The Arrangement Read online

  “Excuse me,” Tony said. “I’m looking for Alison Fairmont. Have you seen her, by any chance?”

  LaDonna flipped open her cell phone and scrutinized the display. As she snapped it closed, she gave him a disdainful glance. “Here? Alison Fairmont? You can’t be serious.”

  Not eager to please tonight, apparently. Tony took no offense, although he thought it was odd she didn’t recognize him. Either he’d been very forgettable when they hooked up last February, or she was really preoccupied. They’d never been more than passing acquaintances, except that one time. She was closer to the age Butch would have been than she was to Tony’s. But he’d known LaDonna Jeffries by reputation, and she’d definitely known who Tony Bogart was six months ago. She just hadn’t taken a good look at him yet.

  “Do you know Alison?” he persisted, and fortunately, she couldn’t resist. That was LaDonna’s problem. She couldn’t resist much.

  “Everyone knows Alison,” she said, “or thinks they do. Some of these idiots around here probably even think she gives a shit that they exist. Maybe she looked their way by mistake. Hah.”

  LaDonna rolled her eyes and grabbed her cell again, going through the menu, probably looking for the guy’s number. Meanwhile, the bartender wandered over, and Tony pointed to LaDonna’s beer, letting the man know he’d have the same thing.

  The jukebox started to play a country-and-western tune with just enough bluegrass in it to set Tony’s teeth on edge. Why did most fiddle music sound like the same thing over and over again?

  “So, Alison wasn’t nice to you?” he asked LaDonna.

  “Coldhearted bitch,” she murmured. “She could have bought the hand cream I showed her. Some of us have to work for a living.”

  “Don’t like her much, do you?”

  She tapped buttons on the cell’s keypad, still ignoring him. “Don’t care one way or the other.”

  “Is she coldhearted enough to kill someone?” he asked.

  “Kill someone?” She thought a moment, shrugged and continued with her cell. “We’re all coldhearted enough for that.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy you want to kill.”

  “What’s with all these questions?” She turned her head and gave him a good hard look. “Jesus,” she whispered, “is that you? Tony Bogart! Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

  She grabbed for her glass. Tony leaped up and caught her wrist before he was wearing the contents like a wet T-shirt.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he said under his breath. “Put that down.”

  Beer splashed as the glass hit the counter. “Bastard,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. “How about I kill you?”

  “Why? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “You snuck out of my place without even a note. You slept with me, and you couldn’t leave a note when you left? Couldn’t call later?”

  “You’ve been angry at me all this time?” Maybe that was his number she’d been looking for on her cell, not that he’d given it to her. She’d been too much the fatal-attraction type for him. She hadn’t been good in bed, either, although he’d told her she was wonderful. She’d been worried about whether she was fat, and if she was pretty enough. Lots of women had those issues, but LaDonna was obsessed. He hadn’t been able to get out of there fast enough, and no, he hadn’t left a note. But he hadn’t figured she’d hold a grudge for six months.

  The sleuth in him was taking mental notes, as always. LaDonna Jeffries was beginning to look a little whacked. But just how whacked? he wondered. And what was her snapping point? Everybody had one.

  The water-works surprised him. But she seemed to be in genuine pain, which cast more doubt on her emotional stability.

  “Let me make it up to you,” he said. “You want a fresh beer, dinner? How about we get something to eat, whatever you want.”

  “What’s the catch, Bogart?”

  “Nothing. Good food, good conversation.”

  She glared at him, brushing away tears with her fingers. “That’s it? Why don’t I trust you?”

  Pretty hard to defend himself against that. “All right, maybe a couple more questions? I’m doing some research. No big deal.”

  “Jesus, they always want something.” She stuffed her cell in a pocket of her fabric bag and called out to the bartender, who was waiting on someone else.

  Tony figured he’d blown it. She was after her check so she could leave. But when the bartender finally ambled over, carrying Tony’s beer, LaDonna ordered the most expensive champagne in the house.

