Page 18 of The Perfect Hosts
I saw him with his wife a month later at some fancy fundraiser. Madeline Drake wasn’t just one of those pretty rich women I’ve come to know working these kinds of events, she was beautifulandnice. While the other wives looked right through me, Madeline made eye contact and thanked me every single time I brought her a drink or presented a tray of hors d’oeuvres. What Madeline Drake didn’t seem to notice was how her husband was looking at me the entire night. But I noticed. I could feel the hot pull of his gaze, the way his eyes followed me around the room. And I watched him too. Wes Drake was funny, sweet, and, to my surprise, hot for a guy twice my age. We even talked for a while. Wes made me laugh, made me feel like the only woman in the room.
The third time I saw him, at an anniversary party, Wes completely ignored me. Didn’t glance my way, didn’t acknowledge my presence at all. My feelings were hurt, which was silly. He was rich, important, and married. But then I saw him at yet another event, and that night we ended up having sex in an empty hotel conference room. I can’t even remember what the event was for—just a bunch of rich ranchers smoking cigarsand drinking top-shelf booze. From then on, we couldn’t get enough of each other and met up whenever possible. But Wes had rules. Lots of them. No phone calls, no texts, no emails, making it nearly impossible to coordinate times to be together until I suggested we have a standing date. Every Thursday afternoon we met at a hotel in Jackson. The reservation had to be in my name, and I had to pay for it, but Wes always gave me cash to cover the costs. It made me feel a little dirty, doing it that way. But I didn’t take a dime more from him, even when he offered me gas money.
Then his wife got pregnant. I have to admit, that was a surprise. The way Wes made it sound, he and Madeline were on the outs. Obviously, at least for one night, that wasn’t true. What does a fortysomething man and a twenty-one-year-old have in common? Lots, actually. We lie in bed and can talk about anything: music, movies, books, politics. Wes listens to me—really listens. And those few hours we have together are the highlight of my week. Maybe I’m being naive, but I really do think he loves me.
True, he’s been more distant lately and has stood me up more than once, but he has a lot on his plate right now. So yes, I made sure I was going to work the gender reveal party. And yes, I concocted the story about being pregnant just to get close to his wife’s best friend.
Then there was the explosion, and I ended up in the ambulance with his wife, and we bonded over being pregnant and motherless. My mom just happens to be alive and kicking in West Virginia, probably drinking a gin and tonic in front of the television right now.
As I sit in the dark all alone, it dawns on me that Wes is somewhere in this hospital right now. He most likely rushed over here as fast as he could to make sure his wife and baby were okay. I try not to let it bother me, but a little voice in my head keeps sayingWhat about me?
I think of the invitation that Madeline so kindly offered.You can reach out to me, day or night. Understand?
An idea creeps into my mind. A terrifying, dangerous, exhilarating idea. I have a feeling I’ll be calling on Madeline Drake very, very soon.
Chapter 7
Jamie
Jamie waits outside the hospital morgue doors until Dalton Monaghan and the deputy step into the hallway. The deputy has her hand on Dalton’s elbow as if she’s afraid he’s going to pass out.
“Excuse me,” Jamie says. Identification at the ready, he introduces himself. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Monaghan. Can we talk for a few minutes?” Red-eyed, the man nods, and Jamie leads him down the hallway until he finds an empty family lounge. A TV hanging from the wall is blaring an infomercial for cookware. Jamie finds the remote under a pile of magazines and presses the power button.
Dalton sits, and Jamie pulls a chair over so that he’s sitting directly across from him. Like Madeline Drake, Dalton smells of smoke. His clothes are smudged with soot, and his dirty hands tremble in his lap.
“Again, Mr. Monaghan,” Jamie says, “I’m so sorry. We’re going to do everything we can to find out exactly what happened.”
“Thank you,” Dalton says, swiping at his eyes. “But I’m not sure why the ATF is here. Wasn’t the explosion caused by the gender reveal?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Jamie explains. “When there are incidents like these, where there are deaths and injuries andmajor property damage, we come out, assess, and decide if further investigation is needed.”
“I can tell you whose fault it is,” Dalton says, his voice shaking with anger. “It’s Wes’s and Madeline’s. If they hadn’t planned this stupid stunt, Johanna would still be alive.”
“When was the last time you saw Johanna last night?” Jamie asks. “How did she seem?”
“I didn’t,” Dalton says. “I didn’t see her at the party at all. I came straight from work and got there just as people were moving to the field to watch the reveal. The last time I saw her was yesterday morning before I left for work. We were both in a hurry.” He lowers his face into his hands.
Jamie gives him a moment before he asks his next question. “I saw you and Wes talking upstairs in the ER, and it looked like you were having words.”
“Yeah, we had words,” Dalton says, clearing his throat. “I told him blowing up a fucking truck wasn’t safe and that my wife was dead because of him.”
“How did he respond?” Jamie asks, though he saw the entire exchange.
Dalton shakes his head. “He wasn’t happy that I called him out,” Dalton says. “But you know what? It doesn’t matter. There will be zero consequences for them.”
“Why do you say that?” Jamie says.
“Because the Drakes are rich,” Dalton says as if it’s obvious. “They own half the county and can buy their way out of anything. Someone might go down for this, but I guarantee it’s not going to be Wes Drake.”
“That’s not true, Mr. Monaghan,” Jamie says. “We’ll get to the bottom of what happened and hold those responsible accountable.”
“Yeah, right,” Dalton says, getting to his feet. “Is there anything else?”
“Nothing for now,” Jamie says, also standing. “Let me driveyou home. You can try and get some rest, and we can talk more later.”
“Nah,” Dalton says. “I’m good. And just you wait. You’re not from here, right?”
Startled by the question, it takes a beat for Jamie to answer. “No, I came over from Cheyenne.”