The Wife Who Knew Too Much

by Michele Campbell

  “Yes.”

  “How long did you work for Nina?”

  “Long time. Thirty years. Until she died.”

  “That must’ve been hard, too.”

  “People say Mrs. Levitt was difficult. Not to me, she wasn’t. We got along. We understood each other. It might sound funny, but we went through a lot of the same things.”

  I didn’t really understand what she meant by that.

  “The papers said you were the one who found her body.”

  “Oh, I don’t talk about that,” she said, turning her back abruptly. She took up the feather duster again, moving to the other side of the room.

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve realized it would be a sensitive topic.”

  “The police told me, don’t talk about it, in case I have to testify.”

  “Testify? Isn’t the case closed?” I asked, alarmed.

  She shrugged. “That, I don’t know. They don’t tell me much. Just not to talk about it.”

  “Got it.”

  “So, you say you want to leave. Why don’t you, then?”

  “Leave Windswept? I didn’t really mean that. It’s just that I feel alone here sometimes. I imagine you felt the same way when you first came. I was a waitress before, and I’m really not prepared for this life. Connor and I got married fast. I didn’t exactly know what I was getting myself into.”

  “Because of the baby?”

  “What?”

  She patted her stomach. “You got married because of the baby.”

  “Did Juliet tell you that?” I said, astonished.

  She’d promised not to, but then she’d gone and blabbed to Gloria?

  “Oh, no. No, she didn’t say anything.”

  “Then how did you know?”

  “I can see it, in your face, your body.”

  Was that true, or was Gloria covering for Juliet’s indiscretion? The pregnancy didn’t show much yet, especially to someone who hadn’t known me before. That raised the troubling prospect that two members of the staff were gossiping about my pregnancy behind my back, and lying about it. Plus, if Juliet had told Gloria, what were the chances she’d also tell Kovacs? Worse, that she already had, during their tête-à-tête on the beach just now?

  “Please don’t tell anybody, okay, Gloria? Not until I’m farther along.”

  “I won’t. I don’t talk to anyone outside this house,” Gloria said.

  “Don’t tell anyone in this house, either.”

  “But you just said Juliet already knows.”

  “I didn’t tell her. She found out because—well, it doesn’t matter. The point is, I swore her to secrecy.”

  Gloria raised her eyebrows skeptically.

  “Why are you giving me that look? Did she keep my secret, or not?”

  Gloria held her hands up, shaking her head. “She didn’t tell me. I don’t who else she talks to.”

  “Well, can I trust her, or not?”

  “You have to decide who to trust.”

  “I’m asking your opinion.”

  “You want my opinion? Fine. You say you want to leave. So, leave. And soon, before the baby comes. Nothing good happens at Windswept, and it’s no place for a baby. But that’s just my two cents, and I’m only the housekeeper. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I have things to do in the kitchen.”

  26

  I knew I had to tell Connor that I’d been at Windswept the night Nina died before Kovacs remembered, and gave me up. I spent the day agonizing over how best to break the news. What tone to strike, how much to reveal, to make him the least upset. Should I cook dinner first? Get him into bed and tell him afterward, when we were relaxed in each other’s arms? Or just sit him down the minute he walked in the door and treat this like the crisis it was?

  In the end, my stewing was for nothing. Connor called me from the airport. He was on his way to Dubai on business and wouldn’t be home for days.

  “Can I come? I hate being alone here.”

  “We can’t be seen together publicly right now. That ChitChat piece is all over the internet.”

  “The one about me and the necklace?”

  “Not just that. They did a piece on that Baxter woman’s lawsuit, repeating her lies like they’re gospel truth. Lauren says we have to fight fire with fire and dirty up the Baxter woman in the press ASAP. Make her the villain. Once the Twitter mob picks a side, there’s no turning back. They’ll come for us with pitchforks.”

  “What’s Lauren got to do with this?”

  “She’s advising me.”

  “Connor, you can’t trust her. I told you what she said about you.”

