“What if—” she began, and hesitated.
“What if what?”
“What if I said I had seen Kate … I won’t say push Lucas, that’s too strong. What if I saw her hitting Lucas, and he was backing up, and then he fell off the bridge? What about that?”
“Well, I would say you were wrong, that your version of the facts is untrue. Beyond that, I might think you bore some grudge against Miss Eastman for alienating Mr. Arsenault’s affections, and that you were lying out of spite. Other people might think that, too. Maybe they’d even think you were so twisted from romantic disappointment that you needed psychiatric help. Or that you had a substance abuse problem.”
“Substance abuse? Me?” Jenny exclaimed.
“Several witnesses say they regularly detect the smell of marijuana coming from your room.”
“From my suite. Kate’s suite.”
“Miss Vega, let me be frank. I haven’t had time yet to go through a full process of collecting material on you. Maybe you think your reputation is beyond reproach. But any witness can be discredited. Making accusations against my client will draw a very robust response. A response that could damage your reputation at the least, and at the worst, could lead to your expulsion from Carlisle if we find evidence of drug use, say, or giving a false statement. If you were to be expelled, you’d find it difficult to gain admission to another college, and quite impossible to get a job in finance in the future, which I’ve been told is something that you want.”
Jenny’s nerve deserted her, and her throat went dry. She couldn’t believe this was happening, yet on the other hand, she wasn’t surprised at all. This was how Keniston Eastman rolled. Bring in a lawyer to make the threats. Leave the room. Keep his hands clean. She wouldn’t even be able to pin this shakedown on him.
“And if I tell the police the same thing Kate did?” she asked.
“If you tell the truth, you will remain a great friend of the Eastmans, with all the benefits that entails for you and your family.”
Adams looked meaningfully around the kitchen, his glance taking in the twenty-year-old appliances, the pictures of Jesus and John F. Kennedy hanging on the wall, the much-laundered checkered curtains. He was letting her know that the huge disparity in wealth and power between Jenny and the Eastmans had double consequences. Not only would he be happy to destroy little Jenny Vega if she dared to stand against his clients, but if she chose to do the opposite, things could be very sweet for her. Having Keniston Eastman owe you a whopping favor was kind of like winning the lottery.
Keniston walked into the kitchen. “Sorry for the delay. Have you two had a nice chat?” he asked, coming over to the table.
The condescension in his manner made her furious. He was so certain she would roll over that she wanted to throw his daughter’s sick, twisted actions in his face.
“Did Kate really look you in the eye and tell you Lucas Arsenault jumped?” Jenny asked.
“Wait a minute, didn’t you hear what I said?” Adams said, looking alarmed, as if he might get in trouble for not having everything wrapped up by now.
But Keniston met Jenny’s eyes, unperturbed. “Kate and I didn’t get a chance to speak before she left, Jenny. She’s gone to stay with her stepmother.”
“With Victoria?”
“No, her former stepmother. My ex-wife Simone lives in Geneva with my younger daughter. Kate was distraught, and we thought it would do her good to get away from this environment for a bit, and be with family. She may even enroll in school over there.”
“In Geneva?” Jenny asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Switzerland?”
“Indeed.”
There was a glint of victory in his eye. Jenny had taken a course in European history and politics. Switzerland was a neutral country, she recalled, with bank secrecy, and a reluctance to extradite those accused of crimes. So Jenny could throw away her entire future in an attempt to make Kate pay for her sins, and it would come to naught in the end. This was what true wealth bought you. Kate Eastman was beyond the reach of the law. She could kill someone and get away with it. Let that be a warning to the likes of Jenny Vega.
“All right,” Jenny said. “Write the statement. I’ll sign it.”
part
two
19
Present Day
The dog ran off the side of the jogging trail, heading straight for the riverbank.
“Baxter! Get back here now!” the jogger yelled, as his dog disappeared into the fog. Baxter was a rescue mutt, part hound, and the scent of animals in the woods could prove irresistible to him. But he knew better than to leave the trail during a training run.
“Baxter!” the dog’s owner called again through rapid breaths, as he slowed his pace. He scanned the woods for any sign of his pet, and found none. “Damn dog.”
From somewhere to the left, Baxter started barking like mad. The jogger heard the note of alarm in the sound, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Bears? he thought, and picked up a stick. He’d never once seen a bear in ten years of running the river trail, but it wasn’t impossible.
“Baxter?” he said, his own voice shaky now, as he followed the sound of barking through the fog, making his way down the steep side of the bank.
Closer to the water’s edge, the mist lifted, and he saw his dog standing guard over the thing that had caught his attention. The body of a woman had washed up on the bank. Her skin was blue-tinged and her eyes were wide open. Her golden hair spread out around her like a mermaid’s. He took a step closer and saw the mess that had been the top of her head.
“Jesus,” the jogger whispered, as the dog looked up and began to whimper.
20
Owen Rizzo took a last, lingering look at the blond woman on the coroner’s slab before replacing the sheet tenderly over her. He’d met her once before. Six months before, to be exact, when he came up to Belle River from New York to interview for the chief of police job. He remembered that evening vividly. He remembered her. After he took the job and moved to town, he’d tried to find her. But it turned out the name she gave him was a fake, and once he figured that out, he stopped looking. Now, finally, here she was. It made him so sad that he needed a minute to compose himself before he could face talking to the ME.
