The Wife Who Knew Too Much(46)
That might’ve sounded overly dramatic, but not to me. I knew it was possible to get prosecuted for something you didn’t do.
“You’re scaring me. Please, tell me it’ll be okay.”
“I hope so. We have to be careful.”
The airplane door opened, and we walked down the Jetway.
“I have to run, or I’ll miss my connection,” he said, looking at his watch. “I texted Nina’s driver, Dennis, to meet you and take you to Windswept. The housekeeper, Gloria, will meet you when you arrive. The staff runs the place. You won’t have to do a thing. Just rest, and keep a low profile, okay? Don’t talk to anybody outside of the house.”
“I understand.”
“Chin up. I love you.”
He kissed me and ran off before I had the chance to ask how long he’d be gone. It always hurt when we said goodbye. But going to Windswept without him under these crazy circumstances was worse than just a separation. It was dangerous.
As I stood in line at Immigration, fear preyed on me. According to the press reports, Nina had died alone. There were no witnesses, and that was bad for us, given that she’d left no suicide note. The medical examiner found that she drowned while under the influence of an overdose of a commonly available opioid painkiller. Nina’s personal assistant testified at the inquiry that Nina was despondent over her cancer diagnosis. She had a prescription for the pills, from the doctor who was treating her cancer. Based on that very limited evidence, the ruling was death by misadventure, or possible suicide. That’s where it was left, but it wasn’t airtight. No witnesses had come forward to claim foul play. Nobody had been accused of killing her. Not Connor. Not Derek—whose presence at the house that night hadn’t come to light during the death investigation. Not yet. All that could change now that Nina’s sister was poking around, trying to manufacture evidence for her lawsuit.
As I exited Customs, I saw a woman in a corporate-looking black pantsuit holding a sign that read MRS. TABITHA FORD.
“That’s me,” I said, pointing at the sign and blushing. I wasn’t used to the name yet.
The woman shook my hand. She looked to be around my age, with a pretty face, dark hair, and glasses.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Ford. I’m Juliet Davis. I was Mrs. Levitt’s executive assistant. Mr. Ford has asked me to stay on for the time being to assist in your transition.”
“He didn’t mention you. He said a driver would meet me.”
“Yes, Dennis. He’s waiting with the car. Hold on, I need to text him to bring it around,” the woman said, taking out her phone.
Her manner was crisp to the point of being cold. All around us, families hugged and kissed. It was strange to be met so formally. But I guess that was just how professional staff behaved. I’d have to get used to it.
“He’s coming now. I can take your luggage.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Please, it’s my job. Where is it?” Juliet asked.
“Right here.”
My hand rested on the Samsonite roller bag I’d borrowed from Matt for the honeymoon. Juliet’s surprised look made me conscious of how battered the suitcase was. My jeans and hoodie were crumpled from the flight. Juliet was the assistant, but she was dressed better than I was. What must she think of me—the hick from New Hampshire, come to take the place of the glamorous Nina Levitt, who always wore couture.
I followed her through sliding glass doors. Outside, it was pouring rain. Juliet, who was already wheeling my luggage with one hand, deployed a large umbrella and held it over me with the other as we searched for the car among the many jostling for space at the curb. That seemed foolish since her clothes were nicer than mine.
“Ah, there’s Dennis,” Juliet said.
We headed toward a sleek Mercedes sedan. A gray-haired man in a chauffeur’s cap jumped out and opened the back door. I slid across, expecting Juliet to get in beside me. But she handed him my luggage and went around to the front passenger seat. A glass partition separated the front and back. I was nervous and lonely, and wished I could tap on it and ask her to come sit with me. But it was better this way. If I didn’t speak to anyone, I wouldn’t have to lie.
I stayed silent, staring out the rain-streaked windows for the ninety-plus-minute drive to Windswept. As we drew closer to the house, the surroundings began to look familiar. We passed the quaint downtown, the streets where the tall hedges hid magnificent homes, the path to the beach that I’d taken at the Uber driver’s urging. The events of that night came back to me in vivid detail, and I slumped under the weight of them. I couldn’t bear to think about Nina dying. I wouldn’t go near the swimming pool where it happened.
We pulled up to the gate. It swung open, and the Mercedes proceeded through to an elaborate circular drive. Windswept loomed ahead, dark and ominous in the rain, and I shivered. We pulled up to a covered portico. I got out, then saw that Dennis had been on his way to open my door for me.
“Luggage coming right up, ma’am,” he said.
“You can call me Tabitha,” I said, but he didn’t reply, and I could tell he would never take me up on that.
Juliet was beside me. “I’m sure you’re tired after your journey. I’ll take you to your room. Follow me, please.”
I hurried up the sweeping staircase after her. By the time we reached the top, I was out of breath. I was beginning to gain weight, though not so much that people who didn’t know me would notice I was pregnant. The morning sickness had abated, but other symptoms—fatigue, bloating—had set in. I would have to make an effort to seem normal.