  “She apologized. Look, Lauren shoots her mouth off when she’s had a few. She doesn’t mean anything by it. We’ll come up with a strategy by the time we land.”

  “Wait, Lauren’s going to Dubai with you?” I said.

  “She’s staffed on the deal. But since we’re taking the company plane, we’ll have some privacy to work out a strategy for the PR problem.”

  “Oh, no. That makes me really nervous.”

  “What?”

  “You, alone with Lauren on a long flight. You used to be with her. And now she thinks you killed Nina. What kind of twisted thing do you have going on with her?”

  “You’re overreacting. Lauren and I were over long ago. And she’d had too much to drink that night when she said those things. Besides, we won’t be alone. Hank’s here, and the entire team. Don’t get jealous, okay? I hate that. It reminds me of Nina.”

  I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “You’re comparing me to her because I don’t trust Lauren? I don’t even believe you anymore that Nina was paranoid. She wasn’t paranoid. You were cheating on her. You can’t deny it. I was there.”

  “Look, I don’t want to fight right before I get on a plane. I’m sorry for comparing you to Nina. You’re nothing like her. That marriage was wrong from the beginning. I’m a different person with you. And I have no interest in anybody else, so there’s no need for you to worry about anything. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anybody.”

  Connor Ford is not capable of love, Lauren had said at the dinner. Did she know something I didn’t?

  “They’re telling us to board. Tabby, you have to have faith.”

  “Okay.”

  I’ll try, I thought. But it was getting harder.

  “Now, listen. Steve Kovacs is coming tomorrow afternoon to start implementing the security plan. Until then, don’t go out. Don’t accept calls from numbers you don’t recognize. Don’t do anything that could attract more press scrutiny. Understood?”

  “I—”

  “Just say yes. Otherwise, I’ll be worrying about you the whole time I’m gone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Gotta go. I’ll call you when I land. I love you.”

  I didn’t say it back. Not because I didn’t love him. If anything, I loved him too much—painfully and overwhelmingly and with the dawning fear that our love would not bring me happiness.

  I searched my name online to see what Connor had been upset about. The photo of me in the emerald necklace had been picked up on scores of news and gossip sites. I read the article about Kara Baxter’s lawsuit. She’d obviously fed information to the reporter, who reprinted her claims verbatim. “I want justice for my beloved sister,” said the woman who hadn’t spoken to Nina in decades. “The police need to reopen this investigation because I know in my heart she would never take her own life.”

  Normally I avoided looking at Nina’s portrait, but now I went to stand before it, trying to find the real woman in the ghostly form splayed across the canvas. I wanted answers. I wished I could make her talk to me. Tell me what happened.

  “Did you kill yourself? Did you try to kill me?” I said.

  My words echoed in the cold bedroom. I’d accepted that Nina was a head case, like Connor always said. I had good reason to believe him. Some goon in a Suburban tried to run me down and kill me. Nina was behind that. She had to be. I could
n’t prove it, but I’d seen the Suburban here, on Windswept grounds, the night she died. I even took a photo of its license plate, then wasted two hundred bucks so some PI back home could tell me the car was registered to a shell company. Protocol Shipping Solutions, an entity with no known ties to Nina Levitt. But it had to be her, right? Right? And yet. When Gloria told me what a monster Edward Levitt was, for the first time I felt sorry for Nina, and wondered if I had the full picture. Who was she, really? If only I knew that, I could understand what had happened to her.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, my fists clenching in frustration.

  But daubs of paint on canvas couldn’t answer questions. And the woman herself was cold in the ground.

