The Arrangement (28 page)

Marnie felt as if she were going to be ill. This was the moment she’d been dreading. How could she possibly proceed any further with this without telling him?

Marnie stood before the judge. Numb with shock, she heard the bailiff read the two counts against her. She was being charged with her own murder? Somehow Tony Bogart had convinced the district attorney’s office that Alison Fairmont had pushed not one but two people off the cliffs, Marnie Hazelton and LaDonna Jeffries.

She was not being charged with Butch Bogart’s murder. Apparently there wasn’t enough evidence.

“Do you understand the charges?” the judge asked Marnie. When she nodded, he said, “How do you plead?”

The lawyer’s words rang in her head, but she found it impossible to look the judge in the eyes. “Not guilty to both counts,” she said to the table.

The judge turned to the prosecutor, a fortyish woman with a determined set to her mouth and a nasal voice.

“Do you have reason to believe that Mrs. Villard poses a threat to flee if released from custody?” he asked her.

“Your Honor,” the prosecutor said, “she’s not even a resident of the state. Yes, I believe she poses a flight risk. I’m requesting that bail be denied and that she be held in custody pending trial.”

James Brainard rose to protest, and Marnie realized he had long gray hair, pulled into a ponytail at his nape. Maybe it was her state of mind, but that caught her off guard. It didn’t seem to match his dignified mien or his immaculate dark suit.

“Your Honor,” Brainard said, “Mrs. Villard is the daughter of Julia Fairmont, an exceedingly generous and well-known philanthropist and a long-standing member of this community. Mrs. Villard poses no flight risk, and we’re asking that bail be set at a reasonable amount.”

Marnie listened with an odd kind of detachment as the prosecutor and her attorney mentioned amounts of money that were staggering to her.

At last, the judge banged his gavel. “The bail is set at three million dollars. A bond can be posted with the clerk of courts.”

Brainard protested, but His Honor wouldn’t budge. Alison Fairmont was going to pay through the nose for her freedom.

Marnie didn’t say a word. Julia and her attorney had made it very clear that she shouldn’t do anything except declare her innocence.

“Court is adjourned,” the judge announced.

He rapped his gavel again, and Marnie Hazelton was a free woman, maybe for a matter of hours.

Tony was caught off guard when Alison turned and faced the gallery. Shock must have drained the blood from her face. Her lips were bluish and her skin looked as thin as parchment, but with her hair flying everywhere and her eyes as big and dark as bruises, she was breathtaking.

He still loved her. Christ. That was reason enough to send her to death row. She was killing people, apparently because they were inconvenient. She’d killed him when he became inconvenient, and she’d gotten away with it. He didn’t need convincing that this was the right thing to do. It
was
right.

Her eyes searched the gallery. He felt a weird jolt as they found his. She seemed to be imploring him to explain, as if she didn’t understand why he’d done it. Tony felt something hot flare in the pit of his gut. Not anger, guilt.

He watched as they led her out, and the uneasy feeling persisted. Her family would pay the bail bond and have her out in an hour. They’d already hired her a big-name defense attorney. The county would have a fight on its hands putting Alison Fairmont in jail, but Tony couldn’t get her bewildered expression out of his mind.

What he needed right now was a firing range and his .40 Glock. That would clear his head.

He went over the evidence in his mind as he left the courtroom. After witnessing LaDonna’s murder, he’d begun to see how it all could have come together. He’d concluded from the anonymous calls and the hair barrette he’d found that Alison had pushed Marnie Hazelton, and then she’d bribed LaDonna, who was on the beach that night, to keep quiet. Alison’s disappearance from the yacht was probably intended to be an incredibly clever alibi, but somehow the plan had backfired, and she’d been injured badly enough to require plastic surgery. Her husband may or may not have been in on it. That wasn’t clear to Tony, but Alison must have panicked and killed LaDonna to make sure she didn’t talk.

Pay attention,
he told himself.
Focus on what has to be done.

