by Margot Hunt
“Then there are all of the business trips he’s taken over the years.” Kat gave a mirthless laugh and shook her head. “I have no doubt he took his opportunities when they arose.”
“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you,” I said.
“What would you do in my position?” Kat asked.
“I was just wondering the same thing,” I answered. “It would be different for us, of course. Todd and I have two young children, and that would obviously affect our decision. And we really couldn’t afford to separate. I would have to go back to work, maybe even move out of town to find a position in my field, which would be even more traumatic for the kids. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t seriously think about leaving him.”
“It’s not that I can’t afford to divorce Howard. Not exactly. But...” Kat began as Steve reappeared with a new bottle of wine.
“That was our last chilled bottle of the Sonoma-Cutrer,” he said, the emphasis making clear his disdain of Alana the bartender and her inability to keep the wine at the proper temperature. “Please accept this bottle of the Duckhorn chardonnay on the house instead.”
“Thank you very much,” Kat said, displaying her straight white teeth as she smiled.
Steve uncorked the wine and waited while Kat tasted it.
“Delicious,” she pronounced.
Steve beamed at her, as though she were the source of all that was well and good in the world, and proceeded to pour us each a glass. “Are you ladies ready to order?” he asked.
“I think we might need a few more minutes,” Kat said.
“Take as long as you need. I’ll check back in a bit,” Steve said. He bowed his head and departed.
“This is excellent. And it costs twice as much as the first bottle,” Kat said. She leaned forward in a conspiratorial way. “And even better, it’s free.”
It wasn’t the first time in my friendship with Kat that I was able to observe how much she—who could afford any bottle of wine in any restaurant in the world—reveled in the pleasure of being comped something. I was also sure that if I had been the one to send the wine back, which I would have done only if it had actually turned into vinegar, the waiter would not have reappeared with a free bottle of a more expensive wine.
“I think I might have caused a bit of a scene,” Kat said, looking over at the bar. I followed her gaze. Alana was staring back at Kat, her young, lush face stricken and pale. Kat raised her wineglass in the young woman’s direction, which caused Alana to start and turn quickly away. “I wonder if she recognizes me. Look at that. She already has her cell phone out. Gee, I wonder whom she’s texting? Do you know she’s barely older than Amanda?”
“I don’t know what Howard was thinking,” I said.
“You don’t? I do. Look at her. That face, that body. I’m sure Howard’s not too interested in her witty conversation or her insights into nineteenth-century literature,” Kat said, taking a large swig of her wine. I didn’t blame her. The discovery that your husband of many years was sleeping with a woman slightly older than your daughter would have made anyone want to dull the pain.
“So, what now?” I asked. “Are you going to try to work it out, or are you going to...” I trailed off, not wanting to make any assumptions.
“I don’t know what to do. If we...separate...” Kat began. She, too, seemed reluctant to say the word divorce. “I would stand to lose quite a lot of money. Howard and I didn’t have a prenuptial agreement.”
I nodded but stayed quiet. Kat rarely talked about her fortune or the rarified position in the world she held because of it. She also knew that I was not wealthy, but we never talked about that, either. I think by that point, we both treasured our friendship. Neither one of us wanted to spoil it.
“You’re lucky you have Todd,” Kat said.
Kat had made similar comments to me a few times in the past about my marriage, and they always irritated me.
“Kat,” I said, setting down my wineglass, “I love my husband, and I don’t doubt that he loves me. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that every marriage other than your own is a happy one.”
“You’re not happy?” she asked, sounding surprised.
I considered this. “I’m not unhappy,” I said. “But we have our own issues. Everyone thinks that other people, other couples, have it all figured out. That you’re the only ones who struggle. But there really is no such thing as a perfect marriage. In fact, I’ve been thinking Todd and I should talk to a marriage therapist.”
Kat leaned forward, looking concerned. “Is anything serious going on?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “We just haven’t been connecting lately on any level. The only thing we have in common these days are the kids. I’m starting to think that marriage should have a ten-year term limit.”
“And how exactly would that work?”
“After ten years, you sit down and decide if you want to keep going for another ten or not. If so, great, you sign a new contract. If not, you shake hands and go your separate ways.”
Kat laughed and shook her head. “That’s not very romantic.”
“No, but then, neither is marriage.”
“At least your husband isn’t fucking a twenty-two-year-old bartender,” Kat said sourly.
I nodded, acknowledging the truth of this. “No, he isn’t. Or at least, I don’t think he is.”
She gave me a long look. “You would know.”
“Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t,” I said. “It would depend on how good a liar Todd was.”
But Kat just continued to stare at me through slightly narrowed eyes.
“You would know,” she repeated. “And what’s more, Alice, you wouldn’t put up with it. Not for one minute.”
12
Present Day
If Detective Demer was surprised by my statement regarding Howard’s infidelity, he didn’t show it. His face remained expressionless other than a slight flicker in the depths of his dark brown eyes, which I might have imagined. Sergeant Oliver’s response, on the other hand, was more predictable. She slammed one open hand down on the table, uttered an expletive and then fixed me with a hard stare that I suspected she practiced in front of a mirror.
