CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 49

CAT

I stood on our roof deck and gripped the thin spindles of the ladder. Built into the far end of the deck, it allowed someone to climb onto the roof, where they could walk along the pitched surfaces and see almost 360 degrees around. Around my neck the binoculars hung by a thick strap.

I made my way onto the peak and carefully walked down the opposite slope, settling in one of the elbows where the roof changed direction. Finding a comfortable position on the tile, I watched the front yard of Matt and Neena’s house.

I’d missed her entrance, the taxi coming and going while I argued with William. I asked him again why he’d done it and was given a mountain of explanations that boiled down to one thing: because he could. She’d pursued him, and he’d been too weak to resist the ego boost.

I’d expected that this confrontation would unfold in a similar fashion to what had happened with the dowdy secretary. I’d scream about Neena, and he’d scoff and ridicule. I was prepared for that, but this was an entirely different William, one who looked at me with an almost rabid devotion, which contrasted completely with the fact that he’d screwed her in our company’s boardroom.

William had apologized, over and over again, and I was already sick of hearing it. I didn’t want his apologies. I wanted him to hate her, to grow nauseated at the sound of her name, to constantly associate this affair with pain and headaches and horror. I wanted him to bind himself to us and to vow to never so much as look at another woman.

I’d dismissed his apologies and told him I needed some time for myself. After two hours at the bar with Matt, I soaked in the tub, followed by a quiet dinner in the library, and now—fresh air on the roof.

I had needed the time to think and wanted this final moment for myself.

I thought of Matt’s announcement that he would kick Neena out and wondered if he would actually stick to it. I’d had to tell him that I was leaving William, had to set that false trail to give him something to initially follow. I knew he’d need a push. I’d never seen a husband with such devotion and blind acceptance. I couldn’t let Neena and William have an affair and her be forgiven and loved as if nothing had even happened.

Matt had proven it in our conversation at the White Horse. Last time I didn’t even confront her with it. I found out and never did a thing about it. The confirmation of what I’d already known had warmed me, the tequila blurring the edges of my actions with a rose tint I’d already grown quite accustomed to.

He would have forgiven cheating, but murder? Could any spouse forgive that? Could any husband still love his wife knowing that she wanted him dead?

No.

No.

No.

Which was why I’d had to do this. I’d had to show him how terrible his life was with her. I’d had to force the break, or he’d never have done it on his own, and she would never have any repercussions for her horrible actions.

I cupped my knees to my chest and strained to hear anything from the Ryders’ house. At this angle, I could see their bedroom windows, but the room was dark, their activity still restricted to the downstairs.

Neena had to be overwhelmed right now. Confused. She was probably turning hostile. Calling him crazy. I imagined them screaming, her face mottled in rage, surgically enhanced features twisting in ugly patterns as she denied crimes she knew nothing about.

She’d really made it all too easy for me. So focused on my husband. So rabid for time with him. She had been so concerned with destroying my marriage that she never paid attention to her own.

The lights flicked on in the big front window, and I tilted as far right as I could, watching the progression of their movements as the stairwell lit, then the second-floor hall. I gripped my knees in anticipation, praying that when the bedroom light came on, their curtains were open.

The four windows exploded into action, glowing bright yellow against the dark night. I lifted the binoculars and adjusted their focus, breathing a sigh of relief at the part in the curtain that was wide enough to give me a peek.

Neena stomped across the bedroom, her arms swinging, mouth moving. She stopped and spun, stabbing the air with her finger as she yelled something. I strained to see Matt, letting out a soft sigh when he appeared in the doorway, his own face red, his mouth jawing as he delivered something right back.

I wanted to cheer at the presence of his backbone. I gave him that. I watched as he pointed to the floor. He must be talking about the money.

The cash had come from our safe, the stacks of bills rewrapped with fresh bindings in case the originals held William’s or my fingerprints on them. I’d worn gloves when I’d handled the money, though I’d been sure that fingerprints couldn’t be lifted from dirty currency—and why would they try? Neena’s fingerprints would be all over the other items in the hole.

I thought of the red box I’d placed in the hole and the moment she’d unwrapped her birthday gift and turned over the red container. Shake it, I’d said, and almost laughed at the thought of her following my instructions, her stupid play right into my hands. She’d opened the box and stared dumbly at the vibrator I’d grabbed off a discount rack at the local sex shop. She hadn’t realized that she’d just given me the best thank-you gift possible—evidence. I’d gathered the box and the wrapping paper, stuffing them back in my bag and distracting her with chatter, the theft of the packaging unnoticed in the rest of the evening’s festivities. After all, William had been there. I could have sliced myself from crotch to neck, danced naked amid the blood spurt, and I would have barely gotten a side glance from Neena.

It had been her eyes that had given me my first indicator of trouble. They’d watched him whenever he walked out of the room. Lit up whenever he spoke to her. Caressed his face when he smiled. I’d seen those eyes and known, from the beginning, that she would be trouble.

Now, I watched as she crouched before the bedroom dresser, yanking at drawers and slamming items onto the bed. She moved to the Bakers’ old safe and worked her fingers over the dial, putting in the combination—that same combination that I’d found on the sticky note years before. She disappeared behind the door of it, and I imagined her looking through the scant items, searching desperately for the envelope that the cops had never found. I reached into the pocket of my robe and closed my fingers around the envelope I had taken from their safe. The one marked Neena’s Will and Testament. I had almost skipped right over it in my exploration of the contents. After all, how interesting could a will be?

But, as it turned out, Neena’s was a real showstopper.

I pictured her panic, the frantic flip through papers once, twice, a third time. She really should have used a safe-deposit box. This entire setup had been a cakewalk. The morning of Matt’s fall, I’d had hours of alone time to move through their home and sift through her drawers, her closet, her life. While William and Neena had waited for Matt at the hospital, I’d tested my old key in the home’s back door and verified it still worked. I’d checked the empty cubbyhole in the floor and envisioned how it could be used. I’d found the photo I’d taken of the safe’s sticky note and tried the combination, smiling when it still opened the vault. I’d gone through the contents and read everything, including her will.

I remember my mouth falling open, my eyes darting around the empty bedroom, looking for someone to share the item with. I remember reading it a second time, then slowly folding it back into thirds and sliding it back into the envelope. I remember putting her house back in order and throwing away the trash from the railing, then returning to my home and lying down on the couch, the envelope warm in the back pocket of my pants.

I’d lain there and thought through everything. Remembered the conversation with William and Deputy Dan about the broken railing. The murder-attempt possibility that we had just scoffed over. I moved around puzzle pieces in my mind until they fit into place. Red flags to plant. Red herrings to deceive. The careful destruction of a life, one interaction at a time.

I made the plan and then sat on it for a long time. A time in which I watched her creep in. A time in which I monitored my husband’s call activity and read his emails and text messages and placed a hidden camera in the one place in Winthorpe Tech where something might happen—the boardroom. I behaved until the afternoon that I watched the video of her sitting on the heavy mahogany table, her knees open, her hands clutching at William’s shirt. Her, bent over, face contorted in pleasure.

I’d paused the video just after the act, when she was reaching for her underwear and he was buckling his pants. She was looking down and smiling. Smiling. I’d stumbled back from the video screen, my hands trembling, my stomach twisting, and barely made it to the bathroom before I vomited. I locked myself in the bathroom and turned on the shower jets, stripping down and drowning out my sobs under the spray.

I broke.

Broken women cannot be held accountable for their actions.

I needed my husband back. Needed to punish her. So I put my plan into action, and I did.