The Next Wife

by Kaira Rouda

  CHAPTER 63

  KATE

  I slip the key Ashlyn gave me into the lock and open the door. I hurry inside and disarm the alarm.

  “Tish! It’s Kate. I’m here to talk,” I yell up the grand staircase. I know she’s here somewhere. I take a few steps up and call her name again.

  “Oh, I see you let yourself in. A charming habit your daughter shares.” Tish stands at the top of the stairs wearing a super-short skirt and the expensive necklace John bought her when they were engaged. She begged for it, Ashlyn had told me, and he was happy to oblige. He was in love, he told me.

  “What’s a $30,000 necklace compared to a lifetime of happiness?” he’d asked me when I questioned him at the office.

  “Can you just stop flaunting your midlife crisis? It’s pathetic,” I’d said and turned away in disgust.

  Tish is looking at me.

  “Good evening,” I say.

  She says, “I could call the cops on you. Breaking and entering.”

  I smile. “You could, but you won’t. You know they’re on my side anyway.”

  “So what? You bought a few squad cars. I can still call them.” Tish glares at me.

  “I don’t think they’d appreciate the fact that you tried to kill my daughter by flooding her car’s engine.”

  Tish laughs. “Not me. She probably was texting while driving again.”

  “You murdered my husband.”

  “Your ex-husband. And I did not. You’re making up stories. You don’t have any proof.”

  “It’s over, Tish. You were never going to win. Not in the long run. Not against me. Did you know this house is in a trust for Ashlyn? John and I did that.”

  “Just found out that charming piece of news. You can have the house. It is haunted.” She’s gliding down the stairs toward me. “I need a change. I’ll leave town tonight, for the right price.”

  I take a deep breath. I’m not afraid of her. Even if I have allowed her to think I am.

  She’s a gold digger. A home-wrecker. And I’m convinced it was premeditated. All of it. She’s resourceful, I suppose.

  It was John who wasn’t.

  “What do you want?” Tish stands one step above me.

  “You will leave my family alone, leave town, and never come back. I’m willing to pay. I just want you gone,” I say. Time to drop a few surprises. “John and I weren’t getting back together. I was just messing with you. I knew you read his texts.”

  “What? Yes you were. You wanted what I had.” Tish spits the words out but stops. “You didn’t want him back?”

  I shrug. “That’s for me to know. It worked. Your relationship ended as it always was going to. It was a joke from the beginning. Let’s get this deal done, shall we?”

  “Fine with me. But it’s going to cost you. Big-time. Do you understand?” Tish wags a finger at me. “Let’s sit in the living room.”

  I follow her down the hall, and we sit on opposite ends of an overstuffed white couch. I pull out the documents I brought with me and place them on the glass coffee table.

  “I have all the money in the world. I can transfer to your account tonight. I have a contract for us to sign, right here. Unlike the fake will you tried to float, this document is real and binding. One of the stipulations is you must never come back to Columbus. I mean it. This will be the last time we speak to each other. Understood?” I point to clause five of the contract.

  “I’ve made two copies. We’ll each sign one. Here are the terms.” I point to the numbers and know they look larger than anything Tish has ever seen in writing, bigger than anything she will ever see again.

  She smiles and asks, “And what will you agree to?”

  “Nothing. I don’t owe you anything.”

  Tish signs on the bottom line, and I sign the contract, too. We each have an executed copy. I slip my copy back into my purse.

  Tish leans back on the couch. “He shouldn’t have messed around on me. I don’t care what you say. Even if it wasn’t really an affair, he was going to leave me. That’s not OK,” she says.

  “Oh really?” I say. “That’s ironic coming from you.”

  “Where I come from, we have a way to handle people who aren’t true. It’s simple, really. Would you like a cherry?” Her tone has shifted. I hear a hint of a southern accent.

  She points to a bowl of cherries on the table.

  I swallow and try to keep my face expressionless. What is she saying? “No, no thank you.”

  “John seemed to like them. I always had them around. Even in Telluride on our last trip. The fruit is delicious, you just have to watch out for the seeds,” she says with the same creepy southern voice. She takes a cherry and pops it into her mouth.