“Do you think this is some sort of a game? It’s not. It’s a murder investigation, and it’s time you started cooperating,” Oliver snapped.
I stared back at her, impassive. It occurred to me that someone this volatile was probably not cut out for police work. It was a job that required logic and problem-solving skills but also a certain level of detachment. Indulging in this level of vitriol toward someone you were investigating seemed like it would only backfire.
“I am cooperating,” I said.
“A few minutes ago, you told us that Katherine and Howard Grant had a happy marriage. Now you’re claiming that he was having an affair.”
Oliver leaned across the table, her eyes narrowed into angry slits. “Were you lying then or are you lying now?”
This struck me as a particularly moronic question. As though lying once, twice or multiple times somehow insulated you from lying again.
“It wasn’t a lie,” I said. “I do think that, for the most part, Kat and Howard’s marriage worked for them.”
“Except for the fact that he was sleeping with someone else,” Oliver retorted.
“Relationships aren’t that simple.” I shrugged. “Of course Kat was hurt by Howard’s infidelity. But it wasn’t the end of their marriage.”
Oliver was about to respond, but Demer lifted a hand in her direction without taking his eyes off me. The sergeant pressed her lips together into a thin line, her nostrils flaring.
“Who was Howard Grant having an affair with?”
For a moment I considered not telling him. Despite her solid alibi, the police clearly considered Kat a suspect in Ho
ward’s death. But perhaps giving them an alternate suspect—or a bunch of alternate suspects, since it wouldn’t surprise me if Howard had brought more than one woman home when Kat was out of town—would help Kat. At the very least, the police would have another line of inquiry to follow.
“Her name is Alana Dupree,” I supplied. “She’s a bartender at a restaurant in CityPlace. Or at least, she used to be. I don’t know if she still works there or not.”
Demer jotted down a few notes on the lined pad in front of him.
“How long had the affair been going on?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.” Then, catching Oliver’s look of disbelief, I said, “Really, I don’t know when it started. Kat found out about it over a year and a half ago. I know she confronted Howard and he promised to end it. But...” I stopped and shrugged again.
“You don’t think he did end it,” Demer said.
“I saw them together recently,” I admitted. “I was driving home from a committee meeting at my children’s school. They pulled up next to me at a stoplight.”
“Grant was with—” Demer checked his notes “—Alana Dupree?”
“It was definitely Howard. He drives—” I began and then stopped. “I mean, he drove a red Mercedes convertible, which I recognized at once. It’s very noticeable. The girl with him looked like Alana—Kat pointed her out to me once—but I suppose I couldn’t definitively say it was her.”
“Did they see you?”
“No.” I remembered looking over, registering that it was Howard and then watching as he turned to the blonde sitting next to him and began kissing her. Howard clearly hadn’t mastered the art of discretion, which was rather surprising for a serial adulterer. I’d have thought he’d have been more skilled at it by then.
“When was this?” Demer asked.
“Just last week. It was the last time I saw Howard.”
“Did you tell Katherine Grant about what you’d seen?”
I shook my head. “No. Kat had already left for London. It’s not the kind of thing you text someone. And then...well, the only time I’ve spoken to her since was when she called to tell me that Howard had died. As you can imagine, I didn’t think that was the best time to bring it up, either.”
Demer nodded, looking only faintly disappointed. It would have fit the narrative he seemed to be favoring if Kat had recently learned Howard was still cheating on her.
“Do you have an alibi for Monday night?” Sergeant Oliver asked.
Monday, I realized, was the day Howard had died. I felt another frisson of unease.
“An alibi?” I repeated. “Do I need one?”
“It’s standard procedure,” Demer assured me. “We’re asking everyone who had access to the house or who was a frequent visitor. Friends, family, yard and housekeeping services.”
“I was at the beach,” I said. “Alone.”
“At night?” he asked, looking surprised for the first time that morning. “In the dark?”
“It wasn’t that dark. There was a full moon...” I thought back again to the witness who claimed to have seen Howard pushed off the balcony. The moon had glowed low in the sky that night. It had been both beautiful and eerie.
“Do you often go out for late-night walks? That doesn’t seem like a very safe habit,” Demer commented.
“No, not often,” I said. “But my husband and I had an argument that night. I didn’t want the fight to escalate, especially since our children were home. It upsets them when we fight. So I left. I drove to the beach and walked until I calmed down. Then I went back home.”
“What were you arguing about?” This from Oliver.
I pressed my lips together in a tight smile before responding. “That’s private.”
“This is a homicide investigation,” Oliver retorted.
“Which my marital dispute has nothing to do with,” I countered.
“Why don’t you let us decide what is and is not relevant to our investigation?” Oliver pointed a finger at me as she spoke. It was a gesture I had never liked. I liked it even less coming from her.
