Chapter 32 Katie Morrow
Katie Morrow
“We didn’t find anything in the pond behind the Morrow home, but still had our eye on Mark Morrow, given his first wife’s disappearance and the fact that he acted really odd when we did the search.
I have instincts about these things, and I don’t know what that guy is guilty of, but it’s something. ”
Katie had always had a complicated bank of emotions when it came to Mark’s first wife, but hatred had never been in the mix.
Willow had always appeared to be a lovely woman.
Intimidating, sure. In every photo Katie had found, she’d always seemed so confident, her giant smile wide, eyes on the camera, her arms possessively around Mark.
Fun was the adjective everyone used for Willow when Katie had been bold enough to ask about Mark’s first wife.
She’d been “the life of the party” and they’d apparently had big parties, on a regular basis, in the house.
Katie had never hosted a party in her life.
Just the idea of the invitations, a bunch of strangers in her space, the endless small talk .
. . it made her throat close. Mark had broached the idea once, when his fortieth birthday was on the horizon, and she’d just looked at him blankly.
He’d quickly switched horses and suggested a group dinner at La Torte with a few of their closest friends.
His closest friends. Katie didn’t really have any friends, at least not in this circle.
Her friends were all from back home, women she could count on for a supportive phone call or for dinner if they ended up in the same city, but none who could fill out a dinner party at a Michelin-starred restaurant.
Mark’s birthday dinner had been okay, though it stretched on entirely too long and was ridiculously expensive. For the price of the seven-course meal, they could have all flown to Vegas and each bet $500 on black.
Their drive home had been quiet, Mark tipsy on wine, Katie still wired from the traumatic experience of signing the check.
“Did I ever tell you about the Halloween party that Willow threw?” Mark had said, his fingers caressing the top of Katie’s knee.
“Yes,” Katie had lied, because right now was not the time for Mark to go down memory lane. Especially when he hadn’t even thanked her for putting together this dinner.
“She dressed like Catwoman in this skintight suit and these thigh-high boots. It was . . .” He grinned. “It was hot.”
“That’s great, Mark. I’m so happy that your ex-wife was hotter than me.”
“Aw, come on.” He’d pulled her toward him on the bench seat of the limo. “No, I was just thinking about the parties we used to have. You know, our house is a great house for parties.”
Yes, he had mentioned that several times. He loved to mention it. When they had redone the basement, when he had added the pool cabana—hell, when they had re-pavered the driveway. She got it. Lots of people could fit in their house, and she didn’t want a single one in there.
Especially not the brunette who was now picking up their wedding photo, which had been taken on the beach.
Watch her ruin that memory for Katie also.
Oh, you wore white? I wore white. Did you ride his penis on the way back from the church?
Because I did that, and he loved it so much.
Blah blah blah. Katie pushed herself upright, needing to leave before she heard another word from her.
She had expected Willow to be fun. Kind. She hadn’t expected . . . whatever this thing in her living room was. This was a virus, one that was infecting every surface that she touched. Mohair chair—ruined. Alaskan vacation—tainted. Katie stood up. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
She didn’t wait for a response; she wove quickly between the couch and the column and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time until she reached the top. The bathroom was a safe space, and she could hide there until Mark got home.
She entered the primary suite and locked the door behind her.
Two years of wanting answers about Willow, and now all she wanted was for the woman to go away.