Girl Under Water: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping crime thriller

by L. T. Vargus

  With the possibility of being on camera, she wouldn’t be able to snoop around the place quite like she’d hoped. But there was nothing to stop her from taking a cursory peek here and there. Maybe there’d be something obvious just sitting out for her to see.

  She wandered from room to room with Percival hot on her heels, but nothing leapt out at her. In fact, the only thing that really struck her was the room just off the foyer. When she’d first come to the house to talk to Marjory, her assistant Killian had been packing boxes in the room. Marjory had explained they had to clear out the room for a remodeling project. And while the boxes were gone, the room wasn’t bare. There was still furniture and bookcases half-filled with stuff: thick books, a copper globe, framed photographs.

  Charlie spotted spaces on the shelves where things had obviously been removed, marks on the carpet where perhaps a small table had once stood, but on the whole the room looked far from empty. It was more like half the things had been taken from the room. And that didn’t make sense.

  Unless…

  Rushing from one end of the house to the other, Charlie checked the rooms along the way, noting empty hooks on the wall where a painting might have hung. A side table without a lamp. She ended up in the formal living room where she and Marjory had talked back on the first day she’d taken Gloria’s case. The coffee table was gone.

  Just then, Charlie’s pocket buzzed, which confused her until she remembered she’d grabbed the spare cell phone from the office before coming here. She didn’t recognize the number and hoped it was Marjory’s husband returning her call.

  “A1 Investigations.”

  “Ms. Winters, hello. This is Dr. Kesselman.”

  Charlie squeezed her eyes shut. Her mother’s doctor. Great. Just what Charlie needed right now, on top of everything else.

  “Hello, Dr. Kesselman,” she said, forcing some semblance of a smile into her voice. “How are you?