Every Last Secret

by A. R. Torre

  CHAPTER 41

  NEENA

  Over the last sixteen years, I had seen Matt run through every gamut of emotion. Pride. Fear. Pain. Love. And he had been mad, even furious upon rare occasion. But I’d never seen the look of hatred he wore when we stepped into the office and closed the door.

  “Did I just hear you tell her that you think I invented this entire thing?” His voice was very calm, but the glint in his eyes was that of a man pushed to the edge.

  “That wasn’t what I was saying to her,” I protested. “I was just saying that I was tired and that I didn’t see anything. That for all I knew, there wasn’t anyone in our room.”

  “Look at me, Neena.”

  I did. I looked into the eyes of the man I had married at nineteen and wanted to divorce by twenty-two. It wasn’t his fault. Over the past twenty years, he’d gained an extra forty pounds and lost half of his hair, but he was the same guy. Loyal. Dependable. Hopelessly in love with me. I was the one who’d changed.

  “Have I ever made anything up?”

  No. He was annoyingly honest. Once, when he’d bought a used car and found a hundred dollars tucked in the manual, he’d tracked down the prior owner just to return it. It was freakish and unnatural, and I couldn’t help but think that some of it was guilt over a then-five-year-old crime.

  “I didn’t say you made it up,” I insisted.

  “Yes, you did. That was exactly what you were saying.”

  “They’re going through all our stuff, Matt. I’m exhausted, and I’m ready for them all to leave, and there’s a big difference between a psychopath standing in our bedroom versus a thief. If someone was in our room, it wasn’t to kill us. He was robbing us. You’re being overdramatic, and it’s causing them to look at this in the wrong way.” To look at me in the wrong way.

  “I came this close to dying.” He held his thumb and his forefinger a hairbreadth apart. “You haven’t even reacted to that. You haven’t even asked if I’m okay. To be frank, I’m not sure you even care. You’re exhausted? Could you make this any more about you?”

  I flinched at his words, the hatred delivered with a spray of spit, his face turning red as his voice rose in volume. When he stopped, I raised my hands in surrender. “Okay, sorry. Please keep your voice down. You want all these people here? Fine. Let them cover our house with fingerprint powder. But don’t forget what’s in that safe upstairs.” I stepped forward and hissed out my words at a volume that only he could hear. “We cannot let them search the house. Do you understand me?”

  A conversation sounded from the hall, and I stiffened, holding up a hand to stop his response. Listening closely, I recognized the voice and pulled open the door, a tremor of excitement zipping through me.

  William was here.

  CHAPTER 42

  CAT

  “Mr. and Mrs. Winthorpe?” The female detective approached us. “I’m sorry for interrupting your night, but this is a crime scene. We’re going to need you both to stay in this dining room to avoid contamination of the scene.”

  William moved forward. “We understand, and no need to apologize. Our house is yours if you need anything. A base of operations, a bathroom, a snack, anything. Just come over. We’re bringing in the staff now to prepare breakfast sandwiches and coffee for your officers.”

  She acknowledged the offer with a curt nod. “Thank you, but that’s really not necessary. We hope to be out of everyone’s hair shortly.”

  “William.” Neena appeared, followed closely by Matt. I scanned him quickly, relieved that he seemed unscathed. “And . . . Cat.” The edge of her mouth curled in distaste. “How nice of you both to come by. The police are almost done, so all this . . .” She gestured to the mess. “It’ll be gone shortly.”

  “Actually”—Detective Cullen turned to face them—“your home is considered a crime scene and will need to be thoroughly processed, especially the master bedroom. We’re also processing the paperwork for a full search warrant, which will include your computers and phone records.”

  Neena stiffened. “What?” she spat out. “I thought you were just looking for evidence of the intruder. Fingerprints and shoe prints and stuff. You told me it wouldn’t take long.”

  The detective didn’t flinch, and if I had to guess, she wasn’t a big fan of Neena Ryder. “And . . . then I got a call from up top. We’ve upgraded the focus on this. Just to make sure we don’t miss anything, we’re going to take a closer look.”

