‘Who?’
‘There’s this man I know. His name is John Burnley.’ Hewonders now how much he should tell her. He doesn’t want to worry her. He pauses.
‘Who the hell is he, Ted?’ she demands.
‘Someone I worked with, a long time ago. When I was selling securities on Wall Street, in my early twenties.’ His wineglass is empty. He gets up, walks over to the sideboard, and pours himself a generous scotch. With his back to her, he says, ‘He showed up at my office, after Greg died, when the talk started about the inheritance.’ He turns to face her then. Takes a measure of whiskey, feels it burn. ‘He wanted to offer me a business opportunity.’
‘A business opportunity,’ she repeats.
‘Remember when the attorneys warned us about people coming out of the woodwork when we came into the money?’ She nods. ‘Well, he’s one of those. He heard what happened and showed up at my office. I was civil, but I told him I wasn’t interested.’
‘And?’
He hesitates, then answers. ‘And I googled him after he left. Found out that he’d done time in prison for fraud. He was always a sharp one, played fast and loose with the rules. No ethics. He’s somebody to stay away from.’
‘So you think he might be doing this– threatening us? Because you turned him down?’
‘Maybe. He doesn’t like to be told no.’
Now she looks nervous. ‘We don’t want somecriminalbothering us, Ted,’ she says. ‘Who knows what he might do?’
He decides not to tell her the rest. How John had recently approached him at the pond in Central Park. His sly insinuations.His veiled threats. His crocodile smile. But the more Ted thinks about it, the more certain he is that John sent that text. Well, fuck him. He’s not going to play this game. John Burnley has nothing on him.
‘We have nothing to be afraid of,’ he says to Jill firmly. ‘He’s just a bullshitter. He’s notdangerous. He’s not violent. I bet he’s just trying this on, wants to make us nervous.’ He takes another drink. ‘He’ll probably ask for money to get him to leave us alone. That’s what he wants.’ He comes over and sits down beside her again. ‘But it’s not going to work, because we have nothing to be afraid of. He can’t know anything about what happened on that boat. So we just sit tight and ignore him. He’ll go away.’ He reaches for her and pulls her into a hug, kisses the soft hair on the top of her head.
‘What if he doesn’t?’ she whispers.
‘Then I’ll go to the police and tell them he’s harassing us.’
He’s not going to give in to idle threats. Ted has killed a man. He’s got more guts than he ever knew.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THAT NIGHT, LONGafter Ted is asleep, Jill gets out of bed and treads softly around the brownstone in bare feet. Restlessly, she climbs the stairs to the second floor and stands at the top of the stairs, looking up at the skylight. Moonlight filters through it and across the hardwood floor, the beautifully carved and restored railing and newel post. Up here there are three more large rooms: a library lined with books at the front, a more modern entertainment/TV room at the rear, and another guest room and bathroom in between. She enters the library, with its rich brown-leather furniture, carefully curated artwork, and expensive rugs scattered on the floor. She returns to the first floor, then continues down the stairs to the main floor, running her hand along the smooth banister. It comforts her, to survey her home like this: she does it often. It’s a thing of beauty, an architectural gem, and she’s proud of it, every gorgeous detail. This brownstone is part of her identity. It’s solid, tangible, something she can hang on to while her mind goes offon frightened tangents. She feels safe here. It’s their sanctuary. She couldn’t possibly lose it. It’s why they killed Greg, to save their brownstone. To save the lovely lifestyle they have here. That they deserve.
She is unable to sleep, unable to stop thinking about that menacing text. There were no more after the one earlier this evening. Even after Ted had fallen asleep, his phone on the night table beside him, she’d remained alert, waiting, but there was nothing. Maybe Ted was right, and it was just a prank. Because there’s no way anyone could know what happened on that boat. People will always speculate– because they survived, and Greg didn’t. And they got his money.
She enters the kitchen still without turning on a light and stares out the large windows into the dark garden for a while. Finally, she turns and goes to sit in the front room. She pulls the cashmere throw from the back of the sofa and wraps it around herself as she sits down. She leans her head back against the sofa and gazes up at the elaborate plaster medallion on the ceiling. It was probably that man who Ted mentioned, John Burnley, she tells herself. The criminal. He worries her. The man has been in prison. If he continues to harass them, would it be wise to go to the police? Would they have any choice?
Her thoughts drift to Lara. She remembers the way Lara had looked at her when she showed up at the gallery that day and told her about the visit from Ramirez, that he suspected it was murder. Jill has known Lara a long time, and they understand each other well. They both know how important money is to each of them, even though it’s something neither of them mentions any more.
Lara has been a good friend, supportive. She’s also askingquestions, inviting confidences. Jill is worried that Lara thinks something happened on that boat that they’re not admitting to. Probably because of Ramirez. And the fact that Lara suspects something frightens her. Maybe more than this John Burnley does. Because Lara knows her too well.
Jill hasn’t shared this with Ted. She doesn’t want Ted to know that her best friend is making her nervous.
But she starts to wonder, her thoughts galloping away with her in the middle of the night– that text– could it have come fromLara? Why would she do that?
The answer is so blindingly obvious. For money. If Lara thinks they pushed Greg off that boat, then maybe she will want some money for keeping quiet. But this is where it all gets muddled. Lara doesn’t actually know anything about what happened. So how could she possibly expect Ted and Jill to give in to any kind of blackmail? Unless she’s just resentful that they are getting all that money. Would she be vindictive enough to send that text? Jill remembers their lunch when she told Lara that Ted was getting the money. How Lara had pretended to be happy for her. How Jill had pretended not to be thrilled.
She wishes she could trust her best friend. She has always trusted her before, but she’s not sure she does now. Is she becoming paranoid because of that text? Is Lara simply showing the concern of a good friend?
Jill wishes Lara would stop bringing up what happened on that fucking boat.
Fortunately, Jill has Ted. If she needs to talk about it, she can talk to him. Lara will get nothing out of her.
Ramirez can’t sleep. He throws off his covers and pads into his small, dark living room, prises the blinds open with his fingers, and stares moodily out his window to the street below. His apartment is above an electronics store on a busy thoroughfare. Neon lights glare from across the street and the sound of traffic hums constantly.
He has not forgotten Ted and Jill Westcott. He is busy with other cases, but they are never far from his mind. He thinks about them, protected behind the stately walls of their grand house. What is it, this obsession he has with the Westcotts? Is it because he thinks they got away with murder? Yes, but it’s more than that. It’s because of their obscene wealth, their privilege. They already had so much, but it wasn’t enough– they wanted even more. They, and people like them, disgust him.