Chapter 3 - THE HUSBAND WHO HAD ALREADY ORDERED THE FLOWERS
Michael Carter cried beautifully.
I'd seen it before.
At charity dinners.
At funerals.
During speeches about the importance of family.
His eyes would redden.
His voice would break at precisely the right moment.
Women would reach for tissues.
Men would place hands on his shoulder.
He had a gift for making other people feel privileged to witness his pain.
Now he stood in our Denver mansion, arranging my funeral.
The police had informed him that an investigation was underway after a woman was reported missing near the mountain overlook.
He'd told them we'd argued.
That I walked away.
That the weather deteriorated.
That he tried to find me.
He conveniently omitted the part where he pushed me off the edge.
Ashley Bennett, his assistant and lover, stood beside him.
She wore a cream blouse and black trousers.
Her hand rested lightly against his back.
"You need to eat," she said.
Michael stared at the flowers.
White lilies.
My least favorite.
He knew that.
But lilies photographed well.
"Not now."
Ashley lowered her voice.
"Has the insurance company called?"
Michael glanced toward the open doorway.
"No."
"The estate attorney?"
"Tomorrow."
She folded her arms.
"We have to be careful."
He turned.
His expression changed.
"She's gone, Ashley."
"What if they find something?"
"They won't."
His voice was cold now.
Nothing like the grieving husband he'd performed for the police.
"The storm covered everything."
Ashley swallowed.
"And the baby?"
For a moment, Michael's expression flickered.
Then he looked away.
"Stop."
Ashley stared.
"You told me she was six months pregnant."
"I know."
"Michael—"
He turned sharply.
"I said stop."
She stepped backward.
He took a breath.
Then smiled again.
"We have to think about the future."
Ashley looked toward the portrait hanging above the fireplace.
Evelyn Carter.
My photograph.
Taken three years earlier at a charity auction.
I wore a blue gown and smiled at a husband I still believed loved me.
Ashley studied it.
Then whispered, "What if she survived?"
Michael laughed.
A terrible sound.
"No one survives a fall like that."
But on the desk behind him, his phone vibrated.
A message from a lawyer.
The estate cannot be distributed without proper legal determination of death and review of the trust documents.
Michael stared.
Then typed:
How long?
The response arrived.
There is no automatic transfer. We need to establish the facts.
Michael's smile disappeared.
He'd believed my death would open a vault.
He hadn't understood the locks.
Or perhaps he'd assumed enough money could persuade someone to overlook them.
Across the room, Ashley poured champagne.
"To our future?" she asked.
Michael raised his glass.
"To our future."
They drank.
Neither knew that I was sitting in a hospital bed two hundred miles away.
Alive.
Angry.
May you like
And beginning to remember every financial document Michael had asked me to sign.
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