The Wife Who Knew Too Much

by Michele Campbell

  I took a gulp of scotch. It burned going down, setting off a pain in my chest that told me this was wrong. My life might falling apart, it might even be over. But my baby’s was just beginning. I got up and dumped out the scotch in the sink. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t hide. Getting drunk wouldn’t help. I caught sight of my reflection in the window. My face was as gaunt and ghostly as Nina’s in the painting. I was going to suffer her fate, I could feel it coming. Maybe I deserved it. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I bent over the sink, sobbing.

  “I tried to tell you,” Gloria muttered, behind me. “She’s her father’s daughter, all right.”

  I turned on her, struggling to get words out, my body heaving with sobs. “Her father’s daughter? Who are you talking about?”

  Her big, dark eyes took my measure.

  “Gloria, if you know something, please, I’m begging you. Tell me before it’s too late.”

  “The police really think you did it? Because that’s not right,” she asked.

  I was sobbing so hard, I couldn’t get any words out, so I just nodded.

  “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in a minute,” she said.

  She left the room. Collapsing into a chair, I cried until I felt hollowed out and drained. I was still trying to catch my breath when Gloria returned. She glanced over her shoulder, put a finger to her lips, then came up beside me.

  “Go upstairs now,” she whispered. “I left something for you, under the pillows on your bed. Nobody can know about it, and they can’t know it came from me. But it’s gonna help you. You shouldn’t pay for something you didn’t do. That’s wrong.”

  “What is the thing that you left for me?”

  “Lock the bedroom door, and you’ll see. Make sure you hide it good when you’re done, because if they find it, they’ll destroy it.”

  I sat there with my mouth gaping. She shook me by the arm.

  “What are you waiting for? Go, before they come home.”

  I got up and ran back to the master, locking the door behind me like Gloria had said. Under the pile of pillows, I felt something hard, and pulled out a package wrapped up in a towel. Unwrapping the towel, I found a book bound in rose-pink leather, with the initials “N.L.” embossed in gold on the cover, closed with a brass clasp.

  Nina’s diary.

  There was something stuck inside. I saw the edges protruding. The clasp opened easily when I pressed it. A manila envelope had been folded in half and tucked inside the front cover. It was marked CONFIDENTIAL on the front. I’d get to that in a minute. My eyes were drawn to the first page, where a scrawling, left-tilted hand had noted the date. July 4.

  Nina wrote this on the day she died.

  I’m writing this to raise an alarm in the event of my untimely death. This is hard to admit, even to myself, let alone to the world. My husband is planning to kill me. For obvious reasons. He’s in love with someone else. And he wants my money.

  Was she talking about me?

  Fighting tears, holding my breath, I read obsessively to the bitter end, my eyes racing over the pages. The good news was, I wasn’t the woman whom Nina had accused of conspiring to murder her. And the bad news was, I wasn’t the one. It was somebody else. Somebody much too close for comfort.

  36

  NINA’S DIARY

  July 4

  I never suspected her, not for a single second.

  How could I be so blind??

  I don’t know how I can ever trust again after this.

  I’m so angry!!!!

  Deep breath.

  Okay, I didn’t know about her, but I’ve known Connor was cheating on me for a while now, since at least Memorial Day weekend. Edward’s behavior left me feeling so insecure that I would’ve worried about cheating in any relationship. With Connor, it was even worse, because of who he was. A party boy. A player. Somebody who likes the finer things but doesn’t want to work for them. I knew those things about him. I saw the danger and married him anyway. Because he made me happy. Because I loved him. But I wasn’t stupid. I made him sign a prenup that gave him nothing if he left me or cheated on me. And I hired an investigator, a former cop named Teddy Bruno, who was recommended by Steve Kovacs.

  Steve. I trust him. I think. I’m certainly relying on him to keep me safe tonight, so I’d better be right. But if something goes wrong, well—the authorities should look at him, too. I’m writing all this down. The good, the bad, and the ugly. The ones who lied, the ones who hurt me, the ones who might even be willing to kill me. If the worst happens, they won’t get away with it.

