“Any idea who might have done this?” she asked.
“No. She had no enemies. Everyone liked her. She was so loved. So loved.” He wiped his eyes. “We were so happy together.”
“Did she ever talk about people who might be upset at her, or someone she was mad at? Maybe an argument at work or something like that?”
That seemed to spark some memory in Frank. “Stress. She mentioned work sometimes. Pressures at work. It’s a high-stress job, you know. Selling houses. Every sale is such a big thing, that when it doesn’t happen, well, it can change your life. For the better or worse. She was great at it, though. Selling. She loved it. She loved the game, that’s what she called it. The game. It was fun for her. But stressful sometimes too. Nothing she couldn’t handle, though.”
He paused, and Scarlett waited for him to say more.
“That guy she works for is a real ball-breaker.”
“Ronnie?” she asked.
“Yeah, Ronnie. That’s right you know him. That’s where I know you from.”
“I know his girlfriend, Amanda. I don’t know Ronnie well. But I can see what you mean. I’m sure he must be tough to work for. I wouldn’t want to work for him. I don’t think I could handle it.”
He shifted in his seat. “She could. Most times. She loved it at first, but over time she thought more and more of getting out.”
“Of the business?”
“Of the office, working for Ronnie,” Frank explained. “She said she wanted a change. That’s what she was working towards. Saving money, making contacts. Networking. She had a plan for getting out.”
“So she was thinking of leaving him?”
She glanced at Tim, to make sure he’d noticed it. He had.
“She had a plan,” Frank said. “A plan for change. I don’t know the details. That’s all she would tell me. She didn’t want to jinx it.”
“And did you support her in this?” she asked.
“I supported her in everything. She was my wife, my partner.” He began to tear up, and wiped his eyes again. “I’m sorry. This is so sudden. I don’t know what to do with this. I don’t know… We were supposed to grow old together. We had plans. Not just for her career, for everything. For life. She was my life and now she’s gone.” He wiped his nose. “Excuse me a minute.”
He got up and went to a bathroom down the hallway.
Scarlett looked over at Tim. “This is hard.”
“It always is.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
He seemed to consider that. “I try to detach myself. Think of it as a puzzle.”
“And that works?”
“Rarely,” he admitted. “A death affects so many people. The family, certainly. The community. It’s like tossing a heavy stone into a lake. The ripples can go on for miles, and touch every shore of that lake. It touches some areas fast and hard, and others it takes time to reach. The ripples may have shallowed a bit, but the echo of the event continues for a long time. An investigator can pretend not to be touched by it, but that’s a lie. A mask. A defense mechanism. You have to try to distance yourself from other people’s pain. Because if you don’t, it just becomes too much. But on the other hand, if you distance yourself too much you can’t do your job. It has to motivate you. God knows I don’t do this for the pay. No one does. It’s a sense of justice. You have to bring justice, restore order to a chaotic world. When you’re looking into a widow’s eyes, or a widower’s, or the surviving son or daughter or parent, you have to acknowledge their pain, and use that to keep you going. You have to keep searching for the truth. Looking for justice.”
Scarlett took in his words. “And do you usually find that?” she asked. “Justice, I mean.”
“Rarely. But sometimes. And sometimes is enough. It has to be—”
They heard the bathroom doorway open in the hall, and Frank stepped back into the living room to continue their talk.
“Again, I’m sorry. I just needed a moment,” he said.
“Take all the time you need,” Scarlett said.
“I appreciate you coming by. This is different than talking to the police. You’re not family, but you’re not a stranger either. I know you didn’t have to come here and listen to all this, but you did, and that means something. Not to be alone. That means something.”
He nodded to himself, still not making eye contact with Scarlett or Tim, but looking off to a middle distance.
Scarlett let the silence mellow for a bit, and Tim didn’t break it. He seemed content to just be a witness, and let Scarlett ask the questions.
She thought of Jade dying on the floor, and the look on her face, the foam coming from her mouth. She had been poisoned, but not by the water. Scarlett had tasted the water herself and felt no ill effects. She could have been poisoned at lunch. But what about breakfast? Or the night before. She didn’t know much about poisons, but she thought there must be slow poisons that took hours or maybe even days to have their effect.
“How was your wife feeling this morning?” she asked finally.
“Not well,” Frank admitted. When neither Scarlett nor Tim responded, he went on. “She’s been feeling ill for a while now.”
“Did she see a doctor?” Scarlett asked.
“No, I don’t think so. I suggested it, but she said it was nothing. She said she’d get over it in a day or two, and she did start to feel better recently. She was feeling much better this morning, actually. She felt strong and eager to get to work. She didn’t like to lie in bed all day. She needed to be productive, to get out and be around people. She liked my company well enough, but not so much when she was sick. She didn’t like me taking care of her. That feeling of vulnerability. Of owing something to someone. Of being a burden, I suppose. She never wanted to be a burden. We both worked, but she had her own life too, working at the agency. And she was good at it, too. Damn good. I was so proud of her.”
He stopped and covered his eyes with his hands. He recovered faster this time, as if it was a passing wave and he just needed to hold on for a moment until the threat subsided.
