of what she did to us?”
“I don’t know, baby, but it’s for the police to figure out. I didn’t want you to get blindsided.”
She reached for the bracelet she hadn’t put on, so just closed her hand around her wrist. “They’ve already rolled back to the kidnapping, haven’t they?”
“Yeah, and it’s going to get a lot more play.”
“I don’t care anymore. God, yes, I do. For what it does to you, Grandpa, G-Lil. How it’ll upset Dillon and his family. Tell me the truth, straight, Dad. Should I make a statement?”
“Let’s see where it all goes. She could be cleared, and quickly.”
“She could be cleared,” Cate agreed. “But having a second scandal like this? It’s never going to go completely away. She’ll know what that’s like now,” Cate said quietly. “If she’s innocent, she’ll know what it’s like now to be hounded by something beyond her control.”
Charlotte wanted to be angry, to be furious, but rage couldn’t cut through the ice pack of fear.
They’d questioned her. True, this time she had a fleet of lawyers, the best money could buy, but they’d shot her right back to that horrible day after Caitlyn’s incessant whining, to an interrogation room, to police accusing her of horrible things.
Her lawyers had done most of the talking, had called for a break when she’d dissolved in tears. Real ones, too. Not grief tears, but fear tears.
Wishing Conrad would just die didn’t make her guilty of anything. She’d given him the best years of her life. She’d been a faithful and dutiful wife—there’d been billions riding on it.
Why, she hadn’t even been at the table when he’d collapsed, but onstage, basking in the lights, making her selfless speech.
Hadn’t she rushed to his side—after only the briefest of hesitations? Annoyed, justifiably, that he’d chosen that moment to take the spotlight away. But she’d rushed to him.
She hadn’t expected him to die in her arms.
But, Christ, what a moment, she thought as she lay in bed, a cool eye pack over her aching eyes.
Thank God some of the press there had captured that moment. She could play off that for years.
But first, she had to get through this nightmare. The press again, crowding around, tossing questions, taking pictures as her lawyers and bodyguards surrounded her, pushed through them to get her inside her limo.
The way people looked at her, the way the reports added just that horrible touch of speculation and suspicion. They didn’t care how she suffered.
She needed to order some new black suits, and a hat, with a veil. Absolutely needed a veil to showcase the grieving widow.
She would grieve—she’d show them! Once this horror passed, she’d give a memorial worthy of royalty—and she’d be the queen.
No self-tanner, no bronzer for at least two months to lend that pale, stricken look. She’d spend some time in seclusion, maybe traveling to their—her—various properties around the world.
Remembering the happier times with the only man she’d ever loved. Yes, she could sell that.
But she had to get through the horrible first. Then demand the police apologize for putting her through such trauma while she was mired in shock and grief.
She’d make them pay for it. And in private, she’d raise a glass to whoever the hell decided Conrad had lived long enough.
In her white dress, Cate carried her casserole into the Cooper kitchen.
Outside, smokers smoked, grills stood at the ready, dozens of picnic tables lined up. Inside, as she’d expected, Dillon’s ladies prepared a banquet of sides.
“I knew you wouldn’t need it, but I wanted to bring something.” She hunted up space on a counter for her dish. “And get here early enough to, well, get in on some of the action.”
“Grab an apron,” Maggie advised, “or that white dress’ll look like a drop cloth after the ceiling’s painted.”
Julia walked to her while Cate tied one on, cupped her face. “How are you?”
“I don’t know what to think about it, about her, about any of it. So I decided not to.”
“That’s a good plan. It’s a pretty day, and we’ve got enough food for a couple of armies. Maybe you could finish making that gallon of salsa. I’ve heard you’ve got a knack.”
“Happy to. Dillon? Red?”
“Likely icing down the beer and wine and soft drinks,” Maggie told her. “They gotta set up the horseshoe pit, and we usually have a bocce game going, pony rides for the kids. We’ll have some dancing, too. A lot of musicians in the crowd. Whenever Lily and Hugh make it, they have to