CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 45

NEENA

“What’s in the safe?” The detective was flanked by three uniforms, all of them staring at me, suspicion heavy in their eyes. I glanced back at the doorway. Matt was already gone, and I wanted to scream at him to come back. He couldn’t leave me with these cops, not after opening Pandora’s box and shoving me into its teeth.

“Neena?” Detective Cullen stepped forward, her gap tooth peeking through her chapped lips. I studied her greasy hair, pulled into a tight ponytail, and stayed silent. “What’s in the safe?”

I shouldn’t have put it in the safe to begin with. Though the alternative, the cavity hidden in the floor, had proved just as insecure. I eased toward the door that Matt had escaped through and was blocked by a fat officer in a uniform a size too small.

“The safe’s in the closet.” Another male officer spoke up from behind me. “It’s locked.”

“You can give us the combination, Neena, or we can drill out the lock.” Detective Cullen shrugged. “It makes no difference to us.”

“Or we can just call your husband,” the fat one suggested. “He sounded like he’d be willing to give it to us.”

I glanced at the detective. “Does your warrant cover the safe?”

“Your husband just gave us permission to search it. We don’t need a warrant.”

I clenched my hands into fists. “I’m not giving you the combination. I don’t remember it. Call Matt if you want to. He’s not going to know it, either.” And he wouldn’t remember the complicated six-digit combination, but he’d probably remember where we stored it—the Post-it stuck in the top drawer of our bathroom vanity.

“We will,” Detective Cullen promised, glancing at one of the other officers. “Go get Matt Ryder’s cell phone number and text it to me.” She pointed at me. “And you, Dr. Ryder—you just stay right there.”

Five minutes later, after a quick call to my treacherous husband, getting his verbal authority to open the safe and oh-so-helpful guidance to the yellow sticky note that held the combination, the chambers of the large safe clicked into place, and the heavy iron door was wrenched open. Detective Cullen flipped her Maglite on and shone the beam into the velvet-lined depths.

I think she said something, but I wasn’t sure. At that moment, I swayed, my knees buckling as black spots dotted across my vision, and I fainted.

“I got to tell you, I’ve been in this business a long time and have only had two suspects faint on me.” Detective Cullen knelt in front of our coffee table. She wiped a pale napkin across her mouth as she took a bite from the breakfast sandwich clutched in her nail-bitten claws. I blinked slowly, focusing on the sandwich and wondering if it had come from William’s chef. Had Detective Cullen seen William? What had she told him? Did she tell him what was in the safe? I glanced down at my hands, surprised to see that they were free, no handcuffs in sight.

“I think she’s okay.” Detective Cullen waved at someone, and I followed her motion, surprised to see a paramedic crouched beside my recliner. How had I gotten downstairs? This was Matt’s chair, not mine. I sat upright, and the man hurried to assist.

“Take it easy. It’ll take a few minutes to get your bearings.”

“You’ve been out for a while,” Detective Cullen said cheerfully. “Fainted and then went right to sleep. You missed all the excitement.” She tapped the folder next to her. “We cataloged everything in the safe. I got to say, Neena, you got me excited about the contents, but there’s not a whole lot there.”

I stared at the folder, unsure of what mind game she was going through. I didn’t have the mental stamina for this. If she had opened the safe, then she had me. I should be in handcuffs and headed to the station, not sitting here listening to her crunch through a bacon-and-egg sandwich as if it were her job.

“We went through everything.” She licked the tip of her right index finger, then did another mouth swipe with the napkin. “And I think I found the source of your anxiety.”

She flipped open the top flap of the folder and shuffled a few pages aside. “You really do have a wonderful husband.”

I thought of Matt, his face red, features angry as he had wrapped his hands around my father’s neck. The silent gape of my father’s mouth. The wild swing of his arms. The bulge of his eyes as he had stared at me, begging me, all the way until the moment they rolled back into his head.

“Yes,” I managed, “I do.”

“How long have you and Mr. Winthorpe been having an affair?”

That shut me up, and I hated the way she said the word. Affair. As if it were something fleeting and dirty. This was a righting of the axle, the putting of everything into place. I belonged with someone like William. And furthermore, I liked the emotional chess game that stealing Cat Winthorpe’s husband entailed. I was going to have him as my husband or his money as my cushion—before today anyone could have looked at the playing board and seen it all.

I pondered which angle to attack this from. “You’re confused,” I finally managed. “William Winthorpe is my employer. Any relationship we have is strictly a professional one.”

“As is so clearly evident by your photo montage upstairs,” she said dryly. “Now”—she flipped over another page—“five million dollars. That’s a nice little parting gift to leave a wife.”

It took me a moment to understand that she was talking about Matt’s life insurance policy. “So?” I shrugged.

“So . . . when we look at your obsession with William Winthorpe, that life insurance policy, and this, it equals motive.”

Thisseemed to be indicated by the paper she slid forward. Matt’s will and testament. Unlike mine, it was a simple one-page document, devoid of any confessions and secrets. His was entirely focused on the distribution of all his assets, his demolition company, and his life insurance policy. It all went to me, which made logical sense.

I paused, waiting for more. Waiting for my own will to be slid beside his, the guilty beside the innocent. Nothing came, and I stared blankly at her. “That’s it?”

The detective smiled thinly, and there was a dot of pepper in her teeth. “I’m sorry, Dr. Ryder. You seem to be struggling to catch up, so I’ll spell out the elements of motive.” She held up the index finger of her left hand. “Money. You stand to inherit a five-million-dollar life insurance policy and significant assets upon Matt’s death. That alone would be powerful, but you’re impressive enough to have a second motive.” She flipped out her middle finger to join the first, making a peace sign. “Your obsession and pursuit of William Winthorpe. With your husband out of the way, you could go after a richer, better-looking one, though I do have to say, you’re barking up a formidable tree that is guarded by Cat Winthorpe.”

“But . . .” I stared down at the papers before her, still stunned that this seemed to be all they had. “But you don’t have anything.”

She let out a strangled laugh. “I would hardly say that. Granted, from your husband’s broad declaration and your resistance to opening the safe . . . I had expected something a little more incriminating, but it’s more than enough for me to bring you down to the station for questioning.”

“Questioning for what?” I still wasn’t following this. Where was the gold envelope with my will? Why wasn’t she going over it line by line? Calling in cadaver dogs and cold-case files? If they hadn’t found that envelope, what were they arresting me for?

“For the attempted murder of your husband.” She cocked her head at me as if she were confused. “Should we be questioning you for something else?”