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She gathered her pajamas and cosmetic bag from the jumble she’d thrown together. She crossed to the en suite. A long hot shower would help, and then she intended to have that drink Laney had offered. In fact, she wanted two or perhaps three. Whatever it took to relax her after today’s trials.
She shuddered at the idea that so many reporters had gathered outside her home. Thankfully, Jack had been able to slip her away unnoticed, preventing anyone from following them here.
In the bathroom, surrounded by cool white tile and gold-tone fixtures, she shed the clothes she wore. They weren’t the clothes she had been wearing that morning. The police had taken those. She’d had to remove and drop every item of fabric and jewelry from her body into an evidence bag. Her favorite walking shoes as well.
The forensic technicians would be looking for blood splatter or other evidence that she had been close to the victim when he was murdered.
Ellen knew with certainty the effort would be futile. When she had entered the house after her walk and gone in search of her husband, she hadn’t moved beyond the bathroom door, although she had said she’dchecked his pulse. She hadn’t. There was no need. He was dead. She had known he was. Why move closer than necessary?
Besides, there had been much to do. After the initial shock of finding him, her brain had kicked into gear, and by sheer force of will she had taken care of a few unexpected loose ends around the house. Then she had called the police. The first officers had arrived in under ten minutes. She hadn’t expected any less in her prestigious neighborhood.
One of the officers had escorted her to the great room and seated her out of the way of the activities that would need to take place in her home. The officer, a woman, had taken down the basic information by the time the detective had arrived.
Ellen turned on the shower, then gathered a towel before stepping beneath the hot spray. For long minutes—she had no idea how many—she stood under the water, hoping to wash away the horrors of the day.
The last words she had spoken to Jarrod, ordinary words—good night, love you—echoed through her. He had repeated the same to her. They hadn’t slept apart as she’d stated, because she had not confronted him about his betrayal. If she had, he would have promptly left before the grand finale. She could not allow that to happen.
But it had happened. Only he hadn’t left ... he’d been murdered.
Her fingers worked shampoo through her hair, the foam slipping down her skin. As she rinsed away the soap, she struggled to analyze the feelings invading her, an odd sense of calm followed by a strange giddiness. Quite frankly, she wasn’t sure how to feel just now. Hurt that someone had murdered her husband? Frustrated that she hadn’t done it herself? She had no frame of reference for this particular event. She pushed the unsettling feelings aside. Strength and focus were essential now. This regrettable business had ended today as planned. Well, almost as planned.
Fortunately, Ellen was always prepared for the unexpected.
After finding him, she had quickly put away the incriminating documents and images and alerted the others not to come. Nothing she hadn’t been able to handle.
Life was quite often like business. Even when your journey veered off-track, you simply recalculated and adjusted your trajectory.
Ellen had done exactly that today.
With a turn of the gold-toned handle, she shut off the water and stepped from the marble-and-glass enclosure. As she moved the towel over her body, she studied her reflection. She wasn’t in bad shape for her age. She was often mistaken for someone ten or fifteen years younger. A clean diet, a steady exercise regimen, and good genes served her well. Even the lack of facial wrinkles she could chalk up to her dear mother. She’d had flawless skin when she’d passed, despite the cancer that had eaten away at her.
Today’s ghastly events aside, Ellen had come a very long way from her tragic childhood. Anger trickled through her. No one was taking that away from her.
Her lips tight, she arranged the towel around her dark hair and squeezed out the water, then rubbed the length of it between the folds of thick fabric. Gray had long ago invaded her brunette tresses, but the best stylist in Nashville was at her beck and call. She deserved a bit of luxury in her life.
Ellen reached for her pajamas. The silk fabric slid down her skin. She shivered and wished she could somehow know her husband’s final thought. Shock? Disbelief? Denial? How stunned he must have been to see the face of his lover as she wielded that fateful blow. Then again, Ellen couldn’t be precisely sure of the killer’s identity. There was, it seemed, more than one suspect—a turn of events she had not anticipated at all. Obviously, she had missed something.
Whatever the case, it was over now. There was only the matter of the cleanup details. Those would all be handled swiftly.
She had taken care of everything. She was in control.
Some said that when the heart stopped beating, a surge of utter fear spread through the motionless blood and instantly depleted it of oxygen.
Ellen hoped he had felt that incredible fear.
Renewed fury seared through her. She hoped he was in hell, where he belonged.
The rage died an instant death, and another overpowering emotion welled inside her. She closed her eyes against the tears that began to stream down her face. She wasn’t supposed to feel any of this agony ... this loss. No. No. No.
She dropped to her knees on the cold tile and wept like a child.
Jarrod was dead.
6
Monday, September 19
9:20 a.m.
