate on it, and I want them.”
Pity leapt into Jenny’s eyes. So she thought Kate didn’t deserve his grief. Who the hell was she to decide that? Griff started to close the door.
“Hey,” Jenny said, putting her hand on the door to stop him. “I know this is a difficult time, but I need you to come with me. Keniston went into the hospital last night, and he wants to see you. He’s at Carlisle General. Griff, he stood behind you, paid for your defense. I know it’s hard, but you should go.”
“Of course,” Griff said, nodding. “Let me get my coat.”
Twenty minutes later, they stood outside Keniston’s hospital room, talking to Benji Eastman.
“He’s developed a heart arrhythmia,” Benji said. “They think it was brought on by stress and the chemo. He’s pretty weak, but he wanted to see you before—well, just in case anything should happen to him.”
“I’m glad to be here,” Griff said. “I’m grateful to him for taking my side in this mess, and I want to thank him in person. I’m grateful to you too, bro.”
“I never believed for a second that you could hurt Kate. None of us did. Dad wants to talk to you and Jenny about the case. If it’s all right, I’m gonna duck out, go grab some coffee.”
“Sure thing. Take care, man.”
They shook hands, and clasped each other on the back warmly. Griff had always liked Kate’s half brothers. With Griff’s father in prison and his mother not in his life, Kate’s family had been his only family for a while now. He was going to miss them.
In the room, Keniston lay barely breathing under the flimsy hospital blanket, hooked up to tubes. Griff couldn’t believe such a fierce lion of a man could be brought low like this.
“Feels like just a minute ago that he was in his prime, and now look,” Griff whispered.
Keniston opened his eyes. “I’m not dead yet,” he croaked. “And I can hear you.”
The three of them laughed. Keniston’s laughter turned to choking.
“Water,” he said.
A Styrofoam cup with a straw sat on a wheeled table beside the bed. Jenny held the cup for him, and he drank.
“Better,” he said, and cleared his throat, gazing at Griff with a look akin to wonder. “I’m amazed to see you out of prison, son. I wasn’t sure we could pull it off.”
Tears sprang to Griff’s eyes. “I’d still be in that damn cell if not for you. I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me, Keniston.”
“You should thank me. Jenny here was no help,” Keniston said, in a joking tone.
Jenny flushed bright red. “What are you talking about? I replaced the chief of police to get him off Griff’s back. That wasn’t easy.”
Keniston raised a bony hand, then let it drop back down to the blanket wearily. He cleared his throat again. “I was teasing. But I do have something serious to discuss. I’m concerned this new fellow is making the same mistakes. I want this ended. I don’t want some big investigation into this doctor that Kate was mixed up with. From what I understood, Walters conjured up the evidence against this fellow, to divert attention and get Griff out. I don’t want some new unjustified arrest on my conscience.”
“I understand,” Jenny said, “and I agree completely.”
“But Walters didn’t make up evidence,” Griff said. “What he said was true. Saxman’s the last person we know saw Kate alive. And now they found Kate’s handbag in his car. We can’t just let that go. The police should investigate.”
“Kate leaving her bag in his car doesn’t prove he killed her,” Keniston said.
“Keniston’s right,” Jenny said. “We don’t want to make the same mistake Rizzo did. We’re hoping to rule Ethan Saxman out as a suspect and announce that to the press in the next day or two. I’m sure you both know there’s been another option on the table all along.”
“Suicide,” Keniston said.
“Exactly,” Jenny said. “Rizzo decided Kate was murdered based on an expert’s opinion about the nature of her skull fracture and the absence of water in her lungs. We brought in a different expert, and no surprise, he has a different opinion. He believes Kate’s injuries were sustained when she fell, or jumped, from the railroad bridge. So unless new evidence comes to light, it’s likely the coroner will rule Kate’s death a suicide, and we’ll close the case.”
“And Saxman just skates away?” Griff said.
Griff didn’t believe Saxman killed his wife. Not directly. But if he’d never seduced her, never turned her away from Griff, then Kate would be alive right now. Saxman ought to pay for that.
