Page 78 of What the Wife Knew

“I was leaving the Rothmans. Your neighbors. I saw Dr. Linfield drive in and slipped in the gate before it closed.” Wyatt winced. “I’d seen him here before when he wasn’t supposed to be and—”

“When?”

“I thought the two of you might be working together. That’s why I wanted the police here. It wasn’t until I got closer to the house that I saw the gun.”

This kid who should be at school was playing amateur detective and could have been hurt. “Your original goal was to catch me doing something wrong?”

“Yeah, you know, about that. I’m not sure Dad understood you.”

Probably a compliment but not true. “That’s where you’re wrong, Wyatt. We understood each other just fine.”

Chapter Fifty-One

Her

Present Day

Answers didn’t bring relief. They raised more questions. The cascade of lies and secrets led to more damage. The ripple effect swallowed coconspirators and innocent bystanders and touched off new rounds of whispers and recriminations.

Never were the limits on what I’d learned so clear. There would be investigations and reviews of Richmond’s other surgeries. None of that directly impacted me, except that Richmond’s estate might need to compensate victims, depending on what games the insurance company played.

Thomas was in a hospital with a concussion. Safely handcuffed to his bed. His family locked down, refusing to talk to anyone. People in town were in an uproar. The press talked about conspiracies. Parents came forward, insisting Richmond and his team saved their children. Others, in pained voices, told horror stories about seeing their babies for the last time.

The unraveling should spill over and raise questions about Richmond’s heroic teenage tale. If the armchair true crime detectives and police didn’t step in, I would. But I was happy to let someone else uncover the truth and disclose it, cementing me in the role of the shocked and disgusted wife.

Mom hated that I wasn’t taking a more active role in the downfall of Richmond’s reputation, which is why I sat on the back patio, nursing a glass of iced tea and enjoying a minute of quiet. I welcomed the crisp air and soft whistle of wind. The confrontation with Thomas could have ended in bloodshed and death. The cacophonous crash and bang ofwhat ifsandcould-have-beensmade it difficult to concentrate.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you were hiding.” Elias sounded more relaxed than when he arrived at the house three days ago and watched Thomas get carted off in the ambulance.

“You do and I am.”

Elias delivered a lecture during a call yesterday about listening to him and not inviting people to the house. I didn’t know anything about having a dad but the mix of disappointment and relief in Elias’s voice mirrored the dads I saw on television shows.

My positive mood bump vanished when Detective Sessions followed Elias out of the house and into my no-longer-safe space. I’d only expected one of them when Elias texted about a visit an hour ago. “Do you two ever get tired of rushing over here to talk with me?”

The detective nodded. “Yes.”

“Definitely,” Elias said at the same time. “But this trip brings good news.”

“Where’s your mother?” the detective asked.

“She’s in her room. She’s mad at me and, this is a paraphrase, needed to not see me for a few hours.” She hadn’t changed her fight exit line since I was a kid.

The detective frowned. “You two have an odd relationship.”

Amen to that.

“August is no longer in custody, but dropping the assault charges won’t save his medical career,” Elias said.

“I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.” He’d marched along to orders he knew were wrong without saying a word. His poor decisions cost a family their child, which made it tough to root for him. “It’s a fair punishment for getting wrapped up in Richmond’s bullshit.”

“Speaking of which, August is also telling everything he knows about Richmond and Thomas and the surgery deal.” Elias exhaled. “In the ultimate fall from grace, Thomas has been removed from the medical practice he founded.”

“That was quick. The poor bastard.” I loaded that response with as much sarcasm as possible.

“And he could be looking at a murder charge,” the detective said.

I nearly dropped my glass. “Peter Cullen is dead?”

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