The Wicked Wife (Murder in Marin Book 2) (2 page)

Quite simply, she was his best friend. Life without her seemed unimaginable.

He accompanied her body home. A part of him wanted to hold her, but he was so unnerved by the sight of her body after what doctors called “death by blunt force trauma,” that he simply could not do that. As he sat with her alone in the back of the private ambulance that returned them to Marin, his mind kept turning to two simple words, “What now?”
 

William hoped that Fran’s funeral would be sparsely attended. That, of course, was not the case. Not just clients, business, and law associates, but neighbors and friends filled St. Stephen’s Church in Belvedere. William’s greetings and his acceptance of condolences were done with little thought. He imagined himself passing through a dream of marathon proportions, one in which the words “so sorry for your loss,” seemed to be endlessly repeated.
 

“Fran,” William said later, “belonged to everyone as much as she ever belonged to me.”
 

For the first several months after her death, William kept to himself, even avoiding the gentle entreaties of family, friends, and associates. He was utterly disinterested in hearing further words of sympathy or responding to inquiries regarding how he was getting along. He understood why they needed to express their grief, but he silently carried enough pain that he had no desire to know about their grief as well.
 

Work was the only relief from a deep sense of loss. For three months, he focused with greater intensity on both the work of the law firm and the venture capital business. The bet he and Fran had placed on the Chinese Internet colossus, Alibabba, paid off hugely when their stock went public in America for the first time. But without Fran to share this wonderful news, keeping score now seemed like so much less fun.
 

In those quiet times when he lay in bed alone in a house that could have comfortably accommodated a very large family, he often wondered if the pain of his loss would have been quite so sharp if he and Fran had shared a greater physical passion for one another.
 

Great admiration for a partner’s talent and abilities is indeed important, but perhaps there are no attributes that can fill the void of a marriage lacking in abiding passion.
   

It was not until the second anniversary of Fran’s death neared that William’s only other founding partner in the firm of Adams and Finch began to urge him more forcefully to once again become, “socially active.”

In a private lunch served in the small executive dining room in the offices of their firm high atop one of Market Street’s tallest buildings, James Finch began his personal campaign to, as he explained to his wife Jade, “draw William back to the land of the living.”

The San Francisco Symphony’s late January gala, the Black & White Ball, was this year to celebrate the organization’s one-hundredth anniversary. James thought that it might be the perfect place for William to make a full re-entry into society. And because the invited guests would be treated to a particularly memorable night, James hoped he might lure his partner into accepting.
 

James’ additional hope was that William would have a chance to meet his fashion model, superstar client, Willow Wisp.
 

 
The night of the gala, James looked through the massive and glittering crowd and saw William suddenly approaching from his left. Then, as though a sixth sense had moved inside him, he looked to his right and saw the alluring and statuesque Willow approaching from his right.

James thought she had never looked lovelier. He was only too happy to introduce the two of them.
 

Willow stepped closer to William and stretched out her hand for him to take as she flashed both a smile and her dark mysterious eyes flecked with thrilling gold glints. Her grace would have led someone to suspect that she was prepared to meet the unassuming gentleman who was now number twenty-four on the Forbes’ list of the world’s one-hundred wealthiest individuals.
 

William’s heart paused and then leapt forward with a lustful anticipation that sent a shudder through him. Her slender, beautifully shaped hand felt surprisingly natural in his. His eyes drank in all of her, and he approved of what he saw. Her black and white gown looked as though it had been designed specifically for her. Perhaps, it had. It wrapped over her right shoulder, leaving her left shoulder exposed.
 

To William, she was a living, breathing work of art. The dazzling diamond and emerald pendant that went around her neck only enhanced her beauty.
 

There was an awkward, electric moment between the two of them, in which they both laughed like children delighted to be meeting each other for the very first time. The thought of her wearing nothing but that beautiful pendant lustfully flashed across William’s mind. The very idea silently embarrassed and thrilled him.

As William was catching his breath, one of the several fashion designers in attendance squealed when he discovered Willow standing just a few feet from him. He was very young and very thin, and he defiantly wore a black and white puffy sleeved pirate shirt, open almost to his navel.

Willow pulled her hand away from William’s, but only after a small tug that made them both laugh awkwardly.

Noting their bashful exchange, the pirate cocked a brow and said, “I only want to borrow her for ten minutes. I promise to return her.”
 

William’s eyes followed Willow until the crowd consumed her. Then he turned to James and asked, “Who is she again? I’m certain that I recognize
her
.” How could he forget that stunning face and those almond-shaped eyes? But for the life of him, he could not recall where he had seen her before.
 

