A Dangerous Widow (A Dangerous Series) (9 page)

“What if he did so only half-heartedly?”

“Why would he do that?
 
Because he’d be anticipating a DNA
test?
 
That sounds like a stretch to
me—but what do I know?
 
Maybe
he reads crime thrillers and knew what to do to cover his ass before the police
arrived.
 
But if the implication is
that he came home to kill Lydia, my only question is why would he want to do
that?
 
Because—believe me—in
his eyes?
 
Lydia was nothing more
than a maid to him.
 
And by that, I
mean that she was in the basement when it came to the sort of world that Maxine
and he move in.
 
The only stretch I
sense here is when he said that he considered her family.
 
Trust me on this—he didn’t.
 
He and Maxine are a couple of
snobs.
 
Neither of them would have
ever considered Lydia ‘family.’
 
But
still, why kill her?”

“Did Michael have any business dealings with
Witherhouse?”

“None that I’m aware of.”

“For argument’s sake, let’s say that he
did.
 
And let’s also say that
Michael screwed him over big time over something that would have angered Bill
to the point that he’d want revenge.”

“I don’t know about that, Ben…”

“Try to keep an open mind—we’re just
speculating.
 
If Bill Witherhouse had
Michael murdered, he might have wanted Lydia dead too because of what she’d
witnessed.”

“Six months after the fact?”

“He could have been threatening her with her
life during that time to keep her silent, waiting for those months to pass
before deciding it was the right time to finish her off.
 
If he’d had her killed too soon after
Michael’s death, red flags would have popped up everywhere.
 
Lydia, after all, was presumably the
only one who saw what happened to Michael.
 
She was the key witness—and if she did witness Michael’s murder,
Bill Witherhouse would have known that he’d eventually have to deal with her to
thwart the threat of any kind of exposure.
 
Best to ward off any chances of being found out, wouldn’t you say?”

“You know what unnerves me?”

“What’s that?”

“How easy it is to come up with a motive for
someone’s murder.
 
We have no idea
if Bill Witherhouse did any of this, and yet, what you just concocted sounds
awfully plausible, doesn’t it?
 
And
that’s terrifying to me—the idea that any one person can seamlessly be
molded into a potential killer.”

“Again, Kate, we’re just speculating.
 
That’s how these things work.”

“I understand that.
 
But it still freaks me out.
 
What else do you know?”

“The medical examiner’s report says that
Lydia Brown died of natural causes.
 
They found no evidence that foul play was involved.”

“So, she wasn’t murdered,” I said.
 
“If that’s the case, then why did we
just go through all of that?
 
For
mere speculation?”

“Just because the ME found no evidence of
foul play doesn’t mean that there wasn’t any, Kate.”

And then I remembered all of the ways he’d
told me that one could bring on sudden heart failure.
 

“You’re saying that he might have poisoned
her?”

“I’m not saying anything like
that—yet.”

“Yet,” I echoed.

“Kate, when you do my job, you have to look
at all angles, research them, and then either rule them out—or accept
them as possibilities.
 
That’s all
I’m doing here.
 
What we now know is
that Lydia Brown died in Maxine and Bill Witherhouse’s home.
 
If she was murdered, it happened
there.
 
So automatically, because
Bill was there when she died, he becomes a suspect if foul play was involved.”

“But how are we to know if that was even the
case?
 
To my recollection, Lydia was
cremated, which rules out exhuming her body for further testing.”

“You’re right about that,” he said.
 
“That’s a big strike against
us—and a potential win for Bill Witherhouse.”
 
He paused.
 
“Earlier, you mentioned that the
Witherhouses frequently have big parties.”

“They’re known for their parties.
 
They have one every month or so.”

“Can you get us into one?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to meet them.”

“Why do you want to meet them?”

“I’ll explain that in a minute.
 
First, I need to know whether you can
get us into one of their parties.”

“I suppose I can.
 
In fact, I think they’re having one this
Saturday.
 
I received an invitation
a couple of weeks ago.
 
For whatever
reason, they always invite me, but I never go.
 
I hate mixing with that crowd.
 
It’s like talking to ice when it comes
to those people.”

“Is it too late to accept their invitation?”

“Saturday is only two days away, so I’m not
sure.
 
But maybe it isn’t.
 
They’ve been after me for so many years
to come to one of their parties, so it’s a possibility.”

