Chapter Six Her

Chapter Six Her

Present Day

Getting rid of a bat with the whole town watching turned out to be a tougher task than expected. Mostly because I couldn’t

find the damn thing. With Richmond dead, I didn’t need it or think about it, so I missed the fact it was no longer near my

bed.

The search warrant countdown clock ticked in my head as I debated where the person who actually did kill Richmond might have

hidden it. The idea clearly was to point a flashing she’s guilty arrow at my head, which meant the bat had to be on the property. That left three acres and more than six thousand square

feet of house to cover.

Annoyed didn’t begin to describe my rancid mood.

I started my room-to-room search in the bedroom Richmond had used after I kicked him out of the primary suite. Investigating

led to a bone-deep need to rid the house of any evidence he’d ever existed. His clothes sat in piles on the upstairs floor.

Knickknacks, collected items, and the shrine he’d created of all his awards and acknowledgments filled two boxes.

I’d dragged some of the crap downstairs and dumped it on the kitchen counter then circled back, intending to return to the second floor but only got as far as his personal office next to the staircase. A room I was now searching. Supposed to be searching.

The leather chair proved to be a distraction. While I swiveled back and forth my gaze wandered over every inch of the office.

Photos, some with the kids. Most with colleagues or at speaking engagements. His medical school diploma from Columbia University.

A framed article about his residency at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore.

Maryland. That’s where Richmond’s story began. Where he became a hero. Annapolis, Maryland, to be exact. Home of the U.S.

Naval Academy, sailing, seafood, and the infamous Richmond Dougherty. The first three things lived up to the hype.

One last spin and... what the hell?

The late September sun beamed over the grass, highlighting a figure as he sprinted around the bottom of the U-shaped driveway

and down the line of trees outlining the side of the property. Doubled over and running. A man sneaking across the lawn.

Where was a killer guard dog when you needed one?

I didn’t call the police or rush around because there was no need. Richmond’s son, Wyatt, was lurking about, further proving

the asshole gene ran deep in the male side of the Dougherty clan.

A quick text to Elias seemed in order. If I had to beat the crap out of Wyatt I wanted it to be clear the kid came for me

first. That done, I looked up again. Wyatt had disappeared from view. The squirrelly little—

Beep

The house security app on my phone. The one letting me know someone had opened a door and used the code to keep the alarm from squealing. The side door. Looked like Wyatt had let himself into my house through the mudroom off the kitchen.

A crystal lamp with a heavy base qualified as the closest makeshift weapon. I grabbed it as I tiptoed into the foyer toward

the kitchen.

“You should know I called the police.” Threats felt right, so I kept going. “I have a gun and New York allows me to shoot

an intruder on sight.” No idea if that was true but it sounded good.

Wyatt’s voice wound through the downstairs. “What the hell is this?”

Not the reaction I expected. Lowering the lamp, I stepped into the kitchen. The cellphone in my pocket buzzed as Wyatt pawed

through a box of his dad’s treasures.

“What are you doing with all of this?” Wyatt’s mouth dropped open. “These aren’t yours.”

I set the lamp on the kitchen island. “Which is why the items are in boxes.”

“Dad has been gone for less than two weeks and you’re getting rid of his stuff?”

Wyatt’s broken expression hinted at the epic battle waging inside him. Whether or not Richmond’s shitty personality defined

the sum total of his parenting skills wasn’t clear but probably didn’t matter. Wyatt would feel whatever he felt about losing

his dad. No one else owned that. Any apology or accounting he might have needed from Richmond disappeared forever. The fights,

the guilt, the happy times, the failures, the comments left unspoken, all dissipated into memories, good and bad, without

the sweet satisfaction of having the last word.

Hate and empathy bounced off each other as I struggled to regain my ambivalence. Part of me felt for the kid. I knew all too well how hard it was to walk a safe path with a shockingly dysfunctional parent.

“Wyatt, listen—”

“It’s not bad enough you killed him. Now you’re going to erase him?”

The latter sounded appealing. I had to wade through the former first. “I didn’t kill him.”

“He had two accidents. Then the third one...”

“Do you understand what accident means?” Assessing the incidents, who had access to Richmond and the will to end him, played nonstop in my head. Putting those

pieces together would take time, and quiet, which meant Wyatt needed to leave.

“He hated you.” Wyatt practically sneered as he said the words. Like he’d spilled some deep secret in a moment of triumph.

Sorry, kid. No surprise.

“We were married.” Saying that out loud always stung a bit.

“He told me...” Wyatt traded talking for fidgeting. He shifted his weight and glanced around. Generally looked ready to

bolt.

“What did your father say?” Not the truth. Richmond had an allergy to honesty. But something. “Please explain.”

Wyatt’s head shot up again, giving full eye contact. “He said he would take care of this—of you—and fix everything, but now

he’s dead.”

In addition to sucking in general it appeared Richmond sucked at protecting his kids from news they shouldn’t know. No setting

of appropriate boundaries here. Shocking. “You’re saying he threatened me?”

Wyatt took a step back. “Don’t twist my words.”

A mix of twentysomething self-righteousness and bad judgment choked the room. I’d been practicing de-escalation for most of my life and put those skills into action now. “Let’s calm down and have an adult conversation.”

Wyatt shoulders fell in a look of total defeat. “Why are you throwing away Dad’s things?”

Pivot to a lie. That always worked. “I was packing them up for you and your sister.”

Wyatt’s hands clenched and unclenched as he stood there, clearly battling the crash of emotions inside him. He’d gone for

full drama today, wearing black jeans and a black tee. If he had a weapon, he hid it well. But that led to more questions.

Why not come to the door? Why was he really here? Was he planting evidence?

That last one kept my guard up.

“Let’s start over.” I maneuvered to stand on the opposite side of the kitchen island, the safe side next to the drawer with

a hammer in it. “How did you get in the house?”

He stared at me.

I returned the stare, daring him to speak. “Say something. Preferably the truth. I didn’t call the police on you, so just

tell me.”

“Dad gave me a key and the alarm code.”

“I changed the alarm code after he died. And I’m changing the locks as soon as I can get someone who does that out here. Just

so you know.” I hadn’t gotten around to nailing down the security issues and wrongly believed the alarm would be sufficient.

Lesson learned.

“He had a secondary code set up. One for me.”

Wyatt’s words cleared away the haze. Forget the twinge of compassion. Someone had gotten into the house and killed Richmond.

Someone took my bat and made me a potential suspect. That someone could be Wyatt. “How convenient.”

Wyatt looked around the kitchen before falling back on staring again. “Why marry him at all? You didn’t love him.”

Answering that seemed risky. “He married me, Wyatt. Did he tell you why?”

“He said he had no choice.”

The first, and possibly only, honest thing Richmond had ever said. But that created a new problem. One thing Richmond could

be counted on to do was save his own ass. Tattling about our arrangement put my ass on the line.

One more reason to hate the guy, dead or not.