Page 57

Twenty days later

I’ve had the first good night’s rest in almost a month, and I wake up ready to go for a run. I text Este as much. Her response comes through as I’m pulling on my shoes.

Fuuuuuuck. I thought we were done with running.

Fine. Ten minutes.

I laugh as I head down the stairs and out the front door.

The press corps of lawn jockeys have retreated, pulling up stakes and hightailing it to the Halls’s when it was leaked that the police were looking into Fritz. I watch Este make her way across the driveway, and I almost miss Ardell’s cruiser coming down the road.

“For fuck’s sake, what now?”

Este doubles over with her hands on her knees. “Oh, thankchrist, we don’t have to run.”

Ardell gets out of the car and heads toward us.

“Morning, ladies. Sorry if I interrupted your run.”

“I’m not,” Este says as she lifts her arms in a stretch.

“Can I speak to you in private, Nora?”

I look at Este, who is already ambling back to her house. “Call me if he’s hauling you in; otherwise, let’s go to yoga at noon. I’m going back to bed.”

Ardell and I walk inside.

I offer him a cup of coffee, which he happily takes from me. “The stuff down at the station is at least a third motor oil.”

“What’s going on?”

“I wanted to come here myself to tell you that we’ve done a lot of digging, and you were right about all the financial crimes.

Fritz and Gianna’s cash assets were down to almost nothing.

Their checking account was overdrawn by nearly twenty grand and they’re carrying hundreds of thousands in credit card debt.

He basically bankrupted the law firm. Not only did he steal millions from the business, but he also was skimming off some clients as well. ”

“Wait. Are we broke?”

We. That habit was going to be hard to break.

Ardell shook his head. “I don’t want you to worry.

Other than the fake accounts Fritz set up in your names, it looks like Will had taken some pretty aggressive precautions and moved your money far out of Fritz’s reach.

We’ve had to hand the case over to the FBI—they handle the fraud stuff.

But everything you said he did, he did.”

“I sense a ‘but’…”

“Yeah. The thing is, Fritz alibied out for the night Will was murdered. He left the party in an Uber and went to the club until it closed. We’ve got him coming and going on camera, and the bartender and about eight other members backed that up.

He then Ubered to a club downtown, and we’ve got the camera footage there.

He ended the night at a hotel with a guest; those details I won’t go into, but you can probably imagine some of them.

Credit card activity tracks the whole thing.

It couldn’t have been him who killed Will. ”

My heart sinks. This should be over. Done.

“Now, I don’t want you to think we’re back on you for any reason. You’ve done all you can to be helpful. I really believe that, and I want to run something by you.”

What could I possibly know? I threw a party and went to bed.

“When we did a search of your house, we were looking for something pretty specific. Something that Will’s autopsy uncovered. I talked to my captain, and he agreed that I could share it with you in the hope that it might mean something.”

My heart is racing.

“This is going to be a little graphic, but there was something unusual in Will’s stomach.” He’s looking at me, sizing me up to see if I can handle it. I nod for him to go on.

“I’ve just got a picture of what we found here on my phone. Don’t worry. I’m not going to show you any autopsy photos. I don’t want to upset you.”

He might never apologize for making me a suspect in Will’s murder. The kid gloves are back on, though. To him, my tragic status as a grieving widow—not the murderous wife—has been restored.

At least that’s something.

He clears his throat, and adds, “Does this look familiar?”

I almost pass out when he turns his phone for me to look at the image.

I’d know it anywhere.

—

“Oh, hi, ladies!” I give an exaggerated wave as I walk into the locker room at the Racquet Club.

They all turn and look at me. Constance, Tippy, and Gianna leading the charge, not even trying to hide their disgust. If it weren’t for the Botox, they’d be positively scowling.

I blow past them and make a line straight for Gianna, who is busy primping in front of the mirror in her oversize locker.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she says without even bothering to look in my direction.

“I guess me handing your husband over for financial crimes means the tennis invite is off the table, huh? Rats.”

She looks like she’s sucking on a lemon. But despite the grimace on her face, she really is exquisite. Flawless even—well, almost. The time it must take to pull that off. Too bad she won’t be taking her glam squad with her to prison.

I go on, “You know, if anyone had asked me a few weeks ago, I would’ve told them that you were the gold standard. That I wished I could be more like you. Because I thought you had everything figured out.”

“You couldn’t be me if you were born a thousand times to the right family.” Gianna’s nostrils flare ever so slightly.

And there it is. The interloper’s crest burned into my core.

“You’re right,” I say. “I could never be you. I could never sit in a gilded cage acting as if the clothes, the clubs, the jewels were enough. Believe me, I tried. But there were so many moments of wondering: What comes next? And worse: Is this all there is? No one ever lets on to just how boring gilded cages can be, you know?”

I find myself closing in on Gianna, making sure I’ve got her between the wall and me. She can’t get out of this conversation.

