Every Last Secret

by A. R. Torre

  I’d paused the video just after the act, when she was reaching for her underwear and he was buckling his pants. She was looking down and smiling. Smiling. I’d stumbled back from the video screen, my hands trembling, my stomach twisting, and barely made it to the bathroom before I vomited. I locked myself in the bathroom and turned on the shower jets, stripping down and drowning out my sobs under the spray.

  I broke.

  Broken women cannot be held accountable for their actions.

  I needed my husband back. Needed to punish her. So I put my plan into action, and I did.

  CHAPTER 50

  CAT

  William drove, the Maserati humming along the road. I pulled the neck of my jacket loose and turned up the air conditioner, opening my vents.

  “I spoke to Chief McIntyre this morning,” he announced, his eyes on the road. “She’ll be present at your meeting.”

  I watched as we passed through the neighborhood’s security gates, William’s hand lifting to wave at the uniformed officers who framed the opening. After Matt’s intruder, my confidence in them had waned, and I avoided eye contact with them. We wound through the curves of Atherton, heading to the police station, and I rested my head on the window, watching as the homes grew smaller and closer together as we neared the center of town.

  “Neena called me this morning.” William delivered the news somberly, and I lifted my head and turned to face him, feigning surprise. For months, I’d been monitoring his call activity through our carrier and had synced my laptop with his iCloud account, so all his text messages hit there as well.

  “Is that the first time she’s called since everything happened?” I waited to see if he’d pass the test. If he lied, what would I do? What would be the use of all this if he continued down a path of deceit?

  “No.” He sighed. “She called me a few times in the middle of the night, but I didn’t answer. And once I heard about the intruder, I thought it would look suspicious if I called her back.”

  “It would,” I agreed. “Plus, you aren’t talking to her again.” Ever again. I’d laid down several nonnegotiable rules, the primary being for him to be completely honest with me and cut all communication with her.

  “Of course not.” His hand closed over mine, and I struggled with my emotions on allowing a final talk between William and Neena. It felt as if there did need to be some closure. I wanted her to know that he had chosen me, and not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

  But had he?

  That was part of the problem with triggering the “attempts” on Matt’s life. It stopped the affair before it died out on its own. As far as Neena knew, William could be pining over her and was only being kept at bay by me.

  It was a problem I had yet to find a solution for. William’s thumb ran over the back of my hand, and I pulled it away.

  As we rounded the bend, Ravenswood Preserve came into view. The sun streamed over the colors of the marshland, the water glistening. He nodded to the view. “Remember what you said when we first moved here?”

  “That it was magic?”

  “That we’d create magic here.” He leaned over, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “We have, Cat.”

  “And then you ruined it.”

  He moved over to the shoulder and stopped before a big NO PARKING sign. He turned to me, and I could see the ache in his eyes. “I’ll fix it. I’ll earn your trust back. I don’t know how, but I’ll spend every day of my life trying.”

  I shook my head and told him the truth. “I don’t know if you can.”

  “Don’t say that,” he begged. “I—”

  “You what? You slept with her. Kissed her. Gave up time and attention that you should have spent on me, on her. And you lied to me about everything.” I started to cry, my words sticking, my breath sucking out wet little sobs I couldn’t control.

  I’d known for weeks, but the wound still felt raw, as if the pent-up emotions had been incubating in my chest and were just now bursting free.

  He undid my seat belt and pulled me to him, lifting me over the armrest and against his chest, my legs too long for the position. Clutching me to him, he kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, my lips. “Please,” he begged, his voice ragged. “I can’t live without you, Cat. I was weak and stupid. It meant nothing.”

  I was stiff under his touch, unswayed by his emotions. “She needs to be punished, William.” I pulled away from his chest and looked up into his eyes. “She can’t do what she did to you to anyone else.”

  He nodded, ready to agree to anything. It was the moment I’d waited for, the final nail primed and ready for her coffin.

