The Next Wife

by Kaira Rouda

  “I’m your only daughter. And if you’re right about Tish, if she killed Dad, she needs to pay. I need to go before she finds out I filed a lawsuit.” Ashlyn takes a breath and walks to the front door, cradling her left arm as Seth pulls up. We watch as he sprints up the front walk.

  “What’s going on? Did she do something? What’s wrong with your arm?” Seth says, looking between Ashlyn and me.

  “I’ll fill you in on the drive,” she says.

  “Take care of her, Seth,” I say.

  “I will, Mrs. Nelson.”

  Ashlyn and Seth are out the door. I hurry to my car and follow my daughter.

  Bob calls as I’m driving.

  “I want you and Ashlyn to keep away from Tish. She’s a dangerous young woman.” Bob doesn’t need to know we’re headed to her house.

  “We’re fine. We know who she is now.” I keep my eyes on Seth’s truck, careful to not let anyone come between my daughter and me. No one will, not ever again.

  “I wouldn’t put anything past her,” Bob says. “I filed the lawsuit. Her attorney will receive electronic notification of that soon. I just wish we had enough to talk to Briggs.”

  “We’re working on that,” I say. “Thanks for getting the filing in.”

  “No problem. We will get this sorted out,” Bob says, and hangs up.

  So far, this feud between Tish and me over the will has been private, a she said, she said. If I get the police involved, people will start talking. I could lose the company. So no, I will keep this quiet and handle her myself, with Ashlyn’s help.

  I take a deep breath as I turn onto her street. I pull to a stop two houses down, across the street, and watch Seth turn into the driveway. I hope this is the right move. He stays in his pickup as my brave daughter walks up to her front door.

  Ashlyn steps inside Tish’s home, and my palms sweat as I grip the steering wheel. The door closes behind her.

  Now, all I can do is watch and be ready to run inside if Ashlyn needs me.

  CHAPTER 46

  TISH

  I’m glad I didn’t go back to the office this afternoon. It gave me a chance to spend some time at home, take stock of everything I have. I have my own house. It’s mine. All mine. That brings a smile to my face. It’s remarkable. Beautiful. Quiet. Cool. Large. Filled with expensive things.

  I concentrate on my love language—money. My love language was in short supply until I met John. Now I’m flush with love. How grand. I pour myself a glass of wine and watch the bright-orange-and-red sunset. Fabulous. I wonder briefly how long Ashlyn will stay at her boyfriend’s house? Long enough, I hope.

  Ooh, I have a phone call to make. I’m so proud of myself for coming up with another way to be in charge. Surprise, Kate! I know it’s risky, and it could be self-defeating if it hurts the stock value, but I need to keep her off balance. I need to focus her attention elsewhere, away from little ole me.

  “Investor Times tip line. What do you have for us?” a male reporter asks. Young. Eager.

  I swallow. I wish I had fake accent options I could use. Instead, I default to sweet southern, my go-to. “Hey, hi there. I have a tip about a company I know of. They just had an IPO. It’s called EventCo? I’m an employee.”

  “Go on. We cover that company. The IPO is doing well.”

  “It’s not about the IPO, not really. You see it’s about control of the company. There is a first wife and a second wife of the CEO, and they both work here. He just died suddenly.”

  I hear a computer keyboard clicking. “Right. John Nelson had a heart attack, the day after the IPO. So, there’s trouble between the two wives?”

  You could say that, sonny. “Why don’t you get a copy of the will? The second wife is co-president, but the first wife doesn’t like it. Quite a story.”

  “It’s only a story for us if it affects the business.”

  “There’s a lot of infighting. Employees are taking sides. It’s hard to get work done. I’m traumatized. If the investors find out, they could lose confidence.”

  “Want to go on the record?” he asks. I’m sure he knows the answer already. I called an anonymous tip line.

  “Oh, it’s a great story, and I’ll just leave it to you to tell it,” I say, and hang up. As far as the press goes, who do you think is more photogenic? Sympathetic? Me, that’s who. I’m the grieving widow, the young, gorgeous wife. Kate has pushed me too far, and now, she’ll have a little scare when the reporters start to call, circling their prey. It’ll be hard for her to bury this story, that’s for sure.

