Page 1 of Final Cost

1

Lucien

“Your wife is dead.Ravenna is dead. And the circumstances are…unusual,” Detective Smith tells me as I stand there by my pool, dripping wet and out of breath from my early morning swim. She’s got a tinge of concern in her voice now, as though she’s seen the sudden eruption of goosebumps over my body and knows I’m chilled to the bone. Although whether that’s from her news or the cold water is anyone’s guess. “Are you with me, Mr. Winter? Did you hear what I said?”

Oh, I heard her all right. The soaring sense of freedom — oftriumph— inside my chest proves it. But now is not the moment to let out a whoop and pump my fist in the air. Detective Smith is watching me closely. Worse, she’s smart. The kind of smart I don’t want breathing down my neck and eyeing me with suspicion. Which means I should say…something. Something appropriately shocked and upset. But it takes me another beat or two to tear my attention away from the picture of Ravenna’s dead face on Detective Smith’s phone.

The bitch is dead. Really dead this time.

I find myself oddly riveted by the dull skin that’s completely devoid of Ravenna’s usual radiant vitality. Those green eyes of hers are flat now. Empty. I never thought I’d live to see them without a spark of malice in them. But she’s still secretive, even in death. She took her inscrutable half smile with her into the afterlife. Probably because she died knowing that she could still stick it to me. Even now. Especially now. I should have known. Actually, I did know, didn’t I? I’ve had a dress rehearsal for Ravenna’s death once before. Two years ago, when she faked her death in a boating accident out in the bay right there behind my house.

Ravenna always has a trick. Another trick. A worse trick.

“I heard you,” I finally say, tearing my gaze away from her phone with great difficulty and clearing my gravelly voice.

“Let’s sit,” she says, gesturing me toward one of the wrought iron tables framing the pool. “It’ll be easier to talk that way.”

I pull out a chair, the scrape of metal against concrete hitting my jangled nerves like a good scrubbing with sandpaper hits a road rash. Then I sit. Not because I need to sit, but I appreciate her solicitousness. And not because I’m overcome with grief or shock — trust me, I’m not — but because I welcome the tiny intermission.

It gives me a second to remember my avid audience.

In addition to Detective Smith, two uniformed officers, their hats tucked under their arms out of respect for my sudden loss, watch me. So do my housekeeper, Maddie, and Daniel, my estate manager and lifelong friend. They all knew Ravenna and I were estranged, but I’m betting their tolerance for my mixed emotions only stretches so far. That being the case, I’d better start approximating a man who is upset by the unexpected loss of a young life rather than a man who doesn’t believe in heaven or hell but is willing to make an exception long enough to imagine Ravenna roasting in a particularly hot ring of fire.

That’s the fate a person like Ravenna deserves. And, lest we forget, that’s the fate she wanted for Tamsyn Scott, the love of my life, isn’t it? Ravenna set fire to the guest cottage the other night with every intention of killing Tamsyn, who was asleep inside it at the time. I was able to save Tamsyn by some miracle, but I knew that Tamsyn would never be safe as long as Ravenna was alive. She’d always be the target of Ravenna’s spite. That’s the kind of thing a sweet young woman with her entire life ahead of her didn’t deserve. The kind of thing I swore to protect Tamsyn from—the twisted ugliness of my life with a psychopathic wife. So I dumped Tamsyn. As callously and coldly as I could. Why? Because I knew that was the only way to drive her away and out of Ravenna’s line of fire for good. After all, Ravenna never really wanted Tamsyn. She wantedme. That was my plan, and it worked. Even though every harsh word I spoke to Tamsyn felt like an ice pick slicing through my own heart. Not that I feel sorry for myself. My own misery has been a small price to pay for Tamsyn’s life. I’d do it again if I had to.

Now Ravenna is dead.

But this nightmare isn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. A dead Ravenna is every bit as dangerous to me as a living one. Not in terms of Tamsyn’s welfare — she’s safely ensconced in her former employer’s brownstone back in the Upper East Side in Manhattan now, thank God. But all of us gathered here today around this pool know one very important fact: that the number one suspect in a wife’s unusual death is always the husband. So I need to put Tamsyn out of my mind and worry about keeping my ass out of jail. Pronto.

“What happened to Ravenna?” I ask Detective Smith, my voice still gruff. “You said the circumstances were unusual? Does that mean suspicious?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute,” she says, tucking her phone into her back pocket. “If you’re feeling better now, we’d like to take you down to the station for a formal talk.”

“I’m sure you would,” I say, in no mood for any cat and mouse games with the good detective here. She’s been giving me beady looks ever since Ravenna returned from the dead a few days ago. As if I had anything to do with either her dis- or re-appearance. “Down at the station, you and your partner will be able to question me on camera. I’m guessing one of you will be the good cop and one of you will be the bad cop. You’ll keep me there and badger me until I forget which side is up and say something incriminating. I know how this movie ends.”

There’s a pause. Her poker face never wavers. “Mr. Winter?—”

“I pay my lawyers good money to keep me out of jail,” I continue. “I wouldn’t want them to miss the action down at the police station. So I’d like them with me. Matter of fact, strike that. They’d tell me not to speak with you at all.”

A flicker of silent dismay from the good detective.

“So if you want to speak with me, now is going to be your one and only chance,” I conclude.

My arrogant little speech isn’t doing me any favors with the cops. I know that. But a man with my wealth and position enjoys a few privileges, which includes not being hauled down to the station for questioning. Not unless I’m under arrest, that is. An eventuality that I fervently pray never happens. On the other hand, there’s a new gleam of respect in Detective Smith’s eyes. So maybe we understand each other a bit better.

“Whichever you prefer,” she says easily. “We’ll start with the basics. Where were you last night, Mr. Winter? Your housekeeper indicated that the staff hadn’t seen you since early last night. She wasn’t sure you were down here by the pool just now, but she brought me down here on a hunch.”

Maddie shoots me a distraughtI’m sorrylook over Detective Smith’s shoulder, but I give her a tiny head shake to let her know it’s all right. I don’t blame her for anything. She had no way of knowing what was going on.

“I went for a drive,” I say.

“A drive?”Detective Smith doesn’t bother hiding her disbelief. I’m sure she’s disappointed. She probably expected a wealthy guy like me to have a better alibi.”

“A drive.” I say.

“Where to?”

“I don’t know. Around Great Neck.”

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