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The symbolism caused a slight twinge of pain in her chest as she began digging through her husband’s belongings. She yanked open drawers one by one, tossing around neatly stacked layers of socks, briefs, and T-shirts. All the expensive labels that he loved so much.
Nothing.
Next, she pushed through the racks of clothes that were perfectly organized by functionality and color. Suits, slacks, pressed shirts. Jeans, sweaters, tracksuits. Nothing seemed odd or presented as a red flag, so Cassidy began digging through the pockets and came up empty. She tossed around jewelry, pulled watches from the custom cases, and tossed them on the shelves to ensure nothing was hidden or tucked away.
Nothing.
Everything made sense and was a perfect representation of the man she knew. But that was the problem. She didn’t know him at all. Tears welled in her eyes, and a few managed to slither down her cheek. However, they weren’t sorrowful tears. They were hot and angry because Cassidy was furious with him, with herself.
How the hell could I have missed this?
How was I so blind to what was happening in plain sight?
Cassidy was at a loss, and instead of searching further, she decided more wine was the best option at present. Eventually, the answers she needed would surely come, but for now, wine . . .
Hours passed, and daylight was traded for the dark cover of the evening. The sky blazed orange with hints of red from the sun sinking into the horizon. Cassidy sat in her living room, tucked in the corner of the comfy linen-covered, feather-down, cushioned sofa. It cradled her body in a warm and welcoming way. Luxury and comfort were important to Cassidy. She needed the familiarity of being safe and protected. She deserved a good life after years of tirelessly working to make something of herself. Cassidy’s thoughts drifted to her husband. He had once been that familiarity and comfort . . . or had he? Had she imagined their happy life? What he’d meant to her? What she meant to him?
The sound of the doorbell and the soft chime of a notification that someone had been picked up on the camera that offered a nice view of their well-manicured lawn had Cassidy frowning in the dimly lit living room. She hadn’t bothered turning on lights and, instead, chose to sit peacefully alone under the cloak of darkness. Well, not completely alone. She’d had the company of two bottles of wine, both of which were now empty.
Lifting her phone, she pulled up the security app and tapped the front camera to get a better visual of her unexpected visitor. There was a man casually dressed in a button-up, sleeves rolled to the elbows, slacks, and loafers. He had a stern expression etched on his handsome face, accentuated by a strong, square jaw shaded with a dark sheen of hair. He was tall, at least six feet. Niles had been six-two. Cassidy guessed this man was the same. His build was very similar to Niles’s also. Broad shoulders, long, lean body, trim waist. The type of figure that allowed for clothes to fit nicely, complementing his physique. But this wasn’t Niles.
Niles is dead.
No, Jerrod Williams is dead.
Lost in her thoughts, Cassidy was startled when the doorbell chimed again. The low melody wasn’t typical of most doorbells by design. It wasn’t intrusive, almost soothing in a sense. Exhaling a huff of exhaustion, she unfolded her body from the sofa. Her feet pressed softly against the ash-gray wooden floors until she extended to her full height and crossed the room to the door.
“Yes . . .” Her voice carried enough to get her visitor’s attention. His back was facing the door, and he briefly glanced over his shoulder before fully turning. Cassidy glowered as he took her in through the glass panels and wrought iron metal that made up her entryway. After a brief moment, he offered a subtle smile. It wasn’t exactly a smile, but his features relaxed slightly.
“Ms. Evans? Cassidy Evans.” His deep tenor was muffled by the glass separating them. He then pointed to the badge affixed at his waist. “Detective Nathanial Davis. If it’s okay, I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”
She had expected someone to show up eventually—a detective, but not this detective. Greg was there when the body was discovered. This was his case. Her defenses quickly heightened.
Greg’s too close to me to be impartial. They would have removed him.
“Yes, sure.” She twisted the lock, pulling the door open, but kept it positioned as a protective barrier.
“My apologies for showing up unannounced, but I felt it might help to get a few preliminary questions out of the way.”
“No problem.” She kept her tone neutral and made sure to deliver eye contact. “Please, come in.”
“This won’t take long. Figured we could talk out here. Didn’t want to intrude.”
He’s asserting his professionalism. Being extra cautious.
Cassidy stepped onto the porch, bringing the door with her. She left it slightly cracked and then folded her arms over her chest, rocking gently on her heels.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Evans. This can’t be easy. Losing someone you love and under the current circumstances.”
Finding out that my husband was a fraud.
“No, it’s not easy.” She kept her responses short and sweet with the understanding that the detective would analyze every detail: her reaction, her words, her level of emotions.
Spouses are the first suspects.
“Your husband was found the morning of September 6th. Based on the timeline, he was killed between the hours of midnight and two a.m. That means he didn’t come home. Did your husband often stay out all night?”
She softly shook her head. “No, he didn’t. He traveled a lot, but he was home at night when he wasn’t traveling.”
