“That’s sweet of you, babe, but I don’t want you coming anywhere near me. I don’t want you to catch this bug. I’m going to lie down now and try to sleep. My stomach is killing me. I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”
“I love you too, Jack. Feel better. Text me if you need anything.”
Disappointment courses through me. Shit. Now, what do I tell my mom? I climb off the bed and head downstairs.
“Hey, Mom.” I walk into the kitchen where she’s cooking dinner. “Change of plans. Kourtney just texted me that her mom is sick and she’s not going to work tonight.”
“Okay, sweetie.” She smiles. “Oh, by the way. Your father just called. Your car is ready, and he’s picking it up from the mechanic after work.
“Thank God. I hate depending on people for rides.”
After dinner, I went upstairs and texted Jack. After waiting a while, I texted him again. He must still be sleeping and really sick. Poor Jack. I hope he’s better tomorrow.
I hear my alarm sound, reach over, and turn it off. Rolling over, I grab my phone and look at it, expecting to see text messages from Jack. Nothing. He never responded to my text messages last night.
I get up and dress for school. Jack doesn’t show up, and he won’t text me back. I can’t help but worry about him all day. I’ll stop by his house when school lets out and check on him.
School is over, and I still haven’t heard from Jack. I pull out of the school parking lot and head to his house. When I turn on his street, several police cars take up most of the space outside his home. I see his parents in the driveway. They must have returned from their trip this afternoon. His mom is shaking and screaming, and his dad, who is visibly upset, tries to comfort her.
I climb out of my car and run down the sidewalk to their house. A police officer stops me.
“I’m sorry, miss. You can’t go any further. This is a crime scene.”
A crime scene? What the hell is he talking about?
“Mr. and Mrs. Dillard!” I shout as the police officer holds me back.
Mr. Dillard looks at me and walks over.
“What happened?” I’m so nervous, I want to throw up.
“God, Kat.” He sobs. “We got home from our trip and found Jack?—”
I look up as his body is being wheeled from the house, covered from head to toe in a white sheet.
“NO!” I scream.
His father grabs and hugs me. “He was murdered, Kat. My son was murdered.”
The police say it was a break-in gone wrong, and Jack must have tried to fight the intruder off, ending up on the floor with twenty-two stab wounds.
I will never be okay again.
31
KAT
Present
The doorto Oliver’s home office has been shut since the night he was murdered. I couldn’t bring myself to go in there, but today, I have no choice because I need to start cleaning it out to put the brownstone up for sale. As much as I love our home, I can’t stay here after what happened. It’s too much of a reminder of him and the life we built. And every time I step into the foyer, I see his body lying there.
I open the door and step inside. Mahogany bookcases line the back wall, filled with books on finance, investing, art, and English literature. I sit in his black leather executive chair and run my hand along the expensive mahogany desk that matches the bookcases. The desk has a total of four drawers—a top drawer and three going down the left-hand side. I open each one and look inside, except for the bottom drawer, which is locked.
“Where did you keep the key, Oliver?” I say, rummaging through the open drawers. I can’t find it, so my eyes scan the office. I reach my hand under the lip of the desk and feel around until my fingers hit a piece of metal.
“There you are.” I pull the key from the double-sided tape and hold it up.
I insert the key into the lock and turn it, opening the drawer. Inside are a stack of papers and receipts. I pull them out and examine them. Many receipts are from the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in Chicago—a two-night stay every other week and multiple room service charges. My heart sinks deep into my chest. He never had an apartment there. He lied to me. I pull another receipt from the pile from Marshall Pierce & Co., a high-end jewelry store in Chicago, for $4,500 for a diamond pendant. I glance at the date. It was a month ago. But he never gave me a diamond pendant. He bought it forher. Among the receipts were for purchases of flowers from a flower shop in Chicago. Flowers he bought forher.
