The Arrangement (36 page)

Eventually Tony got himself up off the floor and stood by the window, waiting for the police to get there. His father had collapsed like a rag doll. He was mumbling something about Butch’s mother, how she shouldn’t have done it, and even though he needed comfort, Tony knew his old man would never accept it from him.

Tony could predict his father’s future, and it was endlessly bleak. He had no clue about his own. If he didn’t stay with the FBI, what would he do? End up in a recliner, sobbing his heart out over the lives he’d wrecked, the children he’d ruined? End up alone? In jail?

As the patrol cars rolled up and he watched the officers get out, Tony realized that something had happened here this morning, something besides the hopelessness of his father’s situation. Tony had learned how easy it was to fuck up a kid. Even hatred masquerading as humor could do it. Butch had been eager to please his father. All kids were at some point, and that was when it could all go wrong.

Tony drew a breath and felt the aching in his chest flare into his throat. He was never going to be a preacher or a counselor or even a nice guy, but he had learned something, and maybe there was a way to put it to use. At least when he dealt with kids who were hell-bent on death and destruction, he would understand where things might have gone wrong for them, where their eagerness to please might have been twisted into something else, something sick.

“Maybe all is not lost, Bogart,” he heard himself saying as the deputies pounded on his father’s door. “Maybe you could make a halfway decent G-man someday.”

Julia knew she looked hot in her peony-pink slip dress, and she was tremendously pleased with herself. She had a rendezvous with Jack Furlinghetti, and he was meeting her right here in her own home. She clutched the prescription bottle hidden in her hand, excited at the prospect. What could be more delicious than that?

Her breathing tight, she waited for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. She’d left the gate and the front door unlocked, and told him to meet her in her suite of rooms. She could hardly wait.

Just as she was giving her head a little shake to wake up her hairdo, she heard a telltale creak. “Jack!” She gushed his name as he entered the room, wearing a trench coat that nearly touched the floor. She knew exactly what was under it.

He raked her body with a hungry gaze. “You look beautiful, Julia.”

“So do you, Jack. Nice coat.”

“I’m going to fuck your brains out, Julia.”

“You’re such a charmer, Jack. Could it wait until I take control of the trust away from you?”

Jack’s grin evaporated. His eyes got dark and shiny. “I don’t think so, Julia.”

She produced the pills, waggling them above her head. “I do, Jack.”

When he realized what they were—his illegal prescription drugs—he began to laugh. “Are you blackmailing me?
Me?
”

“No, I wouldn’t dream of it. This is just insurance. I want my mother’s trust fund money, Jack, and I’m going to have to insist that you fork it over.”

“You can’t have it. Take me to court. You’ll lose.”

“Yes, perhaps I would lose a court battle, but Marnie wouldn’t. She’s my daughter, Jack. My blood daughter. She’s my one surviving child,
and
a female. She’s next in the line of succession, all nice and legal.”

Jack began to sweat. “But she killed someone, didn’t she? The morals clause—”

“Actually, she didn’t. Butch died at the hands of his own father. Tragic story. I just read about it in the paper this morning.”

Julia jiggled the bottle again, making sure the contents made lots of noise. “These little red pills are my insurance that Marnie’s slate will remain clean. She’s clean as a whistle, do you understand? And if that doesn’t convince you, I have some interesting pictures of you and your hairy derriere on my cell phone. I’m sure the partners at your law firm will love your black leather jumpsuit.”

His smarmy smile had vanished. He was starting to look like a man who had envisioned his financial fall from grace, and Julia had never seen a more beautiful sight. As trustee he would have continued to control the fund, pay his own exorbitant fees from it and eventually drain it dry.

She glanced at his trench coat and gave him a bawdy wink. “You should have worn your shirt, Jack. The one you’re about to lose.”

Three months later

O
n one side of the continent, a group of marine biology students, diving off the shoals of the Channel Islands, discovered the skeletal remains of a woman’s body and called 911. That same week technicians from the county coroner’s office in San Diego identified the remains, based on dental records. Alison Fairmont-Villard was no longer a missing person. Her fate: death by drowning.

That same week, on the other side of the continent, in the Long Island home that Marnie and Andrew shared, the wheel of fortune had turned in the opposite direction. A home pregnancy test confirmed that Marnie’s queasiness wasn’t the flu. She and Andrew were bringing a new life into the world. A Christmas wedding was planned. Julia Fairmont had already RSVP’d her regrets, saying that she didn’t want to cast a shadow over the happy event, but that her wedding gift—the Driscoll trust—would give full ownership and control to Marnie. And Marnie would not be without family. Josephine Hazelton, the only mother she’d ever known, would give her away.

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