The Scandal

by Nicola Marsh

  Elly opens a few drawers and lifts the contents. “These look familiar?”

  Ties, at least three of them: neat navy with sienna stripes, ebony with white dots, burgundy silk. I recognize two of them; I’d seen Ryan wear them some mornings when he dropped in to ride into the city with Avery.

  “He said he’d left those at the office in the city when I questioned him where they’d disappeared to.” Maggie sounds so lost, so small, I want to grab her hand and drag her out of here.

  “And these?” Elly picks up a pair of cufflinks from the top of the dresser, rolling them in her palm like dice.

  I recognize them. Avery loved those silver four leaf clovers so much Ryan bought him his own pair last Christmas.

  “You know I’m not making this up.” Elly flings the cufflinks on top of the ties and closes the drawer. “Though I sure as hell didn’t want to tell you like this.”

  Her shoulders slump and for the first time a flicker of guilt replaces fury in her eyes. “I did want to tell you, many times, so you wouldn’t end up like me. But then he came to my office…”

  Her expression hardens. “He’s going to leave you. Not for me, because I told him to stick his offer up his ass, but at some stage in the future, when some gullible rich bimbo believes his bullshit he’ll dump you so fast your head will spin—”

  “Elly, that’s enough,” I say, as Maggie makes a garbled sound halfway between a moan and a choke.

  She needs to sit down before she falls down and I slide my arm around her waist to hold her upright. Ice flows through my veins because what Maggie is going through can happen to me. I know what Avery is. The one thing I fear most, being on my own, left with my own thoughts, is a real possibility with a man like him. I can’t be left alone. The darkness I keep at bay most days may manifest when I’m alone, taunting me, terrifying me, mocking me that no matter how hard I try and how far I’ve come, I’ll still end up like my mother.

  I guide Maggie toward the sofa in the living area, my legs stiff and wooden as she stumbles along beside me. My entire body feels numb, like it’s deliberately blocking out the agony, so I can’t imagine how Maggie must be feeling.

  Elly has followed us into the living room and is standing near the coffee table, her arms crossed over her waist like she’s hugging herself. Her anger has drained away, replaced by a sadness that makes me want to go to her: if I didn’t want to hit her so much.

  “Elly, I don’t know what you’re gaining by doing this—”

  “Tell me all of it,” Maggie interrupts me, glaring at Elly with surprising fierceness. “I want to know.”

  I touch Maggie’s hand. “Are you sure you want to hear this? We can leave—”

  “No,” she spits out, snatching her hand away. “I have to know.” The shock in her eyes breaks my heart. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”

  After a long pause, I eventually nod. My respect for her has increased tenfold because deep down I wouldn’t want to know. I don’t want to know. If I did, I would’ve already confronted Avery years ago.

  I’m nothing like Maggie. She’s braver than me. I can’t face the truth with Avery the way she is with Ryan.

  Elly isn’t gloating. She looks as shattered as Maggie as she continues.

  “Ryan came to work yesterday, professing his undying love, saying he’s leaving you and we have to be together.” She’s pacing, increasingly agitated, plucking at the sheer chiffon sleeve of her gown. “I’m not that naïve. So I didn’t buy into his whole happily-ever-after scenario.”

  Her sudden stop in front of us momentarily disorients me, especially when she sinks onto the sofa beside me. At least that leaves Maggie on the other side. I’m a buffer and for the first time since I offered to accompany Maggie tonight, I wish I hadn’t.

  “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be me?” Elly’s question is soft and filled with a world of pain.

  Maggie’s head snaps up as she stares Elly down. “No, because I’m not a home-wrecking slut.”

  She flinches, obviously not expecting Maggie to fire back.

  “What were you thinking?” I get into her face, our noses almost touching.