  Now what? Out the front window I see Ashlyn trotting up my front walk. Someone is sitting in a pickup truck in my driveway. Hmmm. Has she come here to confront me? I haven’t done a thing. Been home all afternoon and evening, so there.

  I duck away from the window and walk into the kitchen. I’m not in the mood to talk to her. Not now. I’ve had a long day. I’ll ignore the doorbell, and she’ll go away.

  I wait for the doorbell to ring, but instead I hear the front door open—the locked front door.

  “Hello? Who’s there?” I call, tamping down the fury. When John and I bought this house, he insisted Ashlyn have a copy of the key. She was “always welcome here because it’s her home, too,” he said. I make a note to change the locks.

  “Hey, it’s me, Ashlyn. I didn’t know you were home. I just need to grab my things. Seth is going to help.” She waves at me as she heads down the hall to the stairs. Odd, she didn’t mention anything about her car. She must not have driven it yet. Her good old boyfriend saved the day apparently.

  I hope she’s not up to something, coming here. I mean, she’s not clever. Maybe she wants to talk, you know, kick back and have fun like the good old days. No, that’s not what she wants. She thinks I hurt her dad. She’s just here for her things, with muscle waiting in the driveway. Ha.

  As I stand in the kitchen waiting for her to leave, admiring her boyfriend’s biceps as he carries her stuff out to his car, oppressive heat pours from the ceiling vents. My house is out to get me again. I pull out my phone and find the icon for the app I downloaded last night. I thought I’d finally reset all of the thermostats. How can it be blasting heat again?

  “Wow, it’s hot in here.” Ashlyn joins me in the kitchen. “Feels like hell.”

  I push open the window above the kitchen sink and take a moment to conceal my frustration. “Yes, my thermostats have been on the fritz. And you know your dad. He wanted the smartest of smart homes. I guess it’s just outsmarting me.” I keep the tone light, but I’m seething. And then I get an idea. I’ll put this home on the market. I want a place that no one else has the key to. A place that’s all mine.

  “Dad did love technology. You know he has all the apps on his phone. I may be able to help you.” She tilts her head. “Where’s his phone?”

  Good question. Where is his phone? I don’t remember seeing it, or thinking about it, since the horribly long and boring memorial service. “It’s probably in my black Gucci. I haven’t used it since the funeral.” I assure myself as much as Ashlyn that I have it. “Do you know the password?”

  “Of course.” She leans against the kitchen counter. “Don’t you?”

  As a matter of fact I do, how else would I read all his texts? But I’m not telling her that’s the reason. “Of course I do. I’m just talking about the stupid apps, you know, the lights, the temperature, all the smart home stuff. I don’t have those passwords.” Why didn’t I think to find his darn phone sooner? I’ve been busy, and tired. So tired. My stupid house keeps me up all night.

  “I know how to get into all the apps. You can go on his phone and turn down the heat. I’ll show you how. Where is it?” She’s persistent, I’ll give her that much. But why would she want to help me?

  I’m trying to ignore the fact that his daughter has his app passwords, but his wife doesn’t. Moot point now, I know, but still.

  “Let me go search for that purse. I’ll be right back. Is that Seth outside? Do you wa
nt to invite him in?”

  “No. He’s fine in the car.” She seems to be favoring her left arm.

  “Is something wrong with your arm?” I ask.

  Her eyes narrow, and she shakes her head. “Nothing time won’t fix. My car freaked out while I was driving home.”

  I keep my expression neutral and say a silent thank you to George. “Wow, that’s scary. You’re lucky you’re not really hurt. Electrical failures are so dangerous.”

  “How did you know it was electrical?” Ashlyn asks. I’m not afraid of her. She’s a weenie, with empty threats.

  “Just a lucky guess,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

  As much as I hate leaving her alone in my kitchen, I need to be able to control my house, and if she can show me how to do it, it’s worth it. I hurry upstairs and pull open the door to my purse closet. Yes, an entire closet just for my purses. Can you even?