  * * *

  I was lying in the dark when I heard a scratching sound. A strange chill pervaded the room, a sort of mist, that smelled of chlorine. The scratching sound seemed to be coming from a shutter blowing in the wind. Funny, I didn’t recall that window being open, or even having shutters before. I got up to close it, and looked down to the beach, which was much closer than I’d remembered, as if the bedroom had fallen to the ground. The mist cleared suddenly, and I gasped as I saw Nina standing there looking back at me. Not Nina herself, but the painting come to life—naked, with mottled skin, spindly limbs, and vacant eyes. The chlorine smell was overpowering now, and it was coming from her. As I watched, a big black SUV barreled down the beach heading for her. I knew it was the car that had tried to kill me, and I screamed to warn her, but my voice wouldn’t come. The Suburban hit her at full speed, sending her fragile body arcing high into the air. She landed in the swimming pool with a loud splash, a mangled corpse, as blood and red hair fanned out against the blue water.

  I woke up in a cold sweat. The crack where the drapes came together glowed pink. I threw them open, letting in the morning light to banish the nightmare. But the vision of Nina broken and floating in the swimming pool wouldn’t go away. I felt like it was there for a reason, urging me to take action. In my heart, I no longer trusted the official version of Nina’s death. I needed the truth. Not knowing could be dangerous. I’d never searched the grounds for that Suburban. I’d never visited the swimming pool where Nina drowned. Okay, I was no detective, and maybe I wouldn’t be able to solve the mystery on my own. But the time had come to stop being passive. I inhabited this woman’s life like a borrowed coat. If I didn’t find out what happened to her, I could end up suffering the same fate.

  I pulled on sweatpants and a down jacket and made my way through the silent house to the back terrace. The sky was brightening, and the air was calm and frigid, with a bracing smell of seaweed. I inhaled deeply as I walked up the footpath past the spot where Derek and Kovacs had struggled the night Nina died. The memory was upsetting enough that I’d avoided this area ever since. That could’ve come with a cost. For all I knew, the Suburban was parked in the motor court right now. It might belong to someone I saw every day. Better to know.

  I followed the path over the frost-covered lawn to the motor court on the west side of the property. The night of the party, rows of cars belonging to Nina’s guests had been parked there. But as I crested the rise, I saw it was empty now. A brick garage with six bays ran along the edge of the motor court. There was an apartment above it, where Dennis lived. The shades were drawn—hopefully he was asleep. I walked up to a garage bay and tugged the metal door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. I tried a couple of the others with no success. Around to the side was a pedestrian door. Gloria had given me a set of keys when I first arrived. Most of them I’d never used, but now I tried them until I found the one that worked. The door squeaked so badly that I cringed. Immediately to my left, stairs led up to Dennis’s apartment. If he came down to investigate, I’d brazen it out. I was Mrs. Ford, after all. I had the right to be here. I even had a key.

  The separate garage bays were connected internally, making one long, open space that smelled pleasantly of concrete and motor oil. I walked the length of it, surveying the cars. Connor’s beautiful Lamborghini sat idle and neglected. That car reminded him of Nina, which was why he didn’t drive it. There was an antique Porsche roadster, a Jaguar, a rugged, military-looking Mercedes SUV, and the Mercedes sedan that I’d ridden in on numerous occasions. In the farthest bay, a large, square vehicle was hidden under a silver car cover. I walked up to it with a sick feeling. The cover turned out to be held on with cables fastened with a padlock. The only way to remove it would be to cut it off, and then I’d be left with some explaining to do. The shape of that Suburban lived in my nightmares. I knew it was the same car, but now I wouldn’t be able to prove it. When Connor returned from Dubai, I could demand that the cover be removed, and an inquisition undertaken to find out who’d driven it. But was that smart?

  I should find out what I could by investigating on my own. I left the garage, crossed back over the terrace, and went around to the east, where a lavish pool and tennis complex hid behind a tall fence. The gate was locked, but I had the key. Inside, the complex had the forlorn air of a summer retreat after the cold weather set in. The lawn, though perfectly trimmed, was brown in places and speckled with fallen leaves. The Olympic-size pool had been drained and closed. Its sturdy vinyl cover was held in place with metal cables and dotted with pools of stagnant water. I walked the pool’s perimeter, trying to understand what had happened here that night. A woman lost her life. Not just any woman. Connor’s wife. She’d been diagnosed with a terminal illness, thrown a party, and come here at its end, determined to end her suffering. Did that make sense? Not to me. If I’d been in mental anguish, I could never have held up my head and entertained my guests, like I’d read she did that night. Then again, I hadn’t known her. A lifetime spent as Edward Levitt’s wife had probably taught Nina to smile for the cameras even when she was bleeding inside.

