The Wife Who Knew Too Much

by Michele Campbell

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  Copyright Page

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  For Jennifer Enderlin

  Acknowledgments

  This book is dedicated to my editor, Jennifer Enderlin, who inspires me to do my best work. Every book is different, and the writing process for some goes more smoothly than for others. For whatever reason, this one was more of a heavy lift, requiring a lot of work to get right. Jen’s unerring editorial judgment, her creativity, and her honesty enabled me to see it through. I am incredibly fortunate to collaborate with her, and a much better writer because of her.

  I am indebted to the amazing team at St. Martin’s Press for publishing, marketing, and publicizing my work so brilliantly. Thanks especially to Jordan Hanley, Brant Janeway, Sallie Lotz, Kerry Nordling, Erica Martirano, Lisa Senz, Jessica Preeg, and Jessica Zimmerman.

  As always, the guidance, support, and friendship of my agent, Meg Ruley, not only makes it possible for me to do my job, but makes it fun. I am grateful to the wonderful team at Jane Rotrosen Agency, and especially to Rebecca Scherer and Chris Prestia for their hard work on my behalf.

  Special thanks to Crystal Patriarche and her team at BookSparks, who are just so good at publicizing books in the digital age and have brought my work to the attention of countless new readers.

  Finally, as always, I’m profoundly grateful to my family for their love, especially to my husband for his enduring support of my work.

  When you run with the wolves, don’t trip.

  —Proverb

  1

  NINA’S DIARY

  July 4

  I’m writing this to raise an alarm in the event of my untimely death. This is hard to admit, even to myself, let alone to the world. My husband is planning to kill me. For obvious reasons. He’s in love with someone else. And he wants my money.

  I’m sitting in my office in the tower room at Windswept as I write. I look out over the ocean. The waves pound the beach as dark clouds sweep in from the east. A storm is coming. This house belonged to my first husband, Edward. On the day we met, I was twenty-three, working in an art gallery, barely scraping by. Edward was fifty and one of the wealthiest men in New York. People said I was a gold-digger. But they were wrong. Edward might not have been the perfect husband, but I loved him. When he got sick, I nursed him. When he died, I grieved him. A year later, I met someone else and fell in love. And I married again.

  That was Connor, my second husband. On the night we met, he was thirty. I was fifty and one of the wealthiest women in New York. Connor didn’t have a penny. People took that to mean he could only be after my money. I didn’t see it that way. People had been wrong about me. I assumed they were wrong about him, too.

  But they were right.

  I just finished meeting with the private investigator, and I’m writing this with tears in my eyes. A photograph sits before me on the desk, incontrovertible proof that the two of them are together—and have been for a very long time. I don’t know how far it goes, or what they’re capable of, but I fear the worst. As Connor well knows, we have an airtight prenup. The prenup says he gets nothing if he cheats. I can divorce him and throw him out on the street. Everything I gave him—the cars, the clothes, the expensive watches, that boat he loves so much, the jet—I can take away. And I will. He knows I will. How far would he go to prevent that from happening? I hope I’m being alarmist, but I fear he’d go to extremes.

  I’d throw him out right this minute, but I’m expecting three hundred guests. I’ll be holding my annual Fourth of July gala tonight, here at Windswept. It was at that very same party two years ago that I first saw Connor. Infatuation at first sight. I should have slept with him and left it at that, but I’m too much of a romantic. Or just a fool. Well, I won’t be foolish tonight. I’ll be extremely careful. As soon as my guests leave, as the fireworks fade from the sky over the ocean, I’ll confront him. I’ll tell him it’s over and kick him off my property. I won’t do it alone. I’ll take precautions. I’ll have security with me, because I fear what Connor might do if he knows he’s about to lose everything. I’ll be careful. I’ll do it cleanly, quickly. And this marriage will be done.

  It’s going to be so hard, though. I still love him. I love him so much that I have to fight the urge to give him another chance. To ask him to explain the things the investigator found. I can’t do that. It would be a terrible mistake. It could even put my life at risk. I don’t trust myself with him. That’s why I’m leaving this diary where it’s sure to be found. If something goes wrong, I want an autopsy. If I die unexpectedly, it was foul play, and Connor was behind it. Connor—and her.

  2

  SOUTHAMPTON, New York, July 5—Noted businesswoman and philanthropist Nina Levitt was found dead early this morning. She was 52.

  Mrs. Levitt was discovered unresponsive, floating in the swimming pool at Windswept, her mansion in Southampton, where she had just thrown a lavish party attended by hundreds of guests. She was rushed by ambulance to Stony Brook Southampton Hospital, where she was pronounced dead upon arrival. Cause of death is believed to be drowning, to be confirmed by an autopsy, results of which are pending.

  Mrs. Levitt was best known as the widow of real-estate tycoon Edward M. Levitt, the founder of Levitt Global Enterprises, Inc., which maintains offices in New York, Hong Kong, and Dubai. Mrs. Levitt served in various capacities at Levitt Global, including most recently as chairwoman of the board.

