The Arrangement Read online

  That was too many accidents to be coincidental, and yet that would probably be what he maintained. She’d only asked him about it once, and he’d warned her not to bring it up again. He’d clearly thought she was accusing him of something. But she’d read the clippings about Regine in the newspapers she’d found in his office—and Julia had told her the rest.

  You did know that every woman who’s loved him has had a terrible accident, didn’t you?

  Andrew moved quietly through the dark hallways of the third floor. He didn’t expect to find anyone, but there was always a chance someone from the party on the floor below might wander up. He doubted that anyone had heard anything. The band had been playing when the clay pot hit, but things were pretty quiet now. They were probably taking a break, and people at these things tended to wander, looking for bathrooms—and places to have sex.

  There was also the chance that someone might have noticed that he and Marnie were missing, like Julia. There were plenty of reasons to be cautious. He hadn’t been on the third floor until tonight, and didn’t know his way around. He and Alison had not been welcome at Sea Clouds when they’d come to Mirage Bay in February. They’d taken a vacation rental instead, and spent time on the boat. But Alison had been preoccupied with trying to make contact with her mother, who’d seemed reluctant even to take her calls.

  He’d gotten to know his way around the house when he and Alison were dating, and she’d invited him on visits, but the third floor had been unfinished then. Now it appeared to be as beautifully decorated as the rest of the house, but largely unused. He’d already discovered two guest rooms and a workout room as he moved quietly through the dark hallways, but the next room he found was the one he decided to search.

  The old-fashioned billiards room was paneled with burnished mahogany walls and high ceilings. Tiffany lamps and wooden ceiling fans dominated the decor, but more importantly, this room opened onto the balcony where Marnie had said she’d seen someone at the railing.

  Once outside, Andrew moved slowly toward the railing, cutting arcs across the stone deck with his penlight. He couldn’t search the way he wanted to without drawing attention to himself, but at least there was no security to worry about. He’d convinced Julia it wasn’t necessary to hire guards for tonight, that the band would have their own bodyguards.

  But right now, the group was on a break, and the party was showing signs of slowing down.

  Andrew’s penlight picked up something bright. He knelt for a closer look. The faux amethyst looked like a gem that might have fallen off a piece of costume jewelry or summer clothing, possibly even a sandal. It was definitely something a woman would wear.

  He picked it up and slipped it in his pocket, glad he’d found it before someone else did. He wasn’t telling anyone, even Marnie, about this bit of evidence, if that’s what it was. And once he’d finished here, he would go down to the ground floor terrace and clean up the mess from the broken pot.

  He didn’t want to give Julia any reason to call the police or feel she needed security for the house and grounds. He had plans of his own, and security guards would very much get in his way.

  15

  “Good grief, Rebecca!” Julia exclaimed. “How many calories do these apple croissants have?”

  “Calories? I’m not sure. They’re sugar-free.”

  Rebecca stopped putting the finishing touches on a plate of fresh fruit and picked up the package of croissants to look at the label. But Julia wanted to look for herself. She set her coffee mug on the bar where Rebecca was laying out breakfast, and snatched the package out of her hand.

  “Sugar-free?” Julia pulled her reading glasses from her gamine bangs and propped them on her nose long enough to skim the ingredients list. “The calories aren’t in the sugar. They’re in the fat. Look at this—three hundred and fifty calories a serving. That’s one croissant. I can’t eat these things, and you shouldn’t be eating them, either.”

  Marnie stood quietly by the windows, a steaming cup of black coffee in her hand. Watching Rebecca’s reaction was painful, and Marnie burned with the need to defend her. Embarrassment crept up the assistant’s pale throat in a crimson tide, the color so vibrant it reminded Marnie of California poppies.

  Marnie palmed her coffee mug, relishing the satisfaction it would give her to empty it on Julia’s overbearing head. But she couldn’t do anything that reckless this morning. She wasn’t even supposed to be here, having breakfast with her “family.”

