by Margot Hunt
Howard had just bitten into another slice of cheese, and my question clearly caught him off guard, since he nearly choked. He coughed and hammered at his chest with one fist.
“Are you okay?” Kat asked. Her tone was casual as she poured a glass of water from a carafe on the marble countertop and handed it to her husband.
“You don’t know who Kat’s father is?” Howard asked, ignoring his wife’s question but accepting the glass of water. “How is that even possible? He’s Thomas Wyeth.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I wondered if he could possibly be an artist or maybe a writer. But, no, I didn’t think an artist would have corporate box seats at a tennis tournament.
“You’re a Wyeth?” Todd asked.
He had clearly caught on sooner than I had. In fact, he was staring at Kat, his mouth agape. It was almost as though she had been unmasked as a celebrity, like a member of the English aristocracy or a Kennedy.
“No, she’s a Grant,” Howard said irritably at the same time Kat smiled and said, “Guilty as charged.”
Howard and Kat glanced at one another. Howard seemed annoyed, but Kat merely arched her eyebrows and looked amused.
“You don’t mind me being a Wyeth when it comes time to use the company’s box seats,” she said lightly.
Howard opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. “Of course I don’t mind. Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I feel like I’m playing catch-up,” I said. “Is your father famous?”
Kat let out a peal of laughter. “No, he’s not famous,” she said. “He just owns a construction company.”
“But he is actually famous,” Todd said.
“You only know his name because you’re an architect,” Kat said, patting Todd’s arm.
“No, my dear, he probably knows the name because your father is worth... What is he worth these days? Has he hit a billion dollars yet?” Howard asked in the same ironic tone he’d used to offer whiskey to Todd.
Kat rolled her eyes at me. “Not even close. He’s not Bill Gates,” she said.
“He’s not far off,” Howard said under his breath.
Kat shot her husband a sour look. “It’s tacky to talk about money.”
“Yes, you’re always quick to tell me how much I need to work on my manners,” Howard retorted.
Suddenly it all became clear. Kat wasn’t just wealthy. She came from capital-M Money. The sort of money that doesn’t last just a lifetime but through multiple generations thereafter. It would be nothing to a multimillionaire to set up his daughter in a Palm Beach art gallery. Just a carrot to tempt his headstrong bohemian daughter to return home to South Florida.
I had never thought of myself as a covetous person and firmly believed jealousy was wasted energy. There would always be someone with more than you, any way you chose to measure it—intelligence, beauty, wealth, talent, happiness. Even so, it was hard not to look around the beautiful home of the woman who was quickly becoming one of my closest confidantes, remember the pile of unpaid bills on my desk at home and not whine silently, It’s not fair. Of course, life wasn’t fair. But sometimes the sheer magnitude of the unfairness could stick in your throat like a bitter pill.
* * *
The dinner was fantastic. It did not surprise me that Kat, who seemed to do everything well, was a wonderful cook. The short ribs were tender and flavorful. They paired perfectly with the creamy garlic mashed potatoes and green beans tossed in olive oil and lemon zest. Howard had uncorked several bottles of cabernet sauvignon, which I thought at first was foolhardy—there was no way the four of us would drink through three bottles of wine. That was, until I saw just how much alcohol Howard was able to put away all on his own. He poured himself glass after glass, drinking until his eyes were unfocused and his manner increasingly aggressive.
“I think we should have a toast to Alice on the publication of her wonderful book.” Kat raised her glass in the air.
“Absolutely,” Todd said.
“Oh, don’t. It hasn’t been published yet,” I protested weakly. I did not share Kat’s gift for gracefully accepting compliments.
“And it’s not a novel, right?” Howard asked. His lips were stained red from the wine. “I thought Kat said it was just a book of puzzles for children.”
The truth was, it was just a book of puzzles for children. But something about the way Howard said it rankled me.
“That’s right,” I said, striving to keep my tone neutral.
“It’s a book!” Kat said. “A book that Alice wrote. That’s what’s so exciting. How many people can say they’ve written a book?”
“These days? As far as I can tell, just about anyone,” Howard said with a condescending smile. “Haven’t you ever heard of e-books? Self-publishing? Anyone who ever fancied himself the next Ernest Hemingway suddenly has a platform. Not that any of these so-called writers have actually read Ernest Hemingway.”
Kat looked at her husband coldly. “And what about you? Have you ever read Hemingway?”
The words hung between them in an icy silence, until Todd waded in.
“Alice wasn’t trying to write the Great American Novel,” he said. “She’s a logician. Her book is meant to teach children how to solve logic puzzles.”
I know I should have appreciated his defense. But when I saw Howard shrug and splay his hands in front of him as though he couldn’t be bothered to keep up with the nuances of my career—not that anyone was asking him to—I became irrationally annoyed at my husband. Why did he need to put me into my little box, to put a label on me that Howard would find less threatening?
“I think what Alice has done is amazing,” said Kat, my staunchest supporter. “To you, Alice.”
