You Deserve to Know

Chapter 8

8

NOW

Aimee grips the wheel of the truck and stares straight ahead, determined to keep her emotions from showing on her face and freaking Noa out. The traffic is light on River Road as she passes over the Beltway and continues toward Potomac, where Cathy lives. After she drops Noa, she needs to oversee the installation of the blueberry bushes, and then she can circle back and see what Gwen needs. Her friend’s entire world has just been upended and Aimee wants to be there for her, the way she wishes someone had been there for her when her mother died. As for Scott, she knows he will be able to explain what she saw on the video. She didn’t hear him leave or return, for that matter. Where could he have gone?

There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation , she tells herself.

“Mom, there, turn!” Noa points at the entrance to the driveway. Aimee slows and turns. She was caught up in her thoughts and almost missed it. Cathy’s old farmhouse, with a wraparound porch, has somehow survived being torn down and replaced by the fairy-tale mansions all around it. It sits on about two acres, and there’s even an old barn off to the side that looks like it could use a good renovating. There used to be several horse farms in Potomac, and Aimee wonders what kind of farm this once was.

As soon as the truck comes to a stop, Noa rushes out and runs to the front porch.

Cathy comes to the door and opens it wide. “Come on in.” Noa runs inside, gives Cathy a quick hug, and then runs off, Aimee guesses, to find the kittens.

“I am so sorry to impose on you like this,” Aimee says, wishing she could leave without chatting. But she doesn’t want to be rude. Cathy has been very generous to allow Noa to come over.

“No imposition at all.” Cathy starts walking to the kitchen. “Coffee?” she calls over her shoulder. “I just made a fresh pot.”

Cathy’s house is a mix of heirloom quality antiques and bohemian touches. A framed old map of Block Island hangs next to an abstract watercolor. Aimee follows her to the large, airy kitchen, where Cathy is puttering around. Her long silver hair is wound in a neat bun at her neck, and she wears an oyster-gray top with a darker gray long skirt. She’s very chic for an older woman, Aimee thinks, and then admonishes herself for her assumptions about aging women. She wonders, as she sometimes does when she’s around women this age, what her own mother would be like now. She died when Aimee was in high school, not even forty-five years old. Would she be a chic sixtysomething like Cathy? Or would she be like her stepmom, Deb, practical in her sweatpants, turtlenecks, and Crocs?

Cathy hands her a cup of coffee.

“Thank you,” Aimee says, taking it. “But I can’t stay long. I don’t want to be late for an installation, and this has been a crazy morning.”

Cathy’s face creases with concern. “Oh dear, is everything all right?”

“Not really.” Aimee brings the mug to her mouth and inhales. She notices a slight tremble in her hands. So much for keeping her emotions in check until later. “A friend of mine, her husband was found dead.”

Cathy sucks in her breath, places a hand on her chest, right over a large green jade pendant. “My goodness. How awful. What happened?” She steps back, pulls out a stool from under the counter, and pats it. That’s the former teacher in her , Aimee thinks. Her ability to connect right away. And like a good pupil, Aimee takes a seat. She sends Tim a quick text telling him she’s on her way but running late, and tells Cathy what she knows. It feels good to have someone to talk to. “I’m still just processing the whole thing. It’s so awful. The police think…” Her voice trails off. Why is she being so cagey? Is it because saying it aloud makes it true?

“They think what?” Cathy cocks her head.

“They’re treating it as a murder investigation.” She fidgets with a small wooden bowl in front of her, filled with stone hearts. She pulls out a pink quartz one and worries it with her hand.

“How awful for you. And your friend.” Cathy’s gaze falls to a framed photo next to the bowl of hearts. In it, a young woman holds the hand of a little boy who grins at the camera. “That’s me and my boy. I lost him when he was young.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had a son.”

“That was taken a long time ago. He was only three.”

“He was very cute.”

She presses her lips tight. “He was a wonderful boy. The light of my life. He would be about your age now. I think that’s one of the reasons I enjoy having Noa come visit. He was my only child, and when I lost him, well…” She gives Aimee a sad smile. “I’ll never know the joys of grandchildren.”

“But you had your students.”

Cathy smiles. “True. I do so love having little people about.”

It touches Aimee deeply. “That makes me feel a little less guilty about how much we’ve been coming over. I lost my mother when I was a teenager. She died of cancer when I was sixteen. Actually, it was the medicine that killed her, not the cancer. But that’s a story for another day.”

“Oh, Aimee, I am so sorry. I had no idea.”