Six months ago Alison defended herself against Butch’s retribution and then covered up her brutal crime by eliminating Marnie, the only witness. Tony had some promising forensic evidence to corroborate the second crime, and he was an eyewitness to her deadly attack on LaDonna. But one significant mystery was still unsolved—the identity of Tony’s voice-mail snitch. Someone had placed those anonymous calls to his cell, and that person was vital to the case. His informant’s testimony at the trial might be the only way to make sure Alison didn’t escape justice. Tony also had to find Andrew Villard. His disappearance was just too convenient. The bastard was up to something.

“A
lison, you’re not drinking? It’s delicious.” Julia picked up the bottle of California chardonnay they were having with the salmon Bret had just barbecued for dinner. “Are you still upset about this afternoon?”

Marnie could hardly bring herself to answer the question, it was so ridiculous. Julia and Bret were acting like this was just another dinner at Sea Clouds. She didn’t know whether they were in denial or delusional.

“Why would I be upset?” she said. “It was only two charges of premeditated murder. It could have been so much worse.”

Her sarcasm was evident. She was too much on edge to try and pretend otherwise. She’d been waiting all afternoon for word that the prints didn’t match. There was no way to explain away evidence as concrete as fingerprints, which meant the lid would blow once everyone knew she wasn’t Alison. But the call hadn’t come—and the waiting was terrible.

She needed to talk to Andrew. She still hadn’t been able to get through on the phone, and he hadn’t called. Meanwhile, she was struggling to convince herself that something hadn’t happened to him. Even the sheriff’s office was making inquiries, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold them off.

“Well, excuse me,” Julia said, clearly miffed, “for bailing you out and getting you the best criminal defense lawyer money can buy. If you want to take that attitude, go right ahead. I’m going to stay positive.”

“Me, too,” Bret said, grinning over the top of his wine glass. He winked at Marnie. “But don’t you change, sis. I like it when you’re a nasty little bitch.”

Marnie ignored him. There wasn’t much else you could do with Bret, and she’d begun to think of him as annoying but harmless. Andrew’s absence felt far more sinister than Bret’s presence. At least Bret was making an effort to be supportive in his own weird way. He’d offered to cook tonight when Rebecca went to her room, saying she didn’t feel well—and he’d suggested the three of them have dinner on the terrace, where it was quiet and cool.

Marnie drew her cardigan sweater around her shoulders. She’d showered and changed into a simple cotton sundress with a matching sweater when they got back from court. It was getting a little chilly now, but otherwise dinner on the terrace had been a good idea.

A pink mist lay over the sea, and the sun was as red and round as a pomegranate. She might have enjoyed the view under other circumstances.

“I appreciate everything you’re doing,” she assured Julia. “I really do, more than I can say.”

Julia smiled and gushed, “Darling, it’s going to be fine. You’ve had a terrible time, I know, but try not to make it worse.”

Marnie nodded. Agreeing was probably the only way to get Julia to stop being so insanely upbeat. She’d taken on the role of cheerleader and she seemed determined to make Marnie believe that the lawyer she’d hired would have the case thrown out in no time. That’s how good he was and how flimsy the county’s case was.

Marnie guessed this was typical of families during tough times, and especially the wealthy. They drew together and closed ranks. But it went against everything in her own nature. Given the choice, she would have pulled away from the group and taken cover, alone. It was what she knew. The Fairmont family
esprit de corps
felt dangerous to her, especially since she wasn’t part of this family, and that bombshell might be revealed at any minute. The phone could ring and it would all be over.

She almost wished it would.

“Wine?” Julia said, lifting the bottle.

“Sure.” Marnie held out her glass and Julia rose to fill it. Maybe she’d just get drunk. It seemed to work for everybody else.

“What do you hear from the hubby?” Bret asked.

Marnie continued to ignore him, proud of herself for not taking the bait he kept dangling. He knew she hadn’t heard from Andrew. He was just twisting the knife. She flaked some salmon with her fork, moving it around on her plate. The bite or two she’d had was delicious, but she had no appetite at all.

“Maybe I should take something up to Rebecca,” she suggested. “She must be hungry.”