  I’m yelling but she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t move a muscle. She just sits there, staring at us with… pity. I hate pity. Kids at school used to do that when they learned about my crappy home life and I’d done everything in my power since to avoid it. It’s been a potent motivator for me my entire life. The mere thought of the solicitous benevolence I’d receive if I ever had the gumption to leave Avery is enough to make me stay.

  Now Maggie will be subjected to it. And unlike me, I have no idea if she can cope with the fallout from this affair or not. Elly pushes me away and focuses on Maggie, who’s clinging to me like she’s scared Elly will vault me any moment to get to her.

  “You’ll never believe me but I was thinking about you through all of this,” she says, the first sign of contrition in her stare. “You don’t know me, Maggie. Not really. Not where I’ve come from, not about my past.” She gnaws on her bottom lip. “I did this for you.”

  Maggie’s fingers dig into my arm hard enough to leave bruises. “You’re insane—”

  “Let me finish. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I hate men who cheat on their wives so after my ex-husband screwed me over, I went on this weird binge, entrapping them, then making them tell the truth. I wanted Ryan to do that with you. But then things spiraled out of control for me personally and he was supportive and I ended up liking him a little, and everything went to shit. I know what I did is bad, inexcusable, but in some warped way I wanted to help you.”

  She’s rambling again, saying stuff that doesn’t make any sense and I can’t comprehend how Elly believes her own BS. She’s certifiable.

  Maggie releases my arm to lean across me and jab Elly in the shoulder. “Cut the crap. You get off on knowing every man in a room wants you. You like the power trip.”

  Maggie scores a point as Elly’s eyes flare with awareness. “You’re wrong. I was once like you. So goddamn perfect and smug and condescending, safe in my marriage, thinking nothing could touch me. But men are scum and when Ryan came onto me, I wanted you to see him for what he really is.”

  A faint color tinges Maggie’s cheeks. “How fucking noble of you, screwing my husband to help me.”

  “I didn’t expect to like you so much and the longer we screwed around behind your back, the harder I found it to come clean.” She blows out a breath. “I knew ending your marriage would be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. I wanted you to be free but I didn’t want you to hurt.”

  Bewilderment replaces my anger. How could any rational person do this? Start an affair out of some warped sense of doing someone else a favor? I’ve met some self-absorbed, irrational women in my time living in the Hamptons but Elly has them beat.

  As for the part about her being married, I have no idea why she hasn’t mentioned it before. Or is she truly delusional, grasping at any excuse to justify her appalling behavior?

  “The real reason he came by work to say he wants us to be together is because he asked me to do something bad.” She shakes her head. “When I wouldn’t consider his proposition or do what he asked, he blackmailed me into it, and I knew he was using me as badly as he uses you…”

  She’s scared now, her pupils dilated, eyes wide. “What I’m about to tell you both implicates me in the worst way possible.” Her voice hitches, like she’s about to cry. “I could lose my job and in turn, lose everything that’s important to me.”

  “You mean free Botox and fillers on company time?”

  The classic bitchy comment coming from Maggie is outrageous and for an inane second I feel like laughing. But something in her eyes stops me. Like she’s teetering on a precipice, terrified of falling.

  Elly blows out a long breath. “He asked me to fiddle with a test result.”

  I don’t get it and by the confusion creasing Maggie’s brow, she’s just as clueless.

  “What
kind of test?”

  She looks away, her mouth drooping, and for the first time I glimpse her age beneath her beauty.

  “A paternity test,” she murmurs, so softly I think I misheard.

  “But why…”

  In an instant it all becomes clear.

  After years of Avery being Ryan’s Mr. Fix-it, his younger brother has returned the favor.

  If Avery asked Ryan to approach Elly to switch a paternity test, it can only mean one thing and that suspicion I’ve had in my gut since the moment Jodi turned up on my doorstep weeks ago has solidified into one giant horrific certainty.

  Avery is the father of Jodi’s baby.

  Which makes him the prime suspect for her murder.

