by Lynda Curnyn
Now my phone began to ring, vibrating in the pocket of my shorts. “Urn, do you mind?” I said, whipping it out and snapping it open before Tom could stop me.
“Hello?”
“Nick!” came Zoe’s breathless voice over the line. “Where’s Tom? I need to talk to him.”
I looked at Tom.
“Hang up that phone this instant!” he barked.
“He’s, uh, busy at the moment.” I turned away slightly.“Maybe you should come home.”
“Nick, I haven’t got time for that. Now give me Tom!”
“Zoe, I think he’s going to kill me,” I whispered, glancing back at Tom.
“What? Nick, please just put him on the damn phone!”
I turned back toward Tom, holding out the phone. “It’s for you.”
He looked about ready to smack the phone out of my hand.
“It’s Zoe,” I said, hoping maybe she’d explain this whole mess to him better than I possibly could.
He snatched the phone out of my hand.
“Zoe, what’s this business about—” He paused. “What’s that? Slow down, I can’t understand you.” He frowned.“Vince? He lives over on Seabay. Sixth house from the beach. Why? What’s that? Yes, his wife’s family owns the house. I already told you that.” He shook his head. “Yes, the dock slip, too. Now what’s this about?” He paused. “The police? Why should I call—”
He froze, his eyes narrowing as he listened. “Why would he hurt Sage?”
He listened for a few more moments. Then realization dawned in his eyes. “How do you know that?” He shook his head again, his face turning redder.“Son of a bitch!” He paused to listen again. “I’ll meet you there.”
Then, he disconnected and quickly dialed again, a coolness coming over his face. “I need a police officer right away,” he began, then rattled off an address on Seabay. “It’s an emergency. A woman’s life is in danger.”
My eyes widened as he explained that he had strong reason to believe that Sage—my Sage—was in the hands of a criminal.
“I’m coming with you,” I said, once he hung up the phone.
“Please, stay here with my daughter,” he said. Then, before I could answer, he raced down the hall to his bedroom.
And when he returned, he had a gun in his hand.
* * *
Chapter Forty-eight
Maggie
Dying is easy. It’s living that’s hard.
Vince once told me that he had waited his whole life to meet a woman like me. Naturally I believed him. Hadn’t I waited my whole life for a man like him?
The night I died I went to Vince’s house wanting desperately to believe that man still existed. That the deception I had uncovered the day before was just some meaningless human error rather than the act of a man desperate for revenge.
I wouldn’t even have discovered Vince’s treachery if 1 hadn’t been so bent on being the loving, supportive woman to him that I had previously been to Tom. When Yaz called me that Friday to say she had our production manager from China on the line, I took the call, knowing Vince was in transit. I had, after all, been anticipating his arrival all week, feeling keenly all the months I’d lived without him.
Henry’s English wasn’t great, but I managed to make out that he needed to verify the number of units he was to produce on a style in Italian lamb. According to the payment order for the skin, which he’d looked up in Vince’s absence, he was expecting twice the amount of skin he had anticipated and was frantic that he wouldn’t be able to fulfill the order in time. Of course I looked into things at my end and discovered that the payment order was wrong, and the number of units Henry was to produce hadn’t changed. Which relieved his mind and inflamed my own curiosity.
Thinking back on that day, I almost wished I hadn’t asked Henry to fax me the payment orders on future shipments. But once I had them in my hand, I couldn’t deny the truth. I wanted to, oh God, I wanted to. Even shoved those invoices in a folder in the back of the drawer when I couldn’t get hold of Vince. I guess I still hoped he might have some explanation for the discrepancies I’d found. Something that might help me to believe I was not some pawn in his plot against my husband, but the woman he loved too much to betray.