  “I understand what it feels like to be betrayed,” I admit. “But killing someone? Your husband? That’s diabolical.”

  “Our relationship was the pits at the end,” she says. “You really didn’t want him back? You were just messing with him, us?”

  “That’s what I said.” I stare at the bowl of cherries on the coffee table. Did she kill John with cherry pits? Is that even possible? “The coroner ruled it a heart attack. Are you saying something different?”

  “I’m not saying anything. John’s autopsy didn’t find anything. The story is over,” Tish says. She pops another cherry in her mouth and smiles. “I made a batch of margaritas. Are you thirsty?”

  I fight the urge to run out the front door as a chill runs down my spine. “No, I’m not. You know I shouldn’t give you a dime. I’m convinced you really did kill John, and you could have killed Ashlyn.”

  “I’m not stupid. Ashlyn just needed a little warning.” Tish shrugs.

  “You will never contact her again.”

  She hands me a piece of paper. A deposit slip. “Works for me. Oh, and I need you to make a deposit into this account tonight, before my flight departs at 10:00 p.m.”

  I take the slip of paper. “It will be done.”

  Tish smiles and stands up. “Great. So, I need help with my bags. Can you do that or are you too old and feeble? I’m kidding, joking around for old times’ sake. Aren’t you glad I’ll be out of your hair soon?”

  Beyond glad, a mixture of emotions but mostly joy. I don’t tell her that, of course. I follow Tish up the stairs, the stairs she and John used to climb together up to their bedroom. It’s fine. I can handle it. At least this is the end.

  “I’m stronger than I look,” I assure her. “Did you enjoy the screen saver on John’s desktop today?”

  She stops at the top of the stairs, and I join her on the landing. She looks momentarily surprised. “No way. That was you? And the threatening note?”

  I nod.

  “Good job.” She nods her head with a smile, appreciating my handiwork, I suppose.

  “Thanks, I guess.” It’s surreal, standing here accepting compliments from her. But this is what my life’s become because of her. And because of John.

  At the top of the stairs, Tish sticks out her hand and we shake. She says, “Thanks for coming up with a mutually beneficial deal. I’ll hold up my end. Promise.”

  I follow her down the long hall to the bedroom.

  She stops at the doorway. “I can’t wait for you to see our bedroom. It was so cozy. We had so many good times here.”

  Her little dig won’t work. I feel nothing. I follow her into the room with a lightness I haven’t felt in years. I see two huge suitcases, almost like trunks. She is prepared to leave. This is all working out.

  Tish seems almost giddy, like we’re girlfriends and this is the start of a vacation together. “Thank you so much for helping me. We can roll the suitcases down the hall, but we’ll probably need to carry them down the stairs together.”

  I start rolling one of the suitcases down the hall. Tish follows with the matching trunk. It’s so heavy I have to push it from behind. I’m not sure if we can handle carrying these. We reach the top of the stairs and both stop to reassess.

  “I’m
not sure about this,” I tell her. “I think we could slide them down, maybe, one at a time?”

  “They’ll crash into the glass table at the bottom of the stairs,” Tish says. “No, we have to carry them.”

  Tish is bent down, next to the suitcase she’s rolled to the edge of the stairs. These trunks are likely worth thousands of dollars with big gold latches and the telltale Louis Vuitton monogram. Each one must weigh over one hundred pounds empty.

  I look down the hall, past Tish, and blink. It’s Ashlyn. She’s running toward us.

  “I’ll take this one.” Tish starts down the stairs, the heavy trunk behind her, and as I watch, Ashlyn shoves her from behind. I see Tish’s necklace wrap around the wheel. It’s all in slow motion. I hear a guttural scream. I watch in horror as Tish’s body flies over the trunk, and they fall together in a terrible tangle to the bottom of the stairs, crashing to a stop under the glass table that shatters and falls on top of the trunk.

  We stand together at the top of the stairs. Tish’s body twisted and partially hidden by the trunk. I can’t process what just happened. All I can think of is protecting Ashlyn. She shouldn’t be here. She can’t be found here.