  During Edward Levitt’s lifetime, the couple were fixtures on the social scene in New York and Southampton. Mrs. Levitt was famous for her lavish parties and fashion sense, and appeared frequently in publications such as Vogue, Town and Country, and Avenue. Her ethereal beauty—she was known for her pale skin and red hair—made her a favorite subject of fashion photographers.

  The Levitts’ accomplishments as developers of commercial real estate in the United States and abroad, and as collectors and donors of late-twentieth-century contemporary art, were often overshadowed by scandal. The couple were frequent subjects of tabloid stories concerning Mr. Levitt’s extramarital affairs. In the years since Mr. Levitt’s death, Mrs. Levitt was believed to have found happiness with her second husband, Connor Ford. Mr. Ford is currently an executive at Levitt Global, having enjoyed a meteoric rise within the company since his marriage to Mrs. Levitt.

  Mr. Ford did not respond to repeated requests for comment in regard to this story.

  3

  TABITHA

  Memorial Day weekend

  The night Connor Ford walked back into my life, I was waitressing, just trying to make ends meet.

  I was standing by the bar at the Baldwin Grill, waiting to pick up drink orders for my tables, when I happened to glance out the window. A sexy black sports car with New York plates was just pulling into the parking lot, and I remember thinking, That guy must be lost. We don’t rate the jet set, and that car screamed money. Don’t get me wrong. The Grill is right on Baldwin Lake, one of the prettiest spots
in New Hampshire. This area used to be ritzy back in the day. But not anymore. We draw a rowdy crowd in the summertime, folks from Mass., New York, and Jersey who can’t afford the shore. Partiers and big drinkers. They come for the local microbrews scrawled on the chalkboard and the big-screen TV tuned to the game. But they’re not the rich and famous, no way.

  As I watched, a man got out. A tall, gorgeous man. And it was him. He glanced at the restaurant with an air of purpose and started walking toward the entrance. I couldn’t believe it. My heart was pounding. I started to sweat.

  Connor and I were together for just one summer, back when I was seventeen. It was a tumultuous summer for us both. We fell into each other’s arms and stayed there, clinging for dear life, until they pried us apart. To this day, nobody has ever reached me like he did. I’d been married and divorced, in and out of my share of half-assed relationships. But I’d never gotten over him.

  Now, there he was, looking cool and gorgeous in dark jeans and a crisp white shirt. And here I was, pushing thirty, makeup melting off my face, my clothes smelling like food, as the love of my life walked through the door ten feet from where I stood. What did I do? I panicked. I backed into a customer, knocking his half-empty beer out of his hand and onto the floor, where it rolled around and splattered people’s shoes.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Let me take care of that,” I said.

  In the ensuing chaos, as I raced to get paper towels, mop up the mess, and replace the poor man’s drink, I lost track of Connor in the crowd. On this Friday before Memorial Day, the Baldwin Grill was jammed to capacity. You couldn’t turn around without bumping into some beefy, red-faced guy who was sloppy drunk. Which made me wonder—what the hell was Connor doing here, anyway? His family sold their lake house years ago, after his grandmother died. The lake had gone downhill since then, while Connor had only come up in the world. He’d married a woman who was rich and famous, and their pictures were constantly in the tabloids. Shouldn’t he be on a yacht somewhere with Nina Levitt, instead of at a second-rate sports bar, rubbing elbows with the common people?

  Unless.

  Could he possibly be looking for me?

  “Hey, Tabitha, I just sat a hot guy in your section,” the hostess called out as I passed by with my tray of drinks.

  And I knew it was him.

  I almost turned around and told her to give him to somebody else so he wouldn’t see me like this. Let’s face it, even if I wasn’t waitressing, I’m not what I was at seventeen. Who is? But we were fully booked tonight, and short-staffed. There was nobody to cover my table. I’d have to face him, whether I liked it or not.

  Out on the terrace, it was a party scene. The sun hadn’t yet set, but everybody had their buzz on. Music blasted from the speakers. Motorboats raced across the water, and somebody was shooting off Roman candles from the dock. I saw Connor out of the corner of my eye. He was seated at a table along the railing, facing the restaurant, his back to the lake, scanning the crowd like he was looking for somebody. A woman, presumably. His famous wife must be joining him, and he’d saved her the chair with the view. A gentleman, as always. That gave my heart a wrench.

  It took a while before I could get to him. I had two tables waiting for drinks, three ready to order, two with food sitting in the kitchen that I needed to get out, and two others ready to pay. I was glad for the delay, which gave me time to collect myself. I’d dreamed of this moment so often. Sometimes it ended with us in each other’s arms. Sometimes with me telling him off for letting his family come between us. Never once did it involve me taking his drink order.

  When I couldn’t avoid it any longer, I grabbed a pitcher of water and headed for his table. And found myself looking right into his eyes. Those hazel eyes I’d loved so well the summer I was seventeen.

  4

  TABITHA

  Thirteen years before

  The first time I saw Connor Ford, he was standing by the pool at the Baldwin Lake Country Club, in swim trunks and Ray-Bans, surrounded by a gaggle of girls. I was working as a pool girl, setting up beach chairs, collecting soggy towels, fetching burgers and shakes from the grill window. The moms would sit tanning and day-drinking while the kids screamed and splashed and threw food, and the dads hit on me. But I liked spending my days in the sun, and I enjoyed the party atmosphere, even if it wasn’t meant for me.

