by Cate Conte
I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you!”
“Should I tell your dad you’ll be back?” she asked.
“No. I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” I left her office and found the nearest stairwell, heading down two flights to get to the fifth floor.
When I stepped into the hallway, it was quiet. My dad hadn’t been kidding when he said they’d cleared the floor. I walked down the empty hall, stepping lightly, afraid to disturb the silence. I felt a bit like I was in a horror movie. The first wing I walked through was completely empty. When I turned the first corner, I found the activity.
Two uniformed officers were positioned outside a room directly across from the nurse’s station. I wondered if they were there because he was a celebrity, or because they were worried about his safety. There were two people behind the desk. Other than that, all was quiet.
I took a deep breath and walked down the hall like I owned the place, stopping in front of the door. The cop looked at me. “How’d you get on this floor?” he asked.
“I’m here on behalf of my father. The CEO,” I said. I felt only a twinge of guilt using his name this way.
Still, the cop shook his head. “Sorry. Strict orders. No one allowed in the room except family.”
I wondered what that meant. Peyton wasn’t technically family—they’d never gotten married. I tried to peek in the window to see if she was there, but the curtain had been closed tight.
I glanced over at the nurses. I didn’t recognize either one of them, unfortunately. They couldn’t even vouch for me. I’d have to ask Anne Marie after all. But when I got back upstairs, my dad was there.
“Absolutely not,” he said when he saw me. “I can’t believe you came here for that purpose!” He sounded really mad, which wasn’t like him. Anne Marie was still at her desk, trying to pretend she wasn’t listening to our fight.
“Dad. Don’t be mad. I’m just trying to find out his condition for … a friend of his.”
My father looked at me suspiciously. “What friend?”
“It doesn’t matter. That’s the only reason I wanted to go see him. Honestly. But if you can get me just a general update—”
“Madalyn! Have you forgotten everything I’ve ever taught you about etiquette?” My father’s voice had started to rise, a sign that I was really pushing him to his limits.
Before I could open my mouth again and make it worse, Anne Marie stuck her head in. “Cool your jets, Brian,” she said. “She’s telling the truth.”
Both of us turned and gaped at her. I’d never heard anyone—aside from my mother—speak to my father like that, especially someone who worked for him.
She ignored him and focused on me. “You’re looking out for Adam, aren’t you.”
“How … how do you know that?”
She laughed. “I know everything about this place, remember? Adam is a good boy. We have lunch together every Wednesday. He chose a hard path,” she said with a nod. “But he deserves to at least know how Marco is doing.”
“Anne Marie. What on earth are you talking about?” my father asked.
“Marco Moore’s boyfriend is a nurse here,” she said. “He can’t get in to see him without blowing this whole concocted story about his relationship with that actress. So he’s sitting outside on a bench hoping to hear something before the news goes public.”
“He is here?” I asked.
“Yep. I went out and brought him a coffee a few minutes ago.” Anne Marie looked at my dad. “Get her an update, Brian.”
Chapter 39
Twenty minutes later, I went down the back stairwell and outside. Sure enough, Adam sat alone on a bench, a cup of coffee in his hand and an untouched sandwich sitting next to him. He looked deflated, like a balloon whose air was slowly seeping out of a pinhole.
I slid onto the bench next to him. He looked at me, but didn’t seem to recognize me at first.
“Hey, Adam. Maddie James. We met at the beach the other day,” I said.
It took him a second, but then it registered. “Yeah. The CEO’s daughter.” His voice was flat, as if his entire personality had emptied out of him and all that was left was this robotic voice and some jerky movements. “What are you doing here?”
“Anne Marie sent me. I thought you might like some news on Marco.”
He looked at me sharply. I could see the inner battle of hope and defense playing out behind his eyes as he tried to predict what I was about to tell him. “How do you … right. The CEO’s daughter.” He clutched the coffee cup so hard the lid popped off. “So…?”
“He’s not awake yet, but the scans show normal brain activity. No swelling or bleeding. They are cautiously optimistic.” I repeated the words I’d memorized upstairs in my dad’s office. “At this point they aren’t airlifting him elsewhere.”
Marco let out a breath that sounded almost like a sob then looked away, blinking back tears. “Thank you. Is anyone in there with him?”
“I think Peyton was, but she’s going home to rest. So in twenty minutes, you should go up to the fifth floor by the back stairs, and my dad will personally escort you to his room.” I smiled. “You can stay as long as you like.”
He looked at me like I’d just told him he’d won the lottery. “You’re … you’re serious?”
I nodded. “I told my dad. Actually, Anne Marie did. She convinced him it was the right thing to do. I hope you’re not mad.”
He broke out in a big smile, tears now running down his face. “Mad? You’re an angel.” He leaned over and hugged me. “Thank you, Maddie.”
“Of course. I know Marco is worried about people finding out, but something tells me he would want you there.”
“Yeah.” Adam’s face clouded over again. “He always felt he had so many things to hide, you know? That everything about him had the potential to derail his career. And Peyton…” he grimaced.
