“Hello?”
“It’s Ben. Busy?”
“No. I’m just reading An Inconvenient Woman.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Do you know Dominick Dunne?”
“The guy who reported on the O.J. Simpson trial?”
“That’s him. But he was a best-selling novelist before that. He’s my absolute favorite writer. And this book—in my opinion—is his best.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s complicated. But if I was to simplify it, I’d say it’s about a woman who is eventually murdered for trying to protect the love of her life.”
A silence stretched between us after I said that, thinning the air as if no air existed at all. The irony wasn’t lost on either of us. After all, isn’t that what I was doing? Not trying to protect Michael, but trying to at least uncover the truth about his death and bring him the justice he deserved. If he was murdered and whoever murdered him learned what I was up to, I could become the inconvenient woman. It was enough to give each of us pause.
“Anyway,” I said in an effort to break the tension. “I assume you have the police report now. Have you learned anything from it?”
“A bit. Bill Witherhouse was home when Lydia died.”
That surprised me. “He was home? But Bill’s a senior VP at Chase—I checked the Internet after we spoke this morning. I know the banking industry, Ben, and that’s the sort of job you don’t leave until seven or eight at night. Lydia died in the afternoon, didn’t she?”
“Two-thirty, to be precise.”
“Why was Bill home then? Why wasn’t he at work? Was he sick?”
“I’ll read you what he said to the officer who first responded to his 911 call, which will answer your questions. Then, you can tell me if his answers satisfy you.”
“All right…”
“Here’s his retelling of the events,” Ben said. “Straight from the police report. You’ll hear the interchange between him and the first officer on scene. There will be a give and take as she asks him questions. Ready to go?”
“I’m ready.”
“By the way, the person questioning him is Officer Brenda Marsh, who I know. She’s been on the force for over fifteen years. And she’s outstanding. So, here goes.”
He launched into the Q&A Officer Marsh had had with Bill Witherhouse.
“‘When did you find the deceased, Mr. Witherhouse?’”
“‘I had just returned home and entered my office when I heard something heavy hit the floor downstairs. I called out to Lydia, but she didn’t answer. So, I went to investigate, and found her on her back and unresponsive on the kitchen floor. She’d been cleaning it. There was a bucket next to her—you can see it right there. I checked her pulse, felt nothing, and immediately called 911. The person who answered walked me through how to perform CPR, which I did to the best of my ability while they sent for an ambulance. Unfortunately, I failed. I’m so sorry that I failed. I’m devastated that I couldn’t help her. Save her. Lydia was a mainstay in this house. She’s worked with us for over eight years. She kept this place running, for God’s sake. She was family.’”
“‘Do you happen to know how old she is? She appears to be young.’”
“‘She is young. I don’t know—maybe mid-forties? Something like that. She has two children and a husband. How could this have happened? What am I supposed to say to her children and husband now?’”
“‘Nothing—we’ll take care of that, Mr. Witherhouse. As for how this happened, that’s what we’re here to find out. Do you know if she had any health-related issues?’”
“‘I don’t. Lydia was a powerhouse. I can’t imagine that anything was wrong with her. None of this makes sense. I can’t believe that I’m seeing her like this. When I came home from work, she was all smiles as usual, busy washing the kitchen floor.’”
“‘And why did you come home?’”
“‘To retrieve a file I was working on last night. I thought that I’d brought it with me this morning, but I hadn’t. I’m stunned that this has happened.’”
“‘She died only moments after you entered the house?’”
“‘Apparently, yes.’”
“‘That’s interesting timing.’”
“‘I—what are you insinuating?’”
“‘It was just an observation, Mr. Witherhouse. Nothing more.’”
“‘I gave her CPR.’”
“‘I’ve noted that. Your DNA on her lips will prove that.’”
“‘And it will. I’ll submit to any DNA test you want. I did all that I could do to recover her.’”
“‘I’m not saying that you didn’t.’”
“‘She was like family to us.’”
“‘So you’ve said. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few more questions.’”
“‘Why do I feel as if you have an ulterior motive?’”
“‘Do you believe that I should have one?’”
“‘Absolutely not.’”
“‘Then it’s just a few more questions, Mr. Witherhouse. You’ve said that Lydia was like a member of the family. I’m just trying to find out what happened.’”
“‘And I’ve told you what happened. And given your tone, I think it’s best that I don’t answer any more of your questions without my lawyer present. I feel as if you’re trying to corner me.’”
“‘Corner you? Why would I want to do that? I’m just trying to understand what took place here.’”
“‘What happened here is that Lydia died.’”
“‘A ‘powerhouse’ in her mid-forties…’”
“‘I see where this is going. All of you cops are the same. You’ll hear nothing more from me without my lawyer present. That’s it.’”
Ben paused for a moment, and then he said, “So, what do you think?”