  Call from up top. Upgraded the focus. See, this was why we shelled out six figures last year for the police department. If a man broke into my home and painted the living room walls with the blood of eight different children, I could have the FBI present within fifteen minutes, or my house to myself one hour later. There are rules and policies, but there are always ways around and through them. Which was why, in my call to the chief, I’d told her to use every means necessary to get to the bottom of this situation. I’d explained about my poisoning and Matt’s suspicious fall, and she’d promised to treat it as if her own family’s safety were at stake.

  It was a conversation William never needed to know about, and one that would enrage Neena, but our home was less than a hundred yards away from theirs. I’d spent part of this weekend in a hospital gown, the taste of vomit in my mouth. I didn’t care if Matt’s or Neena’s privacy was violated. I needed the police to find answers and to see what—if any—connections could be made.

  Detective Cullen’s eyes met mine, and an unspoken knowledge passed between us. She knew about my call to the chief. I took a sip of the coffee and swallowed a shudder at the now-cool liquid.

  “As I mentioned to you both earlier, this is a crime scene.”

  “You didn’t mention phone records and computers,” Neena seethed. “I have privileged client files on my computer. We have personal emails—I’m not having you rip apart our lives for—”

  “This isn’t a discussion, Dr. Ryder. It’s a fact. We’re treating this with the same diligence we would a homicide. Be grateful it isn’t one.” She closed her notepad with a snap of finality.

  Neena hesitated, then threw up her hands. “This is ridiculous. I’m suing all of you for this.” She turned, sweeping her arm across the kitchen counter and knocking over the collection of coffee cups. I watched as mine shot off the edge of the counter and hit the oven door with a spray of chocolate-colored liquid.

  I shrugged. “Mine was cold anyway.”

  She kicked a stool to the side, and Matt winced. Impulsively, I reached out and gave him a hug.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him softly.

  His lips tightened in one of the saddest expressions I’d ever seen. “I am. Thank you—thank you for asking.” He inhaled deeply. “I’m a little shook up. I woke up when he put the gun in my mouth.”

  “Jesus, Matt. You’re lucky to be alive,” William muttered.

  “I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.” I gave him another tight hug. “Why don’t you guys come by the house and get some breakfast? We’ve got the guesthouse if you want to get some privacy and sleep.” I looked at the detective. “Do you need them here? They’ve got to be tired.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Neena looked at William. “Are you sure we won’t be a bother?”

  Detective Cullen nodded in approval. “As long as you’re close by, it’s fine for you to leave. Mr. and Mrs. Ryder, please keep your phones on.”

  A forensics tech called Detective Cullen’s name urgently from the top of the stairs, and she glanced at us and held up her hand. “Wait for a minute. We may need you for this.” Striding out of the room, she climbed the stairs two by two, disappearing into the upper level and toward their master bedroom.

  I caught the look that passed between Matt and Neena, a furtive glance that immediately raised my suspicions.

  “You guys go on home,” Neena said quickly. “We’ll come over as soon as they finish with us.”

  “Are you sure?” William asked. “We can—”

  “We’re s
ure,” Matt said. “We’ll be there shortly.”

  We nodded and said our goodbyes. On the way out, I glanced back at the couple, who stood apart, their gazes both stubbornly off each other.

  CHAPTER 43

  NEENA

  The cash was stacked in three neat rows along the bottom of the hidden cavity. I stared down at the display and tried desperately to come up with an explanation for its presence.

  It was in the floor of our master bedroom, the hole cleverly hidden under a trapdoor that fit seamlessly into the wood planks, the pattern hiding the outline of it. I’d found it when we moved in and had quickly put a rug over the find. Matt . . . Matt had never found out about its existence. Now, he crouched and tested the trapdoor lid, the hinges operating without a sound.

  “We found this a few hours ago.” Detective Cullen nodded to the money. “What’s all the cash for?”