  “Do you think she’s dead?” Ashlyn asks, her voice a whisper. “I want her to die.”

  “I understand. She is a bad person,” I say. I can’t believe this is happening. Did Ashlyn kill Tish? Was this purposeful? And why? I had no idea my daughter felt this type of rage against Tish. I should have realized how much pain she was in, too.

  She’s looking at me, her eyes shining and wide. “I’m on your side, Mom.”

  My heart feels the love, but my brain knows we must get in front of this situation. There’s no more time to talk. “Ashlyn, go. Now! Leave the way you came. Make sure no one sees you!” I scream.

  Adrenaline zips through me as I rush down the stairs to where Tish has landed. Her body is under the trunk, her head at an awkward angle.

  Ashlyn disappears down the hall, back the way she came. I run to the living room to get away from the horror and to give Ashlyn time to escape. I’m shaking all over, but I try to breathe. I pace back and forth in the living room, gathering Tish’s copy of the contract from the coffee table. I catch a glimpse of myself in the living room mirror: I’m pale, and dark circles shroud my eyes. I turn away and sit down on the couch. The bowl of red cherries glisten in the light of the crystal chandelier overhead.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here on Tish’s couch in shock, but suddenly a man walks through the front door.

  We stare at each other.

  “Who are you?” he asks.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  He ignores the question and yells, “Tish? Oh my god!”

  He’s kneeling on the ground next to the trunk. I rush to his side. “There’s been an accident. She just fell down the stairs. I don’t know what to do.” Tears stream down my face.

  “Call 911!” the man yells.

  I find my phone in my purse and dial 911.

  “What’s your emergency?” the operator asks.

  “It looks like a woman has fallen down the stairs. It’s a terrible accident. Send help, please,” I manage in a choking voice. What if she’s dead? What if she’s not?

  “Is she breathing?” the operator asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “The squad is on the way. Stay on the phone. I need you to check for a pulse,” the operator demands.

  I run to where Tish landed. Sparkling shards of glass decorate the floor. The man who came in the door is kneeling next to her. In my imagination, I watch as she lifts the trunk and stands up, yelling for Ashlyn, trying to blame my daughter and me for her accident. Because, it was, it must be, an accident. But as I reach her side, she’s still pinned underneath the trunk.

  “Can you feel a pulse?” the operator asks.

  “Is there a pulse?” I ask the stranger, but he’s shaking his head.

  I don’t want to touch her. Her neck is at such a terrible angle. I find her right hand and see the excessively large wedding ring from my husband, twice the size of mine. I touch her wrist, but I can’t feel a pulse as my own blood rushes through my body at warp speed.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. Her head, it’s twisted,” I say, walking away from Tish’s body. “She’s not moving. I don’t know.”

  “The squad is there, ma’am,” the operator says.

  And that’s when the professionals arrive with calm determination on their faces and I step out of the way. When they lift the trunk off Tish’s body, my knees collapse, and I drop to the floor.

  I close my eyes, and everything is black.

  CHAPTER 64

  KATE

  When I open my eyes, I’m on a bed, white curtains drawn around me. A nurse leans over me.

  “Do you know where you are, Mrs. Nelson?” she asks.

  A hospital would be my guess.

  “You’re at Riverside Hospital. In the emergency room. How are you feeling?”

  It’s all so shockingly clear in my mind. Tish’s fall, the angle of her neck. “I need to see my daughter.”

  “We’ve called your daughter. Her flight turned around midair somehow. Looks like she’s here now.”

  “Mom.” Ashlyn sobs as she runs to my side.

  “Honey.” I pull her toward me.

  She whispers, “I shouldn’t have left you there.”

  “It was a great idea to take your flight as scheduled. I’m so proud of you.” I sit up in the bed, almost like nothing was wrong with me. “Has anyone told you anything about Tish’s condition?”

  Ashlyn shakes her head. “No.”