  Camera. Shit.

  Lost in my reverie, I’d failed to register the sound as I walked around the pool. A camera shutter was clicking somewhere nearby, when it shouldn’t be. I looked about wildly to find the source of the noise. He was up in a tree, sitting on a branch that ran along the fence, dressed all in black. The long lens of his camera had recorded me as I visited the place where my predecessor died.

  27

  The photos were a viral sensation, beamed around the world at warp speed with the caption “Tabitha Ford revisits the scene of the crime,” translated into many languages. Within a matter of hours of my visit to the swimming pool, Connor had seen them in Dubai. He texted me a photo with the message What did you do? I tried to call him, but he wouldn’t speak to me.

  Around dinnertime, I was in my room. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Nina’s portrait. For the first time in my life, the thought of suicide crossed my mind. I could understand how, when faced with an unsolvable problem, it might seem like a solution. But it wasn’t available to me as an option. I had a baby to think of.

  Juliet knocked on the door.

  “Come in.”

  “Ma’am, the police are downstairs. They have a search warrant.”

  “Why?”

  “They say it pertains to Mrs. Levitt’s death.”

  “But that was resolved months ago. They ruled it a suicide.”

  She looked as upset as I’d ever seen her look. “I thought so, too.”

  “Didn’t they search the area back then?”

  “I have no idea, ma’am.”

  “What should I do?” I said, breathing hard, wringing my hands together. “What do I tell them? Should we let them in? What does Connor say?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him. Maybe you should call?”

  I plucked my phone from the bedside table and tapped his number, pacing the floor nervously. He hadn’t returned three texts and two messages. I had no reason to believe he’d answer this time. No answer. The call rolled over.

  “It went to voicemail. Juliet, help me, what do I do?” I said, hanging up.

  “I’m not the expert, ma’am. Ste
ve Kovacs is downstairs with a technician, installing the security cameras. Should we ask his advice?”

  “Good idea.”

  “Hold on, I’ll have him come upstairs. You might want to—”

  She waved her hand around her head, which had the general effect of sending me to the mirror. She was right. My face was puffy and streaky, my hair a wild mess. I looked like a woman in trouble, like someone who felt the walls closing in. Even I knew that was a bad look if the police asked to speak with me. I pulled on a fresh shirt, splashed water on my face, brushed my hair, put on lipstick and blush. By the time Kovacs arrived, I appeared calmer and more in control, even if I didn’t feel that way.

  “Mr. Kovacs, I’m glad you’re here,” I said.

  He shook his head, his face grim. “I only wish I’d come sooner. If we had the cameras installed this morning, I would’ve caught that asshole before he got close to you. Excuse my French, I’m just pissed off.”

  “I understand. So am I.”

  “The nerve of these leeches, invading your privacy. On your property no less.”

  He was right. I’d been blaming myself all day long for letting that man take my photo. Worse, Connor blamed me for it. But was it my fault that someone had spied on me? That a stranger trespassed on Windswept property and climbed a tree to be able to photograph me while I walked inside a fenced compound? I hadn’t taken greater steps to protect myself because I wasn’t used to living this way—stalked, harassed, lied about in the press. I was out of my league here.

  “The immediate concern now is the police. Juliet told you they have a search warrant?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and I took the liberty of speaking with them. The warrant pertains only to the pool complex. They won’t be coming in the rest of the house, at least not under this warrant.”

  “Was the pool complex searched before?”

  “It was, at the time the bod—at the time Mrs. Levitt was found.”

  “So, why come back?”

  “I asked. They say they’re not at liberty to discuss the investigation. They want to speak to you, though.”