She raised her glass again and blew me a kiss. I smiled back at her and felt my irritation recede.
Despite Howard’s temperamental mood, Kat rallied to make the dinner a success. I could tell that one of her goals for the evening was to win Todd over. Not that it was hard. Like most people, Todd found it easy to like someone who was nice and funny and seemed delighted to be talking to him.
“So, Todd,” Kat began, topping off his wineglass. I’d already had so much wine, my head was spinning a little. I hoped that Todd would be okay to drive us home. “Are you an only child, like Alice?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Todd said, which made Kat laugh. “Seriously, if you met my younger brother, you’d understand. His greatest accomplishment in life is that he can chug a beer and then burp the alphabet.”
“But that’s an incredibly useful skill!” Kat exclaimed. “You could hire him out as an entertainment for children’s parties.”
Todd chuckled. “That’s an idea. Maybe he can fall back on it if his current career selling energy drinks online isn’t a success.”
“Just the one brother?” Kat asked.
I glanced at Todd and wasn’t surprised to see a shadow cross his face.
“Just one I grew up with,” he said. “I had a half brother from my father’s first marriage. His short-lived and ill-fated first marriage.”
Kat nodded, her expression understanding. She knew all about children who were born of short-lived and ill-fated relationships.
“They were divorced when Brendon, my half brother, was a baby, and it was pretty contentious,” Todd continued. “Afterward Brendon and his mother moved to Georgia, where I guess she was originally from. We didn’t see a whole lot of him growing up. He was eight years older than me, so when he did come to stay for a few weeks in the summers, he didn’t want much to do with me.”
“So you’re not close,” Kat concluded.
“Well, no, we weren’t. Unfortunately, he passed away last year,” Todd said.
“I’m so sorry,” Kat said. “He must have been very young.”
Todd nodded in thanks. I thought he’d end the story there, but the wine was making him verbose. “It was actually pretty terrible. We were there at the time. Alice, myself, the kids. We were all at my parents’ house for Thanksgiving. Brendon was drunk, as he often was, and he fell down the stairs. The fall killed him.”
“Oh, my God,” Kat exclaimed, looking at me. “How horrific.”
“It really was,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t like to think about that night. “We called the paramedics, but it was too late to save him. I was so worried the children would wake up and see him...well, lying there. Luckily they slept through the whole thing. But it was an awful night.”
“I thought drunks never got hurt,” Howard cut in. On the word drunks, he slurred the r. “That they always walk away from car accidents.”
“It’s hard to walk away from anything when your neck’s broken,” Todd said.
There was a brief moment of silence.
“Why don’t I bring in dessert?” Kat suggested.
* * *
“What an asshole,” Todd said once we were in our car.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”
Todd waved me off, and he did seem sober enough, so I let it go. He pulled out of the drive, sending a spray of gravel in his wake.
“How did those two end up married? They seem like complete opposites,” he continued.
I shrugged. “It happens. Maybe he was less grumpy when they met.”
“Grumpy? Is that what you’d call him? You make him sound like one of Snow White’s seven dwarfs.”
“Well, how would you describe him?”
“I thought he was a dick,” Todd said.
I laughed and leaned back in my seat. “He really was awful, wasn’t he? From what little Kat has told me about him, I certainly wasn’t expecting Howard to be genial. But I also wasn’t expecting him to be so hostile. I got the feeling he resented our being there, and his having to play host.”
“He spent the entire night trying to one-up me,” Todd said. “When I told him I play tennis, he claimed he was good enough to play for his college team. When I told him what I do, he said he’d thought about being an architect but decided he’d make more money in finance.”
Todd’s tone was unusually bitter. I imagined I was not the only one who had been impressed by the size and scope of the Grants’ house, particularly against the backdrop of our current financial crisis. But that wasn’t something either one of us wanted to get into. And even if we had no choice but to discuss our money woes periodically, we rarely addressed Todd’s lack of career success directly. If he was frustrated by the lack of traction he’d gained in his field over the years, he dealt with it by whacking tennis balls. As for me, I didn’t think I was in any position to comment on Todd’s or anyone else’s career failures, considering how I’d unceremoniously left my cushy academic job.
“Howard played tennis in college?”
“No.” Todd laughed. “He just said they tried to recruit him, but he decided he didn’t want to play, which is such bullshit. I think he really just wanted to tell me he went to Yale. Jesus. You know how I feel about people who name-drop their alma maters.”
“I know, you’ve always hated that. I guess future double dates are out of the question.”
“I liked Kat,” he said. “I can see why the two of you hit it off. You’re very much alike.”
This surprised me. “We are? How so?”
“You’re both smart. You have similar senses of humor,” Todd said. He glanced over at me, the streetlights casting an odd green glow on his face. “Why? You don’t think you’re alike?”
“I never really thought about it,” I said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Kat. But she’s so much more—” I faltered, trying to think of the right word “—poised than I am.”
Todd let out an incredulous bark of laughter. “You can’t be serious.”
“What?”
“Alice, you are, without exception, the most poised person I have ever met.”