  “It’s on him,” she told the man, pointing to Tony.

  Tony shrugged. “Whatever she wants.”

  LaDonna’s pursed lips weren’t quite a smile as she sat back and folded her arms. “Okay, ask your questions. Let’s get this over with so I can enjoy my champagne.”

  “You’re looking great,” he said, letting his gaze flicker over the cleavage pouring forth from her plunging neckline.

  She tweaked up the neckline a little, but seemed pleased.

  “So,” he murmured, “how’s life been treating you, other than tonight?”

  “Get real, Tony. You don’t care about my life. Why were you asking if Alison killed somebody?”

  “That isn’t what I asked.”

  “You implied it.”

  “I asked if she was capable. It’s the way a G-man thinks. Everyone’s guilty until proven innocent. Besides, you’re the one who said she was coldhearted.”

  “Alison, coldhearted?” She snorted. “You used to date her. You oughta know.”

  The disdain in her voice cut at him, but he was careful not to let her see that. And since she refused to engage in friendly conversation, he might as well get to the point.

  “Let’s talk about another friend of yours, Marnie Hazelton.”

  “What about her?”

  “You two actually were friends, right? Since childhood?”

  She reached into the pocket of her bag for her cell phone, caught herself and stopped. “Why do you ask?”

  “Have you talked to her recently?”

  “So…this is about your brother, Butch?”

  Tony tasted his light beer and grimaced. “Maybe,” he admitted. “And let’s say I’d like very much to speak with your friend. I might even be in a position to help her.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  For a split second, Tony actually considered taking LaDonna into his confidence. If she knew he had another suspect, she might be willing to talk about her friend—and there was so much Tony didn’t understand about Marnie Hazelton. Like who the hell she actually was. No one had been able to find any records on her, including the local cops who’d investigated Butch’s murder. There were no fingerprints on record, no medical or dental files, no social security number or financial information. She’d gone to local schools sporadically, apparently dropping out when the teasing and harassment became too much. And her grandmother wasn’t really her grandmother. Josephine Hazelton had given Tony and everybody else some cock-and-bull story about finding a baby in a basket.

  And now she’d disappeared, too—the grandmother. There’d been no sign of her yesterday when Tony went out to her cottage.

  “Seriously,” he said. “I need to talk to Marnie.”

  LaDonna flashed him a glare. “I don’t know where she is, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. She didn’t kill anybody, although she had plenty of reason to. Your brother was sick, Tony—”

  “That makes it okay to stab him seventeen times?”

  “In my book, it does—and I hope he suffered.”

  Tony took a long drink of beer, giving himself time to mull over the fact that LaDonna had just given him a motive. He’d never seriously thought of her as a suspect, and for some reason, he still didn’t, but this was getting interesting.

  Damn screeching fiddle. There it went again. He glanced over at the jukebox and fantasized how it would explode when he empt
ied his pistol into its howling guts. That calmed him immediately.

  “If it wasn’t Marnie,” he said evenly, “then who killed Butch? You must have a theory on what happened.”

  The bartender brought their champagne, poured them each a glass and left the bottle in a dripping bucket of ice on the counter. LaDonna took a healthy slug of the bubbly. Apparently she liked champagne better than beer.

  “I’m sorry, but who wouldn’t want to kill Butch? He terrorized everyone, even his creepy friends. Maybe they ganged up on him.”

  Tony tried the champagne and decided to stick with the lousy beer. He wondered what the bubbly was costing him. Sour shit. It tasted like bad ginger ale. “What about Gramma Jo?” he asked.

  “The old lady? She’d never hurt anyone.”

  “Not even to protect her child? Okay, then, who?”

  She started listing people who might hate Butch—a transient he’d beaten up for the fun of it and nearly killed; a neighbor whose dog he’d shot because it yapped all night. “What about you, Tony?” she said, a sneer in her voice. “Your brother was the first one to rub it in when Alison dumped you. I heard he and his friends were laughing themselves sick at the idea of you proposing to Goldilocks and her thinking it was a joke.”

