Everyone looked to Matt. “I think she’s in crisis management right now. And she doesn’t seem towantto kill me, though I’m apparently a terrible judge of that.”
I leaned forward and gently touched his arm. “You should get a security system. Change the locks.” Especially now that I was all done, with no need to go back in.
“I changed the locks this morning.” He nodded adamantly. “And a security system will be installed this week.”
“That’s good,” Detective Cullen added, returning to the folder. “Though in this scenario, with the spotlight on the victim, it’s rare for a second attempt.” She flipped through a few pages. “The rest of this is just junk. Though there was one interesting fact. Neena’s fingerprints weren’t on any of the photos of William in the box, including the one in the frame.”
Inwardly, I winced. It was a detail I couldn’t find a solution to, not without potentially raising Neena’s suspicions later on, when she reviewed the evidence against her.
“She could have worn gloves when she handled them ...” Detective Cullen glanced at Matt, and then at me. Was it my imagination, or did her gaze linger? “But that’d be odd.”
Unsure of a proper reaction, I nodded in agreement. I wanted to point out that her fingerprints were all over the photos’ box but wasn’t sure if that was a fact I was supposed to be privy to. I had planted the cash and the photos on a day when I knew Neena and Matt were furniture shopping, my in-and-out errand done in less than five minutes.
“Again, this is evidence that could be used against us in court,” the DA remarked. “You’ve always got one conspiracy theorist on the jury.” He stood, and I could feel him warming to the crowd, a performer ready to deliver his opening statement. “Look, Mr. Ryder, we all know what happened here. But it’s not a story of knowing events, it’s one of proving them. And we don’t have enough hard evidence to prove anything, especially when an actual crime hasn’t been committed. Attempted? Sure. But that’s a real hard tail to pin on the donkey, if you know what I mean.” He paused and glanced from Matt to me.
“So we’ll keep digging at this hole, and I’m confident we’ll find more soon. But for now, if we go to the judge with this too early, we’ll end up empty-handed and with egg on our face. That won’t be good for your stress levels, it won’t be good for the DA’s office, and—even worse—after Neena gets off once, we can’t go after her again.” He clapped his hands together. “I appreciate you both coming down here. And I’ll keep you both updated as to when we’ll be ready to move forward to trial.”
When they’d be ready to move forward to trial?Never,I thought as we stood, shaking hands around the table, the evidence folders screaming at me as I made my way to the door.
CHAPTER 51
NEENA
I woke on Saturday morning on a stiff hotel bed to the sound of a vacuum banging along the hall. Rolling onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling and stifled a wave of anxiety as the events of the last week came rushing back.
Cat’s poisoning, paired with William’s suspicious looks.
My text messages and calls to him, all unanswered.
The loud skirmish in the middle of the night. Matt chasing someone downstairs.
The hours and hours of questions.
Countless police officers, going through the most intimate details of our lives.
The hidden compartment. The money. The photos.
The safe—my missing will and written confession.
I had been certain that Matt would soften, would let me stay in the house last night, would accept my hollow apologies and welcome me into our bed. But he had acted like a complete stranger. I lifted my hand and lightly felt my cheekbone, the area tender from his slap. Twenty years together and he had never touched me, never touched anyone, save for that one night.
I could threaten him. Threaten to expose that night if he wouldn’t take me back. But the police would have to believe my story over his. And a week ago, they probably would have. But now, after the cloud of suspicion floating around me ... who would believe me? I let my hand fall back onto the bed and tried to search for a solution.
If Matt meant what he’d said ... a divorce with no split assets, a thousand dollars a month in alimony ... I’d have to get another job. I had a voice mail on my phone from the HR director at Winthorpe Tech, one I hadn’t had the stomach to listen to. I knew what it would say.Thank you for your time with us, but there is no need to return.My items were probably already boxed up and sitting at the front desk for my pickup. Maybe I could sue them for wrongful termination. Sexual assault. I still had the recommendation letter from Ned. I could get another job at another firm that didn’t run in William Winthorpe’s circles.
I got out of bed and slowly stood, my back protesting. I needed to get to a gym, maybe the tiny one I’d spotted just off the lobby. I wasn’t brave enough to face the filler-enhanced faces at the Atherton athletic center. Too many Atherton wives attended there, and word had probably spread to a few of them. But what version of the events? The masked intruder? My potential involvement?
It was all ridiculous. I was innocent! Maybe not completely innocent, but my crimes were focused on seduction—not murder. I didn’t need to poison Cat Winthorpe—I could take her down in other ways. And why would I hire someone to kill Matt? I loved Matt. I did. Despite the gray tooth in his smile and his growing gut. Despite the fact that he once called caviar “jelly seeds” at a party. Despite all that—Ilovedhim. Who else would desire me in such a complete and unwavering way? Even if I had entertained thoughts of leaving him—I would never have gone through with it. Not unless William Winthorpe had proposed, which he might have, if I’d had more time with him.
It had all been going perfectly until the hard right turn that had thrown me into hell. Hell and a queen-bed hotel room with a rattling air conditioner and questionable pay-per-view options.
I dressed in yoga pants and a sports bra, lacing up my Nikes while mentally moving through my daily affirmations. I opened the door to my room, my key card in hand, and came to a stop at the sight of the newspaper tossed in front of my door, an identical copy at each adjacent room.
LOCAL WIFE ATTEMPTS MURDER, AUTHORITIES ALLEGE
The headline could not have been in bigger font, a bold sans serif that competed with the photo of me—a horrible shot where my mouth was open, my attention sideways. I picked up the paper and studied the photo, which was from the July Fourth fireworks party. I looked terrible. Terrible andoldand angry.Local wife attempts murder?How many people had seen this piece of trash? I pictured all my new friends, their features pinching in distaste, manicured hands reaching for their phones, frantic to share the news.Oh my gawd ... did you hear?Neena Ryder tried to kill her husband. Kill him.It would hit social media, message groups, text threads. It would be everywhere within an hour.
Returning to my room, I engaged the dead bolt and sank onto the bed, reading the article in its entirety as my gut twisted into a tight knot.