“We’re keeping two cars stationed at the Ryder house for the next few days, but our current thought is that Mrs. Ryder—or someone else—hired the hit. We’re doing an audit of Mr. Ryder’s bank and business accounts but haven’t found any evidence of gambling, money owed, or suspicious contacts. He seemed to be well liked and honest, so the list of people interested in killing him is slim.”
“He’s a good guy,” William said quietly, and I resented the look of guilt on his face. Matt was a good guy, but I had been a good wife. He had sworn to love, honor, and protect me, and that’s where his guilt should have been focused.
I straightened in place. “Where’s Neena now?”
“She’s at the station being questioned. They’re going through all the evidence with her. I’d like to say that we’ll keep her there, but to be frank, we have a lot of speculative evidence but nothing hard. Though this has been a very scary incident for Matt, there hasn’t been an actual crime, just an attempt at one. And we’re going off Matt’s testimony for that—nothing else.”
William raised a brow at me, and I knew what he was thinking of—my trip to the emergency room. The poison in my system. Just yesterday we’d gotten the call from the hospital confirming the presence of antifreeze in my stomach. I shook my head at him, wanting him to stay quiet.
“Is William an official suspect?” Randall spoke up from his end of the table.
The detective and chief exchanged a glance. “At this moment, he’s not even an unofficial suspect. We will let you know if that changes.”
“In that case,” William said, “I think we’re done for now.” He pushed on the arms of his chair and stood, running a hand roughly through his hair. “Please, take those photos. Looking at them makes me sick.”
The chief was the first to rise, and she gave a curt nod. “We appreciate your time, Mr. Winthorpe. We’ll be back in touch if we have any more questions.”
“Call me William,” he corrected, coming around the desk and extending his hand to her. “And thank you for your discretion.”
“Well.” She grimaced. “I can’t promise it will last very long.” She opened up her large leather bag and slid the file and photos inside it. “We may need you to come to the station at some point, but I’ll try to contain everything, as best as I can, from this end.”
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.”