Page 21 of The Senator's Wife

Rosemary paced as the phone rang.

“Mac Slade.”

“How are you, my old friend?” she asked with no preamble.

“Rose! Damn, it’s good to hear your voice, woman.”

Then his tone became somber. “I was awfully sorry to hear about Robert. I would’ve come, but I was out of the country. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to call, but didn’t quite know what to say. You must think I’m terrible.”

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “Nonsense. There’s no need for apologies between us. Besides, you sent a lovely note and flowers.” She sighed. “But I could use your help now.”

“Name it.”

“I want you to look into Whit Montgomery. As you know, he was married to my niece, Peg.”

Mac cleared his throat. “The senator who was there when Robert was…” His voice trailed off. “I hear he married Robert’s widow.”

Rosemary exhaled. “Yes. I still have suspicions about his role in the shooting, but I can’t prove it. Before she died, Peg told me that Whit was cheating on her with a woman named Madelyn Sawyer. Can you see if there’s anything going on between them? I also need you to come down here. Talk to some of Peg’s friends in Arlington. I’ll send you the details in an email.”

“You got it. How quickly do you need it?”

“The sooner the better.” She hesitated a moment, then went on. “One more thing. Whit hired a new home healthcare worker.Athena Karras. Check her out. Can’t be too safe with who we have around us. I’ll send you a link to her Facebook page. Camille showed it to me. Then you’ll have her picture.”

“Sure thing. And as for Peg’s friends, I’ll head down in the morning. Give me a couple weeks to see what Whit’s got going on. I’ll have him tailed. Once I have something, I’ll come see you in person. It’ll be good to catch up.”

She smiled. “I’d love that.”

She ended the call, feeling a modicum of relief, and emailed him Michelle Sommers’s name and address, so he could find out if Peg ever met with Michelle’s lawyer husband about her concerns about Whit, and what Michelle knew about the money Peg thought Whit was hiding. Maybe Michelle could also shed some light on the reason that Peg had called Robert in a panic, the day they were both killed.

Once she hit send, Rosemary sat at her desk, absently drumming her fingers on the wooden surface. If she was going to go down this rabbit hole, she had to open her mind to all the possibilities. If Whit had married Peg only for her money, could he have been frustrated to find out she’d inherited just a small portion of her parents’ estate? Maybe he killed her for her life insurance money. No one was there to see what had happened. Whit was the only witness. But she thought again of Camille’s point about Peg having been the one to call Robert there that day. Surely even Whit was not Machiavellian enough to have manipulated her into doing so and then staging a shooting. And the investigation had supported Whit’s explanation of events.

As much as Rosemary disliked him, murder was quite a stretch, yet the news was full of stories of seemingly model citizens committing horrific acts. Men killed their pregnant wives, their children, their parents. And didn’t witnesses consistently claim the guilty party had seemed like a perfectly nice person? If Whit was capable of such an atrocity—shooting his wife and his supposed best friend—the question was why.

Suddenly, the answer seemed so obvious that Rosemary felt like a fool for not seeing it before. Sloane! In one fell swoop, Whit had dispensed with both of their spouses, freeing him up to marry Sloane and obtain access to all her millions. What did they always say about the motive for murder? Love or money. Occasionally both.

Whoa, slow down,she admonished herself. Before she continued with this noir thriller idea, she needed to see what Mac found. Besides, Sloane was no fool. Rosemary knew she’d had Whit sign a prenuptial agreement—Camille had assured her of that. But there was also the foundation. She hoped that Sloane hadn’t given Whit any control over it.

She stopped in the kitchen to let Matilda know she’d be ready for dinner in half an hour. Filled with new resolve, she headed upstairs to change. Even though she ate alone most nights, she continued her custom of dressing for dinner. She could do what many of her widowed friends did and eat her dinner in front of the television, but she liked to maintain a routine. On the nights she did not have guests for dinner, she still had the cook prepare a proper meal. Her mother had taught her a long time ago not to discount one’s own company, and Rosemary was fortunate in that she very much enjoyed her own.

When she returned downstairs, she walked into the living room and poured herself a healthy glass of scotch. After she took a long swallow, her nerves began to settle. She had to think clearly, and not allow herself to go off half-cocked. She thought back to her last conversation with Peg. At the time, she had thought her niece was exaggerating; that her assertions about Whit were over the top. Now she wished she had paid more attention.

- 18 -

ATHENA

The first week had gone well. Athena could see that Sloane was progressing, and although the PT sessions were painful for her, she never complained. Athena had to admit the woman was driven and determined. She didn’t need to be coaxed to do the PT “homework,” and pushed herself, proving diligent about doing the exercises. The physical therapist had come to the house for all three sessions last week, but today Athena would be taking Sloane to the therapy office. Sloane had complained about having cabin fever and wanted to get out of the house.

Athena rose very early, as she had each day since arriving, and was dressed, breakfast behind her, before Sloane awoke. Now she went to Sloane’s door and knocked.

“Come in,” Sloane said.

Athena entered the room and saw that Sloane was in her robe and sitting on a straight-backed chair near the bed. “Good morning. How did you sleep?” Athena asked.

“Really well. I’m looking forward to going out today.”

“I bet.” Athena opened dresser drawers and took out underwear, socks, sweatpants, and a loose top, carrying them over to Sloane. “I’ll help you with these, and—”

“Oh no.” Sloane shook her head. “I can’t go out in sweatpants. Before the surgery, I put some loose outfits together and moved them to the front of the closet. There’s a pair of gray slacks with a white pullover on a hanger. Would you bring them over, please? I’m going to try using my reacher-grabber to help me dress.”

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