I went to the beach as planned, though not even my sanctuary at the shore could ease my state of mind. No one knew the dread I was living in while I waited to hear back from Vince. I had already learned to hide behind the facade of the perfect wife, and that weekend I was in rare form. Maybe I was trying to hold on to my sanity, some piece of myself I still recognized, but suddenly I was like a mad housewife, scrubbing down the kitchen as soon as I arrived, fussing over my plants. On Saturday, when I still hadn’t heard from Vince, I even began hatching plans for a big dinner party, believing I might somehow block out all my uneasiness by submerging myself in my familiar role as the consummate hostess.
By the time Vince did call, I had even managed to convince myself that my life was the same. That everything would be okay. Which was probably why I accepted his hurried excuses. He said he would explain everything when he saw me. And maybe it was because of the way he huskily suggested we take a suite together at the Palace Hotel the following week that I didn’t argue. Didn’t even feel miffed when he said he was going to Gabriella’s that night to take care of Sophia, who had come down with a virus. Not that I had anything against his daughter, except for those times she kept me from being with him.
Then my big dinner plan fell apart, and I nearly fell to pieces. I think I managed to alienate everyone that night. Sage, who I’d blasted for jumping ship on me. Tom, who was disappointed to come home and find his wife standing frozen with indecision over a half-made meal. Only Nick seemed to have any sympathy for me, offering me an ear when I sobbed out all my misguided anger at my husband, and then suggesting that perhaps he and I have a nice dinner together at The Inn.
I was heartened by Nick’s invitation, because really, that record label he had told me about weeks earlier was the only dream I had left, now that I feared the future I had hoped for with Vince was over. I could start anew, I thought, putting my sauce aside to finish once Zoe arrived with the coriander. After taking a quick shower, I felt better. So much better, I even threw on a dress. It was, after all, Saturday night. And I was still young enough to enjoy it.
But not strong enough, I realized when I walked to The Inn and saw Vmce’s boat at the dock.
All I could see was the lie. He was supposed to be with his daughter that night. I wondered how many lies he had told me. By the time I got to his house, I had convinced myself that he was there with Gabriella. That this was all a plot to earn enough money to win back his wife and child. He had told me often enough, after his divorce, how bitter he was that his wife deserted him when he was at his worst.
But if he was surprised to see me, I was even more surprised to discover he was alone, looking just as handsome as the day I met him and a bit bewildered by my attitude. I was so relieved to see him alone, I was ready to accept anything he told me, within limits. Of course the error had come from the tannery. It made perfect sense once Vince explained it all to me over a glass of wine. But when Vince suggested we keep this indiscretion from Tom, something in me rebelled. Vince claimed he wanted to protect his relationship with the tannery, which spurred in me an opposing desire to protect my husband. Maybe it was the pang of jealousy I felt when Vince emphasized his close ties to the Lorenzo family. After all, could those ties be greater than those he felt for the woman he professed to love?
Or maybe it was my realization that as much as I loved Vince, I couldn’t betray Tom in the one area of his life that mattered most to him. My husband’s business was everything to him. Compromising that could destroy him. And as much as I wanted something for myself, my urge to protect Tom in that moment was greater.
I insisted that he tell Tom everything. And I’ll admit that I saw something flicker in Vince’s eyes when he saw my allegiance to Tom.“Don’t you trust m
e?” he had asked. “Of course,” I had replied carefully, feeling that trust already begin to fade. But any doubts I felt were dispelled when Vince promised to talk to Tom in the morning.
I should have realized then that I wouldn’t live to see the next morning. But I was too far gone at that point. Hopped up on one too many Valiums I’d taken to soothe my state of mind, and positively pliant by the time we finished that bottle of wine in Vince’s living room. He looked so precious to me in that moment, gazing into my eyes with what I thought was love.
“I guess I should take you home,” he said, and even looked sad at the idea. We had just stepped out onto the beach to make our way back, and as I looked up at the waves crashing on the shore, the moon high in the sky, I realized I didn’t want to go home to my husband. I wanted to spend this night with Vince. Maybe some part of me understood that something between us had ended that night. Maybe I wanted to hold on to what I thought was still left.
