A Dangerous Widow (Dangerous #1)

by Christina Ross

  “Tonight, you win. But because of what you’re about to ignite, you have to agree to listen to me and my security team going forward. Your idea might work. But it’s going to be hell trying to keep you safe.”

  “Done,” I said.

  “You said that way too quickly for my tastes.”

  “Once I set the spark, I will do whatever you and your security team ask of me. That’s a promise.”

  He reached for my hand, and when I took it in my own, it seemed somehow larger to me than it had when we were in high school. His grip was stronger. And perhaps because he was older and likely due to his time in the Navy, his palm was rougher than I remembered.

  “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

  “I should be asking you that, because when you and I step out of the car, it’s going to be a full-on onslaught. I’ve experienced that before, though I’m not sure whether you have. So, if you haven’t, gird your loins, because this is going to be intense.”

  As David opened Ben’s door, which was closest to the sidewalk, Ben squeezed my hand and said, “I can handle intense. I’m just not so sure about you.”

  “Hilarious.”

  He squeezed my hand when I said that, and then he nodded at me. “All right, Kate. If we’re going to win this, let’s win.”

  * * *

  After I stepped out of the limousine with Ben at my side, it took the reporters a moment to register that it was me before they launched themselves into a frenzy—just as I knew they would.

  The men and women behind their cameras knew their beat—and the majority knew that I hadn’t been out to a social event like this since Michael’s death.

  “Kate!” I heard people call out.

  While I smiled for the crowd, I said in a hushed voice to Ben, “We need to let them photograph us. Otherwise, they’ll be furious with me at the very moment that we need them most. Stand over here with me. Put your arm around my waist. Kiss me on the cheek if you want. Just make it look real.”

  “Kate, it’s so good to see you!” I heard one photographer call out.

  The rapid flashes of light were so blinding, I couldn’t see who said it, but I knew it likely was someone who had photographed me in the past while I was still with Michael. So I turned in their general direction and thanked them.

  “It’s good to be back,” I said.

  “Kate, can you turn this way?”

  Ben and I turned to our left.

  “Who are you with?”

  “Ben Cade. We’ve been seeing each other for several months now.”

  “You’re seeing someone?”

  “Kate, you have a boyfriend?”

  “Holy shit, she has a boyfriend.”

  ‘I do,” I said. “And after five years, I think that Michael would approve.”

  “Congratulations, Kate! We all know that Michael would have wanted you to be happy!”

  “Thank you,” I said amidst the staccato rhythms of light. I looked up at Ben. “And by the way, everyone—isn’t he handsome?”

  The moment I said that, Ben swept me into his arms and kissed me full on the lips, an act that apparently was enough to warrant lighting us up as if a thousand suns had settled down upon us.

  His lips lingered upon mine for a beat too long before we finally broke away from each other. While I was surprised that he’d gone there—I’d asked for a kiss on the cheek, for God’s sake—I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t felt something again when he kissed me, because his kiss had changed from the kiss I remembered. It was far more passionate than it had been before we’d gone our separate ways.

  “It’s good to see all of you again,” I called out before we left for the party. “It’s good to be back!”

  “Kate, your dress is to die for. Who are you wearing?”

  “Valentino. He’s a magician!”

  “Ben, would you mind stepping aside so we can have a few solo shots of Kate?”

  “Of course not,” he said.

  After giving a final wave, I reached for Ben’s hand, said that I’d missed them all, and then, with an odd sense that these strangers genuinely felt happy for me, entered the Witherhouses’ mansion with Ben.

  * * *

  “Well, you were right,” Ben said when we stepped inside the crowded foyer. “That was intense.”

  The press or that kiss?

  “It takes a while, but somehow you get used to it.”

  “You handled it like a pro.”

  “I’m rusty when it comes to this, so let’s just say that I did my best. The trick is finding a way to let yourself go and just being who you are, because if you don’t do that, the cameras will pick up on it and you’ll look like a fraud. When it comes to the press, it’s a balance. If you give them enough time to photograph you and ask you questions, you’ll remain in their good graces. But if you don’t—they can and will ruin you. We accomplished the former tonight—especially when you kissed me. And by the way, where did that come from?”

  “You told me to make it look real.”

  And it had felt real…

  “I told you to kiss me on the cheek.”

  “I decided that it would be better to go for the lips. You know, to use your words, ‘to sell it.’”

  “Well, mission accomplished, I guess.”

  “Did I go too far?”

  “No, because you did give them what they wanted.”

  “That’s not really what I was asking.”

  “But there’s your answer.”

  Because when you kissed me, Ben, it was as if the years had melted away and we were together again, which is something I certainly don’t want to analyze now.

  Instead, I put my mind elsewhere and looked around the lavish space, which seemed like it was designed to put to rest any doubts that Maxine and Bill Witherhouse were indeed New York royalty.

  The foyer alone was a showcase for important pieces of art hanging upon the walls, intricately carved mahogany woodwork that few master craftsmen could duplicate today, and above us, what appeared to me to be a huge, original René Lalique chandelier that glimmered and glittered right along with the crowd milling beneath it. Like the rest of this house, the foyer beckoned back to a time in our country when the wealth in this city was so great, it could create the sort of space we were in now. To the Witherhouses’ credit, they’d kept their home untouched and upheld a high standard. The attention to detail was stunning.

