The Next Wife

by Kaira Rouda

  I don’t listen to the rest of Bob’s conversation as we stand in the parking lot of the hospital. I just hold on to my daughter. I know the police will want to question Ashlyn and me. But eventually, they’ll discover what Tish did.

  I’ll call Chief Briggs personally and get him involved, if he isn’t already. It’s wonderful that we finally know what she used. The only thing left to do is be sure she doesn’t have a chance to implicate Ashlyn in her “fall” down the stairs.

  As we stand outside in the warm night air, I feel my anger dissipating. My shoulders drop, and I take a deep breath. It’s true what I read about anger. Anger can benefit relationships, even though society tells us anger is dangerous and we should hide it. Hidden anger in intimate relationships can be detrimental, that’s for sure. But it’s also true that all emotions have a purpose and evolve to keep us safe. Anger is instinctual. It fuels our primitive need to live and protect ourselves. Anger sharpens our focus, pushes us to fight back when attacked and act to defend ourselves.

  It’s human nature.

  My thoughts drift to my nemesis, Tish. I wonder who they will find to make decisions about her situation. I happen to know it won’t be good old George Price. As his name implies, everyone has one.

  CHAPTER 65

  ASHLYN

  Mom and I ride home in silence from the hospital, neither of us want to say anything in front of the Uber driver. My whole body aches and trembles, off and on, in waves.

  Once we’re out of the car and safely inside the house, Mom turns on the alarm and looks at me.

  “You thought she was going to kill me, so you made a move. It was the right thing to do,” she says, her voice calm, loving. “I couldn’t get past the anger, the hurt, with your dad. You understand now, don’t you?”

  “I think so,” I answer, as the shaking starts again.

  “It doesn’t matter. Tish as much as confessed to killing your father, I have our whole talk recorded on my phone. I even have a photo of the bowl of cherries she served. We’ll be in the clear and finally finished with her, once and for all. Thanks to you. You did the right thing. You did.”

  I wish I believed her. How can almost killing someone be the right thing?

  “Mom, you’re the one who called and expedited Dad’s death certificate. You made sure he was cremated, right?” I ask.

  “Everything I did was for you,” Mom says. “Tish was a monster. Remember that.”

  I do know Tish is a monster. But I also know my mom has been manipulating things behind the scenes, like expediting the death certificate. But Mom was flirting with Dad before he died, even though she’s told me she’d never welcome him back home. Did she hate Tish so much she simply wanted to sabotage their relationship? Is that what this is all about? Mom lured Dad back to her, but she didn’t want him.

  Who am I to judge, though? I’ve been torturing Tish with the apps, and I’ve been snooping around in her past. She told me to leave her alone, and she’d do likewise. But I kept pushing her, and that’s when she lashed out, almost running me over and sabotaging my car. She fought fire with fire.

  So, what was I doing when I pushed Tish down the stairs? Was that the result of all the fire, or was I protecting my mom? What was I thinking? I search my memory and the moment is gone, only the feeling of danger and that my mom was going to be hurt. I remember my heart pounding in my chest, a rushing sound in my ears. I’d waited in the shadows on the side of Tish’s yard until my mom arrived. When she got out of the car, I ran around the back of the house, ducking under the kitchen windows. That’s when I saw it: the pitcher of margaritas just like the one in the photo my dad sent me his last night alive.

  I knew I had to save my mom.

  I’d climbed the trellis, muscle memory kicking in from all of my high school escape antics. I pushed open the unlocked window and slipped inside my bedroom. When I tiptoed across the room and opened the door to the hall, I heard women’s voices from downstairs.

  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I knew it was my mom and Tish. I crept to the top of the stairs and from there could see the white couch where they sat. Tish’s back was to me. I couldn’t see my mom. They kept talking and then Tish signed something, and before I knew it, they were coming toward the stairs.

  My heart raced as I ran back to my room and hid in the space behind my open bedroom door.