At the moment they met, Owen remembered, he’d just come off that entire day of interviews. He’d passed with flying colors, and he knew it. Owen interviewed well, and he had a résumé that blew away anything they’d seen before in this Podunk town. The mayor hinted that she expected to be calling with an offer soon. He walked into Henry’s Bistro feeling wired and excited, despite the oppressively hot and sticky weather. He was scheduled to have dinner with the current police chief, a guy named Peter Dudley, Jr., who was retiring. Dudley, who’d shepherded him to his interviews all day, had a country-cop shtick that wore on Owen’s nerves, so he wasn’t disappointed to get a text saying Dudley had to cancel. A tornado warning had gone into effect, and Dudley needed to oversee the town response. Owen was happy to be left alone. He’d order a steak and a bottle of red wine on the town’s tab, and think over whether he could tolerate a job that seemed more geared toward handling weather emergencies than fighting crime.
He sat down at a booth in the bar area. The restaurant was completely deserted, which probably had something to do with the black, threatening sky outside the big plate-glass window. From where Owen sat, he would have a primo view of the town’s main street as the storm rolled in. He placed a drink order with the waitress. Pretty soon the thunder started, and within minutes, flashes of lightning lit the dark sky. A few fat drops spattered against the window, and then came the deluge. Water fell in sheets. Traffic lights swayed in the wind. Drivers pulled to the side of the street as tree branches and other debris blew past. Pedestrians ran for cover, and Owen felt guilty being warm and dry inside instead of out there battling the storm. But this wasn’t his town to police, not yet anyway.
He was still wait
ing for his wine to arrive when she ran up under the awning. With the rain blowing sideways, the awning couldn’t keep her dry, and a few seconds later she walked in the front door, shaking water from an inside-out umbrella. Her silk blouse had soaked through to show the outline of a black brassiere underneath. He’d been alone for two years now, since his wife died, and he couldn’t help but notice. It wasn’t just the glimpse of the bra. She was a beautiful woman.
“You need a paper towel?” he said, getting to his feet.
The waitress had not returned, and there was nobody behind the bar, so Owen walked over and grabbed the roll of paper towels that sat beside the beer tap.
“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, ripping off a long piece and patting her face and arms dry. “Do you work here?”
“No, just a customer.”
He went back to his booth. She sat down on a barstool near the door and tied her wet hair into a messy knot at the nape of her neck. Something in her hands, in the graceful way she moved, reminded him of Nicolette, though they looked nothing alike. He was just about to ask her name when a flash of gold on her ring finger caught his eye. So she was married. Even though he’d only known her for a moment, he was disappointed.
“Is anybody working here?” she asked. “I’d love a drink. Can you believe this weather?” Her voice was smoky and seductive.
“The waitress disappeared a while ago. They’re probably battening down the hatches in the kitchen,” he said.
Outside, a bolt of lightning lit the sky, followed by a deafening crack. The woman jumped. “That was close,” she said.
“There’s a tornado warning in effect. You should move away from the window,” he said.
“Oh, so you’re a weatherman?” she said, smiling, a challenge in her eyes.
“Nope. A cop.”
“Well, I’d better do what you say, then.”
He liked the sound of that. She got up and moved to another barstool right across from him. As rain lashed the street, a strange green light filtered in through the big window, and lightning flashed blue in the sky. The waitress came back with his wine. He’d ordered a bottle of malbec that she’d recommended, and she opened it and poured a splash for Owen to taste. He swirled the glass and sniffed it like he’d seen people do, conscious of the blond woman watching him from her barstool. She looked like the type who went to wine tastings. He didn’t want her to think he was a rube.
“Very nice,” he said.
The waitress filled his glass. Just then, the overhead lights began to flicker, and they all looked up at the ceiling. Thunder crashed outside and the lights in the bar went dark.
“Whoa,” the waitress said. “We don’t lose power too often around here. I’d better go see what’s going on in the kitchen.” She walked away hurriedly toward the back of the restaurant.
“So much for my drink,” the blond woman said.
In the half-light, he picked up his bottle of wine and gestured at the empty second glass on his table. “You can have some of mine if you like.”
“You don’t mind sharing?”
“Not at all. My associate stood me up because of the weather, and I can’t finish a whole bottle by myself. Well, I can, but I shouldn’t.”
“All right,” she said, and came over to the booth, sliding in across from him. “Thank you. I hate being alone in the dark anyway.”
It wasn’t really dark at that hour, even with the black clouds and the heavy rain, and she hadn’t exactly been alone. But whatever got her to sit with him was fine by Owen. He poured wine into her glass, and watched the strange light from the window cast a moody shadow across her face.
“Let me see if I can find a candle,” he said, and went behind the bar again. He fished around and found one, and a book of matches. He brought the candle over to the booth and lit it.
“There you go. Let there be light,” he said.
“You sure you don’t work here?” she asked.