“He’ll suffer, don’t worry,” Jenny said. “He’s going to lose his job because of the negative publicity, and Aubrey will divorce him for sure after this.”
“It’s not enough,” Griff said, and hung his head.
They all fell silent. After a moment, Keniston lifted his hand, whic
h appeared to take great effort. Carefully, so as not to dislodge any tubes, Griff took Keniston’s hand in his own.
“Griffin,” he said. “Isn’t it Kate you should be angry at?”
“I can’t. I never could be angry with her,” Griff said.
“That’s what I was afraid of. I feel responsible,” his father-in-law said, and his eyes were watering. Griff had never seen the old man cry in all the years he’d known him, not even at the funerals of his own wife and daughter. He was shocked to see it now.
“Responsible for what?” Griff asked.
“For the fact that you married my daughter. I sent you to her because I couldn’t handle her anymore. I did that knowing full well how she crushes the people who love her. And now she’s crushed you. It’s my fault.”
“It’s all right. I chose my life. I chose her.”
“It’s not all right. I’m going to make it up to you,” Keniston said.
Griff and Jenny exchanged glances over Keniston’s head. Jenny was probably thinking the same thing he was—that Keniston didn’t have enough time left to make anything up to anybody.
“I spoke with my lawyer. You won’t have any problems about the money.”
He closed his eyes, and seemed to fall into a deep sleep. Griff and Jenny waited for a while longer, but then decided they should probably let him rest. They both had tears in their eyes as they left the hospital room, because they knew it was the last time they’d see him.
As Jenny drove down the hill from the hospital, Griff took a deep breath and looked out over the town nestled in the valley below. He could see the lights of College Street, and the beacon on top of the Ogden Library tower. Carlisle was perfect from up here, and yet it was spoiled, because he couldn’t look at it without thinking of Kate. But then, every place in the world made him think of Kate. No place was untouched. He thought of her in New York, as she’d stood glowing in the light at the middle school dance. He thought of her in Paris, thin and haunted in the tabac, as he begged her to come away with him. He thought of her on their boat with her golden hair rippling in the breeze, or on a sunny piazza in Italy, a drink in hand, laughing her throaty laugh. He could go to the ends of the earth and never find a place that didn’t remind him of her.
“I want my phone,” he said to Jenny. “I need those pictures.”
She shook her head. “Griff.”
“Just stop, all right. If you’re going to tell me to get over her, I can’t, and I don’t want to hear it.”
“I wouldn’t presume to tell you that,” Jenny said, her hands on the wheel.
She looked over at him, and in the light from the streetlamp, he saw the sympathy in her eyes.
“None of us will get over Kate,” she said. “Aubrey and I loved her, too. I remember Kate at a burger feed on the Quad, the first day of freshman year. She was laughing and twirling around, with all the boys staring at her, and I thought, I’ve never seen a person so full of life. Those were the glory days, though, right? We were so young, so impressionable. I feel like we just fell into each other’s arms, best friends at first sight. We didn’t stop to think that we might be bad for each other. I’m not saying anything against Kate. Just that it was a bad combination, in hindsight. She was bad for you, too. You just don’t see it yet.”
“Of course I see it, but I still love her,” Griff said defiantly.
“So do I. But we have to go on, Griff. You have to go on. What other choice is there?”
36
Two Years Later
It was Christmastime, and Griff and his first mate were taking the day off from their usual routine of fishing charters and snorkeling excursions. He’d met the first mate in a bar in Charlotte Amalie a few months back. She was an Australian girl by the name of Gemma who was traveling the world, paying her way by crewing on boats. Gemma knew how to sail and guide and run a charter website. The two of them worked well together, so well that she’d recently migrated from sleeping on the leather banquette in the lounge to sleeping in the stateroom with him. It was a relief to be with someone uncomplicated, who was content to put in a hard day’s work on the water, fall asleep to the rhythm of the waves, and not say much. If Gemma knew anything about Griff’s past, she never mentioned it.