  Anyway, I hired Bruno right from the start because Hank, who wanted to stop me from marrying Connor, gave me this file on Connor’s ex-girlfriend. Her name was Lissa Davila, and she’d gone missing about two years before Connor and I met. Hank claimed Connor was a suspect in her disappearance. I didn’t buy it. Maybe I didn’t want to. But there was also the fact that I didn’t really trust Hank. He was the king of the hatchet job, the smear campaign. I thought he was making it all up. So, I hired Bruno to get to the bottom of the allegations. When Bruno came back and said there was nothing to it, that Connor wasn’t involved, I was so relieved that I put him on permanent retainer.

  Big mistake.

  Bruno was either incompetent, or complicit. Either way, he was wrong. Connor knew everything about Lissa’s disappearance. Including where she is now. Who she is now.

  I started suspecting something was amiss this past Memorial Day weekend, when Connor went up to New Hampshire without me. He told me a parcel of land had come on the market, at the lake where he’d spent his summers as a kid, and that it was a prime candidate for development. I immediately smelled a rat. Things had been rocky between us. The timing seemed bizarre—a business meeting over a holiday weekend? And Connor is in the middle of some of the biggest real-estate deals in the world right now. Why would he waste time on some country club in New Hampshire? So, as a test, I said fine, Hank has a place up there, let me ask him if you can stay. When he gave me a hard time about staying at Hank’s place, I knew something was off. Either he had some rendezvous planned, or he was worried that I’d spy on him there. Which—yes, I would have, except Bruno turned out not to be available.

  I had no eyes on Connor that weekend. He went up there, and something happened. I didn’t know exactly what. But he came back different. Dreamy. Distracted. Like he’d been with someone and was still with her in his mind. I could feel her, clinging to him, haunting us both, like maybe he was in love. And it hurt. A lot.

  I wanted to know what I was dealing with. So, after that weekend, I set Bruno to looking at the obvious suspects. Lauren. Dawn. A few other women at Levitt Global whom Connor had contact with. Bruno came back empty-handed, and I knew that was wrong. There were more rocks to be turned over. But it wasn’t just the lack of result that bothered me. Bruno told me I was being paranoid, that I had no evidence to justify continuing to monitor my husband. Like he knew Connor better than I did. Right. He’d obviously lost confidence in the mission, so I fired him.

  And that’s when the truth came out. It took the new investigator to show me what was right in front of my eyes all along.

  This time, I didn’t ask Kovacs for a recommendation. I didn’t ask anybody around me, because by that point, I knew better than to trust them. Instead, I asked a woman I know from a museum board, a lawyer, who’s very smart. She recommended a guy named Kendrick Charles, another retired cop, but this one was actually good at his job. I gave him all the material I had on Connor, including Hank’s original “Lissa” file, and everything Bruno gave me, and I asked him to start from scratch. He went and he worked and he didn’t come back until he had answers—including a photograph of Lissa.

  Julissa is her full name. Julissa Maria Davila.

  The photograph showed Julissa sitting in Connor’s lap, looking into his eyes, her face bright with young love. It was so surreal that I wouldn’t’ve believed it if I wasn’t holding the proof in my own two hands. Because Juliss
a Davila was Juliet Davis.

  I looked at that photo, and the bottom fell out of my world. The two of them have been lying to me for years. An elaborate con. Juliet came to work for me right after Edward died, nearly three years ago now. I was a fool for not vetting her more intensively, but I’d lost my assistant at the very moment I took on new responsibilities at Levitt Global, and I was desperate. Juliet seemed perfect for the position. So unremarkable, so bland and efficient and unthreatening, exactly what I looked for in an assistant. Her references checked out, though now I realized she must have faked them somehow. I hired her, and once she was in, she turned around and reached back for Connor.

  He was a plant, from the beginning.

  They were in on it together.

  They’re after my money.

  My marriage is a lie.

