The Wife Who Knew Too Much

by Michele Campbell

  “Yes. What happened?”

  “She killed herself.”

  Suicide? That wasn’t what the probation officer had said. I had questions, but they would sound suspicious enough that I couldn’t ask them with Liz standing right outside my car.

  “Can you hold on?” I said into the phone, and lowered the window again.

  “Liz, I’m sorry. I need some privacy.”

  She shook her head, turned, and walked away, and my heart sank. She was going to lose patience with me. But what could I do? I hadn’t heard from Connor in weeks. Nina was dead. We had to talk. This was too important.

  “I heard she drowned,” I said to Connor, once Liz had gone. “What makes you think it was suicide? Did she leave a note?”

  “No. We found an empty bottle of pills. She’d been despondent. The theory is, she took an overdose and threw herself in the swimming pool.”

  Guilt weighed on me. “Oh, no. Because you told her you were leaving her?”

  “I never went through with that. The day we got back to the States, she saw her doctor. She was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I couldn’t leave her when she was dying. I would’ve felt too bad about myself.”

  “Cancer?”

  “Lung cancer. She was a heavy smoker when she was younger. She’d been feeling ill for a while. Chest pain, shortness of breath. She had the specialist lined up and went straight there from the airport. She told me it was clear on the X-ray, a big mass on her lung. She was so upset. That’s why I couldn’t return your calls. I needed to be there for her. I just never thought she’d do something like that. God, I feel so guilty.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I didn’t want it to end like that.”

  “Of course not. Still, that’s a relief.”

  “A relief?”

  “I’m sorry, that came out sounding selfish. I just meant, I’m relieved that it had nothing to do with us. With you and me.”

  Or with Derek. Thank God.

  “Right. But still. If anybody knew about us, they might think there was some connection. We should hang up. We can’t talk. Not until things settle down.”

  I’d been imagining that now we could see each other. He didn’t even want to talk?

  “We’re talking now. I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”

  “I shouldn’t have answered. But when I saw your number come up—well, I didn’t think. All I knew was, I wanted to hear your voice.”

  “I want that, too. I want to see you, be with you.”

  “Me, too, Tabby. Believe me.”

  “I’ve missed you so much. I can’t wait another minute. I know things are crazy for you. I can drive down there right now.”

  “No, you’re not listening. It’s not possible.”

  “I can help. I can be there for you.”

  “If anyone finds out about us, it would look terrible.”

  “We’ll just say I’m your friend.”

  “Who’s gonna believe that? It’s too risky.”

  “I don’t understand. You said her death was a suicide. If that’s true, what is there to worry about?”

  “There’s been no ruling yet. The police are investigating. You know how cops are. They rush to judgment. It’s always the husband, even in cases where there’s not a lot of money at stake. Here, there’s a fortune. If there was even the slightest hint that I had a motive—”

  “A motive beyond the money? Like, another woman? Me?”

  “Exactly. That’s the classic scenario, right? If anyone found out about us, frankly, I’d be in deep shit.”

  “But if she really killed herself, won’t the evidence show that?”

  “I’m no expert. But my sense is, this is one of those murky situations. They can make it look bad for me.”

  “How long will the investigation take?”

  “It’s not just the investigation. There’s the estate.”

  “Estate?”

  “I’m trying to get a handle on it. I have a call in to her lawyer. I don’t know if there was a will. I don’t know what the story is. That could take a long time to resolve, and until it’s settled, I need to lead an exemplary life.”

  “So, we have to sneak around?”

  “Not sneak around. We can’t see each other.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know. A year, maybe more, maybe less.”

  “A year? No. Connor—no.”

  “Does it matter? I’m committed to you, Tabby. I found you again after so long. I’m finally sure of what I want in my life, and it’s you. I know that in my heart. You need to know it, too. We can wait another year. What’s one more year if we know we want to be together forever?”

  “Connor, this won’t be a normal year. I’ve been trying to get in touch for days. There’s something you need to know, something important.”

  “What is it?”

  I told him.