“If we go, we’re going to have to fake some
sort of intimacy between us.
 
I’m
going to have to become your date—and you’re going to have to act as if
I’m yours.
 
If they think that we’re
a couple, they’ll trust me.”

“Pretend that we’re a couple?
 
Where are you going with this?”

“I want to see how Bill and Maxine react
when they learn that you’re dating a private investigator.
 
I want to see how that registers with
them.
 
Will it just be with
dismissal because I don’t measure up to Michael’s accomplishments?
 
Maybe.
 
Or, if Bill Witherhouse is somehow behind
your husband’s death and Maxine knows of it, will I sense a trace of concern or
even a hint of fear when they learn what I do for a living?
 
Because why would you, of all people, be
with a private investigator?”

“I hope you’re not suggesting that I think
I’m above that.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.
 
What I’m saying is that
they’ll
be thinking that—and they’ll be
wondering how two people from two completely different social circles met, let
alone came together as a couple.
 
And believe me when I tell you that they will wonder why.”

I saw where he was taking this and became
intrigued.
 
“Go on,” I said.

“Let’s be frank here—you are revered
in Manhattan.
 
People have high
expectations when it comes to you—and to whomever you choose to be with
after Michael.
 
When the
Witherhouses learn that we’re a couple, they’re going to question how that
could possibly be.
 
Why would you
take such a massive step down to be with someone like me?”

“I wish you wouldn’t put it that way.”

“That might not be your truth, but it’s
their truth.
 
Since I don’t move in
your circle, the obvious conclusion that anyone will come to is that you must
have sought me out to look into something for you.
 
And in the process, we fell in
love.
 
But why did you come to
me—that’s what they’re going to be questioning, especially if they had
anything to do with Michael’s death.
 
Why would Kate Stone need a private investigator?
 
What’s she investigating?
 
I read people well and quickly, and if I
see even a trace of concern cross their faces, then I plan to dig deeper into
the possibility that they did have something to do with Michael’s death.
 
That’s what this is about.
 
So, get us into that party.
 
And be prepared for us to become a couple
again, because that’s the only way that this is going to work.”

“I’m not sure that I’m comfortable with
that.”

“Do you want to find out if your husband was
murdered or not?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then, on the surface, we’ll be a couple
again.
 
You and I both know that it
won’t be real, but we’re going to have to behave as if it is.
 
We’re going to have to remember who we
once were when we were young, and tap into those emotions.
 
Otherwise, it won’t work.”

“You expect me to tap into emotions from
sixteen years ago?”

“How about seventeen?
 
At that point, we hadn’t yet broken up.”

I had to smile at that.
 

“All I need is for you to be reasonably
affectionate with me, and to introduce me to them.
 
If they see us holding hands, they’ll
get the message without you having to say a word about what the nature of our
relationship is.
 
Or isn’t, in this
case.
 
Will you do it?
 
Will you trust me on this?”

“All right,” I said.
 
“I’ll do anything for Michael.”

“And that’s why I once loved you,” he
countered.

And what in the hell am
I to do with that?

CHAPTER NINE

The next morning, I called Maxine and
expressed interest in attending.
 
And
as I suspected, getting in late to her party wasn’t an issue.

To my surprise, she actually sounded sober
when she answered.

“Hello?”

“Maxine?”

“Who is this?
 
Who’s calling?”

“It’s Kate Stone.”

“Kate!” she said.
 
“My God—I never thought I’d see
the day.
 
How lovely to hear your
voice.
 
How are you, my dear?
 
Well?
 
Or still in mourning?
 
Because everyone swears that even after
all these years, you
are
still in mourning.
 
I never know what to believe—though
it is in my nature to tend to lean toward the worst…”

“I’m fine, Maxine.
 
Five years is a long time.”

“So it is, and so good to hear that you’re
back.
 
You do realize that, for the
longest time, there was talk that you might shroud yourself in black for the
rest of your life.
 
As if you were
some sort of a Victorian widow.
 
I
mean, I’ve been inviting you to my parties for the past several years, and
you’ve never once accepted.
 
Can you
blame me for not believing the gossip?”

“I never believe in any sort of gossip,
Maxine.”

“Shrewd of you.”

“But I am calling about your upcoming party
on Saturday night.
 