  I’m getting rid of them tonight. Both of them. As soon as the party is done, I’ll have Steve Kovacs bring them here, to my office. And I’ll tell them this charade is over for good.

  37

  After the party

  This turned out wrong.

  I told Kovacs, bring them to my office after the party, but—I can’t remember, something about an arrest. My head is foggy, but I need to get this down. I was sitting here just a little while ago at this desk when there was a knock at the door. It was Connor, with Juliet right behind him. You wanted to talk to us, Connor said. Yes, that’s right.

  But why was I alone with them? That wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

  Kovacs left me alone, and I was afraid. I picked up the letter opener from the desk to defend myself. She laughed. That’s when I knew this was bad bad bad.

  Everything echoes.

  Nina, what is it? You don’t look well, he said.

  You did something to me. What did you do?

  He looked at her. What is she talking about? What did you do? Did you do something?

  She denied it. Juliet denied it.

  He doesn’t believe her, I can tell.

  How could she—what was it? How did she manage—? She makes my drinks. But tonight, no. I thought I was careful. But something’s wrong. It’s hard to keep my eyes open and my hand doesn’t want to write. Julissa did something. Julissa is her real name. It’s all in the report. Read the report.

  I said, I know who you are. You’re not Juliet. You’re Julissa. Call 911.

  You call, she said.

  Where’s my phone? You’re my assistant. Find my phone.

  Find it yourself.

  You’re together; you’re both lying. It’s all a fraud. She came here under false pretenses then she brought you so I would fall for you. Lies lies lies. Get out of my house.

  Your house? This house is mine by right. It’s mine.

  And I understood.

  The baby crying. Was that you, I asked. Were you the baby? Funny, I was just talking about you earlier tonight. Edward said you weren’t real. I thought you were a ghost.

  You knew, she said.

  No, never. I didn’t know. I did not know!

  You sent me away.

  Not me. It wasn’t me. It was him.

  You ruined my life.

  Connor said he was going to call a doctor, and Juliet said, don’t you do that. You reap what you sow. She should pay the price.

  I blacked out. Then I woke up again with my face on the desk and took out the book to write. The report is here. Read the report.

  JULIET!

  They left. They’re gone now. Where’s my phone? Did she take it? I need a doctor. Call 911.

  Gloria. Somebody. Help me.

  38

  TABITHA

  I sat on the bed, shaking from head to toe. If the things written in this diary were true, then Nina had been murdered. By Connor and Juliet. Who were lovers. And had been together for years.

  For the first time, I understood what it felt like to want to kill someone. The betrayal burned like acid. If I had a gun in my hand, and Connor or Juliet walked in that door right now, I would use it. I’d loved him so much. I’d believed in his love for me. How was it possible that—

  But, wait. What if this wasn’t true? What if Nina was wrong? What if she was making it up? Stop and think. Assess the evidence. How did I even know this was her journal? There was something off about it. A normal diary would have entries for multiple dates. The entirety of this journal was written on July fourth, the day of Nina’s death. Correction, of her suicide. Before she killed herself, Nina Levitt sat down and wrote out an accusation to hurt the husband she left behind, who, she believed, had been unfaithful to her. She left the journal where it was sure to be found, in order to get him in trouble with the law. That was straight-up revenge. Made up. A lie.

  But this Juliet thing … crazy. It couldn’t be real. I didn’t want it to be real.

  Though—why would Nina say those things about Juliet, if they weren’t true? The outrage, the sense of betrayal, that came through on the page was as white-hot as her fury at Connor. I believed the emotion. But the accusations seemed too far-fetched to be true.

  Read the report, she’d said.

  I cast the diary aside and opened the manila envelope. The word “Confidential” was typed on the front, but no sender or addressee was shown. I pulled out a sheaf of papers with a photo paper-clipped to the top.

  No.

  I rubbed my eyes and looked again. It was still there. The awful truth.