  “Call Nicole in PR. Leak the murder attempt and her firing to the local papers.”

  He hesitated. “Cat, I just want to be done with her. Forever.”

  “And I need you to do this. To show her that you’re done. And to punish her for doing this to us.”

  He didn’t like it. I could see it in his eyes, in the wary way that he nodded, then pressed his lips against my forehead. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll give her a call as soon as I drop you off at the police station.”

  “Have her do it today,” I demanded. “It needs to be front page by tomorrow.”

  “I will.”

  I met his mouth and melted into his kiss, the connection fed by his emotion. In that moment, I didn’t forgive him, but the scab over my wound grew a little bit thicker.

  I found Matt at the police station, seated at the end of a long line of chairs. He stood and pulled me in for a hug that smelled of sweat and pizza. I squeezed him back and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek. He’d do well without her. He had money and was kind. He’d find a new young wife who laughed at his jokes, looked great on his arm, and could suck-start a Harley.

  I smiled at Matt. “Looks like you made it through last night.”

  “Barely.” He sat back down in the chair and glanced at his watch. “My head is killing me.”

  “What happened with Neena last night?”

  “She came home for about a half hour. Packed her stuff and then left. I’m not sure where she spent the night.”

  Yes, I’d be curious to know where Neena had ended up. I’d spent the night in bed with William, still frosty and aloof, stretching out his punishment while I watched the fire flicker in our bedroom hearth and enjoyed the thought of a lonely Neena checking in to a cheap hotel room.

  “Where’s William?” Matt nodded out the front window of the station. “I saw him drop you off.”

  “He’s going to the office for a few hours. I told him I’d call him when I was done.”

  He nodded, and I saw the tightening of his lips, the flash of anger in his eyes. I didn’t blame him for being mad at William. The men had been friends, and not in the twisted and backstabbing way of Neena and me. I struggled to find something to say. “William was selfish, but he wasn’t manipulative. He had a weak moment one day. He wasn’t pursuing her, and I know he didn’t intentionally mean to hurt you, just like he didn’t mean to hurt me.”

  He shrugged. “I still hate him. He got her, and despite what you said last night, it looks like he’s keeping you. It just doesn’t seem fair.”

  I nodded, part of me struggling with the same emotions. But this event would change us for the better. If we emerged from this with a more loyal and open marriage, I didn’t need to punish him out of spite. And I had this chip, this history, to use at any future point in our relationship if I needed it.

  My stomach growled, and I instinctively put my hand on my belly to cover up the sound. Matt’s eyes followed the movement. “Do you feel okay?”

  I forced a smile. “Yeah. My stomach’s still a little temperamental.” I reached in my purse and pulled out the package of saltines. I had skipped breakfast, complaining of stomach pain, in an attempt to subtly remind William of Neena’s poison. It had worked, his face darkening, manner shifting, and he’d brewed me some chicken broth and made me promise to come home and relax after this mee
ting. As a result, I was ravenous. Between my hospital visit and stress over Matt’s “murder attempt,” I was down four pounds in three days. I was starting to daydream about cheeseburgers and pound cake.

  Matt sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You wouldn’t believe Neena. She won’t admit to anything. She’s still denying there was anything in that limoncello.”

  Yeah, I bet she was. I would have paid a million dollars to see the look on her face when Matt accused her of poisoning me. I stuffed the saltine in my mouth to keep myself from smiling. Drinking a shot of antifreeze had been risky but well worth it. I’d known that William would rush me to the hospital. Putting a couple of drops in Matt’s drink had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, an easy one once I convinced him to try the limoncello, also.

  Matt glanced at his watch, then leaned forward in his seat, his knee bumping mine. He lowered his voice. “She accused you of poisoning yourself.”

  Of course she did. Neena wasn’t stupid, despite her complete underestimation of me. I still flinched, as if surprised. “Why would I do that?” I pressed my lips together and growled, wondering if he had believed any part of the accusation.