We kissed for a long time, standing there as if neither of us wanted to let go. But then Vince did let go, a smile lighting his eyes as he yanked his shirt over his head. I was scared immediately—and I wish now that I had trusted that instinct. We had always been so discreet, and though the idea of making love on that beach pulled at me, it was too dangerous.
But Vince didn’t want to make love. Instead, he dared me into the water with him. I laughed at him at first, feeling shy. I wasn’t, after all, the kind of woman who would do something so spontaneous, so free, as to strip down to nothing and plunge into the ocean.
But I was once, I remembered. Before I became Maggie Lan-don, trophy wife, I was that kind of girl.
The water was so cold I swam into Vince’s arms, seeking warmth. Then shivered when I saw the light in his eyes was gone, leaving only hate.
I guess Vince was right. You never really do know someone, do you?
I should have fought him. Maybe it was the Valium and the wine, but I wasn’t thinking about survival in that moment.
I was thinking about the fact that I was about to be reduced to a statistic.
That no one would think any more of my death than they did of my life.
That I would never inspire a song, never really fall in love.
Which only made me wonder if I had ever really been in love. I had loved Vince mostly because of the way he loved me.
And now I didn’t even have that.
* * *
Chapter Forty-nine
Sage
Not your everyday skin flick.
If I felt like the wanton mistress when Vince came home and ravaged me right there on the back deck, I was starting to feel like the little wife as I stood in the kitchen, draped in his button-down shirt, watching him slice garlic for the sauce he was making. He even looked like the handsome husband in a T-shirt and jeans, his dark hair tousled and his face shadowed and sexy with stubble.
Correction: the hot husband. Which, really, was the only husband I wanted, if any.
Now, as he made us dinner, he even shared tidbits of his day.
Which meant his day at the office, thank God. I didn’t really need to hear any more about the wife and kid. Not tonight anyway.
But 1 liked listening to him talk about Edge. It felt like we were sharing a dream.
“So the short of it is,” he continued, sliding the freshly sliced garlic into a saute pan, “it looks like we’ll have the styles we did in crocodile finished in time for the fall launch.”
I smiled. “That’s a relief. I would hate to go out into the market half-assed.”
He raised an eyebrow at me.“Well, we’d hardly be going in half-assed, but I’m glad to be able to provide the variety. It’ll be a nice boost for the brand. Besides, I think we already used one of the crocodile jackets in our advertising.“
“That’s right,” I replied, popping a freshly washed cherry tomato into my mouth.“I’d like to have the inventory on hand once the orders start rolling in.” I tossed the remaining tomatoes into the salad I had prepared, my mind moving to the other inventory problem I had discovered earlier today. Yes, I had promised Zoe I would wait to talk to Tom, but now that I was with Vince, wrapped in the intimacy I felt whenever I was in his presence, I realized that Zoe’s worries were just that: worries. There was no reason why I shouldn’t find answers to the questions that had scratched at my mind ever since I’d found those invoices. And since Vince was the VP of manufacturing, I was sure he could at least shed some light on the situation. “Vince, I wanted to ask you about something strange I noticed in some of the invoices for Edge.”
“What invoices?” he asked, turning to tend to the garlic in the pan, which had already begun to perfume the room with its heavenly scent.
“Receivables. You know, for jackets received by the warehouse,” I said. “We just started to get some of our shipments in for fall, and I found some discrepancies between them and some payment orders I came across.”
I saw his shoulders stiffen momentarily, his head rising slightly before he resumed his sauteing. “Oh, that kind of thing happens all the time. Sometimes we lose skins due to quality control.” laughed. “Quality control? That’s an awful lot of skin to lose to quality control. One of those payment orders was for double the amount of skin needed for the jackets we received. Then I looked at the purchase orders for our future ships and realized some of those skin orders looked pretty high, too. Anyway, I was going to talk to Tom about it tomorrow, but I wondered—”
Vince shook his head. “Don’t worry yourself about it, Sage. Or Tom for that matter. He’s got enough to think about. I can talk directly to the tannery. I think I told you I’m on good terms with the Lorenzo family. I’ll give Gianna a call on Monday, see what’s what.”