  Why were they coming upstairs? Did they know I was here? No, that was impossible. I remember feeling angry with both of them. How could they be laughing and chatting after everything that has happened? When my dad is gone forever and Tish killed him.

  So when I saw Tish at the top of the stairs, decked out in all the jewelry my dad could buy her, I felt a rage like I’ve never felt before. Something inside me ignited as I ran down the hall and gave the monster a shove.

  Does this mean that now I’m one, too?

  CHAPTER 66

  KATE

  Two weeks later

  Chief Briggs came over in person to let me know that investigators found a thermos filled with the poisoned margaritas hidden in the garage, likely ready to serve to me if our meeting went awry. As if I’d fall for that.

  “Cherry pits are a deadly way to deliver a fatal dose of cyanide,” he explained, sitting across from me in my living room. “Six small pits ground up can kill an adult. The bitter taste easily concealed by a strong margarita mix. Undetectable once ingested, and undetectable in an autopsy after just a few hours, cyanide causes a person’s body to shut down, organ by organ. In John’s case, his heart stopped.”

  I remember the bowl of cherries sitting on her cocktail table as a chill runs down my spine. “Poor John. He must have suffered so much. I wonder if she watched him die,” I say, taking a deep breath. “No matter how you look at it, John’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, about all of this,” Briggs says. “We don’t have proof she flooded Ashlyn’s car, but it’s likely.”

  “It is,” I say. “Tish’s quest for money and her need to destroy everyone who was in her way still makes me furious.”

  “Our experts think she suffers from some form of sociopathy. She had a tough childhood, with abuse, and had run away as a teenager. It’s sad, what she went through, but it’s no justification for what she put you through or what she did to John. You’re lucky you weren’t another one of her victims the night she invited you over. You should have called me.” His face flushes.

  He has been so helpful. “Thank you for everything.”

  He stands and walks to the front door. “I’m glad things turned out, ma’am. Please let me know if you need anything else.”

  “You know, I could do dinner this week?” I say. “And, please call me Kate.”

  He stops in the doorway. “Sounds great. Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up at seven?”

  “Perfect,” I say before he leaves with a big grin.

  “He has a crush on you,” Ashlyn says, walking into the living room with Seth close by her side. “You should go on a date with him. He always flirts with you.”

  “I am. Tomorrow night,” I say. I also thought it was a great idea.

  “Mom, I’m so happy for you,” Ashlyn says.

  “Hey, Mrs. Nelson. We’re going to grab dinner. Want us to bring you back anything?” Seth asks. The two of them have been inseparable since the night Tish fell. And I’m glad. Ashlyn seems to be doing well with it all, but time will tell. I’ll watch her, get her help if she needs it. She could always talk to Dr. Ray. I don’t need her anymore.

  Thankfully, Tish remains in a coma.

  “No, I’m all set. Don’t be out too late. You both have class in the morning,” I say. Ashlyn’s decided to finish her senior year at Ohio State. She’ll also keep her internship with Jennifer.

  “Yes, Mom. We know. Love you,” she says as they depart.

  I walk down the hall to my home office to put the finishing touches on the Forever product launch plan. If only John had agreed to it sooner, maybe we’d be in a di
fferent place. For me, the project has been a focus, a place to channel my energy after the divorce. Turns out anger can push you to pursue goals others don’t think are possible.

  On my desk is the latest issue of CEO Magazine featuring me on the cover, and a two-page spread of Ashlyn and me on the inside. The new president starts next week and will take over John’s office and report to me. That feels right to everyone.

  Tish is out of our lives now, for good.

  In fact, she’s barely hanging on to hers.

  The will she concocted has been ruled a fake, of course. Her witnesses recanted and her attorney, Uncle George, fled the country. Trying to keep one step ahead of the law, I suspect. I know he won’t ever be back. I’ve made sure of it.

  It’s strange who can come into your life and turn it upside down. And how wrong you can be about someone. None of it is fair, nothing about the situation was right.

  John brought Tish into our life, and he paid the ultimate price.

  Jennifer’s email lands in my inbox. How’s the launch plan look?