Aimee is struck by how genuine Cathy’s concern is. “My dad remarried right away, and my stepmom is perfectly nice.” Aimee pauses. Because it’s true. Deb is nice. “But she never really accepted me as her own. She got pregnant right away and had three more kids with my dad. So, there were three new kids for my father to focus on. I left for college the next year, and well, I just never… I miss my mom.”

“Of course you do. Look, if you need me to watch Noa or help out while you look after your friend, please don’t hesitate to ask. I know what it can be like to lose a loved one. It’s world-shattering. Be there for her.” Cathy stands and opens her arms.

“Thank you,” Aimee says, stepping into Cathy’s hug. She is curious about how Cathy’s son died but doesn’t want to pry. It would probably be too painful.

Her phone pings. It’s Scott finally responding to her text.

“I’d better get this. Thanks again. I’ll come back for Noa in a few hours?”

Aimee walks outside and stops in front of the azalea bushes Cathy wants to replace. She’s been out here several times discussing the merits of spice bush and clethra, viburnum and native hydrangeas that will support the local insect and bird populations. At first she thought that Cathy was another one of her wealthy, indecisive clients, but now Aimee realizes all those long talks in Cathy’s kitchen weren’t because Cathy is high maintenance. Cathy is lonely. Leaving Noa here for a few hours feels like she is helping them both, and that makes her feel good.

Inside the truck, she dials Scott as she drives to her Glen Echo client. Tim has been working the ground for a few weeks now, making sure the soil is acidic enough for the finicky blueberry bushes, and installing drip irrigation so the bushes have the consistently soggy soil they prefer. Now she just has to make sure all the bushes look healthy and the spacing is right, and to answer any questions from the client.

“That was me, don’t worry,” Scott says as soon as he answers.

A shiver runs through Aimee. “What? What was you?”

“The money. You’re calling about the money, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What money?”

He laughs. “I thought you saw the email from the bank about the withdrawal, and I didn’t want you to worry. We weren’t hacked. That was me.”

They have an alert system on their accounts that withdrawals over a certain amount trigger an email, but Aimee hasn’t checked her email recently. “How much did you take out?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“Fifty thousand!”

“I can explain. I’m just moving some money around.”

“That’s a lot of money to move around without telling me.”

“Yeah, sorry, the deadline to buy these bonds was coming up, and I had to move to catch the current interest rate. Starting next month—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. You can give me all the details later. Listen, that’s not why I called.”

“Is everything all right? Is Noa okay?”

“Yeah. She’s fine, she’s visiting the kittens, and the boys are at Lisa’s.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how else to say this except straight-out. Anton’s dead. He was hit by a car last night.”

There’s a long pause before Scott answers. “Oh my God, that’s horrible. Where did this happen?”

“Downtown Bethesda, but listen.” She pulls into the driveway and sees Tim’s truck. He waves at her. Standing next to him is the client, a woman a bit older than Aimee, with a scowl on her face. Aimee’s stomach sinks. The last thing she needs is a disgruntled client. This is a straightforward job. She picked out the bushes herself a week ago when she was at the family nursery outside Baltimore.

“I have to go, but you should know the police are going to come by and talk to you.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because Anton came by the house last night.”

Scott lets out an awkward laugh. “What? Why do you think that?”

“Scott, I saw it on the doorbell camera. And so did the detective.”

“So now you’re checking up on me?”

Aimee frowns. Scott is not usually defensive. “Of course not. The police asked me to look. They’re trying to solve a murder.”

“You know that you didn’t have to show them, right? Not without a warrant.”

Aimee is stunned. “I didn’t think we had anything to hide.” Tim begins to walk over to her truck. “I saw you walk out with Anton. Where were you going?”

“He was drunk. And bleeding from his head. He said he fell. He wasn’t making any sense. I took him home.”

“But you didn’t come back right away.” Aimee holds up a finger to Tim and then points to the phone. She needs an explanation before she can get off this call. “You were gone for more than an hour. Where did you go?”

“I can explain everything. But not on the phone.”

A knock on the window startles her, and she turns to see Tim standing there. Flustered, she flashes him a smile. “I have to get to work, but this isn’t over.”

Aimee hangs up, but is left with a heavy sensation in the pit of her stomach. She and Scott have never kept secrets from each other. They weren’t like those other couples, where the women hid their shopping habits and the men lied about weekends in Vegas.

But for the first time in their marriage, she gets the feeling that Scott is managing her. It’s the same feeling she gets when one of her employees has a too-elaborate explanation about why they didn’t show up for work.

It almost always means they’re lying.