Every Last Secret(69)

I waited until she shook Randall’s hand, then gave her another hug. “Thank you,” I whispered in her ear. She squeezed me in response.

As they headed for the door, my phone buzzed with a response from Matt.

I’m at the White Horse. In a horrible mood, but misery loves company. I’ll save you a barstool.





CHAPTER 47

CAT

The White Horse was the sort of place I used to find my dad at on Saturday nights during football season. The bartender had giant breasts, a pierced eyebrow, and an infinity sign tattooed on the inside of her wrist. I navigated past a family of five, a dozen empty tables, and an old man gnawing on a chicken wing, then spotted Matt almost hidden behind a poster-covered column. I set my purse on the counter and straddled the stool next to him. “Hey.”

He turned his head and lifted his chin. “Hey, there.”

I peered at the collection of empty glasses before him. “Wow. You’ve got a serious doom-and-gloom thing going on.”

He chuckled and slid his drink toward me. “Want to join in?” He pointed to a card tent stuck along the back of the bar. “I’m moving down the drink list. Five more to go.”

I eyed the list, a little concerned that he had already knocked back three stiff drinks. “I’m game to try a few. But I have a driver. Promise me you’ll hitch a ride back with me.”

“Fine.” He slid his drink closer and peered at the contents. “I’ll take a ride home on William Winthorpe’s dime. He owes me that at least.”

I didn’t respond, catching the bartender’s eye as she moved toward us. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Sure thing.” The brunette snapped her gum and collected two of his empty glasses. “Here you go.” She set a bowl of Chex mix in front of me, and I vowed not to get drunk enough to eat from it.

“Who’s the big guy in the corner? That your driver?” Matt nodded to my new shadow, a massive redheaded Irishman who could kill any threat just by sitting on them.

“He’s actually private security, borrowed from Winthorpe Tech. The driver is out in the car. William is a little paranoid with everything that has happened.” I gave an apologetic frown. “Sorry, if he bothers you—”

“No,” Matt scoffed. “I should be the one apologizing. I’m the one married to the lunatic.”

“Speaking of which . . . I saw them put Neena in a police car. Have you heard from her?”

“Not since . . .” He stabbed at the screen of his phone. “Two and a half hours ago.” He turned the display so I could see the row of missed calls.

“They showed us the pictures they found in your bedroom. Scary stuff.”

“They tell you about the cash? Bundles of it stacked underneath our floor.” He belched, then apologized. “Around eighty grand. Who knows where she got that.” He glanced at me. “Could William have given it to her?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I can check our safe and accounts, but I don’t know why he would have.”

“Well, she can find her own way home from the station.” He took a long sip of his drink. “And she’s not staying at home. I’m going to let her pack a bag, but then she’ll have to find a hotel.”

“Good. I hope she ends up at a Motel 6.” Taking my drink from the bartender, I held it out in a toast. “Here’s to misfires.”

He winced, then nodded, clicking his drink against mine. “To misfires.” Our eyes met; then I lifted the drink to my mouth and took a sip. It was strong, the mixture almost pure liquor, and I swallowed it with a bit of a cough. “Jeez, that’s strong.”

He nodded at the brunette, who was drying off glasses by the sink. “Amber’s the best. Hey, Amber!”

She looked over one shoulder, a glass still in hand.

“This is Cat.” He gripped my shoulder. “She’s the only person in the world right now who understands my pain.”

“It’s true,” I agreed, smiling at him. “We’re tortured twins.”

“Tortured twins!” He cackled like it was the wittiest thing in the world. “Amber, Cat is married to the man who has been screwing my wife.”

“Wow,” she said slowly, setting the glass up on the shelf. “You guys are an unexpected pair. Where are the cheating scoundrels?”

“Well, my wife is in jail,” he said grandly, and I let his exaggeration slide. “And her husband is . . .” He squinted at me. “Well, I don’t know where William is. Somewhere expensive.”

“My husband is talking to his attorney and figuring out the best way to fire your wife.” I took another sip of the drink and shuddered.

“Ha.” He slid the glass in a circle on the bar top. “You know . . . I’ve been thinking about what would have happened if the gun hadn’t misfired.”

I watched him carefully. “If the gun hadn’t misfired . . . ,” I said slowly. “You’d be hurt, or dead.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “But”—he raised a finger in speculation—“would she have gotten away with it?”

I frowned. “They would have done the same investigation, right? Still discovered the photos and the money. And the photos were what really caused them to find the affair, right?” My voice broke a little, and he reached over and patted my arm in the helpless manner of a man who didn’t know what to do.