  Connor was nineteen and gorgeous, and Nell Ford’s grandson besides. Mrs. Ford, a prima donna with a deep tan and a Brahmin accent, who wore pearls with her golf clothes, owned the biggest house on the lake. Though even back then, Baldwin Lake wasn’t what it had once been. That sense of coming down in the world probably had something to do with Nell Ford’s snobbish attitude. According to my grandma Jean, she’d take the smallest lapse in service as a personal slight and wouldn’t rest until some poor slob paid with their job. Grandma Jean, who’d worked at the country club for years, had gotten me the pool-girl gig that summer. The one piece of advice she gave me when I started was to steer clear of Nell Ford and her family. Right—easier said than done. Ford grandchildren were everywhere I turned. They were spoiled and bratty—private-school kids from New York and Connecticut, who ran wild and made tons of noise and mess. I spent my days fetching food for them, cleaning up after them, and feeling put-upon by them. Until Connor arrived, and everything changed.

  For the first week or so, I watched him from the corner of my eye as I went about my duties, too intimidated to speak to him. One hot afternoon in early July, I discovered he’d been watching me, too.

  I don’t know where everyone had disappeared to. Connor was alone, lounging on his usual chair with his sunglasses on, his skin all delicious and tan and gleaming, looking like he must smell of coconuts.

  “Hey, Tabby, c’mere,” he said, like we were old friends.

  I’d been collecting dirty dishes that were baking in the sun. I had to look around to make sure he was talking to me.

  “Yeah, you,” he said, grinning.

  I shouldn’t’ve been surprised. I was seventeen that summer, fit and tan, my hair bright from the sun. My uniform was itty-bitty short shorts, Keds, and a polo with the club crest. Plenty of men stared. Even so, I had assumed Connor was out of my league.

  As I walked over to him, he took off the Ray-Bans. His eyes were a hazel I’ve never seen the equal of, green and gold and gray all at once, with long sooty lashes.

  “I wasn’t sure.”

  “You’re the only Tabby around here, aren’t you?”

  I wore a name tag for the job, but most club members didn’t bother to look at it. They waved a hand or said “Hey” to summon me. His grandmother, Mrs. Ford, actually snapped her fingers—that’s just how she rolled. So, I was surprised that Connor even knew my name, let alone that he’d use it. I put the dishes down and walked over to him.

  “It’s Tabitha. Nobody calls me Tabby.”

  “I do.”

  I nodded, trying to play it cool, when really I wanted to whoop and turn a cartwheel because Connor Ford had a pet name for me.

  “So, listen. My cousin Robbie and I have this band. We’re playing in the clubhouse at nine tonight, in the TV room off the dining hall. You should come.”

  “You want me to come hear your band?”

  “Why not? You got someplace better to go?”

  “Staff isn’t allowed at club events. There’s a policy against it.”

  “Well, look, this isn’t an actual club event. It’s just some kids jamming. So, that rule doesn’t apply.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Just say I invited you. It’s a stupid rule, anyway. Nobody’s gonna care.”

  Nobody except your grandmother, I wanted to say.

  “I can’t. Thanks for asking, though. That’s nice of you.”

  He looked at me steadily. I felt dizzy, staring into those eyes.

  “Well, if you change your mind, no tickets required. I’ll even dedicate a song to you.”

  I laughed. “I’ll think about it.”


  “You do that.”

  I walked away, beaming. For the rest of that day, I floated through my chores, slowly convincing myself not only that I could pull it off, but that I had to. A guy I had an awful crush on had asked me to come hear his band play. Why shouldn’t I go? He was right. The rule was stupid. Yet, sneaking out wouldn’t be easy. My grandparents’ house was tiny, and if Grandma Jean caught me, she’d be upset.

  I’d been living with my grandparents for years at that point, and though I loved them to pieces, I longed to escape. I’d grown up an army brat, moving every year. When I was ten, my mom died. At the funeral, her parents, Grandma Jean and Grandpa Ray, convinced my dad to let me spend the summer with them. When summer ended, everyone agreed I should stay on. Everyone but me. Nobody asked me what I wanted. My grandparents became my legal guardians. To this day, I don’t know which was harder—my mother dying, or my father letting me go so easily. At least Mom wanted me. Dad eventually remarried and moved to Texas with his new wife and kids. I was not invited to join them.

  Every time I went near the pool that afternoon, Connor made an excuse to talk to me. He ordered a milkshake and three Cokes in a three-hour period, brushing his fingers against mine when I handed him something, making me flush and stutter.

  The pool closed at six. At ten of, I was collecting ketchup squeeze bottles from the grill area when Connor came up behind me. He put his hands on my waist and spun me around to face him. He was so tall. I could smell the suntan lotion, warm on his skin.

  “Tell me I’m gonna see you later, Tabby. Please?” he said.

  “I want to.”

  “Then, what’s the problem?”

  “Besides that I could get fired? I’d have to sneak out.”