This is war.

I watch her take a step back—she’s not sure what I’m going to do. But she regains her snake-like composure and then steps toward me.

“I don’t have to listen to anything from trash like you,” she hisses at me. “Leave it to you to be too uncouth to know that you’re not welcome here anymore.”

“It’s funny. When you parade around a party showing off your forty-thousand-dollar ring with a sapphire that is such a rare shade of teal, people take note.

I guess that’s sort of the point, right?

So, imagine my surprise when the police showed me the picture of that exact rare stone.

It turns out it’s evidence in a murder investigation now.

And you’ll never believe where they found it. ”

I’m watching all the information cascade onto her like a wave of anvils.

I hope every word I say is imprinted on her brain.

I want her to bleed out. I want to do to her what she did to Will.

To take from her like I know she took from him.

I’ll settle for a social death. Which for her will be just as painful.

“I never quite understood why you froze me out. But I get it now. I realize now that I am the enemy. I am the person who threatened the glass house you put yourself in. I am the little pebble that shattered the image of who you are.” I take another step toward her, until I’m inches from her and hear her catch her breath.

“Emily Post never wrote a chapter on the protocol for this, but I’ve come by to let you know I’m not quite finished. ”

She doesn’t visibly react, but there are signs I’m getting through. I can see it in the vise grip she has on her gym towel.

“Oh, please, don’t worry, I don’t want to be some Messiah Pariah who outs the ridiculousness of all of you.

But I owe it to myself and Will to be more than anyone in my life has ever given me credit for.

I don’t want to be in the shadows, but I am not looking for the limelight either.

Maybe I am failing. Maybe I am succeeding.

But I’ll do it on my own terms from now on.

You can have your gilded cage. Oh, but wait… ”

Now I am so close I can feel her shaky breath on my face.

“It won’t be so gilded now, will it?”

One of the tennis biddies snorts at that. She must be picturing Gianna in prison.

Amazing. Her own courtesans are ready to usurp her power and take the mantle so quickly.

“Easy, Tippy,” I snap. “I saw Ardell’s hand up your skirt at the Christmas party. The sun doesn’t shine out of your ass either.” The other biddies gasp and shuffle just a hair away from Tippy.

Poor Tippy. I enjoyed that a little more than I should have.

Gianna pulls on my arm. “You’ve made your scene, Nora. Now, should we discuss this like adults?”

“You can have that chat with the police. I’m sure they’ll be eager to talk to you.” I check the locker room wall clock. “Any minute now.”

“This is slander. You should be ashamed—”

“Will was always quick to remind me,” Constance says, leveling a look at Gianna. “That you can’t sue for slander just because you don’t like what people have to say about you.”

To my complete and total surprise, Constance moves right beside me. Gianna backs away from us a little, looking from Constance to me. A pair of Mrs. Somersets. Even as her best friend turns on her, Gianna tries to regain the upper hand.

“The gemstone proves nothing.” She huffs. “I could’ve—lost it at the party. Before I left.”

“You’re right. The gemstone doesn’t prove you killed Will, but it does point cops in the right direction.

And now they’ve managed to gather enough evidence to put you away.

Something about a bloodstain on a bimini.

Does that ring a bell, G ?” I laugh a little.

“God, I remember when I first learned ‘bimini’ meant ‘boat awning.’ The glossary of terms I have had to download just to keep up in this town. Rich people are crazy. So is DNA evidence, it turns out. Shame you nicked yourself that night.”

I fight the curl of the corner of my mouth as the color drains from her face. There will be time for smiling later.

Now I know there is nothing left to say.

Nothing left to do. I walk toward the locker room exit, stopping only to grab some country club mints.

As I push through the door, a herd of uniforms rushes in, calling out Gianna’s name.

I lock eyes with Constance, and we exchange a wordless “holy shit” right before the swinging doors shut behind me.

I tuck into the shadows of the pro shop and watch Gianna Hall as they stuff her into the back of a police cruiser with half of Winter Park standing by to witness.

And, somehow, even in this moment of total ruin, there is still something elegant about her.

She’s destined to be a fucking felon now, and she makes it look good.

A hint of glee threatens to show itself on my face when I realize that Gianna will have to live the rest of her life knowing I was the person who took her down. And with her own jewels.

Thanks for that, Will.

I watch the taillights disappear down the winding brick road, feeling a flicker of hope that this part of the nightmare can finally be behind me now. I turn on my heel and walk past the group of gawking Winter Park wives.

Let them stare. I would, too.

They’ve just witnessed the minting of an urban legend: the second wife who took down the queen.

The buzz of this story will linger in the air at cocktail parties and Park Avenue brunches for years.

The chatter starts as I stride away. It’s a familiar hum, the whispered gossip that has followed me around like a shadow since the day I met Will. But I tune it out for good this time.

I’m not listening to what they say anymore.