“What about Peyton?” I asked.
“She’s the same way. The two of them were, like, conspiracy theorists. It was paranoia city. They acted like Russian spies were tracking their every move.”
Maybe not Russian spies, but certainly American paparazzi, I thought, but kept my mouth shut. “Why do you think that is?” I asked. “I mean, they’re both big stars in their own right. Why on earth would it matter if they weren’t together?”
“You don’t get Hollywood, do you?”
“I don’t, actually. Never had the opportunity to learn the inner workings,” I said wryly.
“Well. I’ll spare you the gory details. Let’s just say that you dangle enough money and status in front of people and then act like it could be snatched away at any second, you have a lot of power over them. And Peyton and Marco have been in that place for a long time. That guy has so much control over them it’s sick.”
“What guy?” I asked.
“Their illustrious agent.” He said the word like one it was a disease.
“Chad.”
“Oh yeah. He’s been pulling their strings for years.”
I knew this, of course—Marco had basically told me as much. But it was interesting to hear it from Adam’s perspective.
“Then after Peyton did that rescue mission and Jillian came onto the scene things just … snowballed,” he went on.
“So why did Marco still need to be part of her image after that? Sounds like her career shot right back to the top once the whole cat thing came to fruition. The Catwoman franchise alone, right?”
He shrugged. “Chad had them brainwashed. I swear, it’s like a cult with its charismatic leader. Although he’s not that charismatic. And most everyone else can see right through him. Then with Jillian putting her two cents in, there was no getting through to them. Chad kept telling Marco all his secrets were going to come out and he’d be nothing again.”
“You mean his relationship with you?”
“Not just that. Marco didn’t want anyone to know how he started out.”
“How did he start out?”
I waited. “Okay. So what?”
“He ate the dog food. It was supposed to show that the food was natural and fine for human consumption. It wasn’t,” he added dryly. “This was way back before natural food was cool. But he did a whole dog-food-eating campaign and that’s how he first started acting.”
There had to be more. I mean, that was gross, but on the scandal scale it had to rate pretty low. “So what? I’m sure tons of actors and actresses get their starts that way, no? Maybe not dog food per se, but something equally as embarrassing?”
“You have no idea,” Adam said. “But he’d done other things too, which I won’t get into. If you know what I mean.”
“Oh,” I said. I could make a good guess.
“Yeah. He used a different name and he looked … very different back then, so it hasn’t come back to bite him yet. But Chad spent so much time drilling it into his head that all of this would come out and tarnish his teenybopper god image and he’d be finished. Marco let himself get swept away by all this. He is literally terrified of people finding out. It’s really sad.”
“And you?” I asked. “How’d you get here?”
“I cut and run. Decided I wasn’t cut out for the Hollywood life and came home. I’m much happier here.”
“Smart choice. So what’s the cat rumor about?” I asked casually.
“What cat rumor?”
“One of the tabloid reporters asked me to confirm the rumor about Peyton and the cat. Do you know what that means?”
Adam’s gaze slid away from mine. “No clue,” he said, but I knew he was lying as sure as I knew my own name.
I decided to try a different tact, if he wouldn’t tell me anything about Peyton. “So how well did Marco know Jillian?” I asked.
“Enough to hate her guts as much as anyone,” Adam said.
I stared at him. “Seriously?”
“Of course. She was pulling a lot of the strings. And as long as she had Peyton under her thumb, Marco was still going to do what they said. The whole thing was a cluster.” He paused. “But if you’re asking me if he killed her, the answer is no.”
I blew out the breath I’d been holding. “You’re sure?”
“Could he have? Maybe. Did he? No. And I’m not just covering for him. We were together that morning. At my sister’s house. She had a small party for us the night before and we stayed over.” He smiled sadly. “It was our anniversary. We made breakfast together that morning. Brunch, actually.”
“Wait.” I grabbed his arm. “You were with Marco? He wasn’t on the boat?”
“No. I just told you he was with me. Why?”
“No reason,” I murmured.
Other than, he and Peyton had alibied each other. And two other people had been complicit in that alibi. The assistant and the bodyguard. This took Marco out of the running for the murder, but it still left the question of who’d done it wide open. And time was running out for Mish.
Chapter 40
I tossed and turned for most of the night, waiting for news on Marco. I’d texted Peyton after I left Adam, to tell her I’d heard and to offer my sympathies. She hadn’t responded. Adam had promised to let me know when Marco regained consciousness, but so far, nothing. I’d caught up with Craig after I’d gotten home, and they had nothing new. Members of the police force confirmed Chad had brought Marco back to the yacht and left again alone. No one noticed him leaving out through the main cabin door—or at least they weren’t saying anything if they had. The only other possibility that made sense, according to Craig, was Marco leaving the boat perhaps by a back entrance farther down the dock, which was less monitored, and walking along the beach all the way to the ferry docks and Damian’s, where someone had clocked him.
But why?
If … when … Marco woke up, he could tell someone who’d done it. If he’d seen them. There was always the possibility he’d been hit from behind.