  22

  MRS. TABITHA FORD

  October

  It was dark and rainy as the plane came in for landing. I’d only flown a few times in my life, and never into New York City. Awestruck by its beauty, I craned my neck to see the skyline from my sumptuous seat in first class. The lights of the skyscrapers disappeared into the clouds, giving off a soft glow like a watercolor painting. Connor had an apartment in one of those towers. It wasn’t officially his yet, but it would be, along with Nina’s entire fortune, once the will was settled. Which meant that it would also be mine, since Connor and I were now married.

  The baby had changed everything. Once Connor heard about it, he couldn’t wait for us to be together. A month ago, the police had ruled Nina’s death a suicide, and we thought we were out of the woods. He rushed up to New Hampshire to see me. Being together for the first time in months, knowing the baby was coming, we got carried away, and on the spur of the moment, we went down to Town Hall. It was a reckless thing to do given the crazy circumstances. But, when I thought about how close I’d come to never seeing Connor again, to missing out on true love, on the family I’d always dreamed of, well, the narrowness of my escape chilled me. My new life was a dream. I was too overwhelmed with joy to think about the consequences.

  Until now.

  The plane touched down. I leaned out into the aisle and called Connor’s name, but he didn’t hear me. He was seated one row behind, in his own pod, surrounded by a privacy screen. The first-class seats were a marvel of modern technology. They turned into beds at the touch of a button and were fitted out with an elaborate entertainment system. But they were lonely. Connor had spent most of the flight catching up on paperwork. He stayed glued to his seat, and the only time I saw him was during the meal service. I shouldn’t complain; that meal had been epic. Each seat pod came with a guest chair and table that the flight attendant called up from the floor as if by magic, and set with a white tablecloth, silver, and crystal glasses. We’d enjoyed a five-course dinner, starting with Dom Perignon and caviar, then filet mignon, flourless chocolate cake with berries, and a cheese and fruit course, complete with wine pairings (which I’d skipped, except for one sip of the champagne, because of the baby). All this on an airplane, in flight from Rome to New York, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. I was Mrs. Tabitha Ford, a role I was so ill-prepared for that I felt sick with anxiety as we taxied to the terminal. But I shouldn’t question my good fortune.

  The FASTEN SEAT BELT sign turned off. Connor stayed seated, his phone to his ear. I started to get my carry-on down, but the flight attendant swooped in.

  “Let me get that for you, Mrs. Ford.”

  “Thank you.”

  I stood in the aisle waiting for the doors to open. Finally, Connor hung up and joined me.

  “That was the CEO. I’ve got to make a connecting flight to Washington to meet him. There’s a problem with the Saudi deal, and we need to negotiate some new terms. I’ll be down there for a few days, maybe a week.”

  “Connor. No. I can’t go … I can’t go to Windswept without y
ou.”

  I’d almost said back to Windswept, but I’d caught myself in the nick of time. Connor didn’t know I’d been to Windswept before. I’d never found the right moment to tell him about Derek, and the altercation with the guard on the night Nina died. He didn’t know my ex-husband was a convicted felon, or that I myself had an arrest record from that time in my life. It was all so awkward that I hadn’t found the courage to bring it up.

  “It’s okay, you’ll be fine,” he said, flinging his arm around my shoulders, kissing the top of my head.

  “Please, let me come with you.”

  Before replying, Connor looked around to make sure nobody would overhear.

  “It’s not smart,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll be with the people who run the company. Hank Spears, the CEO. Lauren Berman, the head of PR. People who knew Nina well. When they hear I got married—well, let’s just say it’ll raise some eyebrows. You have to let me lay the groundwork. Spin the narrative. Like we agreed, okay?”

  We’d agreed to lie—or spin, as Connor preferred to call it—to everyone, about everything important, until the estate was settled. We had to say that we met for the first time after Nina’s death. We could never let it slip that we knew each other before. We had to keep the pregnancy secret until the last possible moment. When the baby came, we’d say he was premature. I had to remember to tell these lies to everyone I encountered. I could never, ever slip, or the consequences would be dire. Because something bad had happened while we were away on our honeymoon.