I’m sorry to be
calling so late about it, but it is time to get out again.
 
To see old friends.
 
So, if you’ll have me, I’d love to
come.”

“Are you saying that your first time out
will be at
my
party?”

“Other than the fundraisers I hold,
yes.
 
This will be my first social
event since Michael died.”

“Well, goodness,” she said.
 
“Then my party is about to become the
talk of the town.
 
And I’m proud of
you, Kate.
 
At long last, you’re
with us again.
 
We’d love to have
you, darling.”
 
Her voice dropped a
notch.
 
“Will it be just
you—or will there be you and a plus-one?”

“The latter,” I said.

“Well,
that’s
intriguing,” she said.
 
“Are you
seeing someone now?”

No, Maxine, I’m seeing no one.
 
But it’s fucking complicated—I can
tell you that!

“I am,” I said.
 
“We’ll see where it goes, but I would
like to bring him along with me if that’s OK with you.”

“Well, of course it is.
 
I would love to meet your new suitor.
 
But I worry.
 
Are you ready for that kind of
scrutiny?
 
I mean, four hundred
people have confirmed—many of whom adored Michael and you as a
couple.
 
And the press will be
here—you should know that.”

Naturally, the press would be there.
 
Given her stature in this city, Maxine
had nothing to prove to anyone, but for reasons that were unknown to me, she
was nothing short of a full-on
Page Six
whore.

“I can handle the press,” I said.

“But with a new relationship?
 
You know that they’ll make something of
it…”

In fact, I did know that they would.
 
It was likely that Ben and I would be
plastered on all of the gossip rags and websites after appearing in public
together.
 
And while I wanted none
of that, there was a much larger picture here that I couldn’t overlook.
 
Ben wanted this to happen for a specific
reason, which came straight down to Bill and Maxine themselves.
 
Since he had to work every angle that
was presented to him, I just needed to suck it up and go through with it
despite the consequences.

“He’s a very nice man,” I said.
 
“I think that you and others will like
him.”

“Well, of course we will.
 
And I’m dying to see who possibly could
replace Michael.”

“Nobody could replace Michael,” I said
firmly.
 
“But as I’ve said, five
years have passed, I’ve met someone new, and it’s time to move on with my
life.”

“And I agree, as I’m sure that all of your
friends will.
 
I mean, five years is
long enough to grieve.
 
I can’t
imagine what that must have been like for you, but I am glad to hear that your
period of mourning is over, Kate.”

I wanted to tell her that a part of me would
forever mourn Michael’s death, but what was the point?
 
“So,” I said.
 
“Black tie, I assume?”

“Of course.
 
Bring your best, because you and I both
know that people will put you under a magnifying glass.
 
‘How has she held up?’
 
‘Is she psychologically sound?’
 
‘Do we even dare to mention Michael to
her?’
 
That sort of thing.
 
I know that, on some level, you already
know what’s coming, but your friend Maxine is here to tell you that society has
become even colder since you left it.
 
People are beyond horrible.
 
Just the other day, I heard that that awful Piggy Swarmsworthy called me
a drunk to one of our mutual friends.
 
I mean—imagine!
 
A
drunk?
 
Really, Piggy?
 
This from someone who fills her own
trough with gin?
 
Let’s just say
that there will be no ham served at tomorrow night’s party.
 
Initially, Piggy was in, but when I
heard what she’d said about me, I called to tell her that she was out.
 
You can imagine how
that
went.”
 
She sighed.
 
“Anyway, I digress.
 
So, we’ll see you at eight?
 
You know where we live, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Why do I even ask?” she said with that fake
tittering laugh of hers.
 
“Everyone
knows where we live.
 
Anyway, we’ll
see you and your new suitor here on Saturday.
 
And trust me on this—you will have
fun.
 
I’ll make that my mission,
because you, my dear, deserve it!”

*
 
*
 
*

With only one day to get ready for the
party, there was only one person I could call upon to help me get ready for the
night—my good friend Jennifer Wenn, who was married to the billionaire
Alexander Wenn, and who was well regarded in the press as perhaps the most stylish
woman in Manhattan.
 

While I had plenty of clothes for functions
that involved my work with the Red Cross and with the Stone Foundation, I
hadn’t been to a society event in five years—and the dated gowns in my
closet spoke clearly to that.
 