“I’ll do so later,” Julia said. “That way I can have a little talk with her. I’m afraid she’s taking this badly, even worse than we are. Of course, the Driscolls always soldier through—and we all have Driscoll blood, don’t we?”

The soldiering-through part sounded like a quote from Julia’s mother, Eleanor. It was interesting how often Julia quoted the person she supposedly hated. Marnie knew from her own experience that Alison’s relationship with her mother was complicated. Surely Julia’s relationship with her own mother was about more than hatred.

“Would it help if I spoke to Rebecca as well?” Marnie asked. “If it’s me she’s worried about I could reassure her.”

“That would be very nice, Alison. By the way, you didn’t answer your brother when he asked about Andrew. And I heard you tell that detective—what was his name, Connelly?—that you hadn’t heard from him.”

Julia just wouldn’t shut up tonight.

“You understand that if he doesn’t show up soon,” she continued, “the officials will surely start searching for him. If you have some way to reach him, it might be a good idea.”

“Don’t you think I’m
trying
to reach him?” Her voice cracked with frustration, and she took a moment to calm herself. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s the stress. I’ve left messages for him daily, including an emergency message on his pager. I’m sure he’ll call soon.”

She prayed Julia would let it go. Marnie had reached the point where she didn’t believe Andrew was going to call—she should have known he wouldn’t keep all those ridiculous promises he’d made about protecting her and finding her grandmother. He hadn’t even answered his messages. She’d actually had moments of thinking it would be easier if something terrible had happened to him. At least she would know he hadn’t run out on her.

She touched her throat, slammed by the realization that he had her penny ring. She’d insisted he take it with him. With that awareness came the horrible sinking feeling that she was lost. Truly lost. What an idiot she’d been, getting caught up in the sex they’d had and offering him the only thing she really valued.
What an incredible idiot.
She was in this alone, and once she’d been exposed, the Fairmonts would turn against her, too.

She had an appointment with James Brainard first thing in the morning, but that would have to be rescheduled. Marnie had something else to do, and it couldn’t wait.

Andrew stood in front of the grainy television screen, watching news footage of Marnie trying to avoid reporters outside the county courthouse. Surrounded by Fairmonts and her top gun attorney, she looked lost and bewildered and defiant. He’d seen that look before. It didn’t bode well for her—or anyone else.

The local news media had broken the story, describing her as the mysterious, reclusive heiress who’d had a near-fatal boating accident and a miracle resurrection six months ago. They reported the multiple plastic surgeries to restore her face—and the pictures they flashed of Alison before the accident, looking artlessly blond and beautiful, were quite a contrast to the feral, dark-haired woman shown here.

Andrew hit the mute button. Only he knew who the mysterious heiress really was—and only he could get her out of this unholy mess. But if he did, it was all over—for both of them. He and Marnie had invisible slipknots around their necks, at either end of the same rope. One wrong move now would be their last.

He glanced at the well-stocked wet bar, and his throat tightened, burned. He wanted a drink. It would solve nothing, except to push away reality, but right now that didn’t sound half-bad.

He was back in Mirage Bay, staying at the beach house rental he’d arranged before he left for Mexico. He’d hoped he wouldn’t need the hideaway, but had wanted to be prepared. His trip to Baja had been a trap to flush out the mastermind who’d tried to frame him, and who may have committed a string of murders, including pushing LaDonna off the cliff.

Andrew still believed the trap would have worked, but he’d had to abandon the plan and return to the States when he got word that LaDonna had been murdered and Marnie was the chief suspect. The police were all over Sea Clouds by the time he got back, and Andrew couldn’t go near the place. If his cover was blown, whatever chance he had to help her was blown with it. He had to lay low, and unfortunately Diego Sanchez, Andrew’s eyes and ears while he was gone, had been kicked off the premises by Bret.

Diego couldn’t even stake the place out without risking discovery by the local law or Tony Bogart. So Andrew was doing his own stakeout. The rental beach house was on a bluff behind Sea Clouds, and from his vantage point, he could watch the nightmare unfolding, but there was nothing he could do.
And it was only going to get worse.
She’d been charged with her own murder, and there was no way to prove her identity. Even he couldn’t do it. There were no records. There never had been.

