Page 43 of Happy Wife

“I’ll be back,” I offer as I leave.

I can’t say I even remember getting into the car and pulling out onto the street, but a few minutes later, I’m sitting in front of Constance’s house. She doesn’t live far. Although to hear her describe the way she left the Isle of Sicily property after she and Will divorced, you might think she was exiled to a third-world country.

Will bought her the white Spanish Revival on Genius Drive as part of their divorce settlement. He even agreed to fund an extensive renovation to suit Constance’s tastes. But she never lets him live down the property’s shortcomings. First, while it is still among the largest and most coveted properties in Winter Park, Constance’s plot on the exclusive road is not lakefront—a massive blow. The house is also smaller than Will’s by about three thousand square feet—a Greek tragedy. Finally, the original Genius Drive was not a road at all. Instead, it was a walking path through a sprawling citrus grove, and the wild peacocks that laid claim to the property back then still consider it theirs. Constance complains relentlessly about the way the peacocks wake her up with wild cries at the crack of dawn. Picturing Constance being awakened by howling peacocks tempers my anger by a fraction.

I ring the doorbell and stand back, arms folded.

I hear the dog first. Constance’s hell-born Pomeranian, Duchess, is on the other side of the door, yapping as if her life depends on it. Will always says Duchess has much more in common with Lucifer than she does with any royal.

“Duchess! Hush!”

The door swings open, and Constance’s face immediately falls when she sees me.

“Enough is enough, Constance,” I growl. “Stop fucking giving pictures to the press.”

“Well, I would invite you in, but clearly, we’re all going to forget our manners today.” She doesn’t even try to hide her disdain.

I want to laugh. Or slap her. Instead, I try to match her detached, mean-girl tone. “It’s the strangest thing. I was watching the news the other day, and not only did they have the story about Will’s disappearance but they had a photo. Courtesy of the family.”

“Kristy is a friend. She needed some pictures of Will, so she asked me.”

“I’m his wife. I’m the one the press should be talking to. And, I don’t want them to have a goddamn thing.”

“You can’t be serious. You’ve been his wife for five seconds. I was his wife for twenty years. Do you really think you’re the one people are going to reach out to?”

“You know what, fine. I don’t care as much about the damn photos. But evidence? Will’s shirt? It’s low. Even for you.”

She touches a hand to her head as if another migraine may be threatening. “What are you even talking about?”

It’s maddening to watch her pretend to be the sensible one between us when she and I both know she came unglued when Will and I started dating.

Does she think I’ve forgotten?

I don’t know whether to roll my eyes or bare my teeth. “So, what? You called in a favor with your ‘friend’ Kristy and leaked Will’s shirt. You turned police evidence into—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You don’t get to come over here and accuse me of leaking evidence that I’ve never even seen.” She’s condescending to be sure. But it’s hard to tell if she’s lying.

My sense of self-righteousness falters. “Will’s shirt is on the news,” I sputter. “And you just said Kristy was a friend and—”

“I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t share evidence with Kristy, and I don’t know what shirt you’re talking about.” She clears her throat. “It baffles me that you think you get to ask all of the questions here, Nora. Fritz and Travis Ardell may be caught in your spell, but I’m wide awake.”

“Oh, you are? Perfect. Is Travis Ardell up to speed on the time you broke into Will’s house and stole his wine? If you’re so sure I’m to blame for whatever is going on here, you won’t mind if I fill him in on how contentious things can get between you two.”

Her expression settles into a frigid glare. “You really think Ardell is going to believe you? Over me? My ex-husband has vanished, and you’re the last one that saw him alive.”

The word “alive” evokes its antonym: “dead.” A chill races from the top of my spine down to my core, and I want to throw up.

“All we know is that Will is missing,” I fire back, refusing to accept any other possibility.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Nausea morphs into rage, but I don’t think clawing her eyes out is going to get me off anyone’s list of suspects. I turn on my heels to go.

“You can pretend all you want. But I know the truth. I know he wasn’t happy before he disappeared, Nora,” Constance callsafter me. Her tone is a little singsongy, with a heavy dose of menace. “He told me your marriage was falling apart.”

The words make my feet fumble. My ankle wobbles precariously. But I recover, and I don’t give Constance the satisfaction of looking back at her as I climb into my car and peel out of her driveway.

Chapter20

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