  “I don’t know.” I held up my hands. “I didn’t even know that compartment was there.” Too late, I noticed the fingerprint powder on the top of the inset handle and cursed the oversight.

  Matt reached forward, then hesitated. “Can I touch the money?”

  Detective Cullen passed him a set of latex gloves. “Wear these.” She held out a pair for me, and I shook my head, stepping back. Matt got the gloves on, then picked up the closest stack of cash, the bills bound with a two-thousand-dollar wrap. He thumbed through the ones underneath it, then tapped his finger along the rows, counting. My mind calculated along with him. At least eighty thousand dollars, assuming each row held the same. All underneath our cheap rug from Bernie’s Furniture.

  “It’s not yours?”

  I hesitated, wondering if the cash could be taken from us, depending on my response. “I may have put it there,” I said carefully. “And forgotten it.”

  Matt’s head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. I glared back at him, unsure of how he didn’t see the importance in claiming this small fortune as our own. There was a long and quiet battle of eye contact, then he looked back at the cash, his focus zeroing in on the red box sandwiched beside the green stacks of bills. I followed suit, taking in the familiar red square. “What’s in the box?”

  The detective nodded at it. “Open it.”

  My chest tightened as Matt reached for the lid, and I wanted to shout at him that this was a trap, to step back, to not touch—

  He leaned forward and stared into the box. Despite myself, I navigated to the side to see the contents from his viewpoint.

  It was filled with photos. A stack of them, varying in size, the original photos cut into varying sizes. He pulled out the stack and flipped through the glossy prints.

  They were all photos of William. Some blurry, some crisp. Some taken in our house, the angle odd, his attention elsewhere. Others showed him in New York, smiling for the camera, or covered in mud, at a runner’s event of some sort. It was the ones near the end that were the hardest to see. I saw the tightening of Matt’s back, the stiffening of his neck, his movement slowing as he looked at each of them in painful slow motion.

  William’s wedding photo.

  A selfie with him and Cat, obviously in bed.

  Him at a football game, his arm around her.

  Another with the two of them, laughing on a Hawaiian beach.

  In each of those, Cat’s face was scribbled over in black marker, and a careful cutout of my face was glued atop the scribble, my bright smile next to William’s. Looking over his shoulder, it looked like the work of a crazy person. Me.

  The last three photos were the worst. Shots of the four of us. Poolside at the club. At the Winthorpe Foundation charity golf tournament. At the Fourth of July party. In every single one, Matt and Cat were beheaded, drops of blood painted in red marker around the crude hole where their heads used to be.

  He dropped the photos as if they were poisoned, his fat knees scooting back on the floor, his breath wheezing as if we’d just had sex. He turned to me, and the pain and hatred that emanated from him made me step back in defense. “You—you’re obsessed with him.”

  “What?” I shook my head. “I’m not. I didn’t—I didn’t do that, Matt. Come on! I love you.” I sank onto my knees before him, abandoning any thoughts about a life without him. I couldn’t lose him, couldn’t have him look at me like this, not when he was the only person in my entire life to look at me as if I had worth, to cherish me as if I were a prize.

  “Have you slept with him?” he gritted out.

  “What?” I gasped. “No. Matt.” I grabbed his hand, clutching it between mine. “Matt, I love you. This—this is all a setup. Someone else put those photos in there. I didn’t do that. I don’t love him. I don’t even like him. I love you.” The lies mixed with the truth, and I prayed that he would believe them all. He had to.

  “For twenty years, I’ve bent over backward to be a perfect husband,” he seethed. “I’ve dealt with your jealousy. I’ve supported your career, your plastic surgeries, your insecurities . . . and for what? Eighty thousand dollars underneath our bed and an obsession over our neighbor? I’d thought it was Cat, all this time. Cat you hated. Cat you wanted to be like. Cat you were obsessed over.”

  “I’m not obsessed with Cat,” I spit out. “I hate Cat.”

  “Then why have we spent so much time with them? Why all the dinners? Why the stupid pop-ins? Admit it—Neena. It was because of him.” He stared at me with a look I couldn’t escape two decades ago and was helpless to avoid now. “Look at me, Neena, and tell me the truth.”