  Perfect.

  The next morning, the EventCo staff gathers in the atrium, and I walk alone onto the stage. Jennifer has lured an impressive gaggle of national and regional press, so as I begin to speak, cameras flash and reporters focus.

  “Thank you all for coming today. As you know, the last six months have been difficult for EventCo. A day after our IPO, my former husband and cofounder of the company, John Nelson, died tragically in what has now been ruled a murder.”

  A murmur rolls through the crowd. This isn’t a surprise, of course. It’s been national news. Some think this whole sordid, sad story will become a movie. I hope not. I focus on the audience. I smile.

  “My daughter, Ashlyn, and I were determined to save this company, despite the tabloid fodder our personal lives had become. To that end, I’m proud to announce that the EventCo team has done it again. Today, we revolutionize the way our customers invite their friends to special events, and the way they keep in touch, forever. Introducing EventCo Forever, a lifelong portal of memories and celebrations to keep you connected with your loved ones now, and forever.”

  The room fills with applause, and I motion for Ashlyn to join me onstage. I tell myself not to dwell on the stock price increase we would have seen at the IPO if John had agreed to launch the Forever product when it was ready. If he’d been focused on the business instead of trying to get out of the mess he’d made by marrying his assistant, just imagine. The anger I used to feel toward him has dissipated some. I’ve been able to channel it. It made me clear about what I really want. Even Dr. Ray agreed.

  Since the magazine article ran, I’ve enjoyed sharing the spotlight with Ashlyn. Even the tabloids seem to take it easy on us and focus instead on Tish, digging into her past. The police investigation was quick. Chief Briggs had to question me because I was a witness to her fall. He felt terrible for causing me more stress. In reality, he was such a help. He’s actually quite handsome, thoughtful, too. I am looking forward to our dinner date.

  Tish’s fall was ruled a horrible accident that happened to a horrible person. Karma, I suppose.

  I shake my head, return to the present. I’m glad Ashlyn and I have a chance to build our bond and build the company together. It was almost too late.

  I still have nightmares about what I saw that night when Tish fell. Ashlyn says she’s sleeping fine. In my mind, she was never there, and that is how it must be. I tell her that daily.

  In my nightmares, Tish doesn’t tumble down the stairs. Instead, she follows me around, offering a glass with some special margaritas. Her head is tilted to the side. It’s creepy.

  I drink, and she refills my glass.

  I always wake up as my body seizes, clutching my chest. I imagine John, gasping for breath, not understanding what Tish had done. I wonder if he knew at the end. I have to believe he did.

  I hug my daughter as the cameras flash.

  I’m so lucky to be alive. We all are.

  EPILOGUE

  TISH

  Six months later

  Shady Valley Care Facility

  Newark, Ohio

  I hate it here.

  I’m trapped at some assisted living place for people in a vegetative state. I hear everything, but so far I haven’t mustered the power to keep my eyes open or move my limbs. So, I’m stuck here for who knows how long.

  I can’t believe my high-priced necklace foiled my plans. And I’m starting to believe Kate had a hand in my accident, too. Because I’ve had some time to think, and I’m certain she gave me a little shove that night. Yes, that’s what happened. When I started to pull the suitcase down the stairs, I didn’t realize the Van Cleef & Arpels necklace was wrapped around the wheel of the trunk. The necklace didn’t break, and the trunk wheel didn’t come off, so my necklace yanked me forward until the trunk and I both hurtled to the bottom of the stairs, gaining momentum as we tumbled. I don’t remember anything else, but it must have hurt. The doctors come into my room on occasion, mumble words like “freak accident,” “too young to die,” and “what a waste” to describe me now. Me. Tish Nelson. I am not a freak or a waste. And I know I didn’t get here on my own.

  Kate must have had something to do with it.

  Somehow, the cops found my little margarita thermos hidden in the garage and tested it. Sure enough, they found cherry pit cyanide. I guess it’s not a common mixer up here, not like it was back home when Momma was tired of a pet or I was tired of my stepdaddy. I overheard a nurse say they were going to charge me with John’s murder. I think I heard a gasp, some doctor or nurse or someone. How did they look at me when they heard that news? Do they all think I deserve to die now?