“I don’t know what to say. When Marsh first started to question him, Bill seemed genuinely rattled and upset. But I wasn’t there, was I? I couldn’t hear the inflection in his voice, or see the look on his face and in his eyes like Marsh could. Maybe that’s why the conversation took a harsh turn. Because it did sound as if she was trying to corner him. If I had been in his shoes, I also would have wanted my lawyer present before I’d gone any further.”
“Given the fact that he came home just moments before Lydia died, I don’t think her line of questioning was unreasonable.”
“Still, in a situation such as that and when it comes to that line of questioning, you have to be careful what you say.”
“You don’t have to be if you’re telling the truth.”
“You and I both know better than that. Look, he called 911. He administered CPR. Marsh clearly was trying to bait him when she said that they’d know if he’d done so by checking for his DNA on her lips. And then he challenged her to take a sample of his DNA to prove that he’d given her CPR. So, unless he’s an idiot—which I doubt—I have to assume that he did try to help Lydia.”
“What if he did so only half-heartedly?”
“Why would he do that? Because he’d be anticipating a DNA test? That sounds like a stretch to me—but what do I know? Maybe he reads crime thrillers and knew what to do to cover his ass before the police arrived. But if the implication is that he came home to kill Lydia, my only question is why would he want to do that? Because—believe me—in his eyes? Lydia was nothing more than a maid to him. And by that, I mean that she was in the basement when it came to the sort of world that Maxine and he move in. The only stretch I sense here is when he said that he considered her family. Trust me on this—he didn’t. He and Maxine are a couple of snobs. Neither of them would have ever considered Lydia ‘family.’ But still, why kill her?”
“Did Michael have any business dealings with Witherhouse?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
“For argument’s sake, let’s say that he did. And let’s also say that Michael screwed him over big time over something that would have angered Bill to the point
that he’d want revenge.”
“I don’t know about that, Ben…”
“Try to keep an open mind—we’re just speculating. If Bill Witherhouse had Michael murdered, he might have wanted Lydia dead too because of what she’d witnessed.”
“Six months after the fact?”
“He could have been threatening her with her life during that time to keep her silent, waiting for those months to pass before deciding it was the right time to finish her off. If he’d had her killed too soon after Michael’s death, red flags would have popped up everywhere. Lydia, after all, was presumably the only one who saw what happened to Michael. She was the key witness—and if she did witness Michael’s murder, Bill Witherhouse would have known that he’d eventually have to deal with her to thwart the threat of any kind of exposure. Best to ward off any chances of being found out, wouldn’t you say?”
“You know what unnerves me?”
“What’s that?”
“How easy it is to come up with a motive for someone’s murder. We have no idea if Bill Witherhouse did any of this, and yet, what you just concocted sounds awfully plausible, doesn’t it? And that’s terrifying to me—the idea that any one person can seamlessly be molded into a potential killer.”
“Again, Kate, we’re just speculating. That’s how these things work.”
“I understand that. But it still freaks me out. What else do you know?”
“The medical examiner’s report says that Lydia Brown died of natural causes. They found no evidence that foul play was involved.”
“So, she wasn’t murdered,” I said. “If that’s the case, then why did we just go through all of that? For mere speculation?”
“Just because the ME found no evidence of foul play doesn’t mean that there wasn’t any, Kate.”
And then I remembered all of the ways he’d told me that one could bring on sudden heart failure.
“You’re saying that he might have poisoned her?”
“I’m not saying anything like that—yet.”
“Yet,” I echoed.
“Kate, when you do my job, you have to look at all angles, research them, and then either rule them out—or accept them as possibilities. That’s all I’m doing here. What we now know is that Lydia Brown died in Maxine and Bill Witherhouse’s home. If she was murdered, it happened there. So automatically, because Bill was there when she died, he becomes a suspect if foul play was involved.”
“But how are we to know if that was even the case? To my recollection, Lydia was cremated, which rules out exhuming her body for further testing.”
“You’re right about that,” he said. “That’s a big strike against us—and a potential win for Bill Witherhouse.” He paused. “Earlier, you mentioned that the Witherhouses frequently have big parties.”
“They’re known for their parties. They have one every month or so.”
“Can you get us into one?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to meet them.”
“Why do you want to meet them?”
“I’ll explain that in a minute. First, I need to know whether you can get us into one of their parties.”
“I suppose I can. In fact, I think they’re having one this Saturday. I received an invitation a couple of weeks ago. For whatever reason, they always invite me, but I never go. I hate mixing with that crowd. It’s like talking to ice when it comes to those people.”
“Is it too late to accept their invitation?”
“Saturday is only two days away, so I’m not sure. But maybe it isn’t. They’ve been after me for so many years to come to one of their parties, so it’s a possibility.”
“If we go, we’re going to have to fake some sort of intimacy between us. I’m going to have to become your date—and you’re going to have to act as if I’m yours. If they think that we’re a couple, they’ll trust me.”
“Pretend that we’re a couple? Where are you going with this?”
