Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Ferriday house stood out on its street the way a shout stands out in a library.
Modern construction, two stories of steel and glass and black iron railings, floor-to-ceiling windows that let you see straight into the living room from the curb.
The neighbors had done exposed brick and reclaimed wood and tasteful lighting.
The Ferridays had done a statement. I was going to assume Holt hadn’t had one iota of input in the decorating.
A white Porsche Cayenne sat in the circle driveway.
I got out of the car, and the evening heat hit me like a wall.
“You ready?” Jack asked.
“Sure,” I said. “I want to see the woman who’s managed to put up with Holt Ferriday for twelve years.”
“Takes all kinds,” Jack said. “She could be worse than he is.”
“I shudder to think.”
Jack rang the bell.
The woman who answered the door was not what I expected.
Sloane Ferriday filled the doorway in a white sundress that stopped at mid-thigh and left very little to the imagination about what was underneath it.
She was tall and dark haired, and someone had invested serious money in her cup size over the years.
Her lips were full and her cheekbones were sharp and her amber eyes were the color of good bourbon.
She smelled expensive. She held the door open and leaned against it and took a long, unhurried look at Jack the way someone looks at a menu when they already knew what they wanted.
Then she looked at me and smiled like she knew a secret I didn’t.
Jack held up his badge. “I’m Sheriff Lawson. This is Dr. Graves. She’s the county coroner.”
“That sounds serious,” she said. Her voice was low and slightly husky, and I was willing to bet money she’d practiced that. “Come in.”
The inside smelled like expensive perfume and fresh flowers and money.
Everything was white and glass and light oak, the furniture low slung and architectural, art on the walls that was ugly but probably ridiculously expensive.
Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on a backyard with an infinity pool and a pergola draped in string lights already glowing in the early evening.
She led us to the living room without asking if we wanted to sit, and she curled herself into the corner of a concrete-colored sectional, tucked her bare feet under her, and looked at Jack like she’d be happy to be his evening meal.
“Is this about Wade?” she asked. Her voice had gone carefully neutral.
“It is,” Jack said. “When did you find out?”
“Yesterday afternoon.” She glanced at the wall of windows. “The news.” She looked back at Jack. “I’ve been just devastated.”
Her eyes were dry and her mascara was perfect.
“How long had you known Wade Rivers?” Jack asked.
“Eight months.” She rested her chin in her palm and blinked slowly. “I started with the group classes. He suggested private sessions after about a month.”
“Private sessions at the studio or at his condo?” Jack asked.
“Both.” She said it without a flicker of discomfort. “His condo was more convenient. More private.” She paused and gave a secret smile. “The results were better there.”
“Was the relationship strictly professional?” Jack asked.
She shifted and the dress showed more of her thigh.
She didn’t seem to notice. “I was very fond of Wade. He was attentive in ways that most men aren’t.
” Her eyes went to Jack and held there. “He noticed things. Small things. What you wore, what you mentioned in passing. He remembered all of it. It makes a woman feel seen.” She tilted her head slightly.
“I imagine you know something about that.”
Jack looked at her with an arched brow and asked, “How long had the relationship been physical?”
She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled unselfconsciously. “Oh, about seven months.”
“Did your husband know?”
“He suspected.” She examined her nails, which were long and hot pink.
“He always suspects. He’s a suspicious man.
He gets the scent of something, and he goes after it loud and wrong and then he apologizes with big gestures.
We’re going to Tahiti in a couple of weeks.
” She glanced up. “Twelve years. That’s our pattern. ”
“He confronted Wade at the studio,” Jack said. “Threatened to kill him in front of witnesses.”
“That sounds like Holt.” She stretched her arms above her head like a cat and resettled herself against the cushions. “He’s very passionate. It’s the Irish in him.”
“Does he normally threaten to kill people?” Jack asked. “Like he did Wade?”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “He says a lot of things. He doesn’t really mean them.” She tilted her head. “Well, maybe he means them in the moment, but Holt is harmless. All bark and no bite.”
“Did you know he was going to confront Wade?”
“God, no.” She looked genuinely horrified, or did a good impression of it.
“He doesn’t tell me his plans. He just executes them and then I find out about it when he gives me a tennis bracelet or something in apology or buys me new lingerie.
That’s a sure sign of how the rest of our night is going to play out. ”
“Harmless people don’t normally throw punches at law enforcement,” I said.
Her laugh was low and throaty. “Did he really? Tough guy. And how did that turn out? Am I going to have to bail him out of jail?”
“No, but he’s going to have a sore shoulder and bruised ego,” Jack said.
“He’s going to be in quite a mood when he comes home.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, still smiling. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh.”
“When was the last time you saw Wade?” Jack asked.
“Last Thursday.” She crossed her legs. “I go to the studio most mornings for group class, but my private session with Wade was every Thursday evening. His condo.” She paused. “It was different that session.”
“Different how?”
