Page 8 of What the Wife Knew

I knew him. From a distance, but I saw the real him. The lies.The deceit. I’d been briefed and weaponized. I’d heard about him since birth. My life’s goal had been spelled out and hammered into me for more than a decade: destroy Richmond Dougherty. Unmask him. Tell his secrets. Shred his reputation.

Watching him now, sitting in a dark corner of a nondescript bar just outside Philadelphia, I could see every flaw etched on his face. The shadows under the supposed handsome charm. A lurking darkness that poisoned every decent act.

He leaned in and smiled as he played with the fingers of the pretty blonde sitting next to him in the circular booth. He was forty-four. She was far too young for him. Miles better than him. A woman who should run.

She was also not his wife.

While Kathryn wiled away at home, putting the final touches on a charity luncheon scheduled for next week, Richmond was here, at his pretend conference in another state, screwing his weekend conquest. The woman crossed her legs and dipped her head to one side. She flirted, unaware that she’d bought into a PR image. A shimmer of a man.

She deserved better. So did Richmond’s mistress back home. The one who worked in his medical office. So did his wife. So did all of the people unlucky enough to stray into his path.

I’d studied his string of women because I’d been looking for the best way to wiggle into his life. I’d followed him and paid for information, all to discover he was a mediocre man who liked to stockpile pretty women.

Adultery. How original.

His pathetic weakness created a perfect and obvious angle of attack. His voice made my fury spike, so the idea of letting himtouch me, even a brush of his hand on my arm, made me gag. Still, a few seconds playing the role of a needy, breathless fan and he’d be panting to get me out of my underwear. Then I’d stab him. Metaphorically, of course, but a killing blow.

Today was the beginning of the end of Richard Dougherty.

Chapter Six

Her

Present Day

Getting rid of a bat with the whole town watching turned out to be a tougher task than expected. Mostly because I couldn’t find the damn thing. With Richmond dead, I didn’t need it or think about it, so I missed the fact it was no longer near my bed.

The search warrant countdown clock ticked in my head as I debated where the person who actually did kill Richmond might have hidden it. The idea clearly was to point a flashingshe’s guiltyarrow at my head, which meant the bat had to be on the property. That left three acres and more than six thousand square feet of house to cover.

Annoyeddidn’t begin to describe my rancid mood.

I started my room-to-room search in the bedroom Richmond had used after I kicked him out of the primary suite. Investigating led to a bone-deep need to rid the house of any evidence he’d ever existed. His clothes sat in piles on the upstairs floor. Knickknacks, collected items, and the shrine he’d created of all his awards and acknowledgments filled two boxes.

I’d dragged some of the crap downstairs and dumped it on the kitchen counter then circled back, intending to return tothe second floor but only got as far as his personal office next to the staircase. A room I was now searching. Supposed to be searching.

The leather chair proved to be a distraction. While I swiveled back and forth my gaze wandered over every inch of the office. Photos, some with the kids. Most with colleagues or at speaking engagements. His medical school diploma from Columbia University. A framed article about his residency at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore.

Maryland. That’s where Richmond’s story began. Where he became a hero. Annapolis, Maryland, to be exact. Home of the U.S. Naval Academy, sailing, seafood, and the infamous Richmond Dougherty. The first three things lived up to the hype.

One last spin and...what the hell?

The late September sun beamed over the grass, highlighting a figure as he sprinted around the bottom of the U-shaped driveway and down the line of trees outlining the side of the property. Doubled over and running. A man sneaking across the lawn.

Where was a killer guard dog when you needed one?

I didn’t call the police or rush around because there was no need. Richmond’s son, Wyatt, was lurking about, further proving the asshole gene ran deep in the male side of the Dougherty clan.

A quick text to Elias seemed in order. If I had to beat the crap out of Wyatt I wanted it to be clear the kid came for me first. That done, I looked up again. Wyatt had disappeared from view. The squirrelly little—

Beep

The house security app on my phone. The one letting me know someone had opened a door and used the code to keep the alarmfrom squealing. The side door. Looked like Wyatt had let himself intomyhouse through the mudroom off the kitchen.

A crystal lamp with a heavy base qualified as the closest makeshift weapon. I grabbed it as I tiptoed into the foyer toward the kitchen.

“You should know I called the police.” Threats felt right, so I kept going. “I have a gun and New York allows me to shoot an intruder on sight.” No idea if that was true but it sounded good.

Wyatt’s voice wound through the downstairs. “What the hell is this?”

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