  “Have you been here before?” Ben asked.

  “Yes—but that was years ago. Michael and I came here a few times. Isn’t it amazing?”

  “To say the least.”

  “Wait until you see the ballroom, which is just through there,” I said, pointing to my right. “It’s incredible. Maxine and Bill live on the other four floors and the roof deck with views of the Park. Don’t ask me why they need four floors to live—maybe it’s just so they can get away from each another, since at one point they were on the verge of divorce. Anyway, we might be a little late, but with so many people still arriving behind us, Bill and Maxine will be just inside the ballroom to greet us. You need to know that.”

  “And be ready for it,” he said. “And I guess be ready for whatever you have up your sleeve, too.”

  “You already know what I have up my sleeve,” I said. “So let’s do this.”

  * * *

  “Kate!” Maxine called out when we approached her. “You came!”

  It had been years since I’d set eyes on Maxine Witherhouse, but the last time I had, she sure as hell hadn’t looked anything like this. At some point, she must have had her skin pulled straight up from her toes to make her look as vibrant and as youthful as she did now. She was a slight blonde in her mid-sixties, but she now looked as if she hadn’t even reached fifty.

  When I approached her, we exchanged air kisses and then held each other’s hands as we assessed each other. Maxine had chosen to wear two things—a form-fitting black evening gown and diamonds. Too many diamonds. They were at her throat, w
rists, fingers, and ears. The philanthropist in me wanted to rip them off of her, sell them, and put that money toward ending world hunger.

  “Thank you for having us on such short notice, Maxine. It’s good to see you.”

  “I still can’t believe that you chose our party as your first social event since Michael’s death,” she said just loudly enough so that people turned to look at us. “We’re honored to have you, Kate. You have no idea.”

  “It’s good to be out again.”

  “I can only imagine.” She turned to the tall, distinguished-looking man at her right. “Bill, look who’s here—it’s Kate!”

  When Bill looked at me, I met his eyes with my own.

  Did you kill Michael? I wondered as I shook his hand. Did you kill Lydia?

  “It’s great to see you again, Kate,” he said.

  Is it, Bill? I have to wonder…

  “And I have to say, that in that dress, you might just steal the night.”

  “That’s some compliment,” I said to him. “But as Maxine and I know, it’s all about the dress, isn’t it, Maxine?”

  “And the hair and the makeup and the jewels,” Maxine said. “Keeping it new and fresh is an exhausting chore, isn’t it? Though it can be a fun one when it all comes together, don’t you think?”

  Before I could answer, her gaze flicked over to Ben.

  “And who is this?” she said as she turned to him.

  “This is Ben Cade,” I said.

  “Your plus-one?” Maxine said in a voice so light and sugary, it made my teeth ache.

  “On the phone the other day, I think I told you that Ben and I are a couple.” Unless you were drinking and have forgotten.

  “A couple?”

  Totally drinking.

  “Yes—for the past five months.” I winged that last part to give our pseudo-relationship some depth, but what would Maxine or Bill know? Frankly, I didn’t care. “Ben, this is Maxine and Bill Witherhouse.”

  They greeted him with handshakes.

  “It’s a pleasure,” Bill said.

  “It is,” Maxine agreed. “And goodness, Kate—you’ve certainly done well,” she said as her eyes roamed over Ben’s body. “I won’t be the last to say this tonight, but you two might be the best-looking couple here.”

  “That’s all on Kate,” Ben said.

  “I’m afraid I must disagree!”

  Really, Maxine? Already in the cups?

  “What do you do, Ben?” Bill asked.

  And here we go…

  “I’m a private investigator,” Ben said.

  “A private investigator?” Maxine asked.

  Watch their expressions…

  “Yes,” Ben said. “Well, a former Navy SEAL who turned private investigator, if that matters.”

  “If you served our country, it does matter,” Maxine said.

  “I did two tours of duty in Afghanistan,” Ben said. “When I returned home, I decided to use the skills I learned in the field to become a private investigator.”

  “How did you two meet?” Bill asked.

  “That’s complicated,” I said.

  Bill furrowed his brow at me. “I can only imagine. No offense to Ben, but you two don’t exactly move in the same crowd, do you?”

  You fucking snob.

  “I’m not sure what that means, Bill,” I said. “But to answer your question, I hired Ben to look into Michael’s death. After receiving some recent information, I’m no longer convinced that his death was an accident. It could have been murder.”

  “I’m sorry?” he said.

  “Goodness!” Maxine said. “Murder? Really?”

  When she said that, I caught Bill Witherhouse shoot his wife a sidelong glance, which was as tense as it was uncomfortable.

  But why…?

  “How have you come to that conclusion?” Bill asked.

  “Right now, it’s more of a question. Either way, I plan to find out. And I’ll spend a fortune to get to the truth if I need to.”

  “But I thought Michael’s death was settled,” he said. “Everyone knows that it was ruled an accident…”

  “Recent information suggests otherwise.”