  Thirty-Nine

  Claire

  When we get home, Dane stomps into the living room to play a mindless violent game on the video console. We didn’t talk on the five-minute car journey home and he doesn’t seem inclined to continue our earlier conversation from the party. I’m glad. It gives me time to do some further investigating. I log on to the police database to check on some of the grunt work I assigned my officers. No updates. Great. With my original theory for Jodi’s murderer blown sky-high, I know it’s time to recuse myself from this case. I can’t work on it anymore.

  Because the only other possible suspect at this time is my husband.

  It could be some random guy we don’t know about, and probably won’t until we delve deeper into Jodi’s activities, but I’ll feel better once Dane is cleared. And he needs to provide a saliva sample for me to do that.

  I have a kit. I brought it home after I discovered he isn’t infertile. He’s refused to let me swab the inside of his mouth, saying if I love him I should trust him. But there’s a massive difference between trust and burying my head in the sand hoping this huge weight that’s hanging over us will miraculously vanish.

  Hating the inevitable confrontation that will end in a screaming match, I grab the kit and head for the living room. When I get there, he isn’t playing a game. The TV is off and he’s sitting on the sofa, head in his hands.

  “What’s wrong?”

  It’s a pretty dumb question considering everything seems wrong with us these days. He takes an eternity to raise his head. His eyes are red. He’s been crying. I clamp down on the urge to go to him, hold him tight and say everything’s going to be okay: because even if we survive this I have no idea if we’ll be okay ever again. I linger in the doorway, unsure how to proceed, when his gaze focuses on the kit in my hand.

  He leaps to his feet like he’s been shot. “After all I said to you at the party, about how much I love you, and after answering your disgusting question asking if I’ve ever cheated, you still want me to do that damn test?”

  Dane’s a practical guy. I need to appeal to that side of him.

  “I believe you. But I wouldn’t be doing my job unless I followed up on this.”

  He’s unmoving so I cajole further. “You’ll be doing me a big favor because the sooner I prove you’re not the father the sooner the department can move onto finding the real father of that baby.”

  “The department?” His demeanor changes, like an internal switch has been flicked. He changes from morose to manic in a second. “So your whole damn police department thinks I’m guilty? Why? Because it turns out I’m not shooting blanks after all and I wasn’t home with my ‘loving wife’ that night?”

  He makes air quotes when he says ‘loving wife’, like nothing could be further from the truth. He’s mocking me, mocking what we have. Had. I want to curl up in a corner and bawl but I can’t let this go. There’ll be time enough for me to grieve for the loss of us later.

  “What I meant was that as the lead investigator on the case, I’m assigning the usual fact-finding tasks to my officers and it would be easier on the entire department if they were focusing all their time on tracking down the real killer.”

  He glares at me, anger radiating off him, so I try another tactic. “Look, we’ve both been under immense pressure the last few months. All that baby stuff messed with our heads. I don’t believe you cheated on me with Jodi. But I don’t want others thinking that if they learn about the adoption.”

  His eyes narrow, suspicious of my change in tone. “You said Ris wouldn’t tell anyone about that.”

  “The Gledhill Help Center is a big place. They keep online and paper records. It won’t take much for it to be discovered during the investigation and then we’ll be in the spotlight and the police will wonder why we never said anything.”

  I say we when I really mean him. “I could lose my badge over this if they suspect I kept vital information from them.”

  He presses the pads of his palms into his eyes, as if to erase the nightmare our lives have become. When he lowers his hands, sadness clogs my throat. His stare is one of a defeated man, like he’s given up.

  “You know why I don’t want to take this test?”

  His question comes out of left field.

  “Why?”

  “Because the moment you stick that swab stick in my mouth is the moment I realize how much my wife doesn’t trust me and I’m worried there’s no coming back from that.”

  It’s a legitimate concern but I fear we’ve already passed that point.

  “I don’t have any magic answer for you.” I hold my hands out, palms up, like I’ve got nothing to hide. “This whole situation has been horrendous and I feel broken in here.” I press a hand to my heart. “But I can’t move forward until we put all this to rest and that’s what I’m trying to do.”