  Tony’s guts twisted. “He was young and stupid, a kid.”

  “He was an ass.” She set down her glass. “Like I said, everybody hated him.”

  And Tony was starting to hate her. There was no love lost between him and his brother. Butch had fucked him over but good, but that was Tony’s very personal business. No one got to slander Butch but him.

  “I have to go,” she said. “I’m dating a guy, a really nice guy.”

  Tony laughed. “You mean the one who was supposed to meet you here?”

  “He’d be here if he could,” she snapped. “He probably has car trouble.”

  She slid off the stool and hesitated. “I really thought you’d be different, you know. I didn’t think a guy who’d been dumped would be so quick to dump a girl. Like…you’d know how it feels, and you wouldn’t want to do that to anyone else.”

  She stared him straight in the eye, as if she had the moral high ground and he was the sleaze. Tony had no answer for her. He turned back to his tasteless beer and let her have her parting shot. Quite a temper on Mizz LaDonna. She’d all but bared her teeth at him. Made you wonder if a woman like that could get mad enough to kill somebody.

  He heard her stalk away, but didn’t bother to look up. He hadn’t learned Marnie’s whereabouts, but he’d done something more important. He’d planted the seed about Alison, and as much as LaDonna didn’t like him, she didn’t like Alison more.

  13

  “To my one and only daughter, Alison, who is more beautiful tonight than I’ve ever seen her, and to her dashing husband, Andrew, who’s not so bad himself.”

  The well-heeled crowd tittered politely as Julia Fairmont raised her glass, first to the heavens, and then to Alison and Andrew, who as guests of honor were sitting at a flower-strewn table with the Pacific Ocean as their backdrop. All of the dinner courses except dessert had been served, and the food had been plentiful and delicious. Champagne and caviar, filet mignon and lobster. Now it was time for toasts, and after that, more champagne and dancing.

  “May many more blessings rain down on their wonderful union,” Julia said, “such as grandchildren, perhaps? It has been four years, you two.”

  The tittering turned to laughter, and Marnie actually found herself blushing, but not for the obvious reasons. Julia’s seemingly heartfelt toast had caught her totally off guard, especially the reference to grandchildren, which was the last thing she expected to hear. It had to be for the guests’ benefit. Julia wanted everyone to know what a loving, accepting mother she was.

  The last several days had been focused entirely on party preparations, and Julia had monopolized nearly every minute of Marnie’s time. She’d clearly intended some mother-daughter bonding, but she may have had another goal as well. She’d managed to slip subtle comments about Alison’s relationship with Andrew into many of their conversations, quietly insinuating that he might be a dangerous man, and Alison might have something to fear.

  Are you at ease around him? Is everything all right between you? Of course, I’m sure he’s never touched you in anger, Alison, but do you worry that he might?

  Obviously, Julia still harbored doubts about Andrew’s motives. She hadn’t come out and said she believed he was responsible for Alison’s fall from the yacht, but she’d put it out there, probably to see what her daughter’s response would be.

  Marnie had deflected Julia’s questions by saying how grateful she was for Andrew’s care and devotion while she was recovering. She reminded Julia that he’d saved her life, and Julia had let it go—but now here she was, all smiles and gushing tributes. One would think she wanted to have Andrew’s babies.

  “Here, here!” someone called out.

  Champagne flutes were lifted, and more voices chimed in with good wishes. Marnie reached for her own glass, but caught herself. One of the first rules of social etiquette: you don’t toast yourself.

  Andrew clasped her fingers and brought them to his lips, as if she’d been reaching for him. It was a nice save. She smiled and met his gaze, aware that her face was still flushed, but then who wouldn’t be from all this excitement? She’d worn the pink diamond earrings that Andrew had given her on the evening they’d arrived at Sea Clouds. It had seemed important to shake off her doubts and make a gesture that said they were united, side by side, in this room of virtual strangers.