I needed help, I needed a new gown and
shoes—and I needed them to be perfect because Maxine was right.
 
Since this would be my first time out in
years for a social event, the press would be all over it, particularly when
they saw Ben on my arm.

And so, when I hung up from Maxine, I called
Jennifer.

“Well, well!” she said when she answered her
cell.
 
“I haven’t seen your name on
my phone in months.
 
I’ve missed
you, Kate.”

“I’ve missed you more.”

“It’s been…what?
 
Three months since our last lunch?”

“I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

“Look, all of us are busy.
 
And I’ve been meaning to call you for
another lunch.
 
Tell me that’s why
you’re calling.”

“I’m actually calling for another reason.”

“What’s that?”

“I need a favor.”

“Whatever it is, I’m happy to help.”

“I’ve actually agreed to get out and go to a
party tomorrow night, but it’s been so long since I’ve gone to anything that
isn’t fundraising-related, I have no idea what to wear.
 
It’s at the Witherhouses’.
 
Do you know them?”

“Of course.
 
Alex and I were invited to their party
tomorrow night, but we had prior commitments, so we can’t go.”

I felt a rush of disappointment roll over
me.
 
“Oh, how I wish you were
going.”

“And now that I know that
you’re
going, I also wish that we were going.
 
But we can’t.
 
We’ve already
confirmed elsewhere, and since it involves business, I’m afraid that we need to
go.
 
Otherwise, I’d cancel.
 
I’m sorry, Kate.
 
What kind of help do you need?”

“This is going to sound pathetic.”

“Oh, it is not.
 
What is it?”

“I need help finding the right dress and the
right shoes.
 
And, hell, at this
point, probably also the right pair of Spanx.
 
When Michael and I used to attend these
sorts of parties, I had a stylist, if you can believe that.
 
But that was five years ago, and that
relationship has since ended because Lucas is now working with celebrities on
the West Coast.
 
I know zip about
fashion—but I know that you do.
 
When I thought about calling someone for help, you were the first person
who came to mind.
 
Maxine has
already warned me that the press will be there, and since I’m bringing a date
with me and this is my first time out in forever, I think we both know how the
press will react.”

“We do, and because we do, you’re going to
need to bring it.
 
Because with you
there?
 
Get ready for it now, love,
because by Sunday morning, you’re going to be everywhere.”

“Ugh…”

“And by the way, young lady,” she said.
 
“What’s this about bringing a date?
 
Is it serious?”

I wasn’t about to lie to Jennifer.
 
“No, no.
 
He’s a friend who agreed to be my plus-one.
 
But the media won’t know that, so
they’ll naturally have a field day with it.”

“They will,” Jennifer said.
 
“But let’s just clear up any
misconceptions.
 
It’s not me who
knows a damn about fashion—it’s my friend Barbara Blackwell who does.
 
Have you met her?
 
Heard of her?”

“I think all of Manhattan has heard about
her.
 
She’s kind of an icon in this
town.”

“You know, if she heard you say that, she’d
sit even higher in her throne.
 
But
with the party being held tomorrow, time is running out.”

“I’m sorry to call on such late notice.
 
I just accepted the invitation.”

“It’s not an issue.
 
What’s your day like today?”

“I’m free.”

“Then let me gather Blackwell, and the three
of us will go shopping.”

“But you must be busy,” I said.

“Not too busy for you.
 
And to think—I’ll be able to see
you today.
 
I meant it when I said
that I’ve missed you.
 
It’s been too
long.”

Ever since I’d joined the Red Cross,
Jennifer Wenn had been a huge supporter of my initiatives, as well as a
friend.
 
Through her and her husband’s
connections alone, I’d managed to reap millions from my fundraising
efforts.
 
They’d never let me down,
and I loved each of them for it.
 

But it went deeper than that when it came to
Jennifer and me.
 
We both came from
humble backgrounds but had seen our lives change in radical ways since our
arrival in Manhattan.
 
Jennifer had
come from Maine to Manhattan, where she eventually married Alexander Wenn, who
owned Wenn Enterprises.
 
And while
Michael and I had been poor when we first met, all of that changed when
StoneTech hit it big.
 
What bound
Jennifer and I together was that, at the end of the day, both of us were women
who hadn’t forgotten our pasts.
 
That’s why we connected.
 
That’s one of the main reasons we were friends.