The House on the Water

by Margot Hunt

  “What are you talking about? There aren’t sides here.”

  John stared at me. “Of course there are sides. You heard the detectives. They think someone killed Esme, and they’ve narrowed it down to the four of us. It’s either us or them.”

  “They don’t even know how Esme died.” Despite the warm day, I felt a sudden chill, and rubbed at my arms. “She was really drunk that night. She shouldn’t have injected her own insulin. We should have helped her.”

  “Would you know how much insulin she needed?”

  I shook my head. “No idea. Even when we roomed together in college, she’d always inject herself when I wasn’t around. I think she was self-conscious about it.” I turned to watch the police questioning Ford. His back was to us, but I could tell from his posture that he was tense, defensive. “Don’t you think it’s odd that they’re questioning us all here at the house? Practically right in front of each other?”

  “Oh, I think they’re doing that on purpose,” John said.

  “But why?”

  “They want us to see each other’s reactions. They wanted Ford to see that they had told Nick about his criminal record. The detectives obviously came in here with a game plan.” John looked at me gravely. “They’re hoping they can play us off each other until one of us confesses.”

  By the time the Detective Reddick next appeared at the glass-paned door, it felt like John and I had been waiting for hours. Maybe we had been. I didn’t have a watch or my phone to clock the time.

  “Mr. Reed, please come inside,” Detective Reddick said.

  The police were ready for their next target. Apparently, I would be the last one questioned today.

  John glanced at me. I knew he wanted to protest this summons, to refuse to submit to questioning.

  I shook my head. “Just go deal with it.”

  John nodded and walked silently inside.

  I expected—and hoped—that Ford would go upstairs after Nick, and I would be left alone on the deck. I needed some time and space to gather myself before it was my turn. I’d never been questioned by police before. I had no idea what to expect, and just kept replaying scenes from TV shows and movies in my mind. Would they bully me? Try to trick me? I had to stay alert.

  But Ford came out and joined me on the deck, sitting in the seat John had just vacated. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

  “That was fun,” Ford said.

  “What did they ask you?”

  “They brought up my criminal record, of course. And wanted to know why I hadn’t told Nick about it. They filled him in and apparently, he did not take it well.”

  “That’s the problem with keeping secrets ,” I remarked. “People feel stupid when they find out they’ve been deceived. It can lead to more problems than whatever you were trying to hide in the first place.”

  “I know,” Ford agreed. “But I doubt Nick and I would have stayed together if he knew about my past.”

  “I think you’re underestimating him. He adores you.”

  “I know he does. But if he knew about my past, he’d have wondered if I was with him for him, or for his money. Nick is already insecure about our relationship.”

  “Because you’re so much better-looking than he is?”

  Ford blushed. “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is,” I said. “And you know it.”

  Ford shook his head, refusing to admit to it.

  “Why did you fall in love with Nick?”

  I was genuinely curious. Nick had always seemed so shallow, so juvenile. But then again, I’d only ever interacted with him when Esme was around. Maybe his sister brought out the worst in him.

  “He’s probably the kindest person I’ve ever met,” Ford said simply. “He has other great qualities—he’s funny, thoughtful, a joy to be around. But it was his innate kindness that first got my attention. I haven’t met many kind people in my life.”

  “Then why didn’t you trust him with your secret?”

  Ford sighed. “I’ve spent my whole life evaluating risks. When to take them, when to hold back. I thought it made more sense to not tell Nick than to risk being truthful and possibly losing him. It wasn’t like I was ever planning on committing another crime.”

  “You should probably go talk to him.”

  Ford shook his head. “No, I’m going to give him some time. Between Esme and finding out about my past . . . that’s a lot for Nick to process.”

  “Did the detectives tell you anything about the evidence? Whatever it is that’s making them investigate her death as a homicide?”

  “They’re not particularly forthcoming with details. They do ask a lot of questions, though.”

  “What did they ask you about? Other than your past?”

  “They wanted me to repeatedly go through what happened the night Esme died. All the details. I think they wanted to see if my story would stay consistent. Or if it was consistent with Nick’s version of events.”

  “And was it?”

  “I think so.” Ford shrugged. “But they get you either way. If you mess up and you’re inconsistent about something, some tiny detail anyone could’ve forgotten, you’re lying. But if you tell the same story over and over without deviating, it’s rehearsed. But I don’t have anything to hide. I didn’t kill Esme. And I know Nick didn’t. We were together all night.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  Ford looked at me as though he were trying to decide whether to answer honestly. I waited for a few beats, but then he just shook his head.

  “I think we’re all hoping the medical examiner will conclude her death was accidental,” Ford finally said. But I hadn’t asked him what he hoped. Ford was holding something back.

  Suddenly, shouting erupted from inside. I turned to see John standing, his hands palm down on the table. John’s back was to us, so I couldn’t see his expression, but I did have a view of the detectives, who looked satisfied. They’d wanted to provoke a reaction, I realized. And they succeeded. I could clearly hear my husband yell, “How dare you?”

  What did they ask him? I wondered. I only realized that I’d said the words out loud when Ford responded.