  At that moment, Bill Witherhouse’s focus on me became acute.

  “What recent information?”

  “I’m afraid that I can’t say anything about that. I hope that you understand.”

  Bill Witherhouse said nothing, but Maxine did.

  “This is nothing short of disturbing,” she said. “Who would murder Michael, Kate? That man was beloved in this town. You know he was.”

  “As I said, recent events suggest otherwise.”

  “Oh, dear,” she said. “In light of this, now I have to wonder what Michael would think of your new union with Ben…”

  Oh, bitch, please.

  “We had this conversation, Maxine,” I said.

  “We did?”

  “It was over the phone.” And since you were apparently loaded, you don’t remember. So allow me to remind you. “You said that he’d want nothing but the best for me. You said that, after all this time, Michael would want me to be happy. It’s been five years since his death, and if Michael were to reach out to me now, I know in my heart that he would tell me that I should have moved on years ago.”

  “Would he have?” Bill asked.

  “He would,” I said. “I’m still a young woman, Bill. Am I to remain a widow in mourning for the rest of my life?”

  “Of course not,” he said.

  “Your tone suggests otherwise.”

  “My tone?”

  “Never mind. Let’s just say that I’m very happy to have found Ben. I’m also thankful for the work he’s doing for me. If anything questionable happened to Michael, Ben will get to the bottom of it, because he’s that good.” I looked behind me. “I’m afraid we’re holding up the line. Chat later?”

  “You can’t exactly leave us hanging like that, Kate,” Bill said. “I’m curious to know what Ben might already have learned so far in his investigation. If you let me know what you’ve learned, perhaps I can help.”

  “You know, I think you might be able to help, Bill. Our mutual housekeeper, Lydia, died here. I believe you were the one who found her. Perhaps you can shed some light on the circumstances surrounding her death that will help Ben in his investigation.”

  “There’s nothing more to say about that,” he said. “Lydia died of natural causes.”

  Maxine genuflected. “Poor Lydia! How she used to make our bathrooms sparkle!”

  I ignored her theatrics and kept my focus on Bill.

  “If you would indulge Ben in answering a few questions, it could help us, Bill.”

  “I’m sorry, Kate, but after all this time, I don’t see how. Lydia collapsed in our kitchen—it’s that simple, it was that tragic, and for me, it also was the end of it. Why talk about the dead after so many years?”

  “We all speak of the dead, Bill, especially when that person meant something to us. The dead haunt us, and trust me when I say that Michael and Lydia’s deaths still haunt me. If you’d like to talk about the day that Lydia died, please know that Ben and I would as well. And if you don’t—well, I’m not sure what to say. But I will note your decision not to talk about it.”

  With that, Ben and I turned away from them and, with Ben’s hand on the low of my back, we walked into the ballroom.

  * * *

  “Let’s get a drink,” I said the moment we were out of Bill and Maxine’s earshot. I needed to speak up to be heard over the din of endless chatter and the orchestra playing at the far end of the room “Because after that exchange? I need one. And I’m talking about a martini. STAT.”

  “I can’t blame you,” he said. “Jesus—you didn’t just go there, you took them on.”

  “I didn’t come here to waste time.”

  “If memory serves, you’ve never been one for that.”

  “True enough. The whole point of that exchange was to lead them on and to see how
they’d react. Your impressions?”

  “Bill sure as hell doesn’t want to talk to us about Lydia. He pretty much cemented that in stone. As for Michael? Bill obviously wants to know whatever I’ve learned about his death—which is nothing, by the way.”

  “And yet you have to wonder why he’s so curious…”

  “Agreed. He behaved just cagey enough for me to want to look deeper into his past. To see, for instance, if Michael and he had any kind of business dealings together. Something that might have caused bad blood between them. What’s your take?”

  “With people like the Witherhouses, you never know where you stand with them. People like them are masters when it comes to putting on a stoic face—and yet Bill’s cracked a bit back there, didn’t it? Was it just because he was surprised to find out that I was investigating Michael’s death? Could be. Was it because he’s somehow involved, especially when it comes to Lydia’s death? Could be. Right now, neither of us knows.”

  “Let me get us a drink. Martini for you?”

  “Yes. Vodka, with a twist. No olives.”

  “I remember,” he said.

  “How about you? A Guinness?”

  “When I’m at work, my tastes evolve.”

  “To what?”

  “A glass of seltzer.”

  “How deceptive of you…”

  “Precisely. To anyone else, I might be having a vodka and soda.”

  “Got it,” I said. “But be fast. Because people are already recognizing me and I can sense that I’m about to be mobbed. And when that happens, I’ll want a drink in my hand—in case I need to throw it on someone.”

  He flashed a smile when I said that and laughed. “You’re a live one tonight.”

  “You have no idea. The bar is just through there. Over to the left.”

  “You sure you want me to leave you alone?”

  “If I keep my head down, I’ll be fine for the moment. Potentially.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  When he returned, he had a martini for me and a tall glass of seltzer for himself.

  “You’re a miracle worker,” I said as I touched my glass to his. “Thank you.” I sipped my drink and my eyes brightened. “This is perfect. Belvedere?”