Page 14 of What the Wife Knew

“Would anyone even care if you disappeared?”

There it was. Gloves off. The last of the pseudo-hero shimmer gone. The Mr. Nice Guy façade replaced by an empty shell. And that’s how I thought of him. Vacant, hollow, and vicious.

“You should know you’re not the only one who can plan a spectacle. I took precautions. Hurting me, messing with me in any way guarantees the information you fear most and probably believed no longer existed, up until a few minutes ago, will be released to the public. So your sole job should be keeping me safe and happy.”

He shook his head. “This is all about money. For your kind, it always is.”

“You think you can call me names and I’ll slink away. You’re wrong.” So close to the final attack now. My smile refused todim. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m definitely going to take your money. A lot of it. But that’s just a side benefit.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to let you drag me along on this fairy tale.”

“Unfortunately for you, very sane.” I picked up my glass and put it in front of him. “Drink up. We have a schedule to plan if you hope to win my silence.”

Chapter Nine

Her

Present Day

Having the whole town think you offed your famous husband made it tough to sneak out for coffee. After two days of rattling around in that big house and hours spent searching for the bat, I needed a break.

A simple plan. Pick a small place on a side street. Outside of rush hour. Quick in and out. It didn’t work because the entire café patronage of eight stilled when I walked inside. The air. The people. The talking. It all stopped. Only the sound of dishes clanking in the back room and the hiss of the espresso machine greeted me. A group of women at one table openly stared. One pointed and shook her head.

Such a welcoming town. Kathryn’s town. News of my venturing out in public likely ricocheted around the country club set via text right now.

The choking tension of the room clashed with the welcoming smiley faces drawn on the chalkboard menu, announcing the daily specials. The guy behind the counter glanced around as if he needed someone to tell him what to do.

Fine. I’d do it.

He greeted my order with a nod then gestured for me to stepback and wait. Not wanting spit in my cup, I hovered on the other side of the counter and watched him make the drink.

What felt like an hour passed before he handed me the to-go cup. A quick tip, the kind I wish I would have gotten back when I waited tables and washed other people’s dishes, then out. Not one to linger but not one to run from a problem either, I greeted every nosy patron with eye contact and a smile as I took sure, confident steps to the door. No bolting in shame here.

Once outside, I gulped in fresh air to decelerate my racing heartbeat. But the drink would need to wait. The new problem was the man leaning against the driver’s side door of my SUV.

An unwanted confrontation. On the street where everyone could see and report back to the police and Kathryn. The fine people of this town had been whispering and gossiping since I landed here as the new Mrs. Dougherty. Only the touching of my car was new.

“Yes?” I figured that greeting covered most things.

The man had a jumpy, uncomfortable-in-his-own-skin look about him. He wore khakis and an oxford shirt hidden behind a light jacket. The ensemble saidDad picking up the kids from middle school.Not threatening but this could flip in a minute. It always amazed me how fast a man could move when he led with a punch. But this guy’s hands were fisted at his sides. Every now and then I heard a jingle, which probably meant he was holding a set of keys. No weapon made that sound... I hoped.

“You’re Mrs. Dougherty.”

Were we going to fight on the street? “I am.”

“Your husband’s death won’t stop this.”

Cryptic and unhelpful but intriguing. “Clue me in here. What are you talking about?”

He finally blinked, breaking the charged staring contest between us. “I thought he faked it at first.”

That sounded like something Richmond would do. “He’s very dead. I assure you.”

His untimely demise had been all over the news and in screaming headlines and retrospectives on his life. Avoiding his face and the overly flattering stories had been impossible. I know because I’d tried.

“Was the possibility of bad publicity too much? With his ego I bet he couldn’t stand to see his secrets dragged out in public,” the man said.

This was an odd game, but the guy had my attention. Not just mine. The ladies sitting at the café window openly gawked. A man a few parking spaces away took an unusually long time shutting his car door.

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