17
The skies opened just as the guests arrived. Heavy winds shook the tent as Nina snaked through the crowd, greeting and air-kissing, grabbing mojitos from passing waiters. By eight-thirty, it was hot and soupy under there, and she was halfway to drunk. Rain pounded the canvas roof, and thunder rumbled loudly enough to drown out the band. With every thunderclap or gust of wind, guests would look up and laugh nervously, like the tent might lift off and blow away. There was an edge of hysteria to the party. Everyone felt it, not just her.
An hour in, Nina had downed two mojitos on top of a Xanax and needed something in her stomach to beat back the creeping wooziness. The food was set up in the ballroom. She was working her way through the crowd on a path to the raw bar when a man in front of her turned abruptly, nearly crashing into her. It was Hank. She was shocked to see him. She’d invited him only out of obligation, expecting that he’d decline. Hank had never forgiven her for marrying Connor, and nowadays, they rarely spoke unless business required it.
Nina couldn’t deal with him tonight, not after what she’d read in the report. She turned on her heel and walked out, but he followed, buzzing around her like a fly.
“Oh, that’s rich. You won’t speak to me? I’m the one with the grievance. I’ve been hearing rumors that you’re planning to move against me at the next board meeting,” he said.
“That’s a lie.”
“It sounds pretty plausible to me. You want to replace me with your power-grubbing husband.”
If she didn’t need to keep it quiet, she would’ve told Hank then and there that she was divorcing Connor. That Hank had been right all along about Connor. Of course, he knew he was right. There were things he could’ve told her, and hadn’t, that would’ve exposed this whole scam years ago.
“You mean your little protégé?” she said.
“Connor—my protégé? You know I can’t stand him.”
“Not him. I have three words for you, Hank. Protocol Shipping Solutions.”
He looked flummoxed. “What about it?”
“It’s your company, isn’t it?”
“No. It’s an old shell company of Edward’s.”
Nina frowned. Was it possible the investigator had it wrong?
“But—you’re on the board,” she said.
“I was, years ago. On the paperwork. There wasn’t a board, not in reality. The company itself barely existed as I recall. Why? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I—I think you know,” she said, but she was no longer certain.
Hank threw up his hands. “You’re talking in riddles. Don’t change the subject. I know you’re moving against me. Lauren is close with your husband, still. He tells her things. In a moment of pique, she threw it at me that he’s taking my job. Well, I’ve got news for you. That’s not gonna happen. Watch your back, Nina. If you try anything, you’ll lose. Badly.”
Hank walked away, leaving her stunned.
Lauren was probably lying about the whole thing. But it didn’t matter. Nina and Connor would be separated by tomorrow, and Hank would know for certain that it wasn’t true. Still, Hank was angry. And Hank angry could be dangerous.
* * *
The rain stopped. The party went on. Nina mingled with her guests.
She was talking to a balding hedge-fund tycoon and his pretty young wife when she caught a glimpse of Connor across the tent. It was the first time she’d seen him all night. He stood head and shoulders above the crowd, his handsome face bathed by spotlights from the bandstand. He must’ve felt her watching, because he turned to look at her, and she felt an aching twinge of déjà vu, thinking of the night they met—at this same party, two years earlier. As he moved toward her, the crowd parted, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Feeling dizzy, and unsafe, she looked around frantically for someone, anyone, from the security team. But in the mass of swaying bodies, there was no one to be found.
“Are you all right, Nina? You look like you saw a ghost,” Mr. Hedge Fund said, touching her arm.
When the tabloids wrote the story of this night, she wanted them to say that Nina Levitt was serene and calm before separating from her second husband. But Connor was going to make that difficult. He strode up to them and grabbed her arm, a tense expression on his face.
“Can I talk to you, please?”
“Connor,” she said, her voice shaky, “do you know my friends—?”
Crap. She couldn’t recall Mr. Hedge Fund’s name.
“Darren Walder, and my wife, Stacy. Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Connor said, in a perfunctory tone, trying to pull her away.