  He shouldn’t. It was why I’d gone to such painful and life-threatening lengths.

  “So, you faked your fall, also, right? And the gunman?” I choked out a bitter laugh. “All of us. A conspiracy against her.”

  He nodded. “Right. A conspiracy. I think she even used that word.”

  I considered hugging him but offered my sleeve of crackers instead. He took one, breaking the saltine in half before eating it.

  “Mr. Ryder? Mrs. Winthorpe?” The uniform at the end of the hall smiled at us. “They’re ready for you.”

  The evidence was stacked in three piles, the division quickly explained.

  “This,” Detective Cullen stated, her hand resting atop the smallest stack, “is what we can tie to Neena in a manner that would hold up in court. It includes the cash and photos found in her bedroom, phone records and affidavits that prove her sexual relationship with William Winthorpe, and the financial gain she would have secured by Mr. Ryder’s death.”

  The district attorney sat to my left in a pinstripe suit that barely fit. His bald head nodded, as if blessing the designation.

  She moved to the second stack. “This is circumstantial evidence. It’s suspicious on its own but allows for more than one possibility. An intelligent person could look at all these facts and assume that Neena is responsible for all of them, but—”

  “It allows for reasonable doubt,” the district attorney rasped, leaning back in his chair and undoing the suit’s top button. “And reasonable doubt is the death of all criminal cases.”

  I could feel—in the nervous tic of his hands, his avoidance of my eye contact—his concern about his record. For cases brought by the DA’s office, he’d had fourteen wins and one mistrial. I’d been watching that record, which was why I was confident, no matter what opinion Matt voiced in this room, that there was only one possible outcome. They would drop this case and “await more evidence.” Evidence that would never come, because it didn’t exist.

  Which was all fine by me. I wasn’t a monster. I never wanted Neena to go to trial, or be sentenced, or have a record. All I wanted was for her life to be systematically destroyed.

  Goodbye, reputation.

  Goodbye, career.

  Goodbye, husband.

  It hadn’t even been that hard. And completely unanticipated. Who would suspect the setup of an intentionally botched crime, designed for the purposes of sabotaging a marriage? I settled back in my seat and crossed my Manolo Blahniks at the ankle, listening as the DA justified to Matt why his “almost death” would go unpunished.

  “What’s the other pile?” Matt interrupted, lifting his chin in the direction of the third stack.

  “Evidence we found that doesn’t tie to Neena and might convince a jury of her innocence.”

  My eye twitched, my attention zeroing in on the short bunch of folders stacked at the end of the table. Outside, I kept my slightly bored expression, hiding a yawn behind one perfectly manicured hand.

  “Evidence like what?” Matt asked.

  It was a question I was both frantic for and terrified of. After all, I’d thought through everything. Worn gloves when handling anything important. Visited their home enough so that my DNA would be ignored. Put my own life in danger to mislead Matt.

  Detective Cullen pulled the folders toward her and flipped open the top flap. “Let’s see . . . there’s the man who came into your home, obviously. We have little to nothing on him. No fingerprints, no DNA, no forced entry. He was either given a key or you left the doors unlocked, which . . .” She peered at Matt. “You said you didn’t do.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Of course he hadn’t. I’d given the man a copy of my key to their back door. Easy entry had been part of the deal, along with four bags of the Bakers’ cocaine. For my high school’s old drug dealer, it’d been a hell of a deal. All he’d had to do was spend five minutes in a quiet house with an unloaded gun. It hadn’t misfired in Matt’s mouth. It had never had a bullet to fire. One trigger pull and he’d left, following my careful instructions to get out of the neighborhood and jog a quarter mile to the main road, where a car was parked in one of the only restaurant parking lots without security cameras.

  “And no security system at your house,” she finished with a sigh. “So we have next to nothing on him. We’ve gone over Dr. Ryder’s business and personal accounts and can’t find any large cash withdrawals or suspicious checks.”

