The Scandal

by Nicola Marsh

  There are two bottles in the cupboard and a few syringes. Concerned, I wonder if the tenant before us has left this stuff and if I’ve inadvertently inhaled some toxic gas.

  I wrap my hand in the towel and gingerly pick up the first bottle, bringing it out into the light so I can read the label. Drain cleaner. That explains the bleach smell; a perfectly logical item to have under a bathroom sink.

  The other bottle is more puzzling. Floor stripper. There’s a small measuring jug under the sink too and I lift it to my nose carefully. It reeks of bleach.

  I thrust it away and count the number of syringes. Three in total, though one is missing and only the outer wrapping remains.

  A chill sweeps over me as a glimmer of an idea takes root. I back away from the cabinet, scrabbling across the tiles like a crab.

  I need to find my cell.

  Now.

  I think the drain cleaner fumes have affected my brain because I’m foggy. Disoriented. Or that could be the fear making me stumble on the way to the living room, twice, before I trip and sprawl next to the sofa.

  A memory from last night resurfaces. My cell is under the sofa. I slide my hand under, patting the rug, before my fingers hit something hard. I drag it out and check the battery life. I’m in luck, for once. I pull up the search engine and type in ‘what does drain cleaner and floor stripper make?’

  The answer pops up within seconds and my back sags against the sofa. I’m grateful for the support.

  I never knew that any kind of degreasing solvent or floor stripper, combined with drain cleaner, makes gamma hydroxy butyrate.

  GHB.

  The date rape drug.

  I don’t know the exact details of Jodi’s death beyond the rumors that had circulated at work about her being suffocated. But what if she were drugged first? I know the feeling of falling prey to GHB and it’s not pretty. Even now, fifteen months later, I hate the fact I can’t remember much of the attack and that I woke up without knowing who had violated me.

  I glance at my cell again, then back to the bathroom. If Avery is the landlord of this cottage, is he responsible for this secret stash and what does he use it for?

  A shiver shimmies down my spine. Avery and Ryan had been at the bar the night I’d been raped. They’d been with a group of guys; a business meeting. They both came over and said hello. They both flirted with me. At that point, I’d met Avery a few times through Ris and had met Ryan once. When the guy I’d arranged to meet from a dating app didn’t show, they’d been sweet. They’d bought me drinks…

  No.

  It’s inconceivable.

  I remember seeing them leave while I was still in the bar. But I’d accepted a drink from Avery before that …

  A wave of nausea crashes over me. It can’t be him. I would’ve remembered something…

  I shut down the search engine and call the one person who needs to know.

  Forty-One

  Marisa

  I don’t sleep.

  I lie in Claire’s spare room all night, staring at the ceiling, counting the spirals around the designer light in the middle. I hear her cell ring several times. I hope it’s the police telling her they’ve arrested Avery’s lying, cheating ass.

  Dane must be a patient man, tolerating phone calls at any time of the day or night. I imagine him supporting her, like he did that day in my office when I tried to facilitate Jodi’s adoption. What would it be like to be married to a man like that?

  I have no idea if Avery is capable of murder but I’m certain he fathered Jodi’s baby. Why else would he get Ryan to ask Elly to swap the test?

  Elly…

  Another reason I haven’t slept. I always knew she was flawed and hiding secrets behind her polished façade but I accepted her anyway. I befriended her. I made Claire befriend her. We made an odd threesome but it worked. She repays me by having an affair with my brother-in-law. It’s strange how outraged I am on Maggie’s behalf considering we’ve never been friends; even though we’re not close I feel sorry for her.

  The thing is I’m not half as broken up over losing Avery as I am about losing Elly. In a town this size I know rumors will circulate, especially when Claire and I ditch Elly from our threesome. People recognize us when we have girls’ time: dinners at The Lookout where we always order the tapas platter to share, brunches at Sea Breeze, shopping along Main Street, lusting over ridiculously priced imported leather shoes from Italy and handmade cashmere scarves. They’ll see Elly banished, my marriage over and they’ll make incorrect assumptions: that Avery had an affair with her too.

