The Arrangement Page 12

  Tony felt his cell vibrating inside the case hooked to his belt loop. He checked the display, saw that it was an unknown caller, and pressed Talk. His snitch’s calls came in that way.

  “Bogart,” Tony said. It surprised him that his hand was unsteady. He’d worked with informants before, but none who had such power over his deeply personal desires. This was Tony’s chance for justice on several levels.

  “She’s killed twice,” said the muffled voice in his ear, “and she’ll kill again soon. This time she’s after someone you know and love.”

  “Who’s killed twice?” Tony asked.

  The voice turned scornful. “You already know that.”

  “You’re talking about Alison Fairmont? Who’s she after?”

  “You already know that, too. Is your hearing going?”

  The line went dead, and Tony hit *75, alerting his cell phone service that he wanted the call traced. The service was intended to deal with telephone threats and harassment, but it was the only resource Tony had at the moment. He’d been cut off from the FBI’s electronic surveillance operations when they put him on administrative leave.

  The caller sounded like a woman, but there were many ways to disguise a voice. Someone he knew and loved? Tony had to laugh. There wasn’t anybody who fell into both categories, except Tony himself.

  His smiled faded as he watched Villard navigate the boat out of the yacht club and turn it toward the reefs. This was getting more interesting all the time. Maybe he should thank Villard for dragging his beautiful wife out of the drink and bringing her home just in time for Tony to get a little payback.

  Whoever designed this house should have included street signs.

  Marnie was lost in Sea Clouds, searching for Julia’s room. Her skin had finally calmed down, along with her nerves, but it had taken nearly twenty-four hours. Andrew had covered for her, but this morning he’d gone out early, promising to come back with news of her grandmother.

  Now it was nearly two in the afternoon, and the house had seemed unusually quiet all day. Marnie had begun to wonder where everyone was, and she was too anxious to sit and wait for Andrew any longer.

  She’d decided it might be a good idea to spend some time with Julia. Perhaps they might even find some common ground. But first she had to locate her room. When she’d gazed up at the house as a kid, she’d always imagined it was the second-story room with the huge Palladian windows and romantic wrought-iron balconies, overlooking the ocean. But finding it from the inside was like negotiating a labyrinth.

  The second floor had two wings offering spectacular views of both the mountains and the ocean. As Marnie made her way from one wing to the other, she encountered shadowy alcoves and empty guest rooms. Finally, she found a wide hallway with double doors at the end that looked promising.

  She had lain awake all night, thinking about the choice she’d made and the bizarre lie she was living. There was no way around that. Obviously, she couldn’t tell Julia the whole truth, but at least she could admit her fear that she wouldn’t be able to live up to Julia’s expectations. That much was certainly true, and something even a real daughter would feel under the circumstances.

  But as Marnie approached the double doors, she heard voices inside.

  “There’s something fundamentally off about her. Haven’t you noticed? She’s lost in this house. She looks around like she’s never been here before.”

  Marnie moved closer, listening. It was Bret’s voice.

  “You can’t expect her to be the old Alison after what she’s been through,” Julia said.

  “Who said I wanted her to be the old Alison? I hated that bitch—and she hated me. But something’s wrong. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that she can remember us, her family, but she’s forgotten the house where she spent half her life?”

  “Bret, don’t call your sister a bitch. It’s disturbingly low class.”

  “How do we know she is my sister?”

  Marnie entered the room and hesitated, wondering what she was going to do when they saw her. Julia sat at her marble-topped writing desk, which faced the balcony, overlooking the ocean. This was the room that a much younger Marnie had imagined. From the inside, it reminded her of a palatial villa on the Mediterranean. Spacious and elegant, it seemed to have been designed with columns and arches everywhere. The gleaming marble floors almost made her dizzy.

  Bret sat tilted back in a chair, his feet resting on his mother’s desk, probably to annoy her. Neither one of them saw Marnie in the doorway behind them.

