Page 120 of Happy Wife

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, Iwould’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, thejewelswere 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?”