The Wife Who Knew Too Much(45)
The baby had changed everything. Once Connor heard about it, he couldn’t wait for us to be together. A month ago, the police had ruled Nina’s death a suicide, and we thought we were out of the woods. He rushed up to New Hampshire to see me. Being together for the first time in months, knowing the baby was coming, we got carried away, and on the spur of the moment, we went down to Town Hall. It was a reckless thing to do given the crazy circumstances. But, when I thought about how close I’d come to never seeing Connor again, to missing out on true love, on the family I’d always dreamed of, well, the narrowness of my escape chilled me. My new life was a dream. I was too overwhelmed with joy to think about the consequences.
Until now.
The plane touched down. I leaned out into the aisle and called Connor’s name, but he didn’t hear me. He was seated one row behind, in his own pod, surrounded by a privacy screen. The first-class seats were a marvel of modern technology. They turned into beds at the touch of a button and were fitted out with an elaborate entertainment system. But they were lonely. Connor had spent most of the flight catching up on paperwork. He stayed glued to his seat, and the only time I saw him was during the meal service. I shouldn’t complain; that meal had been epic. Each seat pod came with a guest chair and table that the flight attendant called up from the floor as if by magic, and set with a white tablecloth, silver, and crystal glasses. We’d enjoyed a five-course dinner, starting with Dom Perignon and caviar, then filet mignon, flourless chocolate cake with berries, and a cheese and fruit course, complete with wine pairings (which I’d skipped, except for one sip of the champagne, because of the baby). All this on an airplane, in flight from Rome to New York, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. I was Mrs. Tabitha Ford, a role I was so ill-prepared for that I felt sick with anxiety as we taxied to the terminal. But I shouldn’t question my good fortune.
The FASTEN SEAT BELT sign turned off. Connor stayed seated, his phone to his ear. I started to get my carry-on down, but the flight attendant swooped in.
“Let me get that for you, Mrs. Ford.”
“Thank you.”
I stood in the aisle waiting for the doors to open. Finally, Connor hung up and joined me.
“That was the CEO. I’ve got to make a connecting flight to Washington to meet him. There’s a problem with the Saudi deal, and we need to negotiate some new terms. I’ll be down there for a few days, maybe a week.”
“Connor. No. I can’t go … I can’t go to Windswept without you.”
I’d almost said back to Windswept, but I’d caught myself in the nick of time. Connor didn’t know I’d been to Windswept before. I’d never found the right moment to tell him about Derek, and the altercation with the guard on the night Nina died. He didn’t know my ex-husband was a convicted felon, or that I myself had an arrest record from that time in my life. It was all so awkward that I hadn’t found the courage to bring it up.
“It’s okay, you’ll be fine,” he said, flinging his arm around my shoulders, kissing the top of my head.
“Please, let me come with you.”
Before replying, Connor looked around to make sure nobody would overhear.
“It’s not smart,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll be with the people who run the company. Hank Spears, the CEO. Lauren Berman, the head of PR. People who knew Nina well. When they hear I got married—well, let’s just say it’ll raise some eyebrows. You have to let me lay the groundwork. Spin the narrative. Like we agreed, okay?”
We’d agreed to lie—or spin, as Connor preferred to call it—to everyone, about everything important, until the estate was settled. We had to say that we met for the first time after Nina’s death. We could never let it slip that we knew each other before. We had to keep the pregnancy secret until the last possible moment. When the baby came, we’d say he was premature. I had to remember to tell these lies to everyone I encountered. I could never, ever slip, or the consequences would be dire. Because something bad had happened while we were away on our honeymoon.
We’d thought we were in the clear when the police ruled that Nina’s death was a suicide. But a new claimant to the estate had come out of the woodwork—Nina’s older sister, whom Connor hadn’t even known about because the siblings had been estranged. Nina died without a will. Connor’s claim to her fortune should be ironclad. Under the law, where there was no will, the entire estate went to the surviving spouse. But Nina’s long-lost sister, a sixty-year-old woman from North Carolina named Kara Baxter, had filed a lawsuit contesting Connor’s claim to the inheritance. The only way she could win would be to invoke something called the “slayer rule,” which said you shouldn’t be able to profit from killing someone. In other words, Kara would have to prove that Nina’s death was foul play, and that Connor was behind it. It was a recipe for muckraking and mud-slinging, and we were terrified.
“What about the doctor? I need you to come with me to the first visit,” I said.
“I can’t. Not with this lawsuit hanging over us. You need to go alone and use your maiden name.”
“Don’t say that. I hate that.”
“So do I, Tabby, but we have no choice. This isn’t just about the money. If that woman slings enough mud, who knows, the police could reopen the investigation. I could wind up in jail for something I didn’t do.”