  “I think a lot of secrets are going to be exposed today,” he said grimly.

  John’s interview ended swiftly. Less than twenty minutes after it began, John stormed away from the detectives. He came out on the deck but didn’t even look at me. Instead, he pushed open the gate and disappeared through it. His feet stomped heavily down the stairs that led to the beach.

  “John! What happened?” I called after him.

  No reply.

  “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” I asked Ford.

  “Yes.” Ford smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, I think I do.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Mrs. Reed, will you please step inside.” I turned and saw Detective Monroe standing at the door—a foreboding presence. I didn’t want to talk to him or the other detective. I wanted to go home.

  But I stood and walked woodenly into the vacation house.

  “Take a seat,” Detective Monroe said.

  Once I was sitting facing the two detectives, Detective Reddick pressed play on a tape recorder. He nodded at it. “We’re going to record this conversation.”

  “Why is my husband so upset?”

  “Again, we’ll ask the questions. How did you know Esme Lamont?”

  “We were roommates our freshman year of college at Tulane. We’ve been friends ever since. Were friends.” I couldn’t get used to referring to Esme in the past tense. “We had this tradition of taking a trip together every year.”

  “Do her brother and his husband normally join you?”

  “No, this was the first time they came with us. It’s the first trip we’ve taken since Esme’s divorce. We thought having a few extra people along might make it more fun. Also, I know Esme wanted to work on her relationship with her brother.”

  Detective Reddick pounced on this. “Why? Th
ey didn’t get along?”

  “They’ve had their ups and downs. I don’t know if it went beyond normal sibling rivalry or not. I was an only child. But I know Esme was hoping that it could improve. Their father’s sick, and I don’t think he’s going to live much longer. When he dies, Nick will be the only family Esme has left. I mean, had. I’m sorry—I keep talking about her like she’s still alive. I guess it hasn’t sunken in.”

  “Mrs. Reed, do you know if Nick and Esme argued on the day Mrs. Lamont died?” Detective Monroe asked.

  I hesitated. “I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘argue.’”

  “What word would you use?”

  “There was some friction between Esme and Nick right after he and Ford arrived. They got a little testy with each other.”

  “Your husband disagrees with you. He said that there was an ugly exchange.”

  “Husbands and wives don’t always agree on everything.”

  “No.” Detective Monroe chuckled. “That’s true enough.”

  “Your husband told us something interesting about Nick and Ford Overfield,” Detective Reddick continued. “That with his sister’s death, Nick’s inheritance doubles from ten to twenty million dollars. That’s a lot of money. And a pretty powerful motive.”

  I wondered if Nick, who, as far as I knew, was still upstairs, was eavesdropping. I know I would be, if I were him.

  “I don’t think Nick would hurt Esme.” I remembered the night Nick had wrapped his hand around Esme’s neck, and swallowed. My throat felt dry, and I wished I had a glass of water. “I certainly don’t think he’d be capable of killing her.”

  The detectives exchanged a look that I couldn’t read.

  “People think that there are all sorts of reasons why people are killed,” Detective Monroe said conversationally. “Gang shootings, drug addicts looking for money, even serial killers. And sure, that happens every once in a while. But in my experience, the two most common motives for taking another human life are love and money. And if we rule out money as a motive, that leaves love.”

  “Love,” I repeated.

  “Well, I say love. But what I mean is jealousy, or anger over being rejected. If I can’t have her, no one else can. That sort of thing.”

  I shook my head, confused. “But you said David couldn’t have been involved. That he’d been arrested that night.”

  “No, David Lamont didn’t kill his ex-wife,” Detective Reddick said.

  “Then what are you getting at?”

  Detective Reddick leaned forward, his eyes never leaving my face. ”Did you know that your husband was having an affair with Esme Lamont?”

  I stared at them both. The detectives watched me closely, waiting to see how I’d react.

  “May I get a glass of water?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Detective Monroe said.

  I stood and walked to the kitchen area, where I filled a glass of water from the tap. My hand holding the glass was shaking. I drained it and then filled the glass again before returning to my seat at the table.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Detective Reddick said. “Did you know about the affair?”

  “That’s ridiculous. John and Esme weren’t having an affair. They don’t even live in the same city.”

  “Has your husband done any business traveling recently? More than usual?” Detective Monroe asked. I nodded slightly. “Yeah, that wasn’t business. He was driving down to Miami to visit your friend.”

  “John would never do that to me,” I said. “Esme wouldn’t either.”

  “It appears the affair started eighteen months ago. You were on one of your annual trips with the Lamonts, back when they were still married. You spent a long weekend in Charleston. Do you remember that?”

  I did. The vacation had been a disaster. Esme’s marriage had clearly reached its breaking point—she and David constantly snapped at each other whenever they were together, which made being around them incredibly awkward. Then on the second day, I’d gotten food poisoning after eating some bad oysters for lunch. I spent the remainder of the trip locked in the bathroom of our hotel room, throwing up for hours . . . alone.

  “Your husband deleted the thousands of texts they exchanged on his phone, but they were still all on Mrs. Lamont’s phone.” Detective Reddick slid a stack of papers across the table at me. “We printed them out. Feel free to read through them.”

