Every Last Secret(22)

Compared to me, she was bland. A pretty face with nothing behind the facade. William saw it, just as I did.

It was why he was edging toward me, calculating the risks and weighing them against the temptation.

Her blandness was why I would win.





NEENA

Now

The detective peered at me over the edge of her black notepad. “I must say, in the last two years, you’ve become one of our most interesting residents. Your husband and you started in a conservative three-bedroom in Palo Alto but eighteen months later made a sizable upgrade and moved into Atherton. Is that correct?”

I nodded.

“And you work at Winthorpe Tech—or rather, used to work at Winthorpe Tech.”

“That’s correct.” I fought to keep my mouth from twisting into a snarl.

“And prior to Winthorpe, you were at Plymouth Industries.” She paused, and I kept my mouth shut. “You started out as the executive assistant for Ned Plymouth, but were promoted to”—she flipped through her notes—“team business coach after a few months.” She pronounced the title as if it were distasteful. “Is that correct?”

“Yes.” If she thought I was going to elaborate on that, she was wrong.

“Did you receive a raise when you were promoted?”

“Yes.” I pulled at the neck of my shirt, irritated with this line of questioning and well aware of what she was about to imply. The promotion had been quick, my raise substantial. Detective Cullen hadn’t been the only person to draw jagged lines between the actions—she was just the first one uncouth enough to verbalize it.

“Neena, this is going to take a lot longer if you keep giving me single-syllable answers.” The detective sighed, as if this investigation was taking up too much of her time.

She probably had a granola bar to finish eating, or a lesbian wife in cargo pants who was waiting for her at a coffee shop, expectantly tapping her Mickey Mouse watch.

“Elaborate. How much did your salary increase when you were promoted?”

“I don’t know offhand.” I shifted in the hard plastic seat. “I would say that my income doubled.”

“More like tripled,” she mused, scanning a document that looked like my tax return. “And you maintained that level of salary when you moved to Winthorpe, correct?”

“It’s industry standard for motivational coaches. We’re well paid because we deliver results.”

“Yeah, I’m worried that wasn’t the only thing you were delivering.” She closed the folder on my financials. “Why did you leave Plymouth Industries?”

I warred over how to respond, unsure if she knew the full story or if she was fishing. “I wanted to move into the tech sector. Experience new things.”

“Interesting . . . because we spoke to Ned Plymouth.” She crossed her arms and set the scaly nubs of her elbows on top of the papers.

Of course they did. Beneath the table, I dug the toe of my sneaker into the floor.

“Ned says that you were fired.”

“I have a recommendation letter from Ned that raves about my job performance.” It was a weak attempt in a battle that was already lost, but I still stood my ground.

“Ned says that it’s a lie. Ned, in fact, had a lot to say about you, Dr. Neena Ryder.” She raised one bushy eyebrow with a confidence that I hated.

Yeah, I bet ol’ Ned did.





PART 2

JUNE

THREE MONTHS EARLIER





CHAPTER 12

CAT

“I just don’t understand where they’re at.” Neena craned her neck, trying to see around a sunscreen-covered family who had stopped right beside our cabana.

“Are you worried they’ll get lost?” I kicked the towel loose, letting my feet get some sun. “Relax. William has a homing beacon to me. Plus, they’re big boys. They can manage themselves at the pool.” Though, if any pool was a danger zone for wealthy men, it was the Menlo country club’s. William was easily recognizable and understood to be off-limits. Matt was a fresh face, and the single vultures scattered around this pool wouldn’t care if he was balding and a little chubby. What they would be scared off by, and why Neena had absolutely no need for concern, was the guest wristband he had on. Neena was displaying hers proudly, unaware that it was a giant “Not Rich Enough to Be Here” red flag.

She rattled her drink, the ice clattering against the glass, and I tuned out the sound, focusing on the music that floated by on the cool breeze. I reached out and turned the flame of the tabletop heater higher.

“There!” Her chair banged against mine, and I cracked open one eye to see her at the edge of the cabana. “They’re by the towel stand.”

“Good for them,” I mumbled. “Maybe they’ll grab you another drink on the way back.”

“What are they doing over there?” She cupped her hand over her eyes, shielding the sun. “Oh my God.”

The dread in her voice spoke of plagues and famine, nothing that could possibly be happening inside the gates of the country club. I took a sip of my apple-and-spinach juice and considered the lunch options on today’s pool menu.

“They’re literally surrounded by women. Cat, look.”

“So?” I made a half-hearted attempt to see our husbands, then adjusted the pillow under my head and exhaled. William and I should have come here alone. I could be reading the latest bestseller instead of listening to the insecure ramblings of a semidrunk wife who would go into jealous territory in three . . . two . . . one . . .