She resisted. She needed to keep this conversation going until a security guard turned up. Floundering for a topic, she glommed on to the first one that came to mind.
“Darren, you mentioned ghosts. Did you know Windswept used to be haunted?”
“Really?” Stacy said.
“Oh, yes. When my first husband, Edward, brought me here, Windswept was under renovation. The main parts of the house were finished, but others were closed off, full of mice and cobwebs. At night, the wind would howl, and sometimes…” She paused for dramatic effect. “Sometimes, I would hear the faint sound of a child crying in the distance, even though no child lived in the house.”
“Oh my God, you just gave me a chill,” the wife said, with a squeal.
“Honey, it’s just a story,” Mr. Hedge Fund said.
“No, this is true,” Nina said. “Years ago, I used to hear a child crying in the night. I told Edward about the sound, but he didn’t believe me. He said it was the wind, that I was imagining things. Then, one night, the cries woke me from a dead sleep. This happened the night of a big dinner party. I’d had a lot to drink, so it’s possible my ears played tricks on me. I remember, I staggered out of bed and followed the sound to the west wing, on the opposite side of the house. The electricity was out there because of the renovations, and the only light was the moon pouring through the windows. It was so eerie. I tiptoed down the hallway, and I came to the door to the attic. The cries were coming from behind it.”
“What happened next?” the wife asked, her mouth hanging open.
“I turned the knob, but the door was locked from the inside. I ran back to the bedroom to get Edward. He was passed out, and I couldn’t rouse him. I did tell him about it the next day, but then we went to Asia for a trip that lasted six weeks. By the time we got back, the renovation of the west wing had been completed. And I never heard the crying again.”
“You never told me that before,” Connor said. He looked angry.
“Oh, it’s just an old story.”
“And you never followed up? What happened to the kid? Weren’t you worried?” Connor said.
“I don’t think the child existed. That’s why I say the house was haunted.”
“Is that really how it happened, or are you—”
“What? You think I made it up?”
“It’s a great story whether it’s true or not,” the wife said. “We’re going to hit the caviar bar. Wonderful party, Nina, thank you.”
They double-cheek-kissed. When they were gone, she whirled on Connor.
“You embarrassed me in front of my guests.”
“Come down to the beach with me. We need to talk.”
He pulled her in the direction of the terrace steps, but she didn’t want to go. Not with him. Not tonight. She dug her heels in.
“No.”
“What’s going on, Nina? Did I do something wrong? You’re avoiding me, I can tell.”
“There are three hundred people at this party. I lost you in the crowd, that’s all.”
“All night? The party’s almost over, and you never once spoke to me.”
“Is it really that late? I lost track of time. Excuse me, I need to go consult about the fireworks display.”
She took a step in the direction of the bandstand. He blocked her way. She looked around for anyone from the security team. T
hey were MIA when she needed them most.
“Did you tell security to follow me?” he demanded.
“There’s nobody following you, Connor.”
“Then how come every time I turn around, one of Steve Kovacs’s goons is behind me?”
She swept her arm around the tent. “Where? I don’t see anybody.”
He didn’t answer. She moved, and again, he blocked her.
“What are you doing? You’re scaring me. Stop it, or I will call security,” she said.
He backed off a step.
“I’m sorry. I apologize. I’m feeling hurt. If there’s nothing wrong between us, show me. Come down to the beach. Or let’s go upstairs. Sneak away, like the first time. I miss us.”
That got to her. She tried to tell herself that it was an act, designed to get her to let her guard down. But when he leaned in to kiss her, she let him. The kiss was intense, full of anger and hurt and mistrust, and Nina thought, This will be the last time.
“You see?” she said. “Nothing’s wrong. Let me go, darling. I need to deal with the fireworks. I’ll look for you on the beach during the fireworks display.”
His phone rang in his pocket. That seemed to distract him.
“You promise to meet me there?” he said, reaching for it.
“Yes, but if we don’t find each other, meet me in my office when the party’s done.”