  Andrew had already dressed and gone by the time Marnie woke. He’d left a note saying he was taking care of the business they’d discussed, which Marnie assumed meant tracking down last night’s assailant. He’d also made it clear that he expected her to stay in their room and avoid the rest of the family. She could say she was still recovering from her illness of the other night, but he didn’t want anyone to know about the falling planter.

  Marnie turned her gaze to the terrace beyond the windows. All traces of the clay pot that had shattered on the slate surface were gone. Andrew had cleaned it up last night. He’d said so in the note. He hadn’t missed anything, really, and perhaps she should have been glad he was willing to go to so much trouble. He was determined not to let anything get in the way of his mission, not security guards or the police or even Julia’s concerns—and part of his mission was proving Marnie innocent of Butch’s murder. She really ought to be grateful—and cooperative.

  But she hadn’t been able to silence her own concerns. She wasn’t ready to call them suspicions yet, but this morning, she’d needed to get out of that bedroom lockup and have a look around for herself, talk to the family, get a feel for the general mood of things.

  Because of their bizarre alliance, Andrew had become her only point of reference, and she desperately needed another touchstone. She was too isolated, and he was too powerful. She had no idea how his investigation was going or whether he’d made any progress in her case. He didn’t talk about it, and she hadn’t been able to bring herself to question him. Maybe she didn’t know the right questions to ask, or even feel she had the right to raise them. Somehow she had become his coconspirator in the ring of silence they’d created.

  She could see the possibility of a kindred spirit in Rebecca, but Marnie would have to be careful there, too. She’d been picking up mixed signals from the woman since the beginning, especially where Bret was concerned. The two of them might even be aligned against her in some way, although that seemed a little too paranoid even for Marnie.

  She brought the mug to her lips and blew to cool down the steamy brew. The coffee smelled delicious, but was still too hot to drink.

  She had taken care to use makeup to mask the tiny abrasions on her cheek and throat. She was lucky there weren’t more marks. The cut on her temple she’d covered with a clear bandage, and fluffed her hair over it. If anyone noticed, she was going to say she’d left the medicine cabinet door open and had run right into it. Keeping it simple was important, especially when you were lying through your teeth. She hated lies, and yet she was living a beaut, wasn’t she.

  Fortunately, no one had noticed anything amiss this morning, and there hadn’t been a word said. Julia’s main concern was whether her first party since Sea Clouds’s makeover was a success.

  “Nothing looks good this morning,” Julia said, turning up her nose at the array of food. “I ate too much last night, dammit. Did you like the food, Alison? I hope that isn’t what made you sick.” Marnie looked up, just realizing Julia was talking to her. “The food was wonderful, and so was the party. If anything, it was too good, too much excitement for a shut-in like me.”

  She had been reassuring Julia of that since the start of breakfast. No, Andrew and I didn’t leave because we weren’t having a good time. I was getting a headache, and we thought a breath of fresh air might help. Yes, the Dave Matthews Band was a huge hit. Best party ever, really.

  Julia reached for the plate of fruit, grabbed her coffee mug and brought everything to the large wrou
ght-iron table, where she picked through the melon slices and pineapple wedges, finally deciding on an enormous red strawberry.

  “Come sit down, Alison, and have some fruit. Would you rather go outside? We can eat on the terrace.”

  “Not dressed for the terrace,” Marnie said, indicating her bare shoulders. The halter-top sundress was one of the only things in Alison’s closet that actually fit her. “It looks breezy out there.”

  Julia’s nose wrinkled. “Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t look quite up to snuff. Is that makeup you’re wearing?”

  Marnie’s fingers flew to her cheek. “Just a bit. Thought I needed a little color.”

  As Julia studied her, Marnie had a realization. She didn’t understand how it was possible that Julia hadn’t recognized that this wasn’t her daughter, her flesh and blood. Marnie remembered reading somewhere that mothers could identify their child’s T-shirt simply by smelling it, the bond was so powerful. It was bio-chemical, instinctive. A mother knew her child. How could Julia not?