“You pass her on your way to lunch every day. Her billboard, anyway—at Market and Powell,” Finch reminded him.
 

“God! You mean she’s that Willow girl—that client of yours who’s become her own brand?”

“That’s the one,” James said approvingly.
 

“Well, she certainly is a stunner.”

“I’ve wanted to introduce the two of you for some time now.”

“You’re thinking of us as a couple, James?”

His studied silence provided the answer William was seeking.
 

“Are you insane?”

“Hold on, William. You’re both, bright, intelligent, charming, successful—”

“But…I’ve got to be twenty years her senior!”

“Closer to thirty.”

“God, she’s young enough to be my daughter!”

“Who cares about your age difference?”

William frowned. “That’s not the point.”

“You could use a little female companionship.”

“That’s one hell of a companion,” William murmured, as his mind toyed with barely imaginable thoughts.

“Why don’t you go rescue her from that gay pirate?” James suggested. “Right now, she might be looking for a little male companionship.”

Jade brushed passed. After kissing William on the cheek, she dragged James off to meet mutual friends who had just arrived.

The enormous white gala tent that sat opposite San Francisco’s iconic city hall was now filled with hundreds of attendees. Willow was one of the many celebrities to cause a stir, none of whom were meant to eclipse the great maestro himself, Michael Tilson Thomas, who strolled triumphantly through the throng, greeting celebrants and thanking them for their support of his orchestra’s educational programs.

William was left in the middle of the noisy gathering to contemplate what he considered to be ridiculous, but wildly exciting possibilities.
 

Perhaps I’m being a fool, he thought.
 

He knew the leap he felt in his heart when he touched Willow’s hand. That much was undeniable. Perhaps he was being overly judgmental regarding their ages. And why, after all, should he have the least regard for what others might think of his being with a younger woman? That sudden burst of excitement needed to be further explored.

Clearly, she was something that Fran had never been. Fran was reliable, brilliant, and substantial. Willow was a work of art sheathed in sparkling jewels and a stunning black gown. What harm was there in following his instinct? He craved companionship. Admittedly, he knew nothing about her, but there could never be a more beautiful woman.
 

Perhaps he would be embarrassing himself. Finally, he put his list of concerns aside, and he went off in search of her.

CHAPTER TWO

Willow was actually given her first name at birth. But her last name, Bukowski, cried out for reinvention.
 

In the early days of her modeling career, which began in earnest just weeks after she completed four years at the private high school, Marin Academy, she was known simply as Willow. The work was nonstop, and the grueling schedule of runway modeling commitments seemed never ending. Her visibility in the profession kept rising, and soon she caught the eye of French fashion designer, Henri LeBon. It was then, at the tender age of nineteen, that Willow’s universe began to expand.

“She is my muse,” LeBon declared imperiously whenever another model was suggested.
 

Soon, Willow’s slender, perfectly proportioned frame graced the pages of
Vogue
,
InStyle
,
Paris Match,
and
Glamour
. When she and her small circle found her looking fabulous on the back cover of
Vanity Fair
clothed in a soft, creamy fabric that clung perfectly to her, everyone recognized that her time had arrived.
 

LeBon was so pleased with the sensation he had created that he busied himself in a new marketing venture, creating a signature scent solely for his Willow. The ridiculously expensive perfume that flew off store shelves as though it was being given away became an overnight sensation.
 

“Willow Wisp Will Haunt Your Every Dream,” was the headline that adorned print ads, billboards, and window displays from Rodeo Drive to Piccadilly Circus, from Broadway to the Champs-Elysees.
 

Willow now belonged to the ages. The child Bukowski had been subsumed by the carefully crafted image of Willow Wisp.

Willow Bukowski, the Marin County girl who was often accused of seducing the boyfriend of every girl she disliked at Marin Academy, and taking a variety of other things that did not belong to her, was suddenly an internationally recognized celebrity. Her name was coupled with a long list of famous men pictured at her side in gossip magazines around the globe. Leonardo DiCaprio was seen kissing her cheek at Cannes, Orlando Bloom casually had his arms wrapped around her as they were at play in London’s Chelsea district. And through the watchful eye of a telephoto lens, she was seen, tanned and gorgeous, in a two-piece swimsuit, lying serenely with her head in the lap of James Franco aboard a yacht off the island of Catalina.
 

Willow had her star athlete phase when she was frequently caught by ESPN’s cameras blowing a kiss to her latest man of the hour, who had just helped his team, the Portland Trailblazers, secure a place in the NBA playoffs. But she quickly grew bored with him and traded her NBA power forward for a top rated NFL quarterback.