The Last Invitation (21)
“That sounds like your brother.” He’d been determined to make her pay, either through the bank balance or through Kennedy.
“He was named after our grandfather. They shared the same ‘do whatever works’ attitude.” Liam saluted with his cup as some of his general lightness returned. “Word is my grandmother hit him with a shovel.”
She thought she’d heard every family story, but she’d missed this one. “I thought your grandfather died when he fell into a well.”
“Wouldn’t you fall if someone hit you with a shovel?” Liam smiled at her over the rim of his mug. “But the document subpoena became moot because Baines suddenly agreed to a divorce settlement.”
“You gave him a brotherly ‘get your head out of your ass’ speech, and I thank you for that.” She returned the mug salute.
“His attitude changed right before the settlement.” Liam’s expression morphed from open and friendly to unreadable. “I stayed out of his way because I thought he was pissed about my constant ‘she’s your daughter’s mom’ lectures. But then he announced a surprise settlement offer, and I wondered if you had leverage.”
“Like what?” She had a hard time keeping up with Liam’s changing mood. He shifted from joking to serious to somewhere in between over the span of ten minutes. She depended on him to be solid. Not being able to trust his mood left her feeling unmoored. And she hated this topic.
“It must have been something you did or said.” He sounded so sure. “Want to fess up?”
He wasn’t wrong. She knew why. Of course she knew. “It was nothing. You know how marriage is. People collect slights. They remember harsh words and bad behavior. You end up compiling these secrets without even realizing you’re doing it, then an unexpected divorce gives you a way to weaponize and unload them.”
“I was married and never did any of that.”
Because he didn’t suck like his brother. “Right, well, you had two nice marriages with two nice women, followed by two very civil divorces. No fighting or yelling. You handed over cash and property without balking or unleashing war.” The ease with which he exited a committed relationship always fascinated her. He should give classes to other men. “Your lack of anger was . . . unusual.”
“It was a lack of passion.” He slid his hand toward her. “You know why.”
She pulled back, putting as much room between them as the chairs and table would allow. “Don’t.”
He stared at her for a few charged seconds of silence before nodding. “Then tell me what you had on him. If it wasn’t whatever he was doing with the business accounts, what was it?”
Terrible secrets that would result in mutually assured destruction and epic collateral damage. In other words, nothing she could say out loud or divulge even to Liam. “I honestly didn’t know about the money.”
His mood shifted again. “He’s dead, Jessa.”
“I’m aware.” Just hearing the word started that hollow sensation in her stomach again. Money problems. Asshole. Bad divorce. It all mattered, but it didn’t change the fact she’d married him, hoping for, and dreaming about, a very different ending.
“I won’t judge,” Liam said.
She really looked at him then. Searched his face. Watched his hands. Did he know? But he couldn’t know. There was no way. No matter what that annoying reporter said.
The secrets she harbored needed to stay buried with Baines.
She forced a smile. “Maybe someday.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Gabby
Spending all day looking at financial documents on Saturday made Gabby obsess the next day about what she didn’t know. By the time she got to Monday, she needed to investigate. The word sounded silly even in her head. What she really wanted to do was snoop around Baines’s house in search of answers. What he’d done with the money, why and how he’d really died . . . and who was in that room with her when she lived her worst moment.
That all sounded good in theory, but she’d forgotten about the crime scene tape at his front door. Getting in was easy enough since she had a key and could go around the back of the house, out of sight of nosy neighbors and without having to disturb the yellow tape. Walking inside—crossing the threshold—proved almost impossible.
She forced her legs to move and stepped into the kitchen. She could smell him even in here. The peppery scent of his soap. Weeks had passed, and Liam had paid a special crew to come in and clean up, but none of that had killed Baines’s looming presence. She saw him reflected in the crisp white quartz countertops, a choice he’d made during some minor remodeling after she’d moved out.
Walking through the house led her to the great room with its vaulted ceiling and wooden beams. Past the fireplace with the photograph of all three of them above it. To the photographs of them on various vacations throughout the years. This room gave the impression of family, of still being together, of moments of happiness before the divorce.
The fake happiness suffocated her. She raced from the room into the hallway that led to the office. Memories of Baines’s last day bombarded her as she slowed to small, halting steps.
She stood in the doorway and peered inside. In a small mercy, all signs of the bloodbath had been erased. It looked normal, as if a life hadn’t ended there in a flash of horror.