  Julia scribbled notes on the pad. “She’d damn well better be your sister. I’m planning a belated wedding reception this weekend for her and Andrew. I’m going to tell them tonight at dinner.”

  Marnie couldn’t believe any of what she was hearing.

  Bret seemed astounded, too. “You’re throwing them a party? I wouldn’t expose her to my society friends, if I were you. It would be cruel.”

  Julia glanced up from her task. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s an embarrassment. Did you see how she held her stemware when we were all at dinner? That was a 1996 Chevalier Montrachet, and her fingers were all over the bowl of the glass, warming the wine. Alison never would have done anything like that,” he insisted. “She wasn’t meek and mousy, either. She was a Fairmont, and she acted like one.”

  Julia set down her pen. “That’s crazy. Do you seriously believe that Andrew would bring an imposter into this house? I’d have the police here in a heartbeat, and he knows it. If Alison hadn’t turned up alive, he would have been charged with her murder.”

  Marnie wondered what her chances were of getting out unnoticed.

  Bret swung around, as if he’d sensed her hovering. “Were you eavesdropping? What did you hear, you conniving little bitch?”

  “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was standing right here, in full view, listening to everything you said about me, you conniving bastard.”

  Marnie fired bullets at him with her glare. She had never liked Bret on principle. He was a snob, and he’d always made it clear by his disdainful manner that he was too good for the likes of Mirage Bay. Many times she’d imagined flipping him the finger, but she’d never thought about walking up and slapping him.

  Why not?

  Bret didn’t even try to duck. Maybe he was too startled as Marnie walked over and cracked his jaw with her palm.

  The noisy pop of flesh against flesh was deeply satisfying. Marnie felt fiery heat and knew she’d hurt him. Her hand was stinging.

  Bret touched the bright red palm print on his cheek. “You stupid cunt,” he whispered. “I wish to God you’d drowned.”

  Julia nearly knocked over her chair as she sprang up. She moved in between her sparring children, as if she was used to refereeing them.

  “Bret, don’t even think about hitting her back,” Julia warned. She grabbed his fist and gave him a push.

  He let out a snarl of frustration. “Jesus, are you still protecting her after she turned her back on you? What the hell do you want? I’m the faithful son, the only kid who hasn’t left you, but do you give a shit?”

  Bret kicked over Julia’s chair and stalked out of the room. His spitting fury as he stormed past Marnie sent her pulse into orbit. She had to protect herself from these people. That had never been more clear.

  Julia went quiet, looking out at the ocean. Marnie had no idea what to do. She shuffled, about to excuse herself, when Julia turned. “Where are you going?” she said. “Come over here and let me have a look at you.”

  Marnie lifted her head, summoning strength, but she felt like a stick figure as she walked over and stood in front of Julia. Her camisole and jeans were baggy and ill-fitting. She hadn’t had Andrew to help her pick out something this morning. She probably looked like a street person, and she had never felt more like the imposter she was.

  “Your outfit is disastrous. What were you thinking, putting lace with denim? I don’t like those sandals, either. They’re too Birkenstock.
”

  Marnie touched her burgundy silk camisole. “Everyone’s doing it.”

  “Everyone’s doing what?”

  “Wearing lace with denim. You can wear lace with anything.”

  “So this is a fashion trend? You never bothered following trends before. You’ve always had my innate sense of style.” Julia waved a hand, presenting her own outfit—a navy-and-white sundress with epaulets—as if for comparison.

  “I’ve lost weight,” Marnie said. “Nothing fits, and I don’t seem to care about clothes anymore.”

  “Well, that much is obvious.”

  Marnie’s voice tightened with emotion. “He’s trying to poison your mind against me.”

  “Bret?”

  “Yes, Bret! And I’m making it easy for him because I’m not right yet. I’m not fully recovered, but—” She stared fiercely at the woman she was trying to reach, aware that some door had closed and Julia Fairmont had shut her out.

  “Listen,” she said, “if you don’t believe I’m your daughter, then say so now, and I’ll go. Andrew and I will leave, and you’ll never have to see either of us again.”

