Two Days Later
With trembling hands,I insert the key into the new lock and slowly open the front door. My heart races as I step inside, cautiously scanning my surroundings. But my eyes are immediately drawn to the large crimson stain on the foyer floor where my beloved husband had laid. Tears swell in my eyes as I struggle to process the sight before me, unable to believe this is my reality.
I set my bag down. First, I go to the utility closet, grab a bucket, and fill it with soapy warm water. I grab a sponge from under the cabinet and take it, along with the bucket, to the foyer. Getting down on my hands and knees, I begin to scrub. After an hour, the floor is clean. I take my bag upstairs, set it on the bed, and stare at the side where Oliver used to sleep. My legs feel like they’re going to give, so I sit on the edge of the bed and cup my face in my hands.
I honestly thought the next time I’d have to grieve my husband’s death, I would be at least pushing ninety. But here I was, facing the unimaginable loss while still in my prime. It felt like the world had been ripped out from under me, leaving me unsteady and lost. The thought of carrying on without him by my side is suffocating as I try to wrap my head around this new reality. It is a cruel twist of fate, and the second time, I grieve the loss of a husband. I need answers, and I’m getting them one way or another.
27
My mind pretendsthat Oliver is on a business trip. It’s unhealthy, I know. But it’s the only way I get through the night—along with a sleeping pill.
After stumbling out of bed, I walk down the stairs and to the kitchen for a cup of coffee to help wake me up. I have an appointment with Dr. Burton in a couple of hours, and I need to get ready. With my hands wrapped around the warm mug of coffee, I lean against the counter and scan the empty kitchen, waiting for Oliver to walk in and take a mug from the cabinet, as he does every morning. But today, he won’t. He won’t ever step foot in this kitchen again.
I spoke to Detective Paige Walker yesterday. They still haven’t found any clues about who The Widowmaker is, and she’s frustrated. I can tell she’s an excellent detective and trying, but The Widowmaker is more intelligent than all of them. I never told her about Brian. If I had, I’d be the prime suspect—one woman, two husbands, two murders. I’d even believe I did it if I were her.
Dr. Burton meetsme at his office door, grabs my hands, and gently squeezes them. “How are you doing, Katherine?”
“I’m taking it one day at a time and trying to survive.”
He leads me over to the couch. I sit, and he perches himself in his usual leather chair.
“She was at his funeral,” I say.
“Who?”
“The woman Oliver was having an affair with.”
“Did she come out and tell you they were having an affair?” he asks.
“No. She didn’t have to. I could see it in her grieving eyes. She grieved as if he were her husband.”
“I assume you’re not back to work yet.”
I shake my head as I fiddle with my hands. “No. I can’t go back there just yet.”
“What have you been doing since the funeral?”
“Not much. Thinking, sleeping, and trying to get through the days. I can’t bring myself to clean out his closet or get rid of any of his things.”
“That will happen when you’re ready. I know I don’t have to tell you that it’s very important for you to get back to a daily routine.”
“I know that. You know I’ve been through this before. But this time, it’s different.”
“How?” His brows furrow.
“I don’t know. Maybe it is because I’m older now, and this is my second husband, who was murdered. Dr. Burton, I know this sounds crazy, but I think The Widowmaker has followed and watched me since I left Rockstead.”
“I think it’s your paranoia making you believe that, Katherine. Who would do that? And why?”
“I have no idea. But Oliver was murdered the same way Brian was—twenty-two stab wounds. That’s not a coincidence.”
“But this person didn’t just target you. He’s also targeting other cheating men.”
“Men who were the husbands of my firm’s clients. It’s someone at my firm who knows about the cases.”
“And you believe this ‘someone’ followed you from Rockstead? You’ve worked at your firm for a few years now. Did you ever notice someone who looked familiar to you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “But?—”