  Connor, with Juliet sitting in his lap. They were both much younger in the photo. Connor looked softer around the eyes, with longer hair—much as I remembered him from that summer when we fell in love. And Juliet? She looked so familiar. She wasn’t wearing glasses. Her hair flowed over her shoulders. Suddenly, I remembered. I’d seen her before I ever came to Windswept. She was the woman who’d had dinner with Connor at the Baldwin Grill the night he walked back into my life. They’d spent maybe an hour together, and then she disappeared. What could that mean? Juliet was in New Hampshire with Connor the weekend he and I got back together. The weekend my baby was conceived.

  Why was she there?

  I put myself back at the ski house that night, and I remembered. The noise outside that Connor went to investigate. Was that Juliet? What about the blackmail photo? Was that her, too? And the Suburban—following me, trying to run me down—was that her? I caught my breath. It had to be. It had to be Juliet behind the wheel of the Suburban. She’d tried to kill me.

  Jesus. Now I believe that Nina was telling the truth. Connor claimed he’d come back to the lake looking for me. It hadn’t made any sense at the time. It did now. They were looking for someone to take the fall for a murder that hadn’t been committed yet.

  Our whole relationship was a lie. That’s exactly what Nina had said. She and I weren’t that different after all. We both fell for the same beautiful, charming con man.

  I hated him. I wanted to rip him apart.

  I still loved him. I wanted him to tell me I was wrong about this.

  I sank back against the pillows and covered my eyes, with no idea what to do. Was there some way out of this awful scenario? Something that didn’t fit, that suggested my interpretation was wrong? I thought, and I thought, until I found it. It was this: If they’d been planning all along to set me up for Nina’s murder, why did Juliet run me off the road before Nina actually died? That made no sense. She’d need me alive later in order to take the fall for Nina’s murder.

  Unless. Maybe they weren’t in on it together. Maybe this was all Juliet. Oh, God, how I wanted to believe that.

  I looked at the photo of the two of them again. Connor was looking at the camera. Juliet was looking at Connor, and she was dazzled. Completely gone. Madly in love. You could see it on her face. But him? He was just enjoying the attention.

  Maybe he never really loved her.

  The report. I skimmed the pages, looking for something, anything, to back up that faint hope. And there it was in black and white. The account given by Juliet’s college roommate of their relationship. The r
elationship was unhealthy, obsessive, one-sided. “When Connor left school to try to make it in the music industry,” the roommate had said, according to the interview transcript included with the report, “he told Lissa he needed space, that they should just be friends. She flipped out and attempted suicide. She had to be hospitalized. She was really messed up over him.”

  There you go. She loved him. He never loved her back.

  Right. Keep telling yourself that, Tabitha.

  I didn’t know what to believe, so I kept reading. According to the report, Julissa had disappeared from New York about three years before she turned up as Nina’s assistant using the name Juliet Davis.

  Okay, question. Why not just use her own name? Was there something about her name that would have stopped Nina from hiring her?

  I continued reading. There was evidence that Juliet had been in touch with Connor right before she disappeared. The report included a xerox of a grainy surveillance photo showing the two of them together outside her apartment mere days before she disappeared. They were facing away from the camera.

  I studied that photo. It was him. I knew him by heart, even the back of his head, the slant of his shoulders. And there was more. The private detective had gone back through Connor’s Levitt Global personnel file. When Connor applied to the Levitt Global PR department, he was asked how he learned of the job opening. He wrote, “Referred by: Juliet Davis, personal assistant to Nina Levitt.”

  Julissa went to work for Nina, then brought Connor into the company. I wondered if she’d introduced the two of them, or had it happened some other way.

  And then, this. Buried on page three of the report, a fact that might have seemed minor to someone else leaped out at me. Juliet’s employer before Levitt Global was Protocol Shipping Solutions, the company that owned the Suburban she’d used to run me off the road. Proof positive that it was her.

  Juliet and Connor had murdered Nina. Juliet tried to kill me and failed. And now they were setting me up to take the fall for Nina’s murder. Not just trying to set me up. Succeeding in setting me up, since I’d been arrested and charged with the crime.