The door to the conference room swung open. All three of us looked up to see a slim man with snow-white hair slicked neatly back off his face. He was very dapper, wearing a sharp navy blue suit over a starched white shirt, with a light blue tie knotted perfectly at his neck.
“It looks like I’m interrupting something,” he said cheerfully.
Demer raised a hand. “Sir, if you could return to the lobby, I’m sure someone will be there to help you momentarily.”
“No, I’m here to interrupt. John Donnelly,” he said, holding out his hand to the detective.
“Alex Demer.” The detective shook his hand. “And this is Sofia Oliver.”
Sergeant Oliver did not shake John Donnelly’s hand, but this seemed only to amuse him. He grinned at her, then looked over at me.
“And by the process of elimination, I take it you’re Alice Campbell?” he quipped.
“I am.”
“Excellent.” Donnelly nodded toward the door. “Let’s go, Alice Campbell.”
“Hold on, one minute,” Sergeant Oliver sputtered. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I didn’t say? My apologies. I’m Mrs. Campbell’s attorney, and she’s leaving with me.”
“Mrs. Campbell is here of her own free will. She’s cooperating with our investigation.” Demer spoke in his calm, deep voice. I wondered if anything ever rattled him.
“And now she’ll be leaving of her own free will,” Donnelly said. “This interview is over. Mrs. Campbell?”
I stood, glad for my white knight, whoever he was. I’d had enough. Enough of the questions, enough of Oliver’s rudeness, enough of how suffocating the small, bland room had become. Mr. Donnelly held the door open for me and I headed toward it. But before I made my escape, Detective Demer spoke.
“Loyalty is an admirable trait. You just have to make sure it’s not misplaced.”
The detective was right, of course, but it didn’t persuade me to stay. I didn’t know what was going on with Kat, although I intended to find out as soon as possible. But if there was one thing I was sure of, it was this—over the past three years, Kat had more than earned my loyalty.
I turned and walked out the door.
13
Eighteen Months Earlier
I was carrying three heavy bags of groceries into the house when I heard the sound of a dog barking inside my handbag. Liam, who thought it was hilarious to steal my cell phone and change the ringtone, had clearly been up to his old tricks. At least the dog was preferable to the fart sounds he had once programmed in.
I struggled to drop the shopping bags on the counter and grappled for the phone, which was, as always, at the very bottom of my handbag. Caller ID reported that it was the children’s school, Seaview Country Day. I managed to hit the accept button just before it went to voice mail.
“Hello!” An orange rolled out of one of the grocery bags and fell to the floor with a dull thud.
“Am I speaking to Mrs. Campbell?” a nasal male voice said in my ear.
I recognized the caller at once from the endless back-to-school nights, awards ceremonies and school plays. It was Phil Douglas, the principal.
“Yes, it is.” I was never sure whether to call him Phil or Mr. Douglas, so I usually tried to refrain from doing either.
“This is Principal Douglas from Seaview Country Day.”
“Is everything all right?” Calls from the school always caused me a surge of anxiety. “Are Liam and Bridget okay?”
“They’re fine.” Principal Douglas sounded unusually terse. He normally affected a jovial manner that he never quite pulled off. “That’s not why I’m calling.”
I waited, and after a brief pause, he continued. “I’m calling about your tuition bill.”
>
“What about it?”
“It’s overdue.”
“What? No, I’m pretty sure we paid it just last week.” I knelt to pick up the orange.
I specifically remembered asking Todd if he’d mailed in the tuition check, and his affirmative reply. Todd had insisted on taking over paying the bills a few months earlier, claiming the chore stressed me out. It actually didn’t. I liked organizing the bills, then methodically going through them. What stressed me out was never having enough money to pay them all. I had agreed to let Todd take over, but only because I hoped it would help him finally see the reality of our finances and curb his compulsive spending habits.
“We haven’t received a payment from you since the beginning of the term,” the principal corrected me. “You have a past due balance of nearly six thousand dollars.”
“What?” I gasped. I suddenly realized I was still crouched on the ground and slowly stood back up, the orange clutched in one hand. “No, there must be a mistake. We’re on a monthly payment plan.”
“That’s just it. You haven’t been making your monthly payments.” He cleared his throat with an unpleasant phlegmy cough. “This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, Mrs. Campbell. Our school accountant, Ms. Davies, has spoken to your husband several times about your outstanding balance.”
“That may be, but this is the first I’ve heard of it.” I was surprised at how calm I was managing to sound. I wondered if Principal Douglas was a gossip, whether news of our financial troubles would spread through the PTA. “Let me look at our accounts and get back to you. I’ll try to make at least a partial payment by early next week.”
The principal sighed, sounding aggrieved. At least he didn’t seem to be enjoying this conversation any more than I was, cold comfort though that was.
“You don’t understand, Mrs. Campbell. We’ve already given you several extensions. You’re going to have to pay off the outstanding balance immediately or Liam and Bridget will not be allowed to continue coming to school.”
I absorbed this. “When do you need the payment by?”
“Tomorrow,” he said.
