Chapter Six
Beth
“Ms. Wilson?”
My head was spinning as I opened my eyes and blinked. Everything came rushing back all at once – the surprise at the door, the smell of dinner cooking in the oven…and Michael.
“Oh my god,” I said.
One of the cops reached down and gently put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Ma’am, we’re going to need you to come down to the station with us.”
I blinked. Panic set in and that’s when the tears started welling up.
“What? Why?” My voice was scratchy and angry, like a caged animal. “What do I have to do with this?”
The cop sighed. “I understand how you must be feeling,” he said. “But we have every reason to believe your fiancé was killed in a suspicious activity.”
“What?” I shrieked. “What the hell does that even mean?”
The two cops exchanged a nervous glance. “We’re not sure yet,” the other replied. He swallowed nervously. “But we’ll need to speak with you, along with the other members of Mr. Bennett’s family.”
Hot tears spilled down my face and I buried my cheeks in my hands, not wanting them to see. In just a few seconds, my chest was heaving with sobs and I could barely breathe. It didn’t seem real – Michael, dead? How could that even be possible? Just this morning, he’d left and promised that he’d be home late.
Our fight from the night before came thundering back into my mind like a runaway freight train. The guilt was immediate and all-consuming. I wanted to die, I wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. This is my fault, I thought. If I’d just agreed to have sex with him, this never would have happened. He wouldn’t have done something stupid and gotten himself killed.
“Ma’am?” The cop leaned down. “Can you come with us, please?”
Numbly, I sat up and looked around. Heather was nowhere in sight – it took me a moment to realize that not much time had passed at all. I can’t believe this, I thought as I glanced around the living room in a blind panic. This isn’t happening.
“This isn’t happening,” I mumbled, crawling to my hands and knees and standing up. My skimpy dress was falling down but I didn’t even care. One of the cops blushed, then reached into the closet and pulled out a jacket – it was one of Michael’s workout hoodies. I cried out as he draped the soft fabric around my shoulders. Immediately, Michael’s scent flooded over me and I fought the urge to scream and push past the cops and run outside and never come back.
My fiancé, Michael, was dead. And I knew in my heart that I’d never be the same ever again.
The cops sat me down on the couch. One of them made a strong cup of coffee while the other went upstairs and told Heather what had happened. She ran down and wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close on the couch and burying my face in her neck. It was comforting, but part of me wanted to pull away and laugh. This was absurd – Michael wasn’t dead! There had to be some kind of mistake! He was too careful, too cautious – he’d never have put himself in a dangerous situation like this.
“This can’t be happening,” I whispered to Heather. “This isn’t real. Michael isn’t dead.”
Heather’s pretty face broke. “Oh, Beth,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close. “I promise, I’ll be there for you,” she said. “Do you want me to come downtown to the station?”
I shook my head. I felt numb, almost like my blood had been replaced with something sterile and chemical.
“No,” I said softly. “This…this isn’t happening. Michael can’t be dead! He can’t be!”
The two cops exchanged a glance. “Ma’am, we’re sorry, but we need to be moving on,” one of them said slowly. “Are you able to come downtown with us?”
I swallowed and nodded slowly.
Heather helped me off the couch and out of the house. She turned off the oven and I started crying again as I thought about the half-baked cheesecake that would be ruined by the time I got home. I’m so sorry, Michael, I thought as I climbed into the backseat of the cop car. I tried. I really did. I loved you as best I could.
Riding in a cop car made the whole situation seem even more surreal. The station was a whirling buzz of activity – detained people on benches, in handcuffs. Cops bustled back and forth, carrying manila folders stuffed with papers and greasy paper bags of fast food burgers and fries. They all ignored me – I was just a girl with red eyes in a party dress with a baggy, stained hoodie draped over my shoulders. I might have been in for drunk driving, or disorderly conduct. It didn’t matter that I was grieving – my fiancé was dead. Heather sat next to me the whole time, squeezing my hand and glaring at anyone who dared to glance at us for more than a few seconds at a time. She was a good friend, but I was barely able to stay focused. It felt like the rug had been pulled out from beneath my life, and now I had no idea what I was supposed to do.