  It’s silly, worrying about such trivialities when I’ll be the ex-wife of a murderer and that’s what everyone will be gossiping about for a long time to come. They’ll point and stare and find me lacking somehow.

  I should care but I don’t. For once in my uptight, pristine, perfectly ordered life, I don’t care what other people think. Last night, I’d been terrified of being pitied. I’d lain here for hours, coming up with various ways to minimize the damage to my reputation, before I realized something. Nothing I do or say will change facts. I married a murderer. He’ll go to jail, I’ll divorce him. Life moves on. And finally, finally, I’ll be free.

  I’ll have money: lots of it. My greatest fear, of being alone, will be irrelevant because I’ll have wealth to protect me. I still can’t fathom that I had no idea Avery could be capable of murder. He’s many things, but to harbor the kind of cruelty to kill a woman?

  Guilt pierces my false bravado. I should’ve known. I should’ve seen or suspected something… but all the second-guessing in the world isn’t going to change facts. I need to formulate a plan, a way to move forward. Starting with going home to pack.

  Claire and Dane are nowhere to be seen when I venture out of the bedroom, wearing her oversized sweats. I pad into the kitchen and spy a note on the counter.

  DEAR RIS,

  HOPE YOU’RE FEELING BETTER THIS MORNING.

  I’M AT THE STATION FOLLOWING UP ON THAT INFORMATION YOU KINDLY PROVIDED LAST NIGHT. DANE IS AT WORK.

  HELP YOURSELF TO BREAKFAST. I’LL TRY TO CHECK IN ON YOU AT LUNCHTIME.

  CALL ME IF YOU NEED ME.

  CLAIRE XX

  I need Claire more than she knows. In fact, I’ll be leaning on her a lot over the next few weeks as my life as I know it unravels and I build myself a new one.

  Last night was a turning point for me. I’d known the moment Elly told me about the paternity test I had to take a stand. I could either pretend my life was still perfect out of fear of abandonment or snitch on Avery and ensure he became the prime suspect in Jodi’s murder. In the end, I had no choice. I’m sick of toeing the line, doing what’s expected of me rather than what I want to do. So I’d told Claire, knowing there’s no turning back.

  I check the fridge, pour an OJ and drink it quickly. I grab an apple for the short journey home. I’m not hungry but I need sustenance to keep me levelheaded. If Avery’s home, I’ll need it.

  * * *

  It’s seven a.m. when I pull into our drive. I got to Claire’s around midnight, which means I spent six and half hours staring at her ceiling, mulling my plan of action, summoning the guts to go through with it. I need to pack necessities and move out because once the news of Avery’s arrest breaks, reporters will be all over the house in search of a story. I can’t face that kind of scrutiny. I don’t want to, so moving to an unknown location seems the best course of action. Once I’m packed I’ll head back to Claire’s and start searching online for a new place to live.

  The garage is closed so I can’t see if Avery’s home or not. At this point, I don’t particularly care. It won’t matter, as I’ll wait until he leaves for work then I’ll pack. I let myself into the house and listen for the slightest sound. Nothing. I exhale in relief and head for the kitchen. If my suspicions are correct, police will be crawling over our place at some stage in the next few days. Searching for clues. Looking for evidence. Trying to nail Avery.

  I keep a stas
h of money in a cookie jar at the back of the pantry so that’s the first place I go.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I jump so high my head clunks against the shelf above me. I withdraw from the pantry, mustering my best nonchalant expression.

  “Better.”

  If Avery hears the vitriol in my tone, it doesn’t register. Why would it, when he usually only loves the sound of his own voice? He searches the kitchen bench for his smoothie cup. I’d usually have it ready for him.

  He’s puzzled, his glance flicking between the bench and the blender, as if he can’t figure out why I haven’t made his breakfast.