  He’s wavering. I see it in the way his mouth twists to one side. He always does that when he’s mulling a problem.

  But before he says anything, there’s a loud pounding on our front door. When he doesn’t move, I sigh. “I’ll get it.”

  When I open the door Ris is standing there, looking like she’s been caught in a hurricane. Her updo falls about her face in limp straggles, her make-up is smudged and her satin dress is crumpled. She isn’t wearing shoes.

  “I need to talk to you,” she says, her tone choked. “It’s urgent.”

  I stand back and usher her in. “Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  How one syllable can sound so desperate I’ll never know but I immediately realize Ris is a woman on the edge. I’ve seen the same shell-shocked expression on women who’ve been traumatized.

  “Is Dane here?” Her gaze is darting everywhere, like she expects a boogeyman to jump out of a dark corner and accost her at any second.

  “He’s in the living room.” I take her arm and lead her toward the kitchen. “We can talk in here.”

  “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.” She’s wringing her hands and I notice they’re pink, like she’s been doing it awhile. “This may not mean anything but he’s such a lying bastard I don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  My inner radar tingles, the one that has served me well during my years on the force. She can only be talking about one man. Avery.

  I lead her to a chair and virtually have to push her into it to sit, she’s that tense. “Want a drink?”

  She stares at me, round-eyed, like I’ve offered her arsenic. “Water, please.”

  I quickly fill a glass, my concern escalating when the woman who’s usually so in control starts shaking, like shock has set in.

  I swap the water for lemon soda. Looks like she could use a sugar fix.

  “Drink this, sweetie.”

  She downs the soda mechanically, some of it sloshing down the front of her dress. She doesn’t notice, emptying the glass before placing it on the table. “I’m not this woman, the type who airs dirty laundry. I’ve always stood by him, supported him, done everything right and after all he’s done you’d think I’d hate him, but I still feel like I’m the one betraying him somehow.”

  I want to say ‘take your time’ but Ris is rattled and if she has something to say about Avery, I want to hear it.

  “Do y
ou know why I’m a great listener?” She’s staring at the wall, her expression catatonic. “The helpful, generous, nurturer who’ll do anything to keep the peace?”

  I’m not sure if it’s a rhetorical question so I wait.

  “Because being the good guy for others makes me forget the bad stuff I’ve done in my past and the guy I’m married to because of it. And I can justify it by mentally listing all the great things in my life if only I maintain the status quo.”

  I can’t make sense of her cryptic comment and she’s starting to ramble so I need to pin her down.

  “What did you want to tell me, Ris?”

  Her eyes refocus on me and she blinks, as if she’s seeing me for the first time. “Elly showed us a secret cottage Ryan leases. They’re having an affair.”

  I’m stunned. Not by Ryan’s appalling behavior. I never bought into his whole Mr. Perfect act so nothing surprises me where he’s concerned. But Elly? How could she pretend to be Maggie’s friend if she was having sex with Ryan behind Maggie’s back?

  “Who, what… I mean, when did she tell you all this?”

  “Just now. I came straight here from the cottage. Remember when she confronted us at the end of the party? She asked Maggie to follow her to show her something, but I could see something was wrong so I tagged along.”

  The corners of her mouth droop along with her shoulders, like an invisible weight is pressing on her back and she can’t shift it. “There’s more.”

  Poor Ris. Learning her best friend is a traitorous bitch must’ve been bad enough. How much worse can it get?

  The first thing I think is that Elly’s pregnant.

  That would totally gut Maggie. Especially after all that crap Avery spouted at their anniversary party in front of everybody about Ryan and Maggie renewing vows.

  “Elly told me about the paternity test.”

  My eyebrows rise at that. I guessed Avery wouldn’t tell Ris unless he absolutely had to and I couldn’t because of confidentiality legalities.

  How the hell did Elly find out?