Me. And my bodyguard.
Connor nodded and walked away, answering his phone as he went. She felt a twinge, wondering who he was talking to. She’d have to let go of the jealousy. The next time she saw him would be to end their marriage. With security present, to ensure her safety.
To make sure of that, she texted Kovacs, letting him know that she was not happy to have been left vulnerable during the party, and that he’d better come find her on the terrace, ASAP.
The pyrotechnic consultant waited near the bandstand. He was a short, grizzled man in his sixties who’d been doing this for forty years. They stepped out from under the tent to assess the weather. The storm had moved out to sea, but the surf still pounded wildly. The sky was an eerie yellow, full of clouds and backlit by a full moon. The fireworks would be muted, swallowed by clouds. The alternative was to cancel the display and pay for it anyway. After some discussion, Nina decided to go forward. She mingled with her guests, relieved for the distraction, until the consultant gave the signal that the fireworks display would begin.
Up on the bandstand, the lead singer handed her the microphone.
“Thank you for braving the storm to come out tonight,” she said, looking out over the crowd. “I hope you got to eat, drink, and be merry. And now that the rain has stopped, I’m thrilled to announce that the show will go on. Down to the beach for fireworks!”
A roar of approval went up from the crowd. People began surging en masse toward the stairs. Nina stepped off the bandstand just as Steve Kovacs came up to her.
“Where have you been? Connor nearly dragged me off, with nobody from your team in sight. And what happened to your lip?”
He looked like he’d been slugged in the mouth.
“We’ve been dealing with trespassers all night. One of them gave me some real trouble, and he’s still at large. He was with a woman who—”
“Leave them to the police. We have more important things to deal with.”
“But, Mrs. Levitt—”
“I don’t care. I asked for your help with my husband, and you disappeared. If you want to keep working for me, you need to learn to follow orders.”
The crowd on the terrace was thinning as guests migrated to the beach, and Nina’s raised voice attracted attention. People were turning to look. Kovacs’s jaw clenched. Men hated being ordered around by a woman, especially in front of people. Well, too bad. She paid his salary, just like she supported Connor. They needed to learn who was in charge.
“Do you hear me?” she said.
“Loud and clear, ma’am.”
“Good. Connor went down to the beach. As soon as the fireworks are done, find him and bring him to my office. Let’s get this over with.”
As Nina turned and walked toward the house, a round of percussive booms sounded, making her jump. She’d thought it was gunshots. But it was the start of the fireworks display. A sulfuric smell invaded the tent, and it seemed like the world was burning down around her, along with her marriage.
18
TABITHA
It was late afternoon on the Fourth of July, and I’d been driving all day. New Hampshire to the Hamptons on a holiday weekend was slow going—especially when you needed to pull into random gas stations at intervals to throw up in their bathrooms. The sleeve of saltines and two-liter bottle of water that I’d brought along for nourishment were long gone by the time I hit the outskirts of Southampton, and my whole body shook with fatigue. It wasn’t safe to keep driving. I needed to find a place to stay. I’d take a nap, have something to eat, and gather my strength before I tried to find Connor.
I drove around for a long time. All the affordable motels had NO VACANCY signs, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise. This trip had been doomed from the start. Dropping in on Connor unannounced on the Fourth of July was a terrible idea—one I never would’ve entertained had I not been desperate. I’d Googled “Windswept” and gotten his address—correction, Nina’s address—but I had no real plan, other than walking up to the front door and knocking. Nina would probably sic the dogs on me. Hell, she probably knew I was coming. I had a sick feeling that I was being followed again, though not by the Suburban this time. I’d noticed the same nondescript brown Ford Fiesta with New Hampshire plates behind me at several points during the drive, though it wasn’t there now. Maybe it was a coincidence. But the New Hampshire plates had me worried it might be Derek.