  “I would’ve come and picked you up from Claire’s last night but I had a conference call with the overseas delegates regarding the merger.” He rubs his hands together, his eyes gleaming with avarice. “Looks like it’s all systems go so I’ve invited them here for a dinner party next week. You’ll really have to wow them.”

  I summon my best placating smile and clasp my hands in front of me. “There’ll be no dinner party next week.”

  The fact he hasn’t noticed I’m wearing oversized sweats and no make-up speaks volumes. It means he never really sees me anyway. That he looks through me, takes me for granted.

  “What are you talking about, sweetheart? You know how important this is to me.” He sidles around the island bench, making a move toward me. I move in the opposite direction.

  “I know, Avery.”

  I watch for the slightest tell that he’s worried. Nothing. He truly is a narcissistic psychopath. Maybe I should’ve seen the signs before? Compulsive liar, no empathy, complete lack of conscience, preying on others’ weakness and a grandiose self-importance. He’d exhibited these behaviors repeatedly in our marriage: lying about his infidelities, no empathy for the clients I helped, swooping in and taking over struggling pharmaceutical companies without remorse, acting like the world revolved around him in all social situations.

  “Know what?”

  I tap my bottom lip, pretending to think. “Hmm… how about we start with the affair and the police asking you to take a paternity test to see if you fathered Jodi’s baby?”

  His pallor matches the ivory cabinets behind his head. I know him. He’ll bluster. Feign indignation. Lie for the umpteenth time. It won’t make any difference.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Elly.” Even saying her name brings a lump to my throat but I ignore it.

  Once the color returns to his cheeks, he leans against the island bench, nonchalant and confident as ever. “I never slept with that girl. As for the police, they’re deluded. The paternity test is a misunderstanding—”

  “Don’t,” I yell, losing patience quicker than anticipated. “Don’t lie to me anymore. It’s over, Avery.”

  I expect him to try and talk his way out of this. Try to cajole me with his usual charm. I’m not wrong.

  “Sweetheart, she meant nothing to me.” His expression switches from shock to hurt little boy. He’s a master manipulator. “You know how she is. She’s a tramp and I got caught up in something that was bigger than me. Maybe it was the pressure of work or a midlife crisis, but it only happened once. You have to know I meant every word I said last night about how much you mean to me—”

  “Cut the bullshit. Jodi’s probably one of many of the deluded women that you use and discard.”

  Confusion creases about his brow. “I’m not talking about Jodi. I thought Elly told you—”

  “Shut up.” As suspected, there are more women and I don’t want to know. I want to throttle him for his constant lies. They roll off his tongue without a second thought.

  “As for the paternity test being a misunderstanding, Ryan asked Elly to switch the test for Jodi’s baby!” I’m screaming at this point and he’s staring at me in open-mouthed shock. “Guess you thought it was time he did your dirty work rather than the other way around. So not only does that make you a lying, cheating bastard, it means you’re now the number one suspect in her murder!”

  I fling the accusation at him in glee, hoping the police will drag him away sooner rather than later. But I underestimate him. He’s not beaten, not yet.

  “So you choose to believe a lying slut like Elly over your own husband?” He tuts, his upper lip curling in derision. “Poor form, Ris. I married you and dragged you out of that shitty hospital. I provided for you, I gave you the life you wanted, I gave you children, and this is how you treat me after all we’ve been through.”

  The truth hovers on the tip of my tongue, that I dragged myself out of that hospital by targeting him, knowing he’d be too wrapped up in his self-importance to know. But I don’t reveal it. What would be the point? It’s done and my life will be easier without him in it moving forward.

  “Don’t you mean what I’ve been through?” I fling my arm wide, gesturing at the kitchen. “I’ve been your slave for twenty-one years. I’ve raised your kids, hosted your parties, made your bloody smoothies every fucking morning!”

  I never swear and I can see that shocks him more than anything else I’ve said.

  But the shock soon gives way to another sneer. “You’ve had the lifestyle and the prestige associated with being Mrs. Avery Thurston so don’t act like it’s a hardship being married to me. You should be thanking me for every goddamn thing I’ve done for you.”

