The Arrangement Read online

  She discarded her jacket on the bed and began to unbutton her blouse, a delicate white, sleeveless thing with tucks that gave it the look of an old-fashioned slip. The neckline dipped low enough to reveal the swell of her breasts. She seemed to glow there, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the soft flesh shimmering in the low light.

  For Christ’s sake, Villard. Stop her. Now. You let her undo one more button and you’re going to be tearing that blouse off her, kissing her wild, hungry mouth and violating her body again. You have things to tell her, and there may not be another chance.

  He tried to speak and couldn’t. Instead, he cleared his throat.

  Her head shot up, and she saw him. “Andrew? Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

  They needed to talk, but something in her expression stopped him. It was elemental, a glint of fear and suspicion that caught him totally off guard.

  “I hate it when you do that,” Marnie said. Her fingers whipped at the buttons of her blouse, doing them up.

  Andrew seemed genuinely confused. “When I do what?”

  “Sneak up on me like that, watch me. You know what I mean.”

  Apparently he didn’t. He continued to watch her, silent and intent, as if he was dealing with a temperamental animal. The buttons were tiny and infuriating. She couldn’t get them done up. Her breath escaped with a low hiss.

  Finally, he went to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of red wine. Marnie couldn’t help but notice. She’d still never seen him drink.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

  She stood by the bed, only half done up and painfully aware of her gaping blouse. Why the hell didn’t he turn away and let her finish? The question burned to be asked, but her unbuttoned blouse wasn’t the real problem, and clearly he sensed that. He knew something was wrong, and as much as she wanted to confront him with her damning evidence, she wasn’t sure it was safe.

  Would she be a threat to him now that she knew the truth?

  He held up the glass, and she realized he’d poured it for her.

  “No, thanks,” she said sharply. “I’ve been drinking all day.”

  “Really?”

  “Mm, really, it’s an important part of the shopping ritual.” She pointed to the bags on the bed, wondering if she might still be a little drunk. Maybe that would get her through this. “And it does ease the pain.”

  He was already filling a second goblet with fruit juice. It was a deep vibrant red, the color of pomegranates, and it made Marnie thirsty.

  “If I know Julia, she paid for everything,” he said, stopping long enough to sample the juice. “I hope it eased her pain.”

  It was meant to be a quip, but Marnie had come too close to Julia’s pain to appreciate the humor. How odd that Andrew was suddenly the enemy and Julia her ally. Life could turn on you in a second, as casually as a storm blew in. And so could people.

  Andrew savored his drink. It might as well have been wine the way he handled it. He bent his head to the rim of the glass, breathing in the fruity notes. He even swirled the ambrosia in his mouth before swallowing. Marnie was reluctantly aware of the sensuality of the ritual. He held the bowl with long, strong, beautiful fingers that could make a woman want to drown.

  How well she knew. As did two other women, it seemed.

  She clutched her blouse, covering herself. It didn’t feel safe confronting him here in this room, alone. Crazy as it sounded, she wanted to be where someone would hear her if she screamed. Where she could run.

  Marnie’s reaction told Andrew what he needed to know. Her concern for her grandmother outweighed anything else that might be bothering her. She’d even forgotten the buttons on her blouse. He hoped that meant she would be open to his idea, or at least to listen. There was only one way to track down a patient with no family who was probably ill and lost in the medical system. Hire an investigator.

  “I wish I had better news,” he said. “I didn’t find her, and it’s going to take more time and skill than I have. I’d like to hire someone, but I want to talk to you about it first.”

  “Hire someone?”

  “We need a professional, Marnie. I can’t ask the questions I need to without drawing attention to myself, and to you. That’s dangerous for both of us. A real investigator wouldn’t be hampered by any of that. Plus, he’ll have contacts and access to data banks.”

  “Do you know someone?”

  “In the music business, you have to know someone,” he assured her. “Rock stars are often in need of discreet assistance, and they want only the best.”

  She seemed to be struggling with the idea. “No one at the flea market could tell you anything about Gramma Jo?”

  “She may not have wanted them to know where she was going. I’m sure we’ll find her with the right help.”

  “You think it’s safe to hire someone? It won’t get back to Julia or Bret or, God forbid, Tony Bogart?”

  “A good P.I. doesn’t care about anything but his case, Marnie. He has no interest in juicy details about the Fairmonts. That would be a distraction.”

  “All right then,” she said, releasing what sounded like a sigh of relief. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “That’s part of it.” He was still concerned about her state of mind. She’d been upset about something, but there was no more time to feel her out. He’d run out of options for his own investigation. He was down to the fallback plan, and that’s what made this so hard. The plan involved Alison’s disappearance, but it was imperative that he keep those details to himself, even from Marnie. He could tell her nothing, and yet he needed her complete cooperation.

  “I’m worried about your safety,” he said. “I have been ever since that planter nearly hit you.” He came over to sit beside her on the bed. “Bogart has me concerned, too. I thought it was just jealousy. Now I’m not so sure. Marnie, the guy is dangerous, and if he finds out I’m gone, he may come after you. I want you to stay away from him. I want you here at the house.”