“When she got sick,” Frank continued after regaining his composure. “This was a couple of days ago. When she got sick, she stopped going out. Stopped shopping so much. She said that was a good thing. We both joked about it. Giving my credit card a rest, she said. Or maybe I said it first and she laughed and we both laughed and that was our little joke for a while. Seems so silly now.”
Scarlett thought over his words. Could this be a clue? Jade used his credit card. She had her own job and her own income stream, so why did she need to use her husband’s credit card? Especially if she hated to rely on others?
Scarlett filed the information away for future reference. It could be nothing, or it might be connected. She knew money issues were at the heart of most divorces, and many murders. If this was a murder, then anything related to money could be relevant.
This time, the silence went on for an uncomfortably long time, and Scarlett felt the urge to move on. They could talk to Frank again later if necessary. Scarlett knew that she would see him around. As an acquaintance of Jade’s, she would probably be invited to the funeral. And now that she had made first contact, he might reach out to her later, or at least be open to more chats. No need to push him too much today.
“Well,” she said. “We should probably be going.”
“Don’t feel I’m chasing you out,” Frank said.
“Oh, no! Not at all! I’m actually expected at work. Or I was. I need to check back in with my boss, so he won’t get too mad at me.”
Frank seemed to accept this. “I understand.”
“Again, Frank. I’m so sorry about this. Please feel free to reach out to me if you need anything, or just someone to talk to. Do you need my number?”
“Oh, no,” he said. “Jade has it. She still keeps a rolodex, if you can believe that. I mean she did keep one. It’s hard to speak about her in the past tense. I guess that’s something else I have to ge
t used to. But thank you for stopping by. And for listening to me blubber. I really do appreciate it.”
Scarlett and Tim left the house and walked back to his car, chatting along the way.
“I believed him,” Scarlett said.
“Which part?”
“What? You don’t believe him?”
“I reserve judgment,” Tim said. “We don’t have much evidence at this point.”
“His testimony is evidence. You think he was faking it?”
“The tears? No, those were real enough. I don’t think he’s that good an actor. Most people aren’t, though. You might be surprised.”
“I could fake tears if I wanted,” Scarlett said.
It was true enough. Ever since she was a little girl, she had practiced in the mirror. There wasn’t much of a trick to it really. You just had to think of something really terrible and give yourself permission to feel bad about it.
Happiness, too, could be faked. But that seemed harder somehow.
As she grew up, Scarlett had mostly given up practicing tears, but she felt sure that she could call upon those skills if needed.
For some reason, she didn’t think men had the same gift. Maybe she was being naïve, though. Maybe the “stoic male” was just a gender stereotype. Even so, she rarely saw men cry like Frank had. Whenever she did see men cry in front her, the pain and the embarrassment touched her deeply.
Tim chuckled, finding her admission amusing somehow. “Even people feeling strong enough emotions will lie to protect themselves. Especially when they’re vulnerable. He could still miss her even if he killed her. He could be crying because he feels guilty. That’s perfectly natural. The feelings are real, but what’s behind them remains to be seen.”
“Do you think the police consider him a suspect?”
“Perhaps not. They can’t dismiss the possibility yet. When a wife dies, the husband is the person you blame first. Nine times out of ten you’d be right. But he wasn’t there, and there were plenty of other people on the scene to draw suspicion.”
“Like me,” Scarlett said as they reached his car.
“And me,” Tim replied.
“They wouldn’t suspect you!”
“Why not? I would. I was the closest one to her when she collapsed. A uniform doesn’t protect a person from guilt. At least, not always.”
He opened her door for her and she got back into his car, then he went to the driver’s side as she buckled up. He slid in the driver’s seat but didn’t start the engine immediately.
“There’s another thing,” he said, surveying the beautiful estate of which Frank was now the sole owner. “He’s obviously wealthy.”
“You’re thinking he had an insurance policy out on her?” asked Scarlett.
“Considering their assets, I would expect they both have life insurance policies. That’s not incriminating by itself, but it’s something we need to look into.”
“How?”
“I have connections,” he said. “I’ll look into it.”
Tim started the engine and pulled out onto the street.
“By the way, where am I taking you?” he asked. It was already almost dark.
“Home,” she said, and texted Karl to let him know she’d be back at work tomorrow morning.
Chapter Eight
Slater Residence, Bicester, England
When Scarlett got home, night had already fallen. After waving Tim off, she ambled up the driveway and went to unlock the door. It was already unlocked.
She headed in. There was a light on upstairs.
“Amanda?” she called out.
“In here,” Amanda shouted from her room.
Scarlett set her purse down on the sofa and went to check on her roommate.
When she reached Amanda’s room, she saw that Amanda had a glass of wine in one hand while she gathered and packed clothes into an overnight bag with the other. The bag lay open on the bed, and she was throwing in her bras and panties.
“Traveling again?” asked Scarlett.
“What?” Amanda said distractedly, crossing to her closet. “Travelling, no. I’m not going anywhere.”
Scarlett waited a moment for her to continue, but Amanda offered no further explanation.
“Did you get the ID in time?” she asked instead.