Now I was the one who stiffened. And not just because he brought up “Miss-Tell-Vince-I’ll-Meet-Him-at-the-Hotel,” but because I hadn’t even told him which tannery was concerned. Mostly because 1 had assumed shipping was to blame. It hadn’t occurred to me that the errors had come from the tannery end. But now that I thought about it, most of those payment orders had come from one tannery.
“What makes you so sure it was the Lorenzo tannery?” 1 asked lightly, watching his face as he turned to the island again and began to slice mushrooms.
He shrugged, turning to slide the mushrooms into the pan.“Just a guess. We do most of our high-end business with them.”
“With Gianna, you mean.”
He glanced back at me, as if sensing my sudden tension. “1 deal mostly with her, but it’s her family’s tannery.” His gaze moved to my drink. “Looks like you’re empty. Can I make you another?”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll get it,” 1 said, swiping up my glass. “How about you? Another drink?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” he said, turning to the stove once more.
I walked to the bar. Filling my glass with ice, I tried to sort the thoughts spinning through my head. If the Lorenzo tannery was putting through payment orders for more skin, then where was all that skin going?
As 1 poured the tequila, I wondered if maybe Vince’s little pal Gianna was ripping us off.
“So, Vince,” I said, stepping into the kitchen again.“You know I’m still a neophyte in this business,” I continued, leaning up on the counter beside him so I could see his profile as he stood at the stove. “I’m just wondering how it all works. How do you decide how much skin to order for a particular style?”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “The amount of skin ordered is based on the number of units the sales manager gives me for the style.” He smiled. “I would have thought you would know that, Sage, seeing as you’ll be the one making those unit projections in the future.”
And Maggie was the one making those projections in the past. Maybe my first assumption had been right. Maybe Maggie had been ripping off her husband. But something didn’t make sense.
“Does she—that is, the sales manager—consult with the tannery about the skins, or does the tannery advise on how much skin is re
quired for a style?“
He shook his head. “Boy, you really are a neophyte. Manufacturing puts through all the skin orders.”
The back of my neck began to prickle. “You mean you do it?”
He nodded. “That’s right. Me.”
“So I guess you would know if the tannery was inflating the order, right?”
He shook his head.“Really, Sage, you shouldn’t worry yourself about this. I told you I would call the tannery on Monday. It’s probably a simple mistake.”
“A pretty big mistake, don’t you think? I mean, if the Lorenzo factory is overcharging us, shouldn’t we let Tom know about it?” I asked, wondering if Vince already knew about those inflated orders and wondering why he hadn’t done anything about it. Unless he was in tighter with Gianna than I realized, I thought, a sudden vision of Vince and Gianna in an intimate tangle filling my mind.
Vince looked at me.“Look, Sage, it’s not a big deal. I’ll give the tannery a call on Monday. Like I said, I have a good relationship with them.”
I met his gaze. “I’m well aware of your relationship with the Lorenzo tannery,” I said, feeling my temperature rise as the truth sank in.
“Sage, if you know what’s best for you, you’ll stay out of this.”
But I was already in so deep, I couldn’t help the anger thrumming through me at the thought of Vince sharing not only pillow talk with Gianna, but profits. “You cocky son of a bitch. What kind of fool do you take me for? Did you really think you could skim money out of Tom’s business and no one would notice?”
The moment I said the words, I realized someone had noticed. Maggie.
Oh, God.
Vince must have seen the realization on my face. Not that he seemed ruffled by it. On the contrary. He smiled, a coldness moving into his eyes.
“Well, Sage, I’ve got to give you credit. It took Maggie a lot longer to figure it out. But then again, I already had Maggie’s loyalty,“ he said, his gaze steady on mine. ”And her heart.“