When she’d agreed to take on Alison’s identity, he’d searched for Marnie Hazelton’s records, but hadn’t found any. That’s when he’d discovered, through newspaper accounts of Butch’s murder investigation, that the sheriff’s office hadn’t found anything on her, either. Except for sporadic school records, Marnie Hazelton didn’t exist. She didn’t even have fingerprints.

They’d questioned her grandmother, but she’d stuck to her story about finding a baby in a basket, even when they’d threatened to report her to Child Protective Services. She’d told them Marnie had been home-schooled off and on because her deformities had made her a target, which explained why her school records were sporadic. She’d also claimed to have provided Marnie’s medical care. The cops got nowhere with Josephine Hazelton, but apparently they’d decided not to prosecute a distraught elderly woman whose child was missing.

Andrew hadn’t understood the lack of records, and still didn’t, but at the time it had made his work easier. Now it blocked his path at every turn. If he tried to convince the county prosecutor that she wasn’t Alison, he would expose them both to charges of murder and fraud—and the real killer would go free.

Alison Fairmont might have a chance of beating the charges with Brainard as her attorney, but could Marnie Hazelton beat the charges against her? She’d admitted to killing Butch, but there was only her word that it was self-defense. Worse, she would lose all credibility when they found out what she’d done. She was the woman who’d conspired with Andrew Fairmont to defraud Julia. No one would believe their motives. It would look as if they were after the trust fund and had killed Alison to get it.

Jesus.
It just got worse and worse. Andrew felt like a car skidding on wet pavement, brakes locked. There was going to be a collision no matter what he did.

He looked up to see his face plastered all over the screen. The mute button brought the sound blaring back—and Andrew winced. He’d had the volume up, trying to catch every word. The news was repetitive and sensationalized, but it was his main source of information right now.

An insert popped onto the screen. A deputy from the sheriff’s office was addressing a reporter’s questions about the case.

“The suspect’s husband is Andrew Villard,” the deputy said. “The family says he went on a business trip and hasn’t returned. Even the suspect doesn’t know how to contact him. Obviously, we’re very concerned about Mr. Villard’s whereabouts. He’s not a suspect yet, but he’s definitely a person of interest—”

Andrew clicked off the TV. His task had just gotten monumentally more difficult. He was no longer anonymous. Every Joe Blow out there knew what he looked like and could turn him in.

The bar called to him. It whispered and cajoled. He’d noticed a bottle of Dewars, which he could almost taste. He hadn’t had a serious problem with booze since he’d quit, but this craving
was
serious. It was bad.

He turned away. Out of sight, out of mind.

Marnie’s attorney
might
be able to get her out of this, but Andrew couldn’t take that chance. His only hope of getting her out of the frying pan without tossing her into the fire was to hunt down LaDonna’s killer. Unfortunately, his main suspect had no reason to have killed LaDonna and plenty of reasons not to. And if Andrew believed Bogart’s eyewitness testimony, Alison was the murderer.

Andrew knew Marnie hadn’t done it, which left him with two possibilities: the real Alison wasn’t dead, or, more likely, someone wanted the police to
believe
she wasn’t and had turned to murder. Tony Bogart and his vendetta against Alison came to mind first. Payback seemed to be Bogart’s purpose in life, and with his knowledge of forensics, he was well equipped to set her up for a fall. But unfortunately, so did several other suspects, including Julia and her boy toy, Jack Furlinghetti.

Andrew had learned about that relationship through Diego Sanchez, who’d been keeping an eye on the Fairmont family. Furlinghetti was trustee of the fund established by Eleanor Driscoll, and his clandestine relationship with Julia could mean the two of them were conspiring to keep Alison from getting the fifty million. What better way than to frame her for a murder and lock her up for life? But Diego hadn’t been able to come up with anything concrete, and now Andrew was hamstrung. Worse, he was out of time before he’d started.