  I’m tired. The type of fatigue that seeps into my bones and makes me ache. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the drama of last night, but I want this to end. Now.

  “I’m done.” I take a deep breath, ready to utter the words I thought I’d never say. “We’re finished, Avery.”

  He morphs before my eyes. His cheeks redden and his eyes glow with such rage I take a step back toward the knife block.

  “We make a great team with me managing our financials and you backing me up socially and professionally. Everybody knows it. We are the Hamptons! Don’t you know that we’re envied because we have the perfect life?” His hands are clenched into fists and he slams them on the bench. Cups rattle and glasses topple. He sweeps his arm across the bench top, sending the fruit bowl, cutlery and a platter from last night’s party crashing to the floor. “I’ll destroy Elly for messing with our life.”

  I cringe but I won’t cower. Not anymore. “Like you killed Jodi?”

  I shouldn’t provoke him, not in this mood, but what’s he going to do, kill me too? My life as I know it is over anyway.

  He’s livid, his shoulders drawn up so tight they almost touch his ears. He stabs a finger at me. “I want you out of this house by the time I come back.”

  I call his bluff. “You’re full of crap. As you just said, you need to keep up appearances, especially with your upcoming precious merger.”

  “Get out!” He roars but I don’t flinch.

  “No. This is my house so you do what the hell you want but I’m staying.”

  A small part of me is scared of him but I force a condescending smile that makes his eyes glint with fury.

  “Bitch,” he mutters under his breath, and I’m not sure if he’s referring to Elly or me as he grabs his car keys from the bench and storms out.

  I should ring Elly and warn her. Avery is guilty of a lot of things – mainly lying and cheating – but I doubt he’s capable of murder and responsible for Jodi’s death. Then again, I’ve never seen him this furious so who knows what he’s capable of in this mood? I wouldn’t wish harm on Elly despite the way she’s betrayed us all.

  I reach for my cell. Weigh it in my palm for a few seconds. My thumb hovers over the ‘contacts’ button, ready to scroll through my favorites. She’s second on the list behind Claire. I guess it speaks volumes that Avery is third.

  I stare at her name on my cell. This will be the last time I ring her, ever.

  Then I remember Maggie’s face last night when Elly had revealed the truth. She’d been stricken, pale, bereft. Elly knows how fragile Maggie is, how her weird episodes rule her life. Yet she’d gone ahead and messed wi
th her husband anyway.

  I quash every instinct to help my friend one last time.

  This time, Elly’s on her own.

  I leave my cell on the island bench and head upstairs, intent on cleaning up the mess I’ve made of my life.

  Forty-Two

  Elly

  I wish Claire would hurry up and get here. I’ve put everything back in the bathroom cabinet and I’m pacing, hoping I’m wrong about all of this but instinctively knowing I’m not.

  If Avery owns this place, he’s behind that stash and if Jodi was drugged before she was murdered… I’ve never liked the prick but is he capable of killing a woman? My skin pebbles and I rub my hands over my arms trying to warm up. Claire needs to arrive, now.

  Ryan asked me to switch the paternity test.

  He blackmailed me into it because it was so damn important.

  Which means Avery is the father of Jodi’s baby and that’s why he killed her.

  But how much does Ryan know?

  Was asking me to switch the paternity test the only thing Avery involved him in?

  After finding that stash and learning that Avery owns this place, I never considered Ryan could be involved. But what if he is?

  I hear a car pull up and I run to the door. My steps slow when I glimpse the car through the side-glass.

  It’s not Claire.

  Panic washes over me. I break out in a cold sweat. My stomach clenches. I don’t want to confront Ryan alone. Not when I’m reeling from my suspicions. I know why he’s here. He’ll know I told Maggie about us. And if he is somehow involved with Avery in covering up Jodi’s death, what’s he capable of?

  I back away from the door and head for the kitchen. There’s not much cutlery here. We never eat. I wish I had something, anything, I could use as a weapon. Even a measly cheese knife would do at this point but there’s nothing.