  Julia looked surprised, and wary. She went over and straightened the spindly chair, sliding it back into the writing desk. Probably both expensive antiques, Marnie imagined. She didn’t know what to make of Julia’s silence, but she felt a rising sense of dread as the woman closed her hands on the back of the chair and bowed her head for a moment. She was either distressed by what had happened or contemplating what to do next.

  Worse, Marnie had no idea what she actually wanted Julia to say. It might be easier for everyone if she simply told them to leave.

  11

  Julia turned around, her gaze distant, as if she were still looking out at the ocean. She walked up to Marnie and reached out to touch her.

  Marnie flinched, not sure what to expect, but Julia didn’t seem to notice her shrinking away. She caressed Marnie’s face with her fingertips, traced her cheekbones and feathered her eyebrows, all the while looking at her in an oddly unfocused way.

  “Of course you’re my daughter,” she said. “Have I ever suggested that you weren’t? You look just like me. Even more than you did before, I think.”

  A quick smile softened her expression. It was almost tender, and Marnie felt a strange kind of gratitude welling up. Of course it was relief, but it was something else, too. She hadn’t been the object of anyone’s tenderness in a very long time.

  “Thank you,” she said, feeling awkward.

  “Don’t be silly. Come with me.” Julia beckoned her into the bedroom, where there was an elegant three-panel mirror. “Look at the two of us,” she said. “The resemblance is striking, don’t you think?”

  Marnie nodded. She didn’t dare say that she barely saw the resemblance at all. They were both brunettes rather than blondes, although Julia’s raven color might not be natural—and they shared the same bone structure. She couldn’t deny the similarities, but Marnie’s expression was perpetually guarded and her naturally wavy hair difficult to control. Apparently she had no fashion sense, while the woman next to her was a Neiman Marcus mannequin. Julia was perfect—makeup just so, every hair in place.

  But there was something else about Julia’s honed features that struck Marnie as familiar. Her stomach churned as she studied their reflections, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was or why it bothered her. Maybe she didn’t want to know.

  “And there’s another reason I know you’re my daughter.”

  “The piano?” Marnie ventured.

  “No, the way you fought with Bret.” She gave Marnie’s hand a little squeeze. “That was my daughter, classic Alison. You never did take any shit from your little brother. I can remember thinking I should give the two of you boxing lessons, and let you fight it out in the ring, but I was worried about Bret.”

  Julia’s laughter was infectious. Marnie laughed along, pretending to be delighted, too, but she was also aware of what had just happened. She’d won Julia’s support and sealed her own fate. She and Andrew weren’t going back to Long Island, at least not immediately.

  “We need to talk,” Julia said. She led Marnie over to a striped satin chaise, where they both sat. Julia seemed almost giddy as she pulled her closer.

  “Now that the cat’s out of the bag,” Julia said, “and you know about the reception, I might as well let you in on the juicy details. I haven’t thrown a big party since the house was decorated, so it has to be exceptional. Everyone will be expecting a smashing affair.”

  Marnie must have looked as pensive as Julia had moments ago when she was gazing out the window. Marnie dreaded the very thought of the party, but somehow she managed a smile and a nod.

  Julia squeezed her fingers again. “It’s going to be wonderful,” she said, her laughter a bit too bright and bubbly. “Everyone knows you ran off and married Andrew, and that we’ve been estranged. And your accident was front-page headlines when it happened. There won’t be a single regret. They’ll all show up, hoping for fireworks.”

  Wonderful? Marnie began to giggle, too. She couldn’t help herself, and somehow she knew Julia wouldn’t notice the tinge of hysteria, anyway.

  “Guess who has a hot new job?” Bret looked up from his gazpacho with a sly smile. He directed the question to everyone seated around the formal dining room table except his mother. Julia, he pointedly ignored.

  Only Rebecca smiled back at him, Andrew noticed. And it was a quick, strained smile at that. More trouble was brewing, which came as no surprise. Andrew had spent time with these people when he was dating Alison. It was fair to say they didn’t play well together. If given the chance, they’d probably gut each other and sell the vital organs to a body parts broker.