  “He’s my boss,” I said quietly. “Anything I did was to keep my job and to give us new opportunities.” Like a weed, the idea immediately grew. William could have forced himself on me. Made inappropriate comments. Touches. No one knew what happened in that boardroom. It’d be my word against his. Maybe tonight was all William. Maybe he’d grown obsessed with me and hired a hit man to kill my husband. It could work. And even if it couldn’t, the threat of it to William’s empire would be enough to get something. Some additional reward for all this.

  “There was this, also.” The detective crouched beside the open cavity and pulled out a picture frame, one that had been under the box. She held it out to me, and Matt flinched, recognizing the carved wooden frame that used to hold our wedding photo. As if pulled to the spot, I looked at the dresser where it had previously sat.

  “The frame is ours, but the image . . .” I shook my head and lied. “I’ve never seen that photo before.” It was a solo picture of William, a candid shot where he was smiling into the camera. The photo was from an African safari that he and Cat had gone on—the photo one of hundreds on her Instagram feed.

  “These pictures are all of your neighbor.” She tapped the glass, her short nails dotting William’s face. “William Winthorpe.”

  I cleared my throat. “Yes, but I didn’t do any of these. I’ve never seen any of this.”

  “You just said that you might have put the cash here.”

  “Well, I lied. It’s not my money.”

  “Were you aware of this compartment in the floor?”

  My chest grew tight, panic running like a fever through my chest. My fingerprints had to be on that handle. I hesitated. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Matt repeated. He stared down at the photos, and I needed to get him alone before the images of me and William were seared on his brain forever. He pushed himself to his feet.

  “Are you feeling okay, Mr. Ryder?” The detective’s words floated from somewhere to my left, and I stared up at Matt, alarm rising as I saw the gray pallor of his skin.

  “Honestly?” He held the side of his chest, and I thought of his heart, the thickening of his ventricles that had shown on his latest ultrasound. “I feel like I’m about to vomit. I didn’t know . . .” He swept his hand across the display. “About any of this.”

  “Neither did I,” I snapped, frustrated with everyone’s inability to believe me.

  The detective also stood, moving toward Matt with a concerned look
. “Would you like some water? To use the restroom?”

  He shook my head. “No. I just—am I done here? Did you have more questions for me?”

  Detective Cullen’s gaze swung to me. “No . . . ,” she said slowly. “You can go. But Neena, we have more questions for you.”

  Matt brushed by me, his steps unsteady as he went for the door, and I followed after him. “Matt, you know I didn’t put that there. You know I don’t—”

  “I don’t know anything about you anymore.” His voice was low, but each word punctured through me like a bullet. “Stay away from me.” Just before the door, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “And, Detective? You might want to look in our safe.”

  I opened my mouth but could find nothing to say. Inside me, everything catapulted and twisted, my biggest fears tunneling into one slow and silent scream of agony.

  My husband, my sweet, stupid husband, had betrayed me.

  CHAPTER 44

  CAT

  We were in the kitchen, surrounded by a quartet of staff who had rallied, making the twenty-minute drive at three thirty in the morning without complaint. There were a few wrinkled uniforms, and our chef had yawned twice during the last ten minutes, but we already had french toast sizzling in skillets, our guesthouse fridge stocked, the beds turned down, and fresh flowers being clipped for arrangement. I inhaled the scents of coffee, butter, and roses and had a moment of nostalgia for my own early mornings back in high school. I’d leave the house by five thirty, two hours clocked feeding horses and mucking stalls before school each day. My father would always shuffle into the kitchen before I left, a few minutes stolen over coffee and buttered toast, his proud smile boosting my spirits on the way out the door.

  I’d come a long way from that scratched kitchen table and slightly burned toast. I met William’s eyes from across the room, and he smiled, setting down his fork and moving over to me.

  Pulling me into his arms, he pressed a kiss on the top of my head. “I love you.”