  We’d thought we were in the clear when the police ruled that Nina’s death was a suicide. But a new claimant to the estate had come out of the woodwork—Nina’s older sister, whom Connor hadn’t even known about because the siblings had been estranged. Nina died without a will. Connor’s claim to her fortune should be ironclad. Under the law, where there was no will, the entire estate went to the surviving spouse. But Nina’s long-lost sister, a sixty-year-old woman from North Carolina named Kara Baxter, had filed a lawsuit contesting Connor’s claim to the inheritance. The only way she could win would be to invoke something called the “slayer rule,” which said you shouldn’t be able to profit from killing someone. In other words, Kara would have to prove that Nina’s death was foul play, and that Connor was behind it. It was a recipe for muckraking and mud-slinging, and we were terrified.

  “What about the doctor? I need you to come with me to the first visit,” I said.

  “I can’t. Not with this lawsuit hanging over us. You need to go alone and use your maiden name.”

  “Don’t say that. I hate that.”

  “So do I, Tabby, but we have no choice. This isn’t just about the money. If that woman slings enough mud, who knows, the police could reopen the investigation. I could wind up in jail for something I didn’t do.”

  That might’ve sounded overly dramatic, but not to me. I knew it was possible to get prosecuted for something you didn’t do.

  “You’re scaring me. Please, tell me it’ll be okay.”

  “I hope so. We have to be careful.”

  The airplane door opened, and we walked down the Jetway.

  “I have to run, or I’ll miss my connection,” he said, looking at his watch. “I texted Nina’s driver, Dennis, to meet you and take you to Windswept. The housekeeper, Gloria, will meet you when you arrive. The staff runs the place. You won’t have to do a thing. Just rest, and keep a low profile, okay? Don’t talk to anybody outside of the house.”

  “I understand.”

  “Chin up. I love you.”

  He kissed me and ran off before I had the chance to ask how long he’d be gone. It always hurt when we said goodbye. But going to Windswept without him under these crazy circumstances was worse than just a separation. It was dangerous.

  As I stood in line at Immigration, fear preyed on me. According to the press reports, Nina had died alone. There were no witnesses, and that was bad for us, given that she’d left no suicide note. The medical examiner found that she drowned while under the influence of an overdose of a commonly available opioid painkiller. Nina’s personal assistant testified at the inquiry that Nina was despondent over her cancer diagnosis. She had a prescription for the pills, from the doctor who was treating her cancer. Based on that very limited evidence, the ruling was death by misadventure, or possible suicide. That’s where it was left, but it wasn’t airtight. No witnesses had come forward to claim foul play. Nobody had been accused of killing her. Not Connor. Not Derek—whose presence at the house that night hadn’t come to light during the death investigation. Not yet. All that could change now that Nina’s sister was poking around, trying to manufacture evidence for her lawsuit.

  As I exited Customs, I saw a woman in a corporate-looking black pantsuit holding a sign that read MRS. TABITHA FORD.

  “That’s me,” I said, pointing at the sign and blushing. I wasn’t used to the name yet.

  The woman shook my hand. She looked to be around my age, with a pretty face, dark hair, and glasses.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Ford. I’m Juliet Davis. I was Mrs. Levitt’s executive assistant. Mr. Ford has asked me to stay on for the time being to assist in your transition.”

  “He didn’t mention you. He said a driver would meet me.”

  “Yes, Dennis. He’s waiting with the car. Hold on, I need to text him to bring it around,” the woman said, taking out her phone.

  Her manner was crisp to the point of being cold. All around us, families hugged and kissed. It was strange to be met so formally. But I guess that was just how professional staff behaved. I’d have to get used to it.

  “He’s coming now. I can take your luggage.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Please, it’s my job. Where is it?” Juliet asked.

  “Right here.”

  My hand rested on the Samsonite roller bag I’d borrowed from Matt for the honeymoon. Juliet’s surprised look made me conscious of how battered the suitcase was. My jeans and hoodie were crumpled from the flight. Juliet was the assistant, but she was dressed better than I was. What must she think of me—the hick from New Hampshire, come to take the place of the glamorous Nina Levitt, who always wore couture.