“I want to see how Bill and Maxine react when they learn that you’re dating a private investigator. I want to see how that registers with them. Will it just be with dismissal because I don’t measure up to Michael’s accomplishments? Maybe. Or, if Bill Witherhouse is somehow behind your husband’s death and Maxine knows of it, will I sense a trace of concern or even a hint of fear when they learn what I do for a living? Because why would you, of all people, be with a private investigator?”
“I hope you’re not suggesting that I think I’m above that.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that they’ll be thinking that—and they’ll be wondering how two people from two completely different social circles met, let alone came together as a couple. And believe me when I tell you that they will wonder why.”
I saw where he was taking this and became intrigued. “Go on,” I said.
“Let’s be frank here—you are revered in Manhattan. People have high expectations when it comes to you—and to whomever you choose to be with after Michael. When the Witherhouses learn that we’re a couple, they’re going to question how that could possibly be. Why would you take such a massive step down to be with someone like me?”
“I wish you wouldn’t put it that way.”
“That might not be your truth, but it’s their truth. Since I don’t move in your circle, the obvious conclusion that anyone will come to is that you must have sought me out to look into something for you. And in the process, we fell in love. But why did you come to me—that’s what they’re going to be questioning, especially if they had anything to do with Michael’s death. Why would Kate Stone need a private investigator? What’s she investigating? I read people well and quickly, and if I see even a trace of concern cross their faces, then I plan to dig deeper into the possibility that they did have something to do with Michael’s death. That’s what this is about. So, get us into that party. And be prepared for us to become a couple again, because that’s the only way that this is going to work.”
“I’m not sure that I’m comfortable with that.”
“Do you want to find out if your husband was murdered or not?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then, on the surface, we’ll be a couple again. You and I both know that it won’t be real, but we’re going to have to behave as if it is. We’re going to have to remember who we once were when we were young, and tap into those emotions. Otherwise, it won’t work.”
“You expect me to tap into emotions from sixteen years ago?”
“How about seventeen? At that point, we hadn’t yet broken up.”
I had to smile at that.
“All I need is for you to be reasonably affectionate with me, and to introduce me to them. If they see us holding hands, they’ll get the message without you having to say a word about what the nature of our relationship is. Or isn’t, in this case. Will you do it? Will you trust me on this?”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll do anything for Michael.”
“And that’s why I once loved you,” he countered.
And what in the hell am I to do with that?
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning, I called Maxine and expressed interest in attending. And as I suspected, getting in late to her party wasn’t an issue.
To my surprise, she actually sounded sober when she answered.
“Hello?”
“Maxine?”
“Who is this? Who’s calling?”
“It’s Kate Stone.”
“Kate!” she said. “My God—I never thought I’d see the day. How lovely to hear your voice. How are you, my dear? Well? Or still in mourning? Because everyone swears that even after all these years, you are still in mourning. I never know what to believe—though it is in my nature to tend to lean toward the worst…”
“I’m fine, Maxine. Five years is a long time.”
“So it is, and so good to hear that you’re back. You do realize that, for the longest time, there was talk that you might shroud yourself in blac
k for the rest of your life. As if you were some sort of a Victorian widow. I mean, I’ve been inviting you to my parties for the past several years, and you’ve never once accepted. Can you blame me for not believing the gossip?”
“I never believe in any sort of gossip, Maxine.”
“Shrewd of you.”
“But I am calling about your upcoming party on Saturday night. I’m sorry to be calling so late about it, but it is time to get out again. To see old friends. So, if you’ll have me, I’d love to come.”
“Are you saying that your first time out will be at my party?”
“Other than the fundraisers I hold, yes. This will be my first social event since Michael died.”
“Well, goodness,” she said. “Then my party is about to become the talk of the town. And I’m proud of you, Kate. At long last, you’re with us again. We’d love to have you, darling.” Her voice dropped a notch. “Will it be just you—or will there be you and a plus-one?”
“The latter,” I said.
“Well, that’s intriguing,” she said. “Are you seeing someone now?”
No, Maxine, I’m seeing no one. But it’s fucking complicated—I can tell you that!
“I am,” I said. “We’ll see where it goes, but I would like to bring him along with me if that’s OK with you.”
“Well, of course it is. I would love to meet your new suitor. But I worry. Are you ready for that kind of scrutiny? I mean, four hundred people have confirmed—many of whom adored Michael and you as a couple. And the press will be here—you should know that.”
Naturally, the press would be there. Given her stature in this city, Maxine had nothing to prove to anyone, but for reasons that were unknown to me, she was nothing short of a full-on Page Six whore.
“I can handle the press,” I said.
“But with a new relationship? You know that they’ll make something of it…”
In fact, I did know that they would. It was likely that Ben and I would be plastered on all of the gossip rags and websites after appearing in public together. And while I wanted none of that, there was a much larger picture here that I couldn’t overlook. Ben wanted this to happen for a specific reason, which came straight down to Bill and Maxine themselves. Since he had to work every angle that was presented to him, I just needed to suck it up and go through with it despite the consequences.
A Dangerous Widow (Dangerous #1) Page 7
