Second Wife To A Murderer

Two Faced Husband

Robert’s POV

“Have you seen the address? I need a clean job,” I said, voice low, when the call connected. “The apartment needs to be clean by morning.”

I didn’t want Whitney hearing my conversation so I waited until I heard the shower running upstairs, before I pulled the second phone out from behind the loose panel in my study desk.

“Handle the apartment discreetly,” I continued. “Nothing should point fingers at me.” Patrick started to ask me questions I didn’t have the patience for.

“I don’t care how you do it. Make sure whatever evidence that is there points at my wife instead.” I kept my voice flat and unbothered. “Are we good?”

Suddenly I stopped hearing the sound from the shower. “Let’s talk later,” I said and ended the call the second the bathroom door clicked open above me.

I dropped the phone back behind the panel, rearranged my face when I heard her foot step on the stairs.

She came down still damp, eyes red, hair clinging to her neck. The look in her eyes was fierce.

“How did you know where I was?” she asked.

I kept my voice soft. “You weren’t answering your phone. I got worried. So I tracked it.”

“Call? I didn’t see any call from you Robert.” She queried me.

Oh s**t! Whitney had better not mess things up for me. I murmured. “You’ve been distant for weeks, honey. I guess I followed you tonight because I was worried about you. That’s all.”

“You didn’t panic.” Her voice caught, but she kept going, and something about the way she stood her ground surprised me. God knows what was going through her mind while she showered. “When you walked in and saw… you didn’t panic. You looked relieved.”

“I was relieved you were alive. That you were safe. That’s all.” “Wait, why are you questioning me? I was in shock.” I stepped closer. “People process shock differently, sweetheart. I needed to think clearly for both of us. Somebody had to.”

“If that’s the case why won’t you let me call the police, since it was an accident…”

I took a heavy breath, Whitney isn’t this inquisitive. What’s happening? I tried to stay calm.

“Because the first thing they’ll do is to judge you.” I let my hand rise to her jaw, gentle, my thumb finding the soft place under her ear. “They will see a wealthy man’s wife standing over his mistress’s body. You think that story makes sense? Honey, no one will believe you.”

My thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. I leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face brushing me off, leaving my lips to land on her cheekbone. She has never done this before, not in all the years of our marriage.

“You’re still in shock,” I said, softer now, trying to distract her. “That’s all this is. Let me make you some tea. You need to relax. I’ll handle everything, I’ll protect you, the company, your family businesses, Emily, all of us…. That’s my job. You don’t have to think about any of it tonight.”

She stared at me for a while saying nothing. The old Whitney would have nodded. This one did not. As I was about to dash out, the next thing I heard was “I don’t want tea.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Babe…”

“I need air,” she said, and walked out of the room before I could answer.

I waited until her footsteps faded. Then I took out the second phone again.

I dialed the tip line.

“I’d like to report a possible domestic disturbance,” I said, calmly, giving them Anna’s address. “I think I heard something…. Raised voices like there was a fight, minutes later a woman in an expensive coat left hurriedly.”

I kept my tone worried, like the voice of a concerned neighbor who didn’t want to get involved further.

“I just… I have a bad feeling about it. Thought someone should check.”

I made sure I gave a description of my wife Whitney, then I hung up before the dispatcher could ask my name.

The house was very quiet after that. I stood in my study with the second phone still warm against my palm, allowing myself to feel the satisfaction of what I just did.

I heard the front door open, Whitney stood in the hallway all dressed up,

She was holding her phone. She looked at me once, then walked straight toward the front door without saying a word.

Could she have eavesdropped on my conversation?

“Whitney.” I made my voice gentle again. “Where are you going? It’s late. You shouldn’t be driving like this.”

She didn’t answer me. Instead she shut the door gently which somehow made it worse because I can’t tell if she’s pissed or scared.

I rushed to the study window and watched her get into her car. She drove out with speed.

I looked down at the second phone still in my hand, and a small, satisfied smile found its way onto my mouth.

“Run all you want,” I murmured. “You’ll come back. You always do.”