  I looked at the papers, not wanting to touch them, and certainly not wanting to read them. My eyes betrayed me, drawn to the dozens of texts visible on the first page. I couldn’t help seeing what was printed there.

  JOHN: I can’t stop thinking about you. And about what happened last weekend in Charleston.

  ESME: I know. This is crazy.

  JOHN: Is it? I feel like we’ve been heading toward this for a long time.

  ESME: I just worry about Caro. What if she finds out?

  JOHN: I don’t care if she does.

  ESME: I do!

  JOHN: My marriage has been over for a long time.

  I inhaled sharply. Is that what John had really thought all those months ago? No, I thought. He was just consumed by infatuation. Lust. The novelty of a new lover after twenty-three years of marriage.

  I pulled the papers closer and began flipping through them. Many of the texts were sexual in nature, and my cheeks flushed hot. John had never sent me texts like that. Detailed descriptions of what he wanted to do to Esme—to the point of being pornographic. And Esme’s replies were just as lewd.

  Between bouts of sexting and making plans for when they’d see each other, Esme occasionally worried about how hurt I would be if I found out about their affair. John dismissed her concerns, repeatedly assuring her that our marriage was over and that he wanted to be with her. I tried to remember how many times my husband had traveled for work—or claimed that’s what he was doing—over the past eighteen months. He’d been gone dozens of times.

  “How do I know these are real?” My voice sounded creaky, as though I hadn’t spoken in ages. I took another sip of my water.

  “They’re real,” Detective Reddick said. “It gets repetitive. You can skip to the end.”

  I shuffled through the papers until I reached the bottom of the stack. The texts there were dated just a week ago.

  ESME: I’m tired of sneaking around. It’s not right. This isn’t who I am.

  JOHN: I’ve already told you, I’m going to leave Caroline. I just need to wait until Aiden’s legal issues are resolved.

  ESME: Maybe we should tell her next week.

  JOHN: What? When we’re all together?

  ESME: Wouldn’t that be the civilized way to handle it? She deserves to know the truth. And she’s going to find out eventually.

  JOHN: I know, but I think it would be better if I tell her when we’re alone.

  ESME: But I need to talk to her, too. I need to at least try to explain what happened. I owe that to her.

  JOHN: No. That’s not how we’re going to handle this.

  ESME: You’re going to have to trust me. I know Caroline better than anyone.

  The texts ended there.

  “Did Mrs. Lamont tell you about the affair?” Detective Monroe’s voice was gentle, and when I glanced up at him, he actually looked sympathetic.

  “No.” I shook my head. “She never said a word. I asked her if she was seeing anyone, and she said she was but didn’t go into detail. I guess now I know why.”

  “So you had no idea about any of this? Didn’t suspect your husband was cheating?” Detective Reddick asked. Unlike his partner, he sounded skeptical.

  “Look—I knew my marriage wasn’t in a great place.” The words felt thick in my mouth. I took another sip of water. “I could feel a distance that hadn’t been there before. And, yes, I might have even wondered from time to time if it was possible that John wasn’t faithful. But with Esme? No . . . no. I can’t believe she’d ever do this to me.”

  Detective Reddick’s eyebrows arched. “That she
’d do this to you? Your friend’s disloyalty bothers you more than your husband’s?”

  I stared down at the pages and pages of texts that laid out the detailed story of John’s and Esme’s terrible betrayal. And for what? To satisfy a base sexual urge? It was grotesque.

  “It all bothers me,” I said quietly.

  “On the night that Mrs. Lamont died, was there any period of time when you and your husband were apart?” Detective Reddick asked.

  I glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Your husband told us that he was with you the entire night. That there was never a point when you weren’t in the same room together. You’re his alibi.”

  “His alibi?” I repeated. “You can’t think . . . John wouldn’t have hurt Esme.”

  “They were having an affair,” Detective Monroe pointed out. “She was threatening to tell you. That sounds like a motive to me.”

  “But he said in those texts that he was prepared to divorce me.” I swallowed. “To be with her. It wasn’t like Esme was the one pushing for a commitment, and he was brushing her off. Quite the opposite.”

  “Maybe he was lying to her. Divorce is difficult. And expensive.” Detective Monroe smiled wryly. “Take it from me. Maybe he didn’t want to go through that. Maybe he wanted to keep things as they were: remain married to you, and have his affair with Mrs. Lamont on the side.”

  I shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to ask John about that. He obviously never discussed it with me.”

  “Oh, we did,” Detective Reddick said. “That’s when he told us he was with you the entire night that Esme Lamont died and ended his interview.”

  “And then what? You thought that if you told me about the affair, I would be so angry that I’d throw him under the bus?”

  “I wouldn’t lie for someone who had betrayed me like that,” Reddick replied.

  “We were together for most of the night. After Nick and Ford helped Esme to bed, John and I started cleaning up the dishes from dinner. Nick and Ford came down eventually, and helped us finish tidying up. Then we all went upstairs to our rooms. I went into our bathroom to take a shower. John was already in bed when I went, and was still there when I got back.”