  “You’re telling me not to leave the house? Ever?”

  “Just promise me you won’t go looking for your grandmother. It’s not safe.”

  “You think I’m in actual physical danger?”

  “I don’t know. I just want to be sure you’re all right while I’m gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “I have to go to Mexico. There’s a problem with a concert down there, and my assistant can’t handle it.” He could see the suspicion rising in her eyes. Damn, this was going to get brutal. He could feel it.

  “What kind of problem?”

  “There’s been some rioting. The lead singer of the opening act is in the hospital, and I may have to cancel the South American leg of the tour. I’m booked on a red-eye tonight.”

  “You’re flying to Mexico tonight?”

  “It won’t take me long. I could even be back tomorrow.” A white lie, he told himself.

  She was already off the bed, pacing around in her bare feet. He assumed she was worried about the possibility of someone making another attempt on her. But he could not have been more wrong. He realized that the moment she stopped pacing. Her accusing glare could only mean this was about him.

  Marnie went to her purse and pulled out what amounted to the smoking gun. She then strode past Andrew to the liquor cart, grabbed the open bottle of wine and took a slug.

  “Listen to me,” she said, her voice raspy with rising frustration. “Before you go anywhere we have business to take care of.”

  “What business?”

  She opened her hand to show him the pink diamond studs. “These were her earrings. Regine’s. I don’t want them, thank you.”

  The diamonds hit the cart’s glass top with a soft plink, followed by the clack of the open wine bottle.

  “Those earrings belonged to my mother,” Andrew said. “They’re all I have of hers that has any real meaning.”

  “But you gave them to Regine. How could you have given
them to me, knowing the situation?”

  “What situation?”

  “How she died.” Marnie crossed the room and handed him the rest of her evidence, the police report. “Explain this to me.”

  His expression turned icy as he saw what she’d given him. “Where did you get this?”

  Marnie shook her head. He was the one who’d lied. She wouldn’t let him put her on the defensive. “You said Regine’s death was an accident. This file says you were charged with her murder.”

  “The charges were dismissed as soon as my alibi was substantiated. Where did you get this report? No, don’t tell me. Julia, right?”

  He threw down the papers and walked over to the fireplace, where a small blaze crackled in the hearth. “She didn’t want me anywhere near her precious daughter. Obviously, she still doesn’t. Do you think it was an accident that she left out the part about the charges being dismissed?”

  “What do you mean by alibi? You weren’t there when Regine drowned?”

  “No, I was there, passed out cold in a lounge chair by the pool. Alison had dropped by that evening to have drinks with Regine, and I knocked down one too many, as I often did in those days.”

  “What was Alison doing in New York?”

  “She was staying at the family’s apartment and taking classes at Julliard. When she first moved to the city she called and asked to meet Regine, said she was a big fan. I was reluctant at first, but Alison was persistent and eventually I ran out of reasons not to introduce them. They bonded instantly, partly I’m sure because Alison didn’t stop raving about Regine’s latest CD.”

  She caught the cynicism about Alison’s motives, but wanted to keep the focus on him. “You said you drank too much that night?”

  He nodded. “Regine wanted to swim. She asked me to join her, but I wasn’t in any shape. Alison had some phone calls to make, so she went in the house for privacy, and I stretched out on one of the chaise lounges by the pool. The next thing I knew Alison was shaking me. She said she’d found Regine floating facedown in the water.”

  His hesitancy suggested that he was still shaken by his former fiancée’s death. Marnie told him she was sorry, but her voice lacked any real warmth.

  He stared into the fire. “She was already gone.”

  “Then why were you charged?”

  “My own stupidity, I suppose. The whole night was a blur. Alison left before the paramedics got there. She had some other dire emergency and I told her to go, but I shouldn’t have. I was still out of it. Apparently I broke down and told the paramedics that Regine’s death was my fault. They thought I was confessing and called the cops, who hauled me down to the station and booked me. When Alison showed up and explained, the charges were dismissed.”

  “Alison explained what?”

  “She’d been standing by the terrace doors while she made her phone calls. She could see me on the lounge chair, but Regine was out of her line of sight. She told the police I’d passed out and never moved from the chair. A blood alcohol test confirmed that I was well past the legal limit.”

  Marnie needed a moment to absorb what he’d said. It was plausible enough, but there were still things she didn’t understand. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “It’s not something I enjoy talking about. I was drunk when Regine drowned. If I’d been sober, she might be alive. To this day, I feel responsible.”

  His voice was taut enough to break. She could hear anger and regret.

  “You really should let it go,” she said finally. “I’m sure I’m not the first to give you this advice. You can’t change what happened, and it was an accident.”

  He was quiet for so long that Marnie’s thoughts began to race. “Could it have been something else? Suicide?”

  “No, Regine didn’t kill herself. Someone did it for her.”

  His head came up, and the angle of his jaw was white, clenched. Marnie knew she should wait, but the questions spilled out anyway. “Someone murdered her? Who?” She answered for him. “Alison?”