  The crowd applauded, calling for more toasts. Marnie wasn’t quite sure what was expected. Andrew picked up his flute and rose to answer the clamor. He turned to Julia first, thanking her for the beautiful occasion she’d created, and then to the crowd, expressing gratitude for their presence and for his many blessings, which included, of course, his wife.

  He spoke in low, modulated tones with just the faintest European inflection, and Marnie was aware of the pride she felt. If he had a dark side, it only seemed to add to his allure tonight. The black tie attire made him seem more virile rather than less. If anything about him was dangerous, it was his hypnotic ease. He was as much at home with this fancy crowd as he was in the fairy-tale atmosphere Julia had created for the party.

  The Chinese pavilion was an open-air pergola the size of a small ballroom that had been designed as part of the house’s ground-floor terrace. It overlooked the ocean, and Julia and her party planners had turned it into something magical and palatial. Oriental lanterns had been replaced with crystal chandeliers, and thousands of miniature lights draped the wisteria boughs hanging like garlands from the tiled roof. But the most striking light came from the glowing horizon, which was wreathed with the vibrant reds and purples of the sunset.

  Backlit by the blazing sky, Andrew turned to Marnie. “I can hardly improve on my mother-in-law’s tribute to my wife’s beauty, but may I also say that I love the gown Alison is wearing tonight—almost as much as I’m going to love taking it off her after you nice people leave.”

  It was totally inappropriate, but the crowd broke loose and roared. Marnie didn’t have to pretend to be flustered, but inside she was humming. All week long she’d been dreading this affair. She hated being the center of attention for any reason. She always had, long before she became Alison Fairmont. But tonight it felt as if something had inoculated her against the dread. She was immune, beyond making any more silly mistakes, and even if she did, it seemed these people would accept her, anyway.

  She actually felt a little bit drunk, though she’d only had two glasses of champagne, and she hadn’t taken any sleeping pills since she’d come to Mirage Bay. The pills made her groggy and forgetful, which would have been especially risky tonight. Who knew what the guests, all friends of Julia’s, might say and do? Who knew what the family might say and do?

  “If I might be allowed to make a toast?”

  The man
who stood was short in stature and stocky, but strikingly handsome in his formal white dinner jacket. Julia had briefed Marnie before the party about all of the guests, but in particular she’d mentioned Jack Furlinghetti, one of the family’s estate lawyers. When she’d brought him over to her during cocktails, Marnie had been hyperaware of his curiosity and his scrutiny. It was obvious that this introduction was important, especially to Julia.

  “May you lose your hearts and keep your heads,” Furlinghetti said, generating another laugh, “and may your children have very rich parents.”

  The attorney hadn’t even taken his seat before someone else spoke up. “Does the black sheep get to toast the happy couple?”

  Bret was already headed toward the dais. Marnie saw him moving through a path created by the tables, an open bottle of beer in his hand. But he wore immaculate black tie, like everyone else, and he looked clear-eyed and sober, more sober than Marnie felt, actually. And he’d been remarkably restrained all through dinner. She had kept an eye on him until she’d been distracted by all the pleasant commotion of the evening.

  Julia gave the combo a signal to start playing, and the keyboard player launched into one of the songs from a list that Marnie had chosen as favorites of hers and Andrew’s. The small group of local musicians had been hired by the party planners to fill in until the Dave Matthews Band was scheduled to arrive, which was after the dinner and the toasts. Soon, Marnie hoped.

  Meanwhile, Bret walked over to the observation deck that served as the bandstand, and took one of the mikes from its stand. “Now I won’t have to yell to be heard,” he told the startled guests. “I know my mother wouldn’t want that.”

  The keyboard player glanced at Julia, taking his cues from her.

  Julia’s thumb worked against the huge emerald-and-diamond on her ring finger. The glint in her eyes was frightening.

  “Be quick, Bret,” she said, smiling and pretending to be amused. “It’s time for our guests of honor to dance.”