  Julia cocked her head at Bret, who was at the other end of the table. “Who has a hot new job?” she said in a withering tone. “Surely no one seated here.”

  Andrew reached for Marnie’s hand under the table. Things were still tense between them, but on their way down to dinner just now, she’d told him about the door-die confrontation in Julia’s bedroom. He’d been surprised—and proud of how she handled herself, though there hadn’t been time to let her know.

  His priority had been calming her fears about her grandmother. Josephine Hazelton had won a contest and gone on a cruise somewhere. Andrew had stopped by her cottage and found it locked up. From there he’d gone to the flea market, where an elderly woman who claimed to know Gramma Jo had sworn she heard her talking about the cruise. Andrew had found it odd that the woman had no details. She couldn’t remember where Gramma Jo had gone and didn’t know when she’d be back, but she was adamant about what had happened.

  Marnie had been so relieved, Andrew thought she might faint. Apparently her grandmother had talked about taking a cruise someday. It was a fond dream, and Marnie was thrilled she’d been able to do it. She’d asked Andrew to discreetly keep checking for details. She wanted to know everything, especially when Gramma Jo would be back, although they’d both agreed that Marnie shouldn’t visit her. If anyone would recognize Marnie, through gestures alone, it would be her.

  Andrew hadn’t mentioned his encounter with Bogart at the yacht club. No point worrying her about that yet.

  Bret grinned, doing his Cheshire cat thing until the silence grew uncomfortable.

  Andrew picked up his water glass. “Who do we congratulate?”

  “Could it wait a minute, Bret?” Julia rose, clinking her fork against her water goblet. “I have something to announce. If I could have everyone’s attention.”

  There were only the five of them at the table, counting Julia, but she seemed determined to preempt her son, and Andrew couldn’t blame her. From what he’d seen, Bret was the sand in Julia’s Vaseline. He lived to embarrass her.

  Bret sprang to his feet and held his wineglass high. “No, it can’t wait. I’ve been asked to be a spokesmodel for a line of men’s spa products.”

  Julia’s eyes narrowed. “Spokesmodel?
Is that like a celebrity who does commercials?”

  Andrew could have told her what spokesmodeling was like. It was a lot like a rock star, and he’d dealt with his share of those. Thank God his assistant, Stacy, was handling it now, although he’d already started receiving voice mail messages from her wanting advice and counsel.

  “It’s like Mark Wahlberg for Calvin Klein underwear,” Bret explained, answering his mother. “This is a new line of men’s toiletries, and they want a fresh face. They’re selling the products in discount outlets like Target and KMart, and I suppose they want the Fairmont name to add a little cachet to their brand.” He angled a glance at her. “Nice, huh? I knew you’d be pleased.”

  “Discount outlets?” Julia looked as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “And have you accepted their offer?”

  “They want an answer tomorrow.”

  The way Julia was holding her dinner fork, Bret might not live that long. Score one for Bret, Andrew thought. Julia would never want the family name associated with low-end spa products.

  Marnie started a round of applause, which seemed to catch everyone off guard, including Bret. Her soft smile made Andrew wonder what was going through her mind. He knew she was relieved about her grandmother, but she was also subtly different since that morning’s confrontation with Bret and Julia, as if she’d rediscovered something within herself. She was a fighter by nature. He had faith in her, but it wasn’t his faith that mattered.

  “I suppose congratulations are in order.” Julia held up her glass and acknowledged her son with a resigned nod. “To Bret’s new adventure.”

  “Here, here,” Andrew said, to the sound of clinking glasses. He hadn’t expected Julia to go along with Bret’s “hot new job.” And maybe she wouldn’t. The night was young.

  “My son is a hard act to follow,” Julia said when they were done toasting him, “but I do have a little something to share. Rebecca and I managed to secure the Dave Matthews Band to perform at the reception—and we didn’t even have to use Andrew’s services to do it.”