Page 43 of What the Wife Knew

The guy was as much of a pain in the ass dead as he’d been alive.

I arrived at the front gate and tested the lock to make sure it worked. There’d been too many unwanted visitors lately. I no longer trusted the gate, fancy alarms, or a wall of tall trees to keep me hidden and safe.

For once the neighbors across the street weren’t loitering in their driveway, waiting to catch a glimpse of something juicy at my gate. I didn’t know their names. Didn’t care. Most of the time I couldn’t even see their house from mine. I only knew they were FOKs, Friends of Kathryn, and she visited often.

I opened the mailbox door on my side of the fence. The other side had a lock on it that, in theory, prevented nosy people from being extra nosy and sorting through my mail. Three days of mail had collected. It consisted of Richmond’s alumni magazine, which he clearly wouldn’t be reading from now on. A few cards addressed to Mrs. Dougherty, likely obligatory condolence nonsense. A new bill in my name from the alarm company and a few random flyers.

The last thing was a brown envelope. There was no scenario where a plain brown envelope with my name scribbled across the front signaled good news. I debated leaving it in the box butgrabbed it instead. The temptation to rip it open tugged at me. I made it the whole way to the front door before I gave in. The contents spilled out. Another terse note with the same message as the one written on my wall in super-secret paint.

YOU WILL PAY

Photos of me. All recent. All at the house. Me in the driveway with Elias. Me on the back deck, looking out over the yard. Me walking to the greenhouse, wearing what I now thought of as my disinfectant outfit. The detective had taken it with him in the search.

My gaze zipped from the front gate to the trees outlining the property. Even with the dropping leaves they provided cover. Houses sat on either side of my property but not close enough to peer into their living rooms.

The photos were a bit blurry, as if the person who took them did so from a distance and then zoomed in. I had no idea how the stalking photographer managed to get the shots and print them out. Worse, I couldn’t figure out where the person stood to get the pictures.

I studied each one. They all came from one side of the house. From a higher angle off to my left. I held my middle finger up in the air just in case the amateur photographer was there and looking for a show.

Inside. I needed to get inside and spend some time with the pictures and the security footage to see if the cameras had caught anyone or any movement. The motion sensors should have gone off, but if the person stayed outside the fence, maybe not.

The only thing I knew for sure was that someone was watching. And they wanted me to know it.

Chapter Thirty

Her

Present Day

Wyatt showed up at the security gate before ten the next morning. So much for the idea that paying his school bills would buy me some distance from his simmering rage.

I took a photo off the security feed and sent it to Elias with acan we do something about him?text before ushering Wyatt into the house. A fight on the street wouldn’t work because I hated the idea of lingering outside. Too many eyes. Too many covert opportunities to spy on me and launch a new round of threats.

Once in the house, Wyatt followed me through to the kitchen. He watched me make a latte then a second one for him.

“What do you want?” I didn’t have the patience for, or any interest in, a more tactful opening. That one would have to do.

“I needed to see you.”

The entire family excelled at unnecessary drama. “I’m concerned about your definition ofneed.”

He fidgeted on the stool at the kitchen island. “I’ve heard things.”

Rumors. The town’s favorite pastime. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Mom says you agreed to pay for stuff.” He hesitated as if expecting me to jump in. When I didn’t, he rambled on. “For me and for Portia.”

“Your school. That’s it.” If he wanted a car or a trip to Europe he could beg his mother.

“What’s your game?”

I sighed becausecome on. “Wyatt, I’m going to be honest with you. I’m sick of everyone with the last name of Dougherty, so you would be wise to jump ahead to your point.”

“Dad made it clear you were after his money, which he figured out too late to stop you.”

It wasn’t a surprise that Richmond painted himself as an innocent victim in our marriage, but that didn’t make the lie any less annoying. “It’s possible your family—not me—has an obsession with money.”

Wyatt blew right by the comment. “I don’t get it. You worked hard to screw him financially. You fucked over my mom. Yet you’re turning around and agreeing to pay for stuff? I doubt you feel bad about what you did, so handing out money now makes no sense.”

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