“He was distracted. Wade was never distracted.” She picked at the hem of her dress absently. “He kept checking his phone. And then—” she paused, like she was still deciding whether to say it, “—nothing happened between us. We’ve had sex every Thursday for months. I knew something was wrong.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“Of course I did.” She looked at Jack directly. “He said he’d gotten some personal news he had to deal with. He apologized. That was it.” She tilted her head. “Wade never apologized for anything, either. So whatever it was, it was significant.”
“Did he say anything more about the personal news?”
“No.” She looked at Jack directly. “And I knew enough not to push.” She uncurled her legs and set her feet on the floor and leaned forward slightly, which did things to the neckline of the sundress that were probably intentional.
“Wade kept his compartments very separate. You had your place, you stayed in it. It was understood.”
“What was your place?” Jack asked.
She held his gaze. “I was his Thursday adventure. I like for sex to be a little—” she paused, and the pause was deliberate, “—different. I think he liked the change of pace from his other partners.”
“How many private sessions were like yours?” Jack asked.
“Do you mean how many of Wade’s clients was he sleeping with?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“I know I wasn’t the only one,” she said. “Sex was like a drug to Wade. A need. He was taking some kind of steroids or testosterone or something. I’d be surprised if he only had sex once a day.”
“You saw him take steroids?” I asked.
“No, never saw him. But he mentioned he was on a strict supplement regimen, and that he takes testosterone because of some study about how it reduces in men at thirty-five. As far as steroids—” she tilted her head toward Jack, “—if you saw his body you’d know he didn’t get those muscles from Pilates. ”
“Did he ever mention anyone who had a problem with him? Someone other than your husband?”
She considered this. “He had a strict rule about not dating the instructors who worked for him. He said he’d learned that lesson the hard way.
” She picked at her hot pink nail. “One time he broke up with a woman and she threw a dumbbell at him because she was so angry. Then she quit and he was down an instructor and had to cover her classes.”
I raised my brows at that bit of information. Maybe hitting someone with a dumbbell wasn’t uncommon for our killer after all.
“Did he tell you her name?” Jack asked.
“No, sorry. He never shared.”
“Did he seem worried about her?”
“Wade seemed amused by her.” She looked up. “Wade was amused by most things. He was very difficult to rattle.”
“Did he ever ask you for money?”
“Besides the fortune I was paying him for classes and private sessions?” She smiled a catlike smile. “No.”
“So you never felt like you were paying him for sex?”
“Honey, he should have been paying me,” she said. “I’m ten years older than he is. I gave him an education.”
“Did you know any of his other private clients personally?”
“About a month ago I stopped by his condo. I’d left a shopping bag there and needed it back.
” She met my gaze, and I wondered how much of this story was part of her act.
“A woman was just leaving when I got there. Flushed, couldn’t look me in the eye.
Her clothes were mussed. I could tell she was embarrassed to run into anyone.
“Wade just told her he’d see her at group class and let me inside like it was nothing unusual. For him it wasn’t unusual. He went to the fridge and got one of his smoothies he drinks after a workout while I grabbed my bag from the workout room. There was a condom wrapper on the floor.”
“Did you know the woman?”
“I saw her around the studio a couple of times. Her name was Lynnie. Pretty woman, but the ones he chose for his private sessions are. Drove a black Corvette. I saw her pull in once as I was leaving.”
She smiled and winked at Jack. “I told him I noticed her wedding ring and to be careful. Not all men like to share their wives. But he just laughed, and let’s just say it was another half hour before I left his condo.”
“Can you tell us where you were yesterday between 7 p.m. and 2 a.m.?” Jack asked.
“Holt and I had dinner at Rosario’s.” She smoothed her dress over her knee. “We got home around nine thirty. I took an Ambien and went to bed.”
“He was home all night?” Jack asked.
“As far as I know,” she said. “I was asleep.”
“When did you find out about Wade?”
“I saw it on the news. A few minutes later I got a text from the studio that classes were cancelled for the week.”
Jack stood. “We appreciate your time.”
She arched a brow and came slowly to her feet. “Is that all you need from me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
I snickered to myself as we headed for the door.
“Just in case you need anything else from me,” she said. “Here’s my cell number.”
She held a card out to Jack, and I decided enough was enough. But before I could give her a piece of my mind Jack stepped in.
“You can keep your number,” he said. I’d heard him use the same tone of voice with criminals in an interrogation room. “You disrespect me and my wife when you behave that way.”
Her lips pressed tight together and she looked back and forth between us, as if just considering that we could actually be a couple.
“Never hurts to try,” she said.
“It does actually,” he said. “You should have more respect for your marriage and the life you’re privileged to live. It looks like it could be a good one.”
“I don’t need a lecture from a cop.”
“You and your husband both need more than a lecture,” he said. “I’d suggest counseling. Make sure you don’t leave town anytime soon.”
And with that we stepped back out into the early evening sun, and for the first time since I’d seen Sloane Ferriday, I took a breath of relief.