  He nodded. “I was in a drunken haze for a long time afterward, trying to ease my guilt and avoid thinking about it. Alison was right there to help me forget, and at first, I was grateful. It wasn’t until after we were married and I sobered up that it dawned on me. Regine was in the way of Alison’s grand ambitions, which included pop stardom—and me—as a means to that end.”

  He exhaled tightly. “She was amoral, incapable of thinking beyond her own needs.”

  Now Marnie understood the revulsion in his eyes when he looked at her, the barely concealed loathing. He had reasons to hate Alison that anyone would have understood, and he was also struggling with guilt and self-recrimination. Could that tangled mix of emotions have driven him to act on his hatred of Alison?

  Marnie’s thoughts began to whirl again. Maybe it wasn’t Alison’s trust fund he’d been after, as Julia had suggested. Maybe it was revenge.

  She moved away from him, toward the door. “Some people might call that a motive, Andrew. They might say you were punishing Alison for what you believed she did to Regine. Is that why Alison fell into the sea and drowned? Because she drowned Regine?”

  He turned on Marnie, icy and furious. “If I was going to kill Alison, I would have done it that night with my bare hands. She would have been dead the moment I realized what she’d done. I wouldn’t have waited five years and pushed her off a boat.”

  He was enraged. Marnie could feel the heat of it burning through the edges of her fear. She could hear it in his voice. He hadn’t done it. Or maybe she just desperately wanted to believe he hadn’t, and that was good enough.

  She walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, feeling drained more than anything else. Julia may have given her a way out of this, but now that door had closed. She was trapped. She was here, with him—and she was staying.

  She bowed her head and let out a sigh.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “No, I’m not,” she said, going quiet. There was no such thing as all right under the circumstances, but she had made her choice, and at least the room had stopped spinning. This was her world. He was the devil she knew.

  Finally she asked the only logical question that came to her. “Are you really going to Mexico for a rock concert?”

  “Why else would I be going?”

  “I don’t know, to find Alison? Isn’t that what you would do if you thought she was alive? Look for her? Andrew, please, tell me the truth.”

  Andrew steeled his voice. “Listen to me,” he said. “I’m not going to look for Alison. The odds of her being alive are infinitesimal, and we need to concern ourselves with real live threats. We have plenty of those. Now, will you let me finish what I need to tell you?”

  “Andrew, is this trip about a rock concert or not?”

  Her eyes were on fire. Blue fire. She wasn’t going to let this go.

  “Yes, it is a rock concert. I’d bring you with me, but it won’t be pretty, and to be honest, I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

  She went quiet, pensive. Finally, a nod. He took it for acquiescence.

  “I want you safe while I’m gone,” he said. “Can we talk about that?”

  Resistance lurked in the set of her mouth. She wasn’t convinced of anything, least of all any plan he might have for her safety.

  “The detective works with a partner,” he told her. “I want to hire them both, one to find your grandmother and the other to keep an eye on you while I’m gone. I’ve already set everything up. If you agree, a man will show up tomorrow to work on the grounds in place of the regular gardener, and at night, he’ll stake out the house. No one will know why he’s really here, but you’ll have a special cell phone, and all you have to do is press a button if you need him.”

  “There’s going to be a detective here tomorrow? How did you manage that?”

  Andrew rubbed his fingers together in the universal gesture of money changing hands. “All I ask is that you don’t
blow his cover.”

  “No, of course not.” She touched her throat, covering a reddening patch of skin. Another blotch was forming on her face near her jaw, and the distress in her face was obvious. “There was no need to do that, Andrew. It’s not me I’m worried about.”

  “Then, what is it?”

  “I have a bad feeling about all of this.” She rose from the bed and began to pace again. “Something’s wrong.”

  He frowned. “Can you give me a little more to work with?”

  “I don’t like the idea of some stranger hunting for my grandmother. I should be doing that. And as for you flying off in the middle of the night to a place where people are rioting—well, that’s just crazy.”

  “The P.I. isn’t a stranger. He’s a professional, and the best money can buy. And I appreciate your concerns about my safety. That’s very sweet, but there’s no reason. I can take care of myself.”

  She glared at him. “Sweet? Me? Hardly. I’m not a fortune-teller like my grandmother. I’m not even superstitious, really, but this trip of yours…”

  She shook her head, seeming unable to explain herself. Maybe it really was him that she was worried about. He wanted to remind her that he’d taken on four strapping young men once, on her account, but she would probably rather forget about that, and he didn’t want to embarrass her.

  “I was a boxer in school,” he said, “at Cambridge, and a pretty good one. I’m well-versed in self-defense, and I’ll have a weapon on me.”

  “What kind of weapon?”

  “A pistol, semiautomatic.”

  “Can you get that on a plane?”

  “The gun and I travel separately.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

  She stared at him for several long, soul-searching moments, and finally he couldn’t take it anymore. It felt as if she were cutting into him with a fiery blade. God, she was intense. She might not be a fortune-teller, but she had an uncanny ability to read him. And she was wise to have a bad feeling about this trip. She was right about that.

  To his complete bewilderment, she reached behind her head and unhooked the chain at her nape.