The weather was perfect—eighty degrees, sun glittering on an aqua-blue sea, balmy breeze. They anchored in a sheltered cove off Anegada. There was a spot there that he wanted to show her, a mile-long stretch of sugar-white beach with sublime waves, completely deserted. They got out a couple of stand-up paddleboards, jumped off the back of the boat, climbed on the boards, and raced to shore. Griff got tossed off his board in the heavy surf, and emerged from the waves laughing and sputtering to find Gemma already on the shore.
“Hah, I beat you,” she said, shaking water from her short blond hair.
She was strong and tan, with a beautiful smile. Griff kissed her, and she tasted of the ocean.
Gemma had brought along a beach blanket in her waterproof pack. They tried to spread it on the sand, but the wind kept taking it.
“Hold on, I’ll get some rocks,” he said, and headed down the beach a ways, toward a tidal pool that looked promising.
Griff leaned over and picked up a rock. The feel of it—rough, heavy, wet—made his vision go dark. He was standing on the bridge, on that rainy night, staring down at another rock in his hands. He’d never meant to hurt Kate. He’d followed the phantom copies of her texts, followed her to the bridge, meaning only to help. To be her champion. To win her back. When Griff overheard Tim Healy threaten her, he picked up the rock to defend her. But Tim ran off before Griff could intercede. Kate was alone on the bridge, sobbing, kneeling at the edge of a chasm, staring into the roiling water below. He went to comfort her; that was all. At the sound of his footsteps, she looked up with desolate eyes. But when she saw who it was, her expression changed—to rage, to disgust.
“You!” she yelled. “Are you too stupid to understand we’re done? Stay away from me, Griff. Get out of my life!”
He never meant to hurt her. But those words. The way she turned on him. The hate in her eyes. Griff lifted the rock in his two hands, and brought it down with all his might on the crown of Kate’s head. For a second, she looked surprised. Then she crumpled sideways and plunged into the river.
Griff heard Gemma call his name. He blinked hard, turned around, and started walking back toward his new life. With every step he took down the white-sand beach, he pushed Kate’s memory further into the past, where it belonged.
Griff and Gemma spread the blanket on the sand and anchored it with the rocks he’d gathered. He breathed in the salt-scented air and let the Caribbean sun warm his face. By the time they settled onto the blanket, he felt all right. Better than all right. He felt good.
“Hey, I’ve got a surprise for you,” Gemma said.
She pulled a towel-wrapped bundle from her pack, unrolling it to reveal a plate of shrimp sandwiches and two splits of champagne.
“Our Christmas feast. Do you like it?” Gemma asked.
“I love it,” Griff said, and laughed like a free man. Which he was.
Acknowledgments
This book would not exist without the inspiration and guidance I received from two of the greatest women in publishing—Meg Ruley, my stalwart agent and friend who always believed in my writing and knew better than I did that I had more books in me, and Jennifer Enderlin, brilliant editor, publishing maven, and true collaborator. This book is Jen’s baby as much as mine. Thanks also to the many talented people at Jane Rotrosen Agency and St. Martin’s Press who have helped along the way, especially Jessica Errera, Rebecca Sherer, Caitlin Dareff, Lisa Senz, Brant Janeway, Jessica Preeg, Erica Martirano, and Jordan Hanley.
I was a nomad while writing this book, and worked on it in a number of places. Special thanks to the staff at the Howe Library in Hanover, New Hampshire, which is a welcoming place to write as well as an incredible community library. And to the people at the Four Seasons in Miami, where I w
rote the final chapters at a desk with a fabulous view of Biscayne Bay—if only all my writing days could be like those.
And thanks to my husband and kids, who support and inspire me always.
About the Author
A graduate of Harvard University and Stanford Law School, MICHELE CAMPBELL worked at a prestigious Manhattan law firm before spending eight years fighting crime as a federal prosecutor in New York City. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Part Two
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Acknowledgments
About the Author
It's Always the Husband Page 33