My body was stiff from hours of driving and I was on the verge of tears when I finally spotted a motel with a VACANCY sign. The Ocean Vista had a parking lot full of potholes and a sad-looking swimming pool that backed up to the road. There was zero view of the beach, but Google Maps said it was a twenty-minute drive to Nina’s house, and I wasn’t likely to do any better. I parked by the office and got out of the car. The air felt heavy and smelled of rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Inside the office, the humidity was thicker than outside. An air conditioner buzzed, unable to keep up with the oppressive heat. A man in a turban sat behind the counter talking on a cell phone in a language I didn’t recognize. Finally, he hung up.
“I saw you have a vacancy. How much is a room for the night?” I asked.
“Two hundred and thirty-nine dollars.”
“Really?”
I winced. That was nuts for this place.
He shrugged. “It’s July Fourth. You’re lucky I had a cancellation. You won’t find another vacancy between here and Montauk.”
He was probably right. Anyway, I didn’t have the strength to keep looking. I handed over my debit card.
In the room, I collapsed on the bed and pulled scratchy covers over me that smelled faintly of cigarettes. Fatigued like nothing I’d ever known, I was asleep instantly. When I opened my eyes again, it was dark out. Feeling dazed, I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. At least I looked better than I felt. My eyes were bright, my hair was shiny, and spots of color burned in my cheeks. I’d brought a duffel bag with a change of clothes. I traded my crumpled jeans and T-shirt for black pants and a sleeveless black top. They were basic, from Old Navy, but serious enough for this daunting venture. With flats and a swipe of lipstick, I was as ready as I’d ever be to find Connor and tell him my news.
Just my luck—the storm that had rumbled in the distance all afternoon reached the motel as I stepped out of my room. The first fat drops fell, splatting on my bare arms and making me shiver. As I ran to my car, the rain became a deluge. I dove headfirst into the Toyota, already soaked.
The car smelled rank after the long drive. So much water sluiced down the windshield that I could hardly see out. It was like dri
ving through a car wash. As I turned the ignition, a crack of thunder exploded close by. In the glare of the headlights, the driveway was a boiling cauldron, drops hitting the ground with such ferocity that they bubbled back up. Rain pounded the roof. A bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by a loud clap. The orange light on the dashboard reminded me that I was nearly out of gas. I’d wind up stranded on the side of the road before I could even find a gas station. I couldn’t go back into my room without getting drenched, and these were the only clothes I had. I turned off the car engine and waited.
Desperate as I was to talk to Connor, I didn’t feel safe driving in this mess. After ten minutes passed with no letup, I called an Uber. Surge pricing was in effect, forty-six bucks for a twenty-minute ride, my food budget for a week. But if I didn’t do this now, I’d chicken out, and go back to New Hampshire without ever telling Connor about the baby.
The Uber arrived, and I ran to it. The air-conditioning was on full-blast, giving me goose bumps in my damp clothes. The driver was an older guy with gray hair, wearing heavy cologne. The pregnancy had increased my sensitivity to smells, and the cologne combined with the pine-scented air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror made me gag.
“I took lot of people to this party tonight. Some I recognized from TV,” the driver said.
“Party?” I asked.
“You’re going to Windswept, right?” he said, gesturing at the destination on his phone. “To that celebrity party.”
Shit. Nina Levitt’s annual Fourth of July party. How could I forget? I’d been reading about it in the gossip columns for years. Since Connor hadn’t mentioned holding it this year, it had slipped my mind. This was a freaking disaster. No. Wait. It was an opportunity. A stroke of luck. Hundreds of people got invited to this thing. I could slip into Windswept with the other guests and walk around unnoticed, looking for Connor.
I finally had a plan. For the first time since setting off on my journey, I felt hopeful, even glad that I’d come. I’d never been to the famous Hamptons before, and I craned my neck from the backseat of the SUV, ogling the ritzy surroundings. We were now ten minutes from Windswept, cruising through the downtown. The sidewalks ponded with rain. Red-white-and-blue bunting and American flags hung limp and sodden from every quaint storefront. But even in this weather, the town managed to look storybook gorgeous.
The Wife Who Knew Too Much Page 11