  I grab the black Gucci and shove my hand inside. It’s empty. Maybe it was the black Chanel? I yank each and every black purse out of the closet and search them. Nothing.

  I’m certain the memorial service was the last time I saw it. I’ve been so distracted by other things. Where is his phone? Did someone take his phone?

  The familiar anger is beginning to build. I don’t need his damn phone. I’m selling this place soon. Good riddance.

  Downstairs Ashlyn stands where I left her. Even if she searched my kitchen, she wouldn’t find anything. I’m not stupid. She’s texting and smiling. Is she making fun of me?

  “No luck.”

  “What do you mean no luck? You can’t find Dad’s phone?” Ashlyn asks.

  I don’t really care where his phone is. I mean, the trade-in value is nothing. Why do I need an old phone around?

  “I have no idea. I must have misplaced it. No big deal.” She needs to leave. I’m so tired of her right now. The way she’s looking at me is bothersome.

  “He could have EventCo business on that phone, you know, and other secrets.” Ashlyn blinks at me. “At least all of his photos are on the cloud. He was such a great photographer.” Her voice cracks, and her eyes fill.

  I need to be sympathetic. I need to be sad, too. “I’m glad you can get to his photos.” I pretend to dab under my eyes as I wonder if he took any photos that last day in Telluride. Or that last night? I need to check. But I don’t know how.

  “How do I get to those photos? I’d love to print out some of the best ones of us and frame them.” I am lying, but it sounds good.

  Her eyes dart around the kitchen, no doubt noticing there isn’t a single photo in here. None in the other rooms, either. I never took time to print out any of the two of us, although the funeral home did a good job of framing a few for the service. Never really thought it was that important—and I still don’t. But I do wonder if there are any photos from that weekend.

  “You go onto iCloud. If he shared his albums with you, you can find them there. I have to go, but um, Tish?” Ashlyn wipes away a tear.

  “Yes?”

  “Is there anything you want to tell me about my dad’s death?” She takes a shaky breath. “I’m just trying to understand how it could happen. I know you two weren’t getting along. He was going to dump you the night he died.”

  “This again? You’re being ridiculous. And I don’t appreciate it. We were enjoying a romantic getaway when his heart attack happened. Sudden cardiac arrest. End of story. Period. Got it?” Ashlyn is on my last nerve.

  She sighs. “He was under so much stress, and yet you took him to the mountains, a place where he never felt well.” She shakes her head. “It’s just odd.”

  I hate bitchy girls. “We were getting along perfectly fine. He was under a lot of stress, that’s true, but he loved me more than anything or anyone. Including you.”

  “You know he sent texts to people that night. Photos, too.” She pulls open the trash bin and spits her gum into it.

  “Your dad loved to text.” I smile at her. It’s fake.

  “I’m just going to take all the things I care about from my room. I’m moving out. I won’t be coming back here ever again,” she says.

  “Good. Good riddance. You can leave your key by the front door.” This chitchat makes me realize I need to find John’s phone and look at his photos. Read through all of his texts.

  “No way. This is my house,” she says, which is odd because it’s clearly mine.

  “What do you mean this is your house?” I ask.

  “Oh, you’ll see. Anyway, will you do me a favor?” Ashlyn turns serious.

  “Sure, anything for you.” I lie. The little brat thinks everything is hers. Nothing is.

  “Leave my mom alone. Leave the company alone. Leave me alone. Just go away.”

  I want to tell her it’s the reverse. That her mommy should leave me alone, just accept the new world order. They all should. But instead, I say, “Why don’t you grab your stuff and get on your way? Now.”

  “Sure,” she says and hurries down the hall. A couple of minutes later, she’s carrying a corkboard pinned with photos, concert tickets, memorabilia from a perfect high school life. The spoiled brat doesn’t have any idea how good she has it. She should make sure she has everything she wants from this house, my house. I’ll destroy anything she leaves here.