It is not often that your spouse of over a decade can shock you. I’d seen my husband out of his mind with grief after the loss of our daughter. I’d washed out the bowl he threw up into for three days when he had food poisoning. I knew he hated eggplant but loved foul-looking peanut-butter-and-bacon sandwiches. But I never knew he, or anyone else, thought of me as poised. After all, I experienced myself through the maelstrom of my own swirling thoughts and emotions, through joy and grief, worry and hope. I had moments of peace, but I certainly never felt poised.
I was quite pleased to know that I put up such a convincing front.
8
Present Day
“It’s safe to say you weren’t a fan of Howard Grant,” Detective Demer said.
“No, I wasn’t,” I agreed. “But then, Howard went out of his way to be unlikable.”
At this, Demer gave me a quizzical look.
“That’s an interesting observation. Why do you think he did that?”
“I’m not sure. His antagonism always seemed pointless. In my experience, it’s almost always easier to get along with people than it is to aggravate them,” I explained.
Oliver let out a snort. I glanced over at her.
“Clearly not your life philosophy, Sergeant,” I said drily.
Demer raised a hand to his mouth, but not before I caught the smile he was trying to cover. Oliver was too busy fixing me with a hostile stare to notice his amusement.
“Do you know who the prime suspect always is in a homicide investigation?” Oliver asked.
“Homicide?” I asked, startled by the word. “You’re investigating Howard’s death as a homicide? Based on what?”
Oliver ignored my question.
“The spouse or partner of the victim is always the prime suspect. Almost always, unless the homicide is committed during the course of another crime, like a robbery,” Oliver said. “And there’s no evidence that the Grants’ house was burglarized on the night of Howard Grant’s death. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
Sergeant Oliver didn’t seem to expect an answer, so I didn’t bother giving her one.
“Kat Grant was the only person who benefited from her husband’s death,” she continued.
“That’s ridiculous,” I cut in. “It doesn’t benefit Kat that her husband is dead. She loved him. She’s devastated to have lost him, especially in such a sudden and terrible way.”
“She’s devastated?” Demer asked. He sounded mildly interested. “She told you that?”
“I’ve spoken to her only once since Howard’s death. But, yes, she was very upset.”
“We’ve heard from other witnesses that the Grants’ marriage was on the rocks,” Oliver said.
“Who told you that?” I asked sharply.
Oliver ignored my question. “Their marital net worth is estimated at being somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty-three million dollars. Do you see where I’m going with this? That’s a lot of money. If Howard and Katherine Grant were headed for a divorce, Howard Grant’s death couldn’t have come at a more convenient time for Mrs. Grant.”
I stared at her, momentarily stunned. Sixty-three million dollars? I knew Kat and Howard were wealthy, of course, but I never knew the extent of their wealth. The amount was staggering.
“Let’s go back to the state of the Grants’ marriage.” Demer clearly wanted to get the interview back on track. “You just said that Katherine Grant loved her husband. What do you base that impression on?”
“Don’t most married people love one another, at least to some extent?”
Demer laughed. “In my experience, no, marriage in and of itself is no guarantee of love.”
“As I’ve already told you, I’m not an expert on Kat and Howard’s marriage.”
“But you a
nd Katherine are close friends. You must have had some idea about her state of mind,” the detective persisted.
“I know she wasn’t planning on divorcing him.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I think if she had been, she would have mentioned it to me at some point. You know she was in London when Howard died?”
“Yes,” Demer responded with an affable nod.
“Unless she’s some sort of superhero who has the power to teleport, I don’t see why you’re investigating her.” I shook my head, becoming exasperated with what was clearly a fishing expedition. They didn’t have evidence against Kat. They didn’t even have confirmation that Howard’s death was anything other than an accident. As far as I could tell, the investigation was based entirely on neighborhood gossip and the large amount of money at issue. I pushed my chair back from the table, ready to stand and leave. “If those are the only questions you have for me, I think continuing this interview will be a waste of our time.”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. She placed her hands palms down on the table and leaned forward in a way I think I was supposed to find intimidating. But before she could say anything, Demer again signaled to Oliver to tone it down. Her face pinched with anger.
“I don’t know about that,” he said mildly. “I think it would be mutually advantageous if you stayed and cooperated with our investigation.”
I surprised myself by laughing. But really, it was a ridiculous statement. “How is this in any way advantageous to me?”
“You said yourself that Katherine Grant is your close friend. It would be in her interest to be cleared of any suspicion.”
“True,” I said. “But all you seem interested in is whether Kat and Howard were getting along at the time of his death. It doesn’t sound like you’re hoping to clear her name. And you’re ignorng that she has a pretty fantastic alibi. You know she was in London when—”
“She could have hired someone to kill him,” Oliver interrupted.
“You mean like a hit man?” I laughed again, this time incredulously. “So we’re leaving reality and jumping into an Elmore Leonard book?”
She shrugged. “It’s been known to happen. And Mrs. Grant certainly has the means.”
