An Unwanted Guest(27)
He thinks about what the attorney said. It’s for the coroner to decide. He dips his head down now to his wife and whispers, ‘Do you think she was pushed?’ She looks back at him, worried.
Beverly answers him anxiously, ‘I don’t know.’ Should she bring up the argument she overheard between Dana and Matthew? She tells herself it’s none of her business.
She’s decided to say nothing, at least for the time being. No one ever really knows what goes on in other people’s relationships, or what another person’s relationship is like. Perhaps they quarrelled all the time, and it means nothing.
She looks now at Henry and realizes that she doesn’t actually know what goes through his mind most of the time. She makes assumptions, that’s all. And believes they are the truth. All these years she thought she knew him so well, but did she really? How utterly shocked she’d been last night when he said it was too late for them to fix their marriage. The truth is, she doesn’t know what he’s thinking at all.
Perhaps he has a mistress. It’s the first time the thought has occurred to her. Maybe it isn’t so hard to believe. She hasn’t been that interested in sex for a long time. Perhaps he’s found someone else, and that’s why he wants to leave her. Otherwise, she doesn’t think he’d bother. That’s it, she thinks, that must be the reason for this bombshell he’s dropped so callously. He can’t want to tear their family apart just so that he can be away from her – they’re not that bad together. He can’t be looking forward to being financially ruined and living alone in some sad apartment, missing his children, just to be away from her. No. There must be someone else. Someone who makes him think that leaving her and the kids is going to be some fun, giddy, sex-soaked adventure. She wonders who it is, whether it’s someone she knows.
She remembers how annoyed he’d been when he realized there was no wi-fi here at the inn. Perhaps he was hoping to be able to stay in touch with his girlfriend; perhaps she had expected him to stay in touch with her – the girlfriend that Beverly is now afraid actually exists.
How quickly and how absolutely trust – built over many years – can collapse. She needs to be sure. She realizes she needs to look at her husband’s mobile phone, but he always keeps it on him, or at least near him. And she has no idea what his password is; she can’t even guess. But she is suddenly certain that if she could get into his mobile phone, she would find the truth.
And then she would know what she’s dealing with.
Chapter Thirteen
LAUREN WATCHES HENRY and his wife, Beverly, seated side by side. They are barely speaking to one another.
Riley and Gwen are sitting far apart; Lauren senses a rift. She has been watching Riley especially. The edge of hysteria that Lauren first noticed when they’d rescued her out of the ditch the night before is still there. Amplified, even. Riley fidgets endlessly, twirling the silver ring on her index finger, her eyes constantly scanning the room as if looking for something, some threat. Lauren notices that Gwen is ignoring Riley, which is odd. Last night, Gwen had seemed overly solicitous, trying her best to manage Riley’s mood, but now she doesn’t seem to care. Something must have happened. Lauren remembers last night, noticing the little flirtation between David and Gwen in the dining room coming to an abrupt halt. She wonders if Riley had anything to do with that. And if she did, what her reason might have been. Jealousy, probably.
Riley knows Gwen is angry at her. But it had to be done. Riley studies David, watching him, trying to remember what she knows about the case. She’s almost certain he’s the New York attorney who was arrested – and released – for the violent murder of his wife, three or four years ago. She tries to recall the details. It was a bludgeoning death, a particularly brutal one. The woman had been so badly beaten that her back was broken. She’d been struck repeatedly in the head with something heavy, in the kitchen of their home, in one of New York’s expensive suburbs. The murder weapon had never been recovered. The husband claimed that he’d returned home late from work and found her. He’d called 911. But there was some discrepancy about the details that didn’t work in his favour. There was some lost time. A neighbour had insisted that he’d noticed the husband’s car drive in considerably earlier than the 911 call. The attorney had then explained it by saying that he hadn’t gone into the kitchen when he first got home. It hadn’t sounded likely.
She stares at David’s hands, hanging down by his sides as he stands near the fireplace, calmly waiting for lunch. Strong, masculine hands. She wonders what he is capable of. She lifts her eyes and catches him staring at her. She looks away.
There were other suspicious circumstances, Riley recalls. The marriage had been in trouble. There had been talk of divorce. That might describe half the marriages out there, but there had been an insurance policy – a large one. And there had been no sign of forced entry.
As far as she can remember, the charges had been dropped. They could find no bloody clothes, no murder weapon. With no physical evidence tying the husband to the crime, and no witnesses – other than the neighbour who said he’d been home earlier than he at first claimed – there wasn’t enough. They let him go. And as far as she remembered, the case was still unsolved.
Riley studies David’s face as he stands near the fire, and asks herself if it is the face of a killer. She thinks of him in bed with Gwen, his hands on her – imagines him pummelling his fists into Gwen’s face, over and over …