Amanda’s head was buried in the closet, looking for something. “What?”
She seemed addled and scatterbrained.
And maybe a little tipsy, Scarlett wondered.
This wasn’t the first time Scarlett had seen her roommate like this. Nevertheless, it was a cause for concern. If Amanda was drinking and packing and not making sense, then something was definitely wrong.
“Is everything okay?” Scarlett asked.
Amanda popped her head out of the closet to glare at Scarlett. “Everything? No. Not everything. Maybe not anything.” Amanda turned back to her clothes and started looking through the dresses on their hangers, pushing them aside angrily one by one.
“Is anything okay? You tell me, Scarlett, is anything okay?” She stopped and turned back to Scarlett, staring at her now, arms akimbo. “Jade is dead. How’s that for okay?”
Amanda crossed back to her bed. She dumped out her overnight bag and started repacking her things again, trying to make everything fit in neatly.
Scarlett felt her face flush with embarrassment.
I should have called her this afternoon.
Scarlett had been so caught up with everything that had happened at Ronnie’s office, then the police station, Ronnie’s house and finally, Frank’s house that she had completely forgotten to check on Amanda.
Jade was Amanda’s friend. Much more than Scarlett’s. Of course the news of Jade’s death would have hit her hard. Scarlett had been there and hadn’t thought to reach out to Amanda, to tell her the news or offer a shoulder to cry on in her time of grief. Scarlett had essentially ghosted her all day.
“I’m so sorry, Amanda,” said Scarlett, finding her voice again. “I should have called you.”
“It’s okay,” Amanda said bitterly. Then, she seemed to soften a bit. “This isn’t on you.” She stopped packing and just stared at the mess she’d made of her clothes. She seemed lost.
Scarlett stepped closer. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Amanda sat on the bed, and realized she still had the glass of wine in her hand. There wasn’t much left, but she quickly downed the rest of it, letting the last drops fall like tears into her open mouth.
Scarlett reached out her hand for the glass.
“Let me,” she said. “I could use one myself.”
Amanda handed her the glass.
“That was my second,” she admitted.
“Are you done, then?”
“Hell no.”
Scarlett smiled at her reaction. “All right, then,” Scarlett said trying for a more cheerful and determined tone. “Don’t you worry. I’ve got you covered.”
Amanda continued packing as Scarlett went to the kitchen.
She found an open bottle of cabernet and poured the rest of it into Amanda’s glass. Scarlett checked the label. It wasn’t one of hers from the store. She remembered Amanda getting it a few days ago, and putting it in the rack. This bottle hadn’t been open this morning, and if there was only enough for one glass left…
She’s had more than two, Scarlett realized, but then again, who’s counting.
Scarlett pulled another bottle of cabernet from the rack. She got herself a clean glass, opened the bottle and poured.
Just then Amanda came out of her room with her overnight bag. It looked overstuffed. She carried it like an anchor.
“That’s a lot of packing for no travelling,” Scarlett observed, handing Amanda her glass as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Staying at Ronnie’s, then?”
Amanda nodded, setting the bag down. She took a big swig from the glass and managed a smile.
“Sit down,” Scarlett suggested
, with a motherly tone. “Tell me about it.”
Amanda hesitated, then collapsed into the sofa. She frowned and a wave of sadness overcame her.
“I can’t get over it,” Amanda said.
Scarlett sat down beside her, then put a comforting hand on her roommate’s knee.
“It’s only been a few hours,” she said. “These things take time. I know Jade was a good friend of yours.”
Amanda sneered. “I sure thought she was.”
Scarlett was surprised by her reaction. It wasn’t like Amanda at all to be so callous. She and Jade had known each other even before Amanda had started dating Ronnie. If they’d had some sort of falling out, Scarlett didn’t know about it. Which was odd, because Amanda usually told her everything.
“What do you mean?” Scarlett asked.
Amanda shook her head and waved it off with a dismissive gesture. “Nothing.”
“It’s something,” Scarlett insisted.
Amanda hesitated, but relented. “Something Ronnie told me.”
“About Jade?”
Amanda nodded.
“Something he told you today?” Scarlett asked. “This afternoon?”
“No, before.”
Amanda took another sip, as if steeling her nerves to reveal something important.
“He didn’t want me to say anything, so I didn’t.”
That piqued Scarlett’s curiosity. “About what?”
Amanda stared into her glass.
“I guess it doesn’t matter now,” she said. “Jade’s gone. It’s over now. She can’t do anything. Not if she’s gone.”
“Do anything about what?”
Amanda looked up from the glass and held Scarlett’s gaze. “She threatened him,” Amanda explained.
Jade had never seemed particularly threatening to Scarlett. It was hard to imagine someone like Ronnie feeling threatened by her. Unless, maybe, it was a lawsuit.
“What was she threatening him with?”
“Blackmail.”
Scarlett felt her voice catch in her throat. She tried to repeat the word, but it didn’t come out.
Blackmail? Ronnie had his secrets, of course, but had Jade really discovered them? And if she had threatened to blackmail him, what did she have on him?
A Very British Witch Boxed Set Page 30