  All the time Tish has been in our lives, I’ve been waiting for the next terrible thing to happen. That’s all she has wrought. Horrible things. Sure, John and I had let our marriage take second place to the business. That made it easy for someone like her to sneak into the gap. But at first, I thought that was all she’d take. John. The love of my life. That was enough.

  But once she had John, she moved on to taking EventCo. She tried to take my whole life.

  The nurse pops her head in. “Do you need anything in here? The doctor should be by shortly.”

  “We’re all set.” I smile.

  “Maybe she’s dead,” Ashlyn says, and starts crying. I hug her tight. “I was so mad, Mom. I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought she was going to hurt you. I just reacted. It was an accident.”

  “I know, I was just as angry.”

  Ashlyn’s face is tear-streaked. She’s speaking too fast.

  “Take a deep breath. Whatever happened to Tish is her own doing. All of it is.” I wrap my arm around Ashlyn. She’s trembling. “You have done nothing. Do you understand me clearly? The last time you saw her, she admitted to tampering with your car. You could have died. You were not at her house tonight. Got it?”

  She starts to cry again, sputtering.

  “Calm down. Listen to me. None of this is our fault. She killed your father. She confessed to me.”

  “She killed Dad with that drink, right? I saw a pitcher of the same stuff on the kitchen counter tonight when I climbed into my room. She was going to try to kill you, too. I had to stop her.”

  “Yes, you’re right. She used cherry pits. I didn’t know they were poisonous and undetectable,” I say.

  “Mrs. Nelson?” A nurse approaches, and I wrap my arms around Ashlyn, protecting my daughter, who slumps, sobbing, on the bed.

  “Yes,” I answer, because I am. Always will be.

  “I’m afraid the other Mrs. Nelson’s injuries are severe. Are you the next of kin? I need someone to authorize treatment, review the options.”

  Tish is alive. I could have sworn from the way she was crumpled under the trunk that she died of her fall. The nurse stares at me.

  I am not going to take responsibility for Tish’s care, that’s for sure. But I would like to be sure she can’t harm us anymore. “No, I am not related to her. She’s my ex-husband’s
second wife.” I shake my head.

  “Where is he?” she asks.

  “My husband is deceased,” I answer. “You’ll need to get in touch with her attorney, a Mr. George Price. He’s the only contact of hers that I’m aware of. I’m sorry.”

  Bob walks into the hospital room and nods in our direction with a finger in the air, signifying one minute. I had texted him as soon as I got to the hospital and had a moment of privacy. I’d feigned fainting to avoid answering any questions. And I needed to get out of here before someone started asking questions here. I told him to get me discharged immediately. He followed orders. “Let’s get out of here, shall we? I’ve signed the papers. Ashlyn, come along.”

  Minutes later, the three of us walk out of the hospital and into the cool night.

  “Mom,” Ashlyn says. “We need to go to her house.”

  “It’s a police scene,” Bob says.

  “She was going to hurt Mom tonight, when she went over there. Kill her, like she did Dad. I know it. She was setting a trap. I saw a pitcher of margaritas on the kitchen counter.”

  I squeeze her hand so she won’t say more. She can’t admit she was there, not to anyone, not even Bob.

  Bob looks at Ashlyn. And then turns to me.

  “She’s right. Of course. Tish made another pitcher of her special margaritas, this time just for me,” I say, covering for Ashlyn. I’m sure she saw one, though. I wonder why Tish didn’t insist I have one? I suppose it’s because I came to her home with an offer for a bunch of money, and that’s all she really wanted.

  “Good god,” Bob says, “I’ll call the police. Have them search the residence as a crime scene with a special focus on margaritas. Do you know what to test for, what she may have used?”

  “Cherry pits. Ground-up cherry pits,” I say.

  Ashlyn is shaking, and I wrap my arm around her.

  “So, she really did poison John?” Bob pulls out his phone. “Yes, this is the attorney representing Mrs. Nelson, the first Mrs. Nelson, and her daughter, Ashlyn. We have reason to believe Mrs. Nelson was trying to poison the first Mrs. Nelson. She was fond of serving it. Yes, she can make a statement. Of course. Thank you.”