  Ashlyn heads toward the front door and I follow behind, fuming. Here’s the thing—the line between love and hate is so thin. So very precarious. I loved her. I thought we would be a family, the three of us. Silly dreams, Tish. I shake my head.

  She stops and turns around. “It’s so hot in here. I don’t know how you deal.”

  “I can’t control it. I don’t know where your dad’s phone is. I know there are apps on it. I’m not stupid.” I am, however, yelling. I take a deep breath. That outburst made me sound like an idiot.

  “Well, then, I guess you aren’t dealing.” Ashlyn laughs as she walks out the door.

  It takes every part of me not to slam the door after her. I march into the kitchen and make a call to Uncle George.

  “Hello, sugar pie.” George answers after only one ring. “I took care of the little princess’s car for you.”

  “I know, thank you. She’s bruised, her arm’s hurt, but otherwise, she’s fine. I like the warning,” I say. “She still had the nerve to come over here tonight.”

  “Gutsy. What did she want?” George asks.

  “She said she wanted her stuff from her room, but I think she also was snooping. There wasn’t anything for her to find. Did you deal with my momma?”

  “Yes, she understands if she talks to anyone up there again, it won’t turn out well for her. She does want to talk to you,” George says.

  “Never.” I shake my head. “I can’t find John’s phone.”

  “I don’t know why you need his phone when you have a perfectly good one of your own.” George chuckles. “Getting greedy again are we, Tish?”

  “I am not greedy. I’m worried he might have texted people the night he died, I have no idea what photos he sent or to who.”

  “If there was anything, you’d know by now. The wife and the daughter, they would have come after you. But they didn’t. You’re all good, but actually you’re all bad.” Now he’s laughing, a big-belly annoying sound. I think he just snorted.

  “Stop it. This isn’t funny. I need to get to the photos on there. They could be incriminating.”

  George pulls himself together. “Listen, sugar. Forget about his phone. They can’t touch you or they would have made a move already. You have everything you need, and then some. Call a tech company, and they’ll come sort your house out. You sound frantic. What are you afraid of?”

  I’m afraid of being poor again. I’m afraid of being discovered as a fraud. I’m afraid I’m not good enough, just like my momma always said.

  “Nothing. You’re right. Ashlyn says my house belongs to her. She’s wrong, right?” I ask George. I can’t believe I let her get under my skin.

  “I haven’t heard that o
ne, sugar,” George says.

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I’m fine. Everything is good. I don’t have anything to hide.”

  “That’s not true, sugar.” George gives a big laugh. He’s known me almost all my life. “I still see you reaching into my office candy jar, taking more than one piece, thinking you were getting away with something. So cute. Anyhoo, the good news is the will was filed before John croaked, so it makes it even harder to contest once the state has put a stamp of approval on it.”

  Contest? “They can’t challenge it, can they?”

  “Just got an electronic notification. An attorney for Ashlyn Nelson already filed on her behalf. But don’t worry, you’re in good shape. Get some sleep. You sound cranky.”

  “What? That bitch was just here, at my house. That’s impossible. She has the nerve to file a lawsuit?” I’m astounded. “How did she do this?”

  “Whoa, sugar. You would do the same thing if you were in her shoes. Remember, the new will cuts her out entirely, and she’s the only direct heir. I advised keeping her in, but you said no. And you’re the boss. I suppose the princess hired herself a lawyer.” George laughs again.

  He did warn me I was being greedy. But now that she’s shown her true colors, I’m glad. “Screw her. We’re still fine, right?”

  “You’re in great shape.” He’s still laughing.

  I stand in my kitchen, and I know I should be happy. I have an avalanche of money coming my way. I should be filled with my love language. But instead I’m beyond cranky. And my house is pumping out heat like the fires of hell and will likely torture me again tonight. But at least the missing phone isn’t a big deal, according to George. I wanted to see what other photos John took when I wasn’t watching. But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead.

  “Thanks,” I manage. “And George, don’t laugh at me again or I’ll find another attorney.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s a good one,” George says and starts laughing again. “You and me are stuck together like peanut butter and jelly.”

  CHAPTER 47