I turn the key and push on the heavy all-glass door. The familiar warning beep of the alarm system greets me, and I hurry to disarm the panel. That done, I inhale. Perfect. There are no morning office smells yet. No perfume fighting with aftershave. No roasted coffee beans competing with the scent of pressed juices and ginger shots.

Early in the morning, the office is my sanctuary. Even when John and I were married, when everything was still happy, or as happy as any couple working together can be, I’d leave home first. To experience this—a slice of solitude in the place I created.

Because when it comes right down to it, I created EventCo. It’s my name on our first patent.

I reach my office and slip the key in the door. I didn’t even have a lock on my private office, not until she came along. The locksmith rekeyed both executive offices again last week.

So much for listening to my own intuition: I protected my office, but not my marriage. There’s likely something juicy in this statement for my therapist, but I’ll tuck that away until later. I know what Dr. Ray would say: “Let’s delve deeper, Kate, shall we? There’s so much more to mine in that statement.”

I remember the look on Dr. Ray’s face when I told her John and I were having lunch together. And her worried brow when I told her I knew that when we were cordial, it was driving Tish crazy. I’d hoped a wedge between them would be enough to get her out of the office at least. It was just a week before he died.

“I need you to be realistic,” Dr. Ray had said at the time, swiveling back and forth in her desk chair. “You can’t control another couple’s relationship. It’s a dangerous proposition you’re playing with here. You have every reason to stay angry, to be angry. You have every reason to move on. I’d hate to see you backslide here.”

“But we do have business to discuss. Sometimes we do it over lunch,” I told her.

Dr. Ray shook her head. “No. That’s a terrible idea. You’ll never be able to trust him again. Stay distant. Professional, but distant. You share a daughter and a business, that’s all.”

“True. But what about forgiveness, Dr. Ray?” I’d asked.

“Yes, you should forgive John. But you also should never forget what he did to you.”

I’d nodded but didn’t say anything. Our session was over. And now I suppose I don’t really have much more to talk to her about. I’m just not angry anymore. I drop my favorite pod into the Italian espresso machine and enjoy the familiar hum, the smell of the dark liquid as it swirls into the mug. Another simple ritual I enjoy in the morning.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a shadow down the hall beyond my door, and goose bumps tickle the back of my neck like a finger. My imagination has been having a field day lately. I’m jumpy, suspicious of the slightest odd sound. It may be because I’m haunted by John’s death and especially spooked by the way she had him cremated. Was it John’s ghost I saw walking down the hall? No, of course not.

It could be the unease of everything right now, the tension in the air here at the office, everywhere. I take a sip of espresso to combat the chill spreading inside me. I can’t fight the feeling of being watched.

When I turn around, Tish stands in the hallway just outside my office, looking at me with a deadly stare.

CHAPTER 34

TISH

Oh, hello, princess. Did I startle you?

I smile at Kate, and she looks, well, I can only say, terrified. I’m not certain why. I guess she’s surprised to see me. She’s standing so delicately in her fancy designer pants suit, sensible Jimmy Choo pumps, enjoying a perfectly brewed cup of coffee in her over-decorated corner office.

As for me, I’m dressed in my John-copying, business-as-usual all black. Black silk top, dress pants, pumps. I turn the handle of her office door and let myself in.

I expect her to jump back, but she doesn’t. She eyes me over her coffee, sizing me up, challenging me. It’s funny and appropriate, I suppose. Here we are, two equals, the two Mrs. Nelsons.

“Good morning. Do you have a few minutes to chat?” I ask. I’m accessible. Friendly. We’re a team now, although I suppose she doesn’t know that yet.

She holds her coffee cup with both hands like a vise. “I don’t have anything to talk to you about. I don’t know why you’re at the office. Remember you resigned? Go back to wherever it is you came from.”

Kate is feistier than I expected.

I take a step forward, my hands on my hips. Power position. “Everything has changed with John’s sudden death. I’m not going anywhere. I’m family.”