  Marnie’s gut was telling her that something was terribly wrong with the Fairmonts. Julia was a self-involved nervous wreck, Bret was a rebellious mess and probably a borderline alcoholic, and Alison…well, Alison wasn’t around to be observed, but if she’d done any of the things that Andrew suspected, she might be the most dysfunctional of the bunch.

  Marnie had been an avid reader as a kid, but she’d had no money for books, so she’d read what Gramma Jo brought home from the library, which were all hard-core true crime books. If it was about a serial killer or a psychopath, it was right up Gramma’s alley. Marnie hadn’t really understood the predilection, but she’d learned a lot, and she remembered reading that sociopaths and psychopaths often had attachment issues. They weren’t able to empathize with others and form normal bonds. No one really knew why. Some of them had been abused as children, but not all.

  Marnie wondered if it was possible for a family of great wealth, breeding and social stature to have attachment issues. Now that she was living with the Fairmonts, her answer would have to be yes.

  “I toasted some bagels,” Rebecca said, apparently trying to atone with a plate of sliced bagels she offered Julia. “They’re low-fat and so is the cream-cheese spread.”

  “Thank you, Rebecca, but I didn’t ask for a bagel.” Julia’s tone was withering. “I suppose you’ll have to eat them yourself, but maybe that was the plan?”

  Marnie was about to break a fingernail on her coffee cup. She walked over and took the plate from Rebecca.

  “I love bagels,” she said. “And maybe I’ll have one of those croissants, too. No, that’s okay, Rebecca, I’ll get it. You’ve done enough.”

  Marnie shrugged for Julia’s benefit, as if to say what’s a girl who likes to eat to do? She headed for the coffee bar, where Rebecca had retreated in confusion.

  Marnie picked up a sparkling clean coffee mug and waggled it at Rebecca. “Can I get you some coffee while I’m here?”

  Rebecca looked as if she didn’t dare respond.

  Julia sniffed and set down her melon wedge, apparently no longer able to eat in the presence of such idiocy. She took her coffee and walked to the window where Marnie had been standing.

  None of this came as a great surprise to Marnie. Andrew had told her—and she’d witnessed it enough first-hand—that despite Julia’s airs in public, she could be an incredible bitch in private. In a bad mood, she swore like a sailor and rained insults on whoever had set her off. Unfortunately for Rebecca, she seemed to be the usual target. She couldn’t seem to do anything right. And neither could Bret, Marnie had noticed. Clearly, though, Alison was different. Despite having been banished for marrying Andrew, she had some kind of exemption that Marnie didn’t understand.

  Andrew swore he didn’t understand it, either. And he wasn’t sure that the real Alison ever had. It was a troubled and deeply complicated mother-daughter bond.

  Marnie returned to the table, an apple croissant in hand.

  “I need a workout after all that food and booze last night,” Julia said. “How would you girls like to come to the club with me this morning? We’ll pedal our asses off and everyone will feel better. “

  She smiled brightly at both Marnie and Rebecca, apparently prepared to forgive them in exchange for some self-flagellation in the gym. No doubt it would also be a great chance for Julia to show off her prowess on the equipment.

  Marnie bit into the croissant and actually spoke while she was chewing, determined to be more repugnant than Rebecca could ever hope to be. “Sorry, can’t,” she said. “I need to borrow the BMW to get some errands done.”

  Julia managed a graceful shrug. “Of course, darling. The car is yours whenever you want it. You know that. How about you, Rebecca? A workout would do us both good, yes?”

  Marnie took another quick bite. Otherwise she might have told Julia how to do her evil self some good.

  Rebecca’s smile was sheepish and apologetic. “I’m expecting a call from your accountant this morning. There’s an inquiry from the IRS that can’t be put off. But I’ll use the third-floor gym later. I’ve been working out up there lately. Thanks for suggesting it.”