  I followed her through sliding glass doors. Outside, it was pouring rain. Juliet, who was already wheeling my luggage with one hand, deployed a large umbrella and held it over me with the other as we searched for the car among the many jostling for space at the curb. That seemed foolish since her clothes were nicer than mine.

  “Ah, there’s Dennis,” Juliet said.

  We headed toward a sleek Mercedes sedan. A gray-haired man in a chauffeur’s cap jumped out and opened the back door. I slid across, expecting Juliet to get in beside me. But she handed him my luggage and went around to the front passenger seat. A glass partition separated the front and back. I was nervous and lonely, and wished I could tap on it and ask her to come sit with me. But it was better this way. If I didn’t speak to anyone, I wouldn’t have to lie.

  I stayed silent, staring out the rain-streaked windows for the ninety-plus-minute drive to Windswept. As we drew closer to the house, the surroundings began to look familiar. We passed the quaint downtown, the streets where the tall hedges hid magnificent homes, the path to the beach that I’d taken at the Uber driver’s urging. The events of that night came back to me in vivid detail, and I slumped under the weight of them. I couldn’t bear to think about Nina dying. I wouldn’t go near the swimming pool where it happened.

  We pulled up to the gate. It swung open, and the Mercedes proceeded through to an elaborate circular drive. Windswept loomed ahead, dark and ominous in the rain, and I shivered. We pulled up to a covered portico. I got out, then saw that Dennis had been on his way to open my door for me.

  “Luggage coming right up, ma’am,” he said.

  “You can call me Tabitha,” I said, but he didn’t reply, and I could tell he would never take me up on that.

  Juliet was beside me. “I’m sure you’re tired af
ter your journey. I’ll take you to your room. Follow me, please.”

  I hurried up the sweeping staircase after her. By the time we reached the top, I was out of breath. I was beginning to gain weight, though not so much that people who didn’t know me would notice I was pregnant. The morning sickness had abated, but other symptoms—fatigue, bloating—had set in. I would have to make an effort to seem normal.

  We stood in a gallery that overlooked the magnificent entry foyer. Hallways branched off to the left and right, into separate wings of the house. The gallery was hung with abstract paintings that I should probably recognize. In their strangeness, they screamed “important art.” Eager to change the subject, I pointed to one that looked like a skeleton surrounded by squiggly lines.

  “Interesting painting. Is that—?”

  “Basquiat, yes,” Juliet said, nodding.

  I was about to say Picasso. I’d never heard of Basquiat. Whoever he was, he’d painted something that looked like the Grim Reaper.

  “The art in this house is priceless,” she said. “Warhols, Lichtensteins, Harings. There’s an amazing Lucian Freud portrait of Mrs. Levitt in the master suite. Come, this way.”

  I would rather not see a portrait of Connor’s dead wife. But that seemed like an inappropriate thing to confess to Juliet. I followed her down a long, dark hallway. The entire east wing of the house was shuttered, the doors to the rooms closed and blank.

  “This section of the house hasn’t been used much since Mrs. Levitt died,” Juliet said, following my gaze. “Mr. Ford preferred to stay in the guest wing, but now that he’s remarried, of course he’d want to use the master.”

  Did that mean I’d be sleeping in Nina’s bed? The idea made me cringe.

  “Did he say that? Because I’d be happy to stay in the guest wing if that’s easier for you,” I said.

  “Mr. Ford texted this afternoon to let us know you were coming, and he asked us to make up the master, yes. To be honest, that’s the first we heard of your marriage. It was quite sudden, wasn’t it?”

  Until I’d arrived here tonight, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d be living among people who’d known Nina well, worked for her, and presumably cared about her. The staff hadn’t had time to adjust to the idea of Connor remarrying. To me, he was mine. But in the eyes of everyone at Windswept, he belonged to Nina. They all must see it that way. Juliet must. I had a terrible sense of unease, realizing that the face she showed me—a pleasant, helpful face—probably didn’t represent her true feelings. My natural inclination was to be friendly, make conversation, answer any question I was asked. But I had to be careful. As much as I wanted to get to know Juliet, she might not be well-disposed toward me. I shouldn’t discuss my marriage with her until I knew if I could trust her. I had to be disciplined about everything I said.