Page 31

Chapter Thirty

KAT

Present

The door to Oliver’s home office has been shut since the night he was murdered. I couldn’t bring myself to go in there, but today, I have no choice because I need to start cleaning it out to put the brownstone up for sale. As much as I love our home, I can’t stay here after what happened. It’s too much of a reminder of him and the life we built. And every time I step into the foyer, I see his body lying there.

I open the door and step inside. Mahogany bookcases line the back wall filled with books on finance, investing, art, and English literature. I sit in his black leather executive chair and run my hand along the expensive mahogany desk that matches the bookcases. The desk has a total of four drawers—a top drawer and three going down the left-hand side. I open each one and look inside, except for the bottom drawer, which is locked.

“Where did you keep the key, Oliver?” I say, rummaging through the open drawers. I can’t find it, so my eyes scan the office. I reach my hand under the lip of the desk and feel around until my fingers hit a piece of metal.

“There you are.” I pull the key from the double-sided tape and hold it up.

I insert the key into the lock and turn it, opening the drawer. Inside are a stack of papers and receipts. I pull them out and examine them. Many receipts are from the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in Chicago—a two-night stay every other week and multiple room service charges. My heart sinks deep into my chest. He never had an apartment there. He lied to me. I pull another receipt from the pile from Marshall Pierce & Co., a high-end jewelry store in Chicago, in the amount of $4,500 for a diamond pendant. I glance at the date. It was from a month ago. But he never gave me a diamond pendant. He bought it for her . Among the receipts were for purchases of flowers from a flower shop in Chicago. Flowers he bought for her .

My stomach twists, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. Tears swell in my eyes. Just like Brian, I never knew Oliver. My hands shook as I held the receipts and stared at them. I took the pile to the shredder and shredded them ten at a time.

“Fuck you, Oliver. I hope you’re rotting in hell.”

My shredding is interrupted by a knock at the door. I turn my head and stare out into the hallway. Who is at my door? I enter the foyer and open the door to find Detective Walker standing there.

“Detective Walker.”

“Hi, Katherine. Can I come in? I have some things to discuss with you.”

“Of course. Come in.” I gesture. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great,” she says.

We walk into the kitchen, and she immediately heads towards the island, dropping her purse onto a stool. I pop a K-cup into the Keurig and brew her a cup of coffee, trying to ignore the tension in the room. My mind races as we sit down at the table, and I wonder why she's here unexpectedly. Has she found new evidence? Has she found the killer?

“Why didn’t you tell me that your first husband, Brian, was murdered the same way the other men here were?”

“I don’t know.” I look down at the steam rising from my cup. “I guess it slipped my mind.”

“How does something like that just ‘slip’ your mind? You also failed to talk about your boyfriend, Jack, who was murdered by twenty-two stab wounds when you were sixteen.”

“It slipped my mind, detective. What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to explain to me why three men in your life were all murdered the same exact way!”

I slam my fists on the table and stand. I walk to the window and stare at the lightly falling snow.

“That’s why,” I say. “Because you’re accusing me of murder!”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Katherine. I’m asking why you failed to divulge pertinent information.”

“Maybe I was afraid you’d think I did it. I didn’t kill Jack or my two husbands, Detective Walker. Someone is out to make sure I live the rest of my life in misery. Someone is out there following me—watching me.”

I know I sound like a lunatic, and I’m sure she thinks just that.

“Who would want to hurt you?”

“I don’t know, but I have these to prove it.” I lift my shirt and show her my scars. “Whoever is doing this tried to kill me back in Maine. He left me on the floor to bleed out.”

“Then why didn’t he try to kill you when he broke into your home and killed your husband, Oliver?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Nothing about any of this makes sense,” I shout. “If only I hadn’t taken that pill that night.” I shake my head as tears stream from my eyes.

“Did Jack cheat on you?” she asks.

I stare at her momentarily and then wipe my eyes. “No…I don’t…I don’t know. Every other man in my life has, so why wouldn’t he?”

“But you don’t know for sure?”

“No. I have no idea.”

She finishes her coffee and takes the cup to the sink. “You look exhausted.” She grabs her purse and hooks it over her shoulder.

“I am.”

A soft smile frames her face. “Get some rest. I’ll keep you posted if anything turns up.”