  No one comes to visit me at the hospital. I’m stuck here in this semiconscious state, unable to move or speak. I don’t know how long they’ll keep me alive. Apparently, Uncle George, the traitor, is smoking cigars and enjoying island life somewhere that won’t extradite folks to the US, leaving me here, all alone, hooked up to tubes and machines, with plenty of time to think. Too much time, actually.

  The door opens with the telltale swoosh. It’s likely that police chief guy checking to see if I am faking it. I’m not. He comes once a week, sniffs around, pokes my arm. He’s itching to put me behind bars. I don’t know what would be worse, that or the nonlife I’m living now.

  “This is pretty much how she spends her days.”

  Ah, it’s Nurse Retched, as I’ve become fond of calling her. I don’t know what she looks like, but I don’t like her voice. It irritates me with its singsong monotone.

  “How sad, really. Even after everything she’s done.”

  Oh my god. It’s Kate. Maybe she has pity on me? Maybe she didn’t really push me. I could be making that up. Maybe she’s here to rescue me. Get me out of here. I can forgive her for trying to take John back. I mean, she got the better of me on that one. She doesn’t even have to pay me what she promised. I’ll take half and get out of town. Promise. I wonder where my signed copy of the agreement is?

  I wonder if Kate destroyed them.

  “You don’t really feel sorry for her, Mom, do you?”

  What? It can’t be. Is it Ashlyn? Maybe she misses me. Maybe she forgives me. It’s not easy being the second wife, I need to tell her that. I made a few mistakes, sure, but everyone does. I’ll apologize and all will be forgiven. We’ll go shopping. Hi, Ashlyn. I’m in here, I am!

  “How long do you plan to keep her like this? It can’t be any way to live.”

  That is Kate’s voice. I’d know it anywhere. Is she telling them to kill me?

  NO! I’m in here.

  “In this case, without next of kin, and without her attorney, we’re moving to make her a ward of the state. They’ll take it from there. There will be a set time frame for her recovery and milestones. If she doesn’t reach them, and she hasn’t so far, well . . .”

  Well? Wait! No. I’m here.

  “Strange to see her like this.”

/>   A man’s voice. Who is that? Oh, it’s Seth, the stupid boyfriend. I don’t want him here.

  No one is talking. What are they doing? I want them to take me with them, to get me out of here.

  But then they’ll arrest me.

  “She killed my husband.” Kate again.

  “I know. We have the evidence from her garage, all thanks to you, Katie.” The police chief is sucking up to Kate. Shit. Did he just call her Katie? Are they dating? That’s what John used to call her. Shit.

  “If she does survive, she’ll be left destitute. The state already has a claim on her clothes and jewelry to pay for her care.”

  Kate. You promised me money. We had an agreement. How could you? If only I could open my eyes. You should be scared to say such mean things about me. You should know by now who you’re dealing with.

  I’ll tell them all she pushed me. She’s the one who should be locked up. That’s what I’ll do.

  Wait, my eyes are opening. I can see. It’s bright light. But yes, there’s Ashlyn and Kate, and the boyfriend. I need water.

  “Isn’t this a surprise? Thank you for your help. It was a long shot, but it worked. I’m Chief Briggs. Mrs. Tish Nelson, also known as Terry Jane Crawford, you are under arrest for the murder of John Nelson, and for the forgery of John Nelson’s last will and testament. You have the right to an attorney, and the right to remain silent, which you seem very good at.”

  I close my eyes. Now they know I can hear them. But I can’t move. Crap. I feel like screaming, but I can’t. Help me, someone?

  “Let’s step outside, shall we?” The police chief again. The air shifts and my door closes with a swish.

  Good riddance. Even though I’m trapped here, imprisoned by my own body, at least I’m not in jail. It’s peaceful here. I can sleep and dream all day. I will make the most of it.