“I need you to leave. Now.” Kate points to the open door behind me.

“Fine. If and when you decide you want to be civil, I’ll be in my office.” I’m about one step toward the door when she explodes.

“You don’t work here. Do you understand? Get out.” Kate slams her coffee cup down and splatters coffee all over her desk. I know it’s hard for her to yell. She was raised in a nice family where children were to be seen, not heard. I know this because I had the opposite upbringing. My family is all about rage.

Therefore, unlike Kate, I know how to mask it.

“Oh, what a mess!” I say on my way out. I hurry down the hall of what I like to think of as Kate’s World, her half of the office building where all her loyalists are housed—sales and computer geeks mostly—and into the lobby atrium, the beloved Ping-Pong table’s space.

I cover my mouth and stifle a yawn. It’s hard to sleep without John in bed next to me. As soon as I closed my eyes, I’d see him, foaming at the mouth, fist clenched on his chest. I bolted upright, wide-awake, and stayed that way. During the night, my heater turned on and went haywire, too, adding to my misery.

My house went after me again when I was getting ready for work. This time, some ridiculous hick music switched on in my bedroom suite, blaring Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” at 6:00 a.m. The expert at the A/V and security company who stopped by for an emergency visit this morning can’t seem to come up with an explanation.

“Ma’am, we’ve checked the system. Everything is as it should be. Are you sure you’re not just imagining things? You have suffered a big loss. The mind can do powerful things. All the stress.” He shoved his hands in his pockets with a shrug.

“I am grieving the loss of my husband, but what I’m more upset about is the loss of control of my house. I expect answers, not lame sympathy. Understand?” Had I been too firm? I think not. My house is haunted.

Focus, Tish. Lance’s office is next door to John’s, and I knock on his closed door and pop my head inside.

“I need to get into John’s office. Can you help?” I blink, a damsel in distress.

Lance furrows his brow. “Yes, sure. We changed the locks last week, ah, after he died. You’re just stopping by to clean some things out, I assume?”

“Sure, yep.” I don’t feel the need to explain myself. I step into John’s corner office—my office now, the mirror image of Kate’s except mine is larger—and close the door behind me.

As I pull out the black leather desk chair to sit down, there is a knock on the door. It’s not Kate, of course not. I smile through the glass at Ashlyn. What a surprise.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, walking into my office without permission. She pulls the door closed behind her before leaning against it. “I want to make it clear we won’t be hanging out anymore. We aren’t friends. I don’t even know you. Everything you ever told me was a lie. Remember your sob story about your marriage? Remember how you told me the dentist dumped you?”

“Yes, of course,” I say, pulling open John’s desk drawer and rummaging around.

“A lie. Ron says you left him. Without so much as a goodbye. He really hates you,” she says.

What? How does she know his name? How did she find him? I slam the desk drawer closed and stand up.

“I don’t even know what you’re saying.” I am furious. She spoke to Ron? I’m livid. I let out a deep breath as my stomach turns. “Can you just go? Get out of my office.”

“Oh, I talked to your mom. She wants to know where you are. Should I tell her?”

“You what? How dare you.” I walk to the door and face her. She has gone too far.

“I just thought I should learn a little more about you, Terry Jane,” Ashlyn says. “Your momma was very helpful. She wants me to connect you two. Says your stepdad died under mysterious circumstances, sort of like my dad.”

“Your dad died of a heart attack.” I feel my hands clench into fists. I tell myself to take a breath. “She can’t know where I am. She’s dangerous.”

“It’s not fun when people mess with your family, is it?” Ashlyn asks. “How about you leave now, get out of town even, and I won’t tell your mom where to find you.”

“You wouldn’t dare. And I’m not leaving. I have worked too hard to get here,” I say.

Ashlyn laughs. It’s guttural, cruel. “You’ve worked hard? You’re delusional.”