CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 32

CAT

I perked up at the view of delivery trucks and vehicles at the Vanguards’ house, ready for my summer of isolation to end. Turning into our driveway, I waited for the gate to open and placed a call to Kelly.

It was answered midyell, her voice rising as she lectured her son on sunscreen, then huffed out a hello.

“Looks like they’re prepping the house for you. When are you coming home?”

“In six days, and I tell you, Cat—I’m looking forward to it. I’m done with South America. Next year, I told Josh, we need to go to Paris. Don’t they always say Paris in the summer?”

“I thought you hated Paris.”

She blew out an annoyed breath. “Whatever, we’re just not coming back to Colombia. It’s like they’re unfamiliar with the concept of flat steamed milk.”

“Sounds like a rough life.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re as spoiled as the rest of us; you just hide it better. But yes, we’re coming back Friday and shipping the horses over tomorrow. Don’t say anything snarky, but one of them has my name on it. I just couldn’t resist his big doe eyes.”

I laughed, and the cold rock in my chest warmed slightly at the idea of her return.

“Once we get back, I’m thinking a party is in order. Something casual, maybe just a few couples over for the Stanford game.”

“Count us in.” I pulled down the drive and parked in front, leaving my key in the ignition. Once I was inside, someone would move it into the garage after doing a top-to-bottom detail. Was Kelly right? Was I as bad as all of them, or even potentially worse? I hadn’t visited a gas station in a decade, hadn’t set foot in a grocery store for close to as long, and thought nothing of freshly ironed sheets, a bath already drawn for me when I returned from tennis, or of having a social assistant on salary.

“What are you doing for tonight’s game?”

I groaned and pushed open the front door, stepping into the quiet interior and setting my purse on the large round entrance table, next to a towering arrangement of fresh-cut daylilies. “Going to Neena and Matt’s. Apparently our husbands have bonded over football.” Another association formed while I was trying my best to yank our two couples apart.

“How are things with the little blonde? Was I right? Social leech?”

“You were right about that . . . and more. She’s become much closer to William than I would like.”

“You’ve got to nip that in the bud before it becomes a problem. Remember Josh and that nanny? Best baby nurse I’d ever seen, but I wasn’t about to let that fresh-faced girl live in our house, not with everything she and he seemed to have in common. I mean—fantasy football? How did I end up with the only woman on earth who enjoys fantasy football?”

I put her on speakerphone and settled down on the couch, checking social media and then my email. My thoughts slowed upon seeing the email from Beck Private Investigations. “Kelly, I’ve got to run. The game is at six, and I haven’t even showered.”

“Okay, but listen—bring Neena over to next week’s game. Josh wanted to talk more with her husband anyway, and I’d like to spend some time with her.”

I clicked on the email. “Why does this sound like I’m leading her to slaughter?”

She let out a laugh. “Oh, honey, you know me too well. But I’ll behave. After all, you’ve got to know your enemy before you can destroy them.”

I smiled at the sentiment, one that echoed my thoughts exactly. “Fine, I’ll suffer through tonight’s game with them and extend the invite to your house for next week’s.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then. Give a hug to William for me.”

I ended the call and scrolled through the email, which included a link to the invoice and a few photos. I expanded the images.

William and Neena, on the neighborhood trail, half-obscured by a tree. They were standing by the overlook, her hand on his arm, his face tilted toward hers. Casually innocent, but the proximity sent a knife through my stomach.

A photo of the Winthorpe Tech parking garage. Clearly at night, the exit sign glowing in the dark, only two cars parked beside the security guard’s cart. His Porsche and her BMW. I studied the photo with trembling fingers, finding the time stamp in the upper right-hand corner—8:44 p.m. It didn’t make any sense until I saw the date. July 14. My birthday. I thought of my solitude in Hawaii . . . his time alone at the office . . . and looked back at the photo. Not alone at the office.

I sat down on the closest chair, my chest tightening in a sharp pain. I took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but this was too much. I heard William’s car pulling down the drive and quickly returned the items to the envelope, stuffing it into my back pocket.

William knew about the abortion, but the rest . . . I quickly checked my face in the mirror beside the door, making sure that my eyes were dry, my expression calm. I needed to be smart with this information, and with everything in Beck’s report. Play my cards closer to the vest. Line up the dominoes and then let them fall.

I’d already tapped the first one, but no one knew that yet. I opened the front door and beamed at my husband, admiring his strong profile as he strode around the front of the glossy car and up the steps toward me. He planted a quick kiss on my mouth, then lifted me up and swung me in a small circle. Gripping him fiercely, I looked across the dark-green lawn, the tip of the Ryders’ roof just visible above the row of cypress trees, squatting on the low lot like a bad child in time-out.