“No, in fact, I don’t live in this town. I’m here interviewing for a job,” he said.
“Working for the college?” she asked. “Cheers, by the way.” They clinked glasses.
“No, it would be working for the town. Police chief, actually.”
“Very impressive. It fits. You look like a G-man.”
“A G-man?” He laughed.
“Isn’t that what they’re called? Like Dick Tracy or something, from the comic books? With the dark hair and the strong jaw.”
“That’s a little before my time.”
“Mine, too, but everybody knows Dick Tracy. Nobody ever said you look like him before?”
He chuckled. “Maybe once or twice.”
“Mmm-hmm, thought so, you were being modest. So, Chief, tell me. From what I recall, back in the day, there wasn’t much in the way of crime in good old Belle River, unless you count underage drinking, or toilet-papering houses on Halloween.”
“Less crime is what cops like.”
“Won’t you be bored?” she said. “You look like a man who goes where the action is.”
“What, because of my strong jaw?”
She laughed. “Exactly.”
She ran a fingertip around the rim of her wineglass and smiled up at him. They were flirting, he realized. He hadn’t flirted since Nicolette died. Not seriously, anyway, not like he meant it.
“It sounds like you haven’t spent much time in Belle River recently. What’re you, a Carlisle grad, back for a visit?” he asked.
“Yes and no. I started here my freshman year but never graduated, to my father’s everlasting shame and disappointment. I ended up bumming around Europe for a while, getting my degree over there.”
“That sounds like more fun. Carlisle’s stuck-up anyway, right? Who needs it.”
“I’m with you on that one. You’re not an alum, I take it?” she asked.
“St. John’s. You probably never heard of it.”
“In Queens? Sure I did. I’m a New Yorker, born and raised. You are, too. I can hear it in your voice.”
The comment about the New York in his voice touched Owen. He was a New Yorker in his bones, and he had his doubts about leaving his home and moving to this remote college town. If it was just him, he’d stay put. Stay in his job, move up the career ladder in the big-city police department, keep the house in Long Island he’d bought with Nicolette when they got married. But he wanted his kids to grow up somewhere peaceful and pretty, where he didn’t have to worry about them walking home from school on their own. This town fit the bill. He didn’t love it for himself, but it would be good for them. And if there were women like her here, maybe he could get used to it.
“Owen Rizzo, by the way,” he said, extending his hand.
She hesitated for a second. “Maggie Price,” she said, and shook it.
Her hand was warm and alive. He held it a second too long, and glanced down and saw little blue-green stars tattooed on the underside of her wrist. Man, she was sexy. He wanted to know her better. Yes, she was married, but they were stuck here together in a storm, far from home. He could enjoy her company without crossing any lines, couldn’t he?
Their eyes met.
“You live in New York, then, like me?” he asked, already imagining asking her to dinner in the city. She’s married.
“Not anymore. I moved back to Belle River about a week ago after more than twenty years away. Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately? This seems like a nice enough town. Quaint, peaceful, decent restaurants if you don’t mind eating in the dark.”
“Peace and quiet never did much for me,” she said. “And things didn’t go so well when I was in school here. Belle River is—well, it’s bad luck for me, I’m afraid.”
“Why come back, then?” he asked, studying her eyes. They were cool and blue, shadowed by long lashes in the half-light.
“Reversal of fortune, you could say.” She looked around restlessly.
From her expression, he saw that she didn’t want to tell that particul
ar story, so he didn’t press. Outside, the rain came down in torrents, and lightning flashed. Maggie set her wineglass on the table. It was nearly empty. He refilled it, and poured himself another while he was at it.
“What happened to the waitress?” she said, and as if on the cue, the waitress reappeared.
“Sorry, folks. Power line went down. It may be a while before the lights come back on, and the kitchen is closed for now.”
“That’s a drag,” Maggie said. “If I don’t eat something soon, I’ll have to stop drinking this very nice wine, or I’ll end up plastered.”
“We could order a pizza,” Owen said.
“There’s an idea. Go for it, Chief,” Maggie said.
Owen pulled out his phone and looked at it. “Sorry. No signal.”
Maggie took hers from her bag. “Look at that. Mine’s out, too.”
“It’s probably from the storm,” the waitress said. “College Pizza’s not gonna be delivering in this mess anyway.”
Maggie looked out at the downpour. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it? Miss, do you think you could dig up some peanuts or something?”
“I can do a bread basket. Hold on, I’ll be right back with that.”
“And another bottle of this, please,” Maggie said, holding up the malbec, which was already nearly empty.
A couple of minutes later, they had their bread and wine, and settled in to drink and watch the storm rage. A pretty flush suffused Maggie’s cheeks as she asked Owen why he would ever leave New York to come to a place like this, so small and dull. Her interest in him was like a warm light; he opened under its influence. He told her about Nicolette dying. About how hard the cancer had been, and what it was like now, trying to raise his son and daughter by himself. Ty had been eight and Annie six when Nicolette passed, and there was no family to help. His parents had both died not long before his kids were born; Nicolette’s lived in a retirement community in Florida and weren’t interested in more than the occasional visit.
It's Always the Husband Page 18