  “But she was hiding cash,” Matt protested. “Couldn’t she have just used some of that?”

  “Sure.” Chief McIntyre took a moment to earn her paycheck. “And she probably did. But we can’t prove that.”

  “My concern is that the shooter will try again.” I spoke up. “Is Neena done?”

  Everyone looked to Matt. “I think she’s in crisis management right now. And she doesn’t seem to want to kill me, though I’m apparently a terrible judge of that.”

  I leaned forward and gently touched his arm. “You should get a security system. Change the locks.” Especially now that I was all done, with no need to go back in.

  “I changed the locks this morning.” He nodded adamantly. “And a security system will be installed this week.”

  “That’s good,” Detective Cullen added, returning to the folder. “Though in this scenario, with the spotlight on the victim, it’s rare for a second attempt.” She flipped through a few pages. “The rest of this is just junk. Though there was one interesting fact. Neena’s fingerprints weren’t on any of the photos of William in the box, including the one in the frame.”

  Inwardly, I winced. It was a detail I couldn’t find a solution to, not without potentially raising Neena’s suspicions later on, when she reviewed the evidence against her.

  “She could have worn gloves when she handled them . . .” Detective Cullen glanced at Matt, and then at me. Was it my imagination, or did her gaze linger? “But that’d be odd.”

  Unsure of a proper reaction, I nodded in agreement. I wanted to point out that her fingerprints were all over the photos’ box but wasn’t sure if that was a fact I was supposed to be privy to. I had planted the cash and the photos on a day when I knew Neena and Matt were furniture shopping, my in-and-out errand done in less than five minutes.

  “Again, this is evidence that could be used against us in court,” the DA remarked. “You’ve always got one conspiracy theorist on the jury.” He stood, and I could feel him warming to the crowd, a performer ready to deliver his opening statement. “Look, Mr. Ryder, we all know what happened here. But it’s not a story of knowing events, it’s one of proving them. And we don’t have enough hard evidence to prove anything, especially when an actual crime hasn’t been committed. Attempted? Sure. But that’s a real hard tail to pin on the donkey, if you know what I mean.” He paused and glanced from Matt to me.

&
nbsp; “So we’ll keep digging at this hole, and I’m confident we’ll find more soon. But for now, if we go to the judge with this too early, we’ll end up empty-handed and with egg on our face. That won’t be good for your stress levels, it won’t be good for the DA’s office, and—even worse—after Neena gets off once, we can’t go after her again.” He clapped his hands together. “I appreciate you both coming down here. And I’ll keep you both updated as to when we’ll be ready to move forward to trial.”

  When they’d be ready to move forward to trial? Never, I thought as we stood, shaking hands around the table, the evidence folders screaming at me as I made my way to the door.

  CHAPTER 51

  NEENA

  I woke on Saturday morning on a stiff hotel bed to the sound of a vacuum banging along the hall. Rolling onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling and stifled a wave of anxiety as the events of the last week came rushing back.

  Cat’s poisoning, paired with William’s suspicious looks.

  My text messages and calls to him, all unanswered.

  The loud skirmish in the middle of the night. Matt chasing someone downstairs.

  The hours and hours of questions.

  Countless police officers, going through the most intimate details of our lives.

  The hidden compartment. The money. The photos.

  The safe—my missing will and written confession.

  I had been certain that Matt would soften, would let me stay in the house last night, would accept my hollow apologies and welcome me into our bed. But he had acted like a complete stranger. I lifted my hand and lightly felt my cheekbone, the area tender from his slap. Twenty years together and he had never touched me, never touched anyone, save for that one night.

  I could threaten him. Threaten to expose that night if he wouldn’t take me back. But the police would have to believe my story over his. And a week ago, they probably would have. But now, after the cloud of suspicion floating around me . . . who would believe me? I let my hand fall back onto the bed and tried to search for a solution.