I waited until six a.m. before I called Becky. She sounded wide awake when she answered. It didn’t surprise me.
“Hey,” she said. “I was just about to call you.”
“About Marco Moore? Did you hear something?”
“Nothing new. We have a reporter outside the hospital waiting for news. I’ve gotta tell you, Maddie, since you’ve come back to the island things have been way more exciting. We’ve gotten a lot of good stories because of you.”
I had to laugh. Leave it to Becky to find the silver journalist lining in all of this. “Glad to help. Listen. I feel like this has to be related to Jillian.”
Becky was quiet. I could hear the wheels turning. “Tell me more,” she said finally.
“Can I come by the office? Maybe we can put our heads together.”
“Yeah. I’ll be there in an hour. I’ll bring coffee.”
I jumped out of bed and went to get dressed, already feeling better. I was buoyed by the thought of talking everything through with Becky. We had always been good at figuring things out as a team, from back when we were kids. I thought about waking Lucas up to tell him where I was going, but as usual he was sound asleep. I’d spare him and just text him.
I hurried downstairs for coffee, but Val intercepted me. “Hey. You’re up early. Have you heard anything?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“Do you think Peyton will bail?” she asked.
“Out of town or out of the event?”
She shrugged. “Both.”
“I honestly don’t know, Val. The event probably isn’t top of mind for her right now.” I glanced desperately at the coffeepot—so close but so far away.
“I know. I feel awful. But meanwhile, the tent is being delivered today,” Val said. “We’re just going to proceed as if we’re moving forward. Ethan is closing the café early so we can start setting up. Oh, and you should see what’s going on outside.” She nodded at the back door. “Grandpa’s out there with Jo.”
I frowned. “Jo from the League? She’s still here?”
Val nodded. “She came to the door and Grandpa went outside with her. I tried to tell him he didn’t need to talk to her, that we’d sorted it out, but he didn’t want to hear it.”
I went to the back door and peered out. Sure enough, Grandpa and Jo were outside, having what looked like a serious conversation. But they weren’t alone. Sergeant Mick Ellory had joined the party.
I went outside, curious now. “Hey,” I said. “What’s going on?”
The party of three stopped talking and stared at me as I walked over. I searched Grandpa’s face, then Ellory’s. Nothing. Cop-faced, the both of them. I sighed and looked at Jo. “Are you still here because of Jillian?”
“Sort of.” Jo pulled a wallet out of her jeans pocket, flipped it open, and held it out to me. I glanced at it, then did a double take. I met her eyes, a silent question.
“FBI,” she said. “Special Agent Janice Wong.”
Why on earth was the FBI at our door? “So you’re not … Jo. And you don’t work at the League.”
She tipped her chin slightly, an affirmation.
“So what are you doing here?” I asked, but I had a sinking feeling I may have an idea about the answer.
“Your grandfather was looking into someone I was also investigating.” She glanced at Grandpa Leo. “I asked him if we could compare notes.”
“Jillian?” I asked Grandpa.
He nodded.
I looked from him to Ellory. “So what did you find out?”
“She was receiving large sums of money into her account,” Grandpa said. “It’s been going on for a couple years. I hadn’t been successful in tracing it before she died.”
“So you were investigating her,” I said. “On Stevie’s behalf. Even after you told me you’d stopped when she engaged with us.”
&nb
sp; “I did,” Grandpa said. “That’s why I didn’t get any further.”
“Oh. So, what, she was embezzling or something? Like, from the League? She wouldn’t.” Would she? Despite her quirky personality and love for expensive things, I felt like Jillian had really taken her job seriously and wanted to help animals.
“We don’t know where it was coming from,” Ellory said.
“Okay,” I said. “So do you think it could be related to her death?”
“As we said, we don’t know,” Ellory said.
“Well, I thought you already had her murderer?”
“It’s an ongoing investigation,” Jo—Agent Wong—cut in.
“But wouldn’t it be over now that she’s dead? Unless you think if she was getting money from someone and it had something to do with her death.” I waited for her to confirm. She didn’t.
“We aren’t sure yet what she was involved in,” Wong said. “We were investigating her because there were suspicions that she was using the League’s fundraising activities as a payday opportunity. We’re trying to figure out if there were others involved or if she was acting alone.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Unconfirmed, as I said. This stays between this group.” She eyed me. I gathered that her demeanor I’d been silently wondering about it was just her agent demeanor. It didn’t look like she ever cracked a smile.
“You can’t mention this to your sister,” Grandpa said.
“So does the rest of the staff know? About you?” I asked her.
Wong shook her head. “No. I’ve been ‘working’ there for a while now. Trying to get her to trust me enough to bring me in.”
This still wasn’t making great sense to me. “I don’t mean this to sound … harsh, but why does the FBI care about someone taking a few thousand bucks from a nonprofit? It seems a bit low profile for you.”
That hard stare again. But instead of answering my question, she said, “Did Jillian ever follow up on all those conversations with a formal proposal?”