Nothing mattered anymore.
A man in a suit with messy, unkempt hair walked up to us. He was holding a clipboard. When he got closer, he looked at me over the rims of his vintage glasses.
“Ms. Wilson?”
I nodded numbly.
“Please come with me,” he said curtly.
I glanced at Heather, suddenly afraid to leave her. “What about my friend?”
The man glanced at Heather with disdain. “She can come and wait outside the room,” he said.
“She can’t come in with me?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What the hell,” Heather demanded. “Can’t you tell that Beth is upset? Her fiancé is dead,” she said loudly. “She needs me!”
“It’s okay,” I said quietly. Heather’s words had attracted the attention of everyone around us. “I’ll be okay.”
The man nodded. “I’ll take good care of her,” he said. This time, his voice was tinged with empathy. “She’ll be okay.”
Heather gave me a final squeeze and I followed the man down a dark corridor lit with fluorescent lighting. He guided me into a small room with a table and two chairs. The sight of an iron ring welded to the top of the table struck me with fear. Oh, god, I thought. This is like, where they handcuff people.
I shivered.
“There’s no need to be frightened,” the man said, as if reading my mind. “Everything is going to be fine, trust me.”
I nodded.
“I’m Detective Aberson,” he said. He smiled, showing yellowed teeth. “You can call me Al,” he said. “If you want.”
I nodded. “I’m Beth,” I said softly. “Well, Elisabeth, actually. Elisabeth Wilson.”
“Beth is fine,” Al said. “So, Beth, can you tell me a little about your fiancé?”
I shuddered and convulsed with sobs. Tears ran down my cheeks and I cried, feeling helpless and embarrassed. After a few seconds, Al handed me a plastic disposable pack of tissues from his pocket. They were crumpled and smelled like stale tobacco, but I was grateful. I blew my nose and wiped my sticky cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I just…I can’t believe it.”
“I’m very sorry,” Al said gently. “And I’m sorry that you have to be here.”
My stomach twisted and flipped. “The…the cops said there was reason to think Michael’s death wasn’t an accident,” I said slowly. “Why?”
Al sighed. “I don’t have very much information yet,” he said. “Can you tell me about your relationship with Mr. Bennett?”
I sank down in my chair. “You mean, you don’t know who did it?”
“We have some ideas,” Al said gently. “But please – your relationship?”
I nodded. The numb feeling was spreading back through my limbs. I was already exhausted from vacillating between upset and numb…it was strangely tiring. I closed my eyes and thought of how satisfying it would feel to drop in bed and sleep for days.
“We’d been together for four years,” I said slowly. “We got together when I was twenty-two. Michael had just turned twenty-eight.”
“Can you tell me about that?”
I frowned, narrowing my eyes. “Why does it matter how we met?”
Al glanced at me with sharp eyes. “I just want to hear it from you,” he said smoothly.
A wedge of fear pierced my heart and I shivered. “Do you…do you think I have something to do with his death?” My voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “Do you think I was involved in killing my fiancé?”
Al shook his head. “No,” he said calmly. “But we want all the information possible on Mr. Bennett.”
I shifted, feeling scared. There was no way I’d had anything to do with killing him – wasn’t that obvious?
“We met at a graduate school open house,” I said slowly. “He was there with another girl, and he gave me his card and I gave him my number. He kept calling me, but I never called him back until he told me that he’d dumped his girlfriend.” I blushed. Recalling and talking about the memory felt like walking barefoot over a pile of broken glass and fire ants.
“I see,” Al said. He scribbled an untidy column of handwriting. “And when did he ask you to marry him?”
“Well, I guess we talked about marriage from the beginning,” I said slowly. “But he asked me about a year ago, close to our three year anniversary.” I blushed. “I don’t actually know the date of our anniversary,” I confessed. “I mean, I didn’t know what to count it – the day we met, or the day we went out for the first time? Or the day he asked me to be his girlfriend?” I shrugged. A hollow feeling was spreading through my chest and limbs. “I don’t really know,” I said again. “I know that sounds bad.”
“It doesn’t sound bad,” Al said, but he didn’t look up. “What was Michael like at home?”
I sighed. “He was kind of a perfectionist,” I said. “He was very traditional – he wanted things done his way, or not at all. He didn’t really seem much like a modern guy, to be honest. I mean, he was kind of like a guy from the fifties.”
“How do you mean?” Al tapped his notebook with the tip of his pen.
I shrugged. “Like, he wanted me to quit working as soon as we got married – he said it was embarrassing because he made so much money. But we didn’t really live like he made all that money – we were still in the same condo he bought before he met me.”
Al nodded. “So he was pragmatic?”
“I guess that’s a word for it,” I said slowly. “He just…um, he just wanted things done his way. Everything had to be clean all the time, and he wanted me to consult with him before doing something like making a meal plan for the week.”
Al nodded. “And what happened last night?”
I blushed. “What?”
“How was last night?” Al asked. “Did he come home at the usual time? How did he seem to you?”
I narrowed my eyes. “He was a little late,” I said. My blush deepened as our fight came rushing back into my mind. “And he was upset that I’d made pasta without asking him what he wanted for dinner.”
Al nodded. “Was this typical?”
“A little,” I said. “I don’t really know.”
“Did you two fight?”
I cringed. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach felt ice-cold, like something had pushed me into a bucket of freezing water.
“I guess,” I said slowly. “He was upset – he went out, so I cleaned the living room. I went to bed before he got home. And then he came home drunk, which isn’t really like him. He tried to have sex with me, but…” I trailed off, blushing and biting my lip.
“But?” Al looked at me with clinical detachment. “Did something happen?”
“I wasn’t really in the mood,” I said softly. “I didn’t want to sleep with him, we still hadn’t talked about our fight.”
“And did that make him angry?”
I nodded, feeling more miserable than ever. It felt grotesque and awful that I was sitting in a police station discussing my personal life with my fiancé. I knew that Michael would have hated me talking about our lives like this…he was always private, he never wanted anyone to know the details – bad or good – of our relationship. He said it wasn’t anyone’s business but our own.
“It did,” I said after a long pause. “He went and slept in the other room. And then, this morning, he had left for work by the time I woke up.”
“I see,” Al said. “How was the rest of your relationship?”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
“Well, did you feel happy with Michael? Was he happy with you?”
“I thought we were happy,” I said slowly. “I mean, our relationship was kind of…well, different,” I said. I blushed again.
“How so?”
I shrugged.
“You can tell me, Beth,” Al said, like he was one of my best friends.
I sighed. “Like, it wasn’t very passionate,” I said.
“Did you ever think about leaving Michael?”
I looked down at my hands. The tasteful diamond on my left finger glittered cheaply in the fluorescent light of the room.
“No,” I said honestly. “Sometimes I wished that he would be more affectionate with me. But overall, I was grateful to him. He cared for me and provided for me. He wasn’t the kind of guy to come home with flowers and candy, but that didn’t really matter. I appreciated that he never put on airs to impress me.”
“And was Michael faithful to you?”
I cringed. “Most of the time,” I said slowly. “Why?”
“How did that make you feel?”
I narrowed my eyes. “What is this?” I demanded. “Why are you trying to make me look bad here?”
“Beth, I’m not,” Al said. “I’m just trying to get all the details I can.”
I sighed. “No, he slept with other women sometimes,” I said. “But it was my job not to mind. Michael told me he wanted a wife, and I don’t even know how many times he cheated. But he saw it as a man’s right – he told me that he had freedom, since he provided for me. I never cheated on him, though. I never even though about it.”
Al nodded. “I know this has been a long ordeal for you,” he said. He flipped his notebook closed. “You can go, Beth. I’m sorry.”
I shuddered. “Do you…do you have any idea who might be behind this?”
Al narrowed his eyes. “We do,” he said. “But nothing is certain yet.”
“Can you tell me?” I asked quietly. “Please, I really need to know. I won’t be able to sleep unless I find out who killed my fiancé.”
“Nothing is certain yet,” Al repeated. “But I think Michael’s death had something to do with the Amoruso crime family.”
My stomach flipped and twisted and for a moment, I thought I was going to throw up. I leaned over and put my face between my knees, retching and coughing.
“What?” I asked in a strained whisper. “The people who own those restaurants?”
Al nodded. “They’re not just in the restaurant business,” he said gently. “They’re drug traffickers, and they have known ties with Michael’s father’s business.”
My jaw dropped. “Douglas?”
Al nodded. “Yes,” he said. He checked his watch. “Beth, I need to be getting on to my next interview,” he said. “Is there anything else?”
My head was spinning and filled with questions, but I couldn’t find the words to articulate any of them. How the hell did they already know that Michael had been killed by the mafia?
And why would the mafia want to hurt Michael?
“No,” I said softly. “That’s all.”
--
Heather took me home and put me in bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I was lying there under the covers, crying and wishing that I’d realize this had all been a bad dream. It seemed impossible to me that my whole life had changed and flipped upside down in such a short amount of time. I felt dizzy and shaky and scared.
Suddenly, Al’s words came rushing back to me. The Amoruso crime family, he’d said. And Douglas has ties with them.
Shaking nervously, I crawled out of bed and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a shirt. It was late at night – past midnight – but I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax until I’d talked with Douglas. I grabbed my keys and drove across town, to the palatial mansion where Douglas lived with his second wife, Gabrielle.
The house was dark. I parked in the circular driveway and walked quickly up to the door, the soles of my sneakers slapping against the pavement like the staccato rhythm of my heart. I was nervous as I knocked at the door – what would happen? What would Douglas tell me? Did he know something I didn’t?
Gabrielle answered the door in a lacy pink kimono. She looked tired, but beautiful as always – she was a retired model, in her early thirties. Her blonde hair was in a messy bun and even though her face was free of makeup, she was more stunning than I’d ever be.
“Hello, Beth,” she said. She sounded tired, and almost nervous. “Are you here to see Douglas?”
I nodded numbly. “If that’s okay,” I said quietly. “I know it’s late.”
“We thought you would come earlier,” she said, but she didn’t smile. “Come with me.”
Normally, being in Douglas’s house filled me with a sense of awe. It was opulent and luxe and everything that I’d dreamed about – the floors alternated between marble and carpeting so plush I sank in to my ankles. The walls were painted ivory, with gold trim, and the ceiling were so high that I felt about three feet tall.
Gabrielle led me silently down a long hall, then into the open kitchen. Two copper ranges were fixed against the walls and a huge rack with copper pots and pans was hung overhead. The floor was checkerboard marble in pink and liver-colored squares, and something delicious was baking in the oven.
Douglas was sitting at the island in his bathrobe. His eyes were bloodshot and there was layer of grey scruff on his jaw and chin. It was hard not to gasp – normally, Douglas looked buttoned up and fit to lead a board meeting. Seeing him like this made the situation seem worse than ever.
It was starting to sink in that Michael was really and truly dead.
“Beth,” Douglas said. His voice was wooden and hollow. “I’m surprised it took you this long to come over.”
I frowned. “What?”
“I thought you would have been here immediately,” Douglas replied. He didn’t glance up from the paper in his hands. “What delayed you?”
I blushed. “I…I had to go to the police station,” I said. “A detective interviewed me about Michael.”
“And I hope you didn’t say anything that would cause him embarrassment,” Douglas said sharply. “I hope you didn’t say anything that would cause all of us embarrassment.”
I looked at Gabrielle as a feeling of confusion spread through my limbs. Why was Douglas acting like this? Was it out of grief? He’d never treated me so coldly before in my life.