  At the mention of the third floor, Marnie had the sudden awareness that she could be in the room with the culprit who’d dropped the planter. Her gut had told her it was a woman, and although there had been many female guests at the party, these two lived here and were intimately familiar with the third floor.

  Somehow, she couldn’t see Julia resorting to dropping pots. She must have more effective ways to deal with her enemies, like insulting them to death. And Rebecca was hardly the nefarious type, but who knew?

  “Yummy bagel, Rebecca, thank you,” Marnie said, making a point to pick up her dishes as she left the table, hoping in vain that Julia would get the hint that Rebecca was her assistant, not her slave.

  As Marnie set the dishes next to the sink, she wondered what Andrew might have found on the third floor, if anything. She’d pretended to be asleep when he came in last night. A silly move, she realized now, but she’d still been mired in her own suspicions about him at the time.

  This morning, he was gone, but she would make a point to ask him about it. She’d also go up herself for a look around. She could always use the excuse that she wanted some exercise. But for now, she had other plans. She was venturing not just out of her room, but out of the house. Andrew seemed reluctant to talk about his investigation, so Marnie had decided to do some reconnaissance on her own, starting with the main reason she’d agreed to come back to Mirage Bay.

  What Marnie remembered as she got out of the car was the heat. It had been brutally hot and dry that February afternoon. The air had smelled of scorched creosote from the fires in the hills, and the devil winds had stung her skin with burning sand.

  But the lush oak glen behind her gramma’s cottage was cool and dark and mossy green, and the tidal pool was as slick as a mirror. Only one spindly creature, a daddy longlegs gliding across the surface of the water, disturbed the eerie calm.

  The tide wouldn’t be high enough for bathing until that evening, but Marnie couldn’t wait. She was going to float on her back like a seal. She stripped off the thin linen shift she wore on blistering days like this, and then realized she might not be alone—

  The sound of a car door banging shut brought Marnie back to the present. She had shut the door herself. She was home.

  She slammed her fist to her chest, and tears welled, despite her fierce attempt to hold them back. She had thought she would never see this place again. The old cedar-shake cottage she’d grown up in still looked as if it was about to slide off its foundation. The front porch was several inches lower on one side, and the overhang sagged in the middle like a canvas awning. Termites, probably. They’d been eating away at the place for as long as Marnie could remember.

  But the cottage could have been a pile of rotting wood and it would still have been beautiful to her, still a monument to the best an
d purest moments of her childhood. Nothing had changed since she’d left. Except her. She used to be pure, too.

  She had agreed not to meet with her grandmother, but she hadn’t said she wouldn’t visit the cottage, and there was no one here now.

  Marnie started for the porch, dust billowing around her sandaled feet. The morning air already had the smell of a hot day about it. The baking sun had turned the surface of the clay path to powder, and the wooden porch was creaking before she’d stepped foot on it. Marnie loved hot summer days, even when they dried you up like a raisin.

  She hesitated at the sound of a sudden burst of laughter coming from inside the cottage, but it didn’t sound like her grandmother. As Marnie stepped onto the porch, she saw that the front door was ajar. Had someone broken in?

  She burned with outrage. What could Gramma Jo possibly have that anyone would want? She was old and poor. It infuriated Marnie that the most vulnerable became targets simply because they were the least able to defend themselves. There was something horribly twisted about that.

  She wet her lips, weighing her options. She couldn’t do anything crazy. Her grandmother might be in there with the intruder, but Marnie didn’t think so. Someone was taking advantage of Gramma Jo’s absence.

  She crept across the creaky porch to the door. Shock rolled through her as she peeked through the narrow opening and saw a man and woman in a heated embrace. The man’s back was to Marnie, which concealed both of them as they kissed and writhed against the back wall. They had their clothes on, but that wasn’t going to last long. He was unbuttoning her blouse and she was tugging hard on his belt loops, trying to get his pants down.

  Marnie was now certain her grandmother wasn’t there and the intruders were taking advantage of that. But they weren’t robbing her family home. They were turning it into a cheap motel.