‘Not that I saw.’ Ted looks at Jill.
She shakes her head.
He adds, ‘Jill radioed for help. We stayed there until the Coast Guard arrived.’ He repeats, ‘We never saw him.’
The other man nods. ‘Okay. Thank you. I’ll just print this out and have you both read and sign it.’
When he returns, and they’ve signed the statement, he flips his laptop closed and says, ‘You’ll need to file a boating accident report.’ He clears his throat and says, ‘I’m so sorry.’ And then he rises and tells them that’s all he needs for now, that they’re free to go.
Chapter Nine
JILL AND TEDfinally arrive home and shut the door of the brownstone behind them.
They’d stayed for hours at the marina, waiting for news, accepting sympathy and drinking endless cups of hot, sweet tea in the members’ lounge. They filled out the accident report, and changed back into their own, dried clothing. They were informed that there was no possibility Greg could have survived, and that it was now a recovery operation. But darkness had fallen, and the Coast Guard had not recovered Greg’s body. The search was called off until morning light. There was nothing more to be done. They were gently told to go home. Ted had driven them home, neither of them speaking about what had happened, not yet. Jill couldn’t wait to get inside, to be able to let down her guard. Now, at last, Ted carefully locks the doors behind them and she slips into his arms, feels them go around her tightly. She feels his lips kissing the top of her head. Finally, she looks up at him. She almost can’t believe it. ‘We did it.’
‘We did.’
‘We were perfect,’ she says.
‘I think so.’
‘I need a drink,’ she says.
‘I’ll get some brandy.’
She follows him into the front room, where he pours them each a stiff brandy. ‘To us,’ he says, raising his glass.
She lifts her glass and repeats, ‘To us.’
They touch glasses– the clink of fine crystal sounds celebratory.
She takes a big gulp of her brandy, feeling it warm her chilled body. ‘We have to be ready,’ she says.
‘We are,’ he murmurs into her hair. ‘We’ve got this.’
Ted has never felt so close to his wife. She lies in his arms, warm beneath the duvet. They’ve done something momentous together, secured their future together. It’s brought them closer.
There are no secrets between them now; they are completely open with each other. And it’s a relief that the deed is over and done, to no longer have to worry about relentless financial problems. Jill doesn’t see him as a failure. Instead, she seems impressed with him. He’s a man of action, a man of nerve, one who takes risks, who goes after what he wants. Well, yes, he is. It takes a certain kind of man to commit murder.
He hadn’t actually known this about himself before. He likes this new, bolder version of Ted Westcott. He also likes that he and Jill are in on this together, that nothing can ever come between them now. He need not have feared her reaction tohis idea of killing Greg; she had been right there with him all along. They are soulmates. They have killed a man together and it has strengthened their bond. He’s learning things about her too. He’s always known she was a strong woman, but he hadn’t known she was capable of this. He would never have guessed. They are growing together, getting closer. He gazes down at her; he has never been so in love.
And now they will be fabulously rich. Forty-five million dollars is a lot of money. Of course, some of it will go to taxes. There will be probate fees, legal fees. Greg had told him a small amount would go to charity. But whatever, there will be plenty of money now. He thinks about what they might spend it on. Could life be any more perfect? ‘What’s the first thing we’ll buy, when the money comes through?’ he asks her.
She crooks her head to look up at him. She seems to consider. ‘I’d like a holiday home in France. Something nice.’
‘Where?’
‘In the south. Maybe the Dordogne. Maybe a small chateau. Something with a pool.’
‘I like the sound of that.’
‘What about you? What do you want?’ she asks him.
He smiles at her. ‘Maybe a little sports car, to keep at our holiday home. Something nice,’ he says echoing her. ‘Maybe a convertible, a two-seater, so we can explore.’
‘Perfect,’ she agrees.
‘And I will give up my job,’ he says. He doesn’t like his job. He can’t wait to quit. He will be free. Completely free, to do whatever he wants. He has no regrets about what they’ve just done. For the first time in ages, he is happy.
