Half Empty (First Wives #2)

“Do you have a picture of him?”

Everyone turned to look at Avery. It wasn’t just the question she asked, but how she said it. Her voice was low and her words so slowly said, it didn’t sound like her.

“Do you remember a face?” Gray asked.

“I might. A picture might spark a memory.”

That was news to everyone in the room. So far Avery hadn’t said one word about remembering anything, let alone a face.

Gray stepped over to the couch and removed his phone from his back pocket. Reed and Rick crowded in close to get a look.

Trina watched Avery’s expressions while Shannon held her hand.

“This is the image from the back of the garage. It’s poor quality, but we can still ID his face, since he is in our database.”

Avery blinked a few times and lifted her good hand to the screen to zoom it in. “Is he wearing boots?”

“Yes, he is. Do you remember boots?”

She closed her eyes but didn’t say a thing. “Do you have another picture?”

Gray turned the phone around and scowled through a few things before showing it to her.

Trina peeked around Rick’s shoulder. With a haircut and a shave, the man in the picture would have been attractive outside of the acne scars on his face. But in this one, an obvious mug shot, as evidenced by the number he was holding and the plain background of the photograph, the man looked as if he’d been on the streets and either hadn’t slept or had been taking drugs.

“Is this him?”

Avery blinked several times. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay.” Shannon patted Avery’s arm.

Gray didn’t seem surprised by Avery’s answer as he put his phone away. “We’re looking for him and will bring him in for questioning when we find him.”

Avery looked away. “Thank you.”

“Mrs. Petrov?”

Hearing Detective Armstrong address her as a married woman rubbed her the wrong way. “My late husband cared about me so much he killed himself. If you don’t mind, Detective, please call me Ms. Petrov, or Trina will work.”

“Ms. Petrov,” he obliged. “When was the last time you saw Cindy Geist?”

It took Trina a second to realize who he was talking about, since she never used Cindy’s last name. “My housekeeper?”

“Yes.”

Trina tried to remember the exact date. “It was after our trip to Europe last year.” Her gaze moved to Lori. “About two months after Fedor’s funeral. I came back to close up the house. She agreed to come in periodically to keep the place up and supervise the cleaning crew.”

“She didn’t come in while you were here preparing everything for sale?”

“No. I’ve been trying to get in touch with her since we got back. She never returned my calls.”

“Why are you asking?” Reed asked.

The detectives looked at each other, and before they could open their mouths, Trina felt her skin grow cold. “Cindy Geist died in a car accident five days ago.”

“Oh, God.”

Wade moved closer and pulled her hand into his.

“Brake failure on a blind corner only a few blocks from her house.”

Trina couldn’t process the information before her mind denied it. “Brake failure? No, no, no . . . how can that be? Her husband is an auto mechanic. I met him once.” Trina squeezed her eyes shut in search of his name. “Allen? Yes, Allen. He was proud of his work. Popped the hood of her Mustang . . . it was a Mustang, vintage year. I don’t remember which. But he was passionate about the work he’d done on that car. He loved her. Sent her flowers on her birthday, asked me if it was okay that he surprise her with a midweek day off.”

Trina felt tears spring in her eyes. “He wouldn’t allow her brakes to fail.” She shook her head. “That isn’t right. That can’t be right.”

“We didn’t like the sound of it either,” Gray told her. “Her husband is demanding an investigation, not that he needs to. Cindy was the only one with the keys to the house, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“She came twice a month to clean?”

“That was the arrangement.” Trina couldn’t picture the woman dead.

Armstrong was taking notes. “When was she employed by you?”

“Fedor had her on payroll before we were married.”

“She was the one who found your deceased husband . . . is that right?”

Her screams and Trina running in to find out why would live in her memories forever. “Yes.”

Wade wrapped an arm over her shoulders.

“Was she the one who cleaned up . . .” Armstrong’s words trailed off.

“No. The funeral home suggested a service. I didn’t want anyone who knew Fedor picking up those pieces.”

“They didn’t do a good job.” Avery’s cold words from the sofa turned every head in the room.

“Excuse me?” Armstrong asked.

“I was searching for a hidden drawer in his desk. My dad has at least two, so I thought I’d find something. Since Fedor had a pen worth a quarter of a million dollars just sitting in the drawer, I thought it was worth looking. I didn’t find any. But I did find blood. Dried blood on the underside of the desk. It’s like the cleaning crew did half the job and figured no one would look. Gross.”

“That’s right. You told me that when I was at Wade’s house for the party. Wait . . .” Trina turned to stare at Reed. “Didn’t you say the office was spotless? No prints, no blood, nothing?”

Reed nodded.

Without words, Trina pulled out of Wade’s arm and marched toward the back door of the house. She stormed toward Fedor’s office, pulled away the caution tape the police had put there, and shoved the door open before flipping on the lights.

The place was still in shambles. In addition to the room being torn apart, there were smudges of black dust everywhere. She’d watched enough television to know what investigators left behind when looking for fingerprints. Without a beat, she moved to the desk, which wasn’t in the exact place it normally was, but was still sitting upright.

Someone called her name, but she didn’t look up to see whom.

She walked around the desk and ducked to look underneath.

The lighting didn’t allow a visual of anything, so she stood, placed both hands on one edge, and pulled with everything she had.

No one was more surprised than she was when the desk fell over and crashed to the side with a noise that filled the room. She was pretty sure she’d pulled a muscle with her effort, but she ignored the pain in her shoulder and dropped to her knees. She ran her hand over the exposed wood of the underside of the desk.

Nothing.

She searched the legs of the desk, opened a drawer, and looked under it.

Nothing.

“Nothing! There’s nothing here.” Her blood started to boil. She punched the side of the desk once . . . twice . . .

Wade stopped her from doing it a third time. “Shhh.”

“Why?” She felt tears again. “Why would someone come in here and scrub away his blood?”

Before her mind could come to the right conclusion, she heard Armstrong say, “We need to open up Fedor Petrov’s file.”





Chapter Twenty-Five



There was a rule when dating that absolutely everyone knew and most followed. Don’t talk about your ex.

Unless the police were questioning you because the suicide of said ex had become a murder investigation a year after it happened.

Wade sat next to Trina while the detectives asked her questions about the day of Fedor’s death. She didn’t remember many details. She’d joined her husband on one of his many trips to the hospital. She’d left the hospital before Fedor, which wasn’t uncommon. Since her mother-in-law was chronically ill, a twenty-four-hour vigil wasn’t practiced. Although Trina had spent more time at the hospital that day, since Alice had slipped into a coma a couple of days before Fedor’s death.