Douglas hadn’t always liked me, but after a few years, he’d come around. He didn’t like that I’d grown up middle class, and that I’d gone to state university for my undergrad degree. But about two years into our relationship, Michael had gotten sick. I’d dropped everything to care for him over the course of a weekend, and since then, Douglas had been much kinder to me.
Douglas had always been rich – the Bennetts were one of the wealthiest families in New York. But from what Michael had told me, Douglas had taken Magnate Shipping and transformed it into a truly modern company that was responsible for changing the industry into something more powerful than ever. Michael had respected his father more than anyone else on earth, and I’d had to agree that Douglas was a powerful man worthy of such respect. He’d thrown himself into his work – Michael and Douglas hadn’t had much of a relationship until Michael was grown and in his twenties. Michael’s mother, Brenna, had died when he’d been away at boarding school as a teen. I’d been shocked to learn that Douglas hadn’t even called Michael with the news for over a week, until after the funeral.
“He’s not cold,” Michael had said to me once. “He’s just a different kind of man. Things that matter to the rest of us don’t matter as much to him.”
I’d forgotten that comment, but now, standing in Douglas’s opulent kitchen, it came rushing back.
Gabrielle came forward and touched my arm. “Would you like some café au lait?” Her voice was lightly accented from growing up in Russia. “I just had the maid make some.”
“No, thank you,” I said, even though my mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted even worse. “I’m fine. Thank you for offering.”
“Sit down, Beth,” Douglas said sharply.
“Okay.” My heart was thudding anxiously as I made my way across the kitchen and climbed onto a stool facing Douglas. Up close, he looked even worse. His eyes were so red that he looked demonic, and there were lines in his cheeks and jaw that hadn’t been there last month. The last time I’d seen him was a few weeks ago – Michael and I had attended a charity event together, and Douglas had been in high spirits.
“I need you to understand something,” Douglas said calmly. “And I don’t want to hear any pushback.”
I nodded.
“I can’t continue to support you,” Douglas said. “You and Michael weren’t married at the time of his death, and since you were only his fiancée, that doesn’t entitle you to benefits from Magnate Shipping.”
My jaw dropped. “I never expected you to—“
“Please, let me continue,” Douglas said. “I want you to understand this now so there isn’t any confusion later. I don’t need you showing up six months later and demanding I foot the bill for your lifestyle.”
I stared at him in shock. “My lifestyle? What does that even mean?”
Douglas glared at me. “You thought it was perfectly fine to relax at home all day while my son worked long hours to support you. I’m telling you – that won’t continue, Beth. You’ll need to find your own means.”
“I only did that because he didn’t want me working!” I protested hotly. “This isn’t fair!”
“Perhaps Michael would still be alive if he wasn’t worn down to the bone,” Douglas said. He glared at me and I sensed real anger flowing from his soul. “But no, instead, you had to make sure that he worked constantly to care for you.”
Tears filled my eyes and I couldn’t keep them from spilling down my cheeks as I sniffled pathetically.
“This isn’t fair,” I cried loudly. “I didn’t do anything to deserve this!”
“That isn’t true,” Douglas said coldly.
“You can’t blame me for this,” I said softly. “I…I had nothing to do with it! The detective even told me that he knew that! They think it had something to do with the Amoruso crime family…you know, the same family that you have ties to!” I knew I was treading on dangerous ground, but now that I’d started, I couldn’t stop. The words were flowing like vomit, and I couldn’t make myself gobble them back up.
“I can blame whomever I like,” Douglas said coldly.
I slipped off the stool and aimed a shaking finger at the man who would have been my father-in-law.
“I didn’t kill Michael,” I hissed. “And I won’t rest until I find out who did, Douglas.”
Douglas’s stare was blank. “Please leave,” he said coldly. “I don’t wish to look at you any longer.”
As I stomped out of the kitchen and down the beautiful marble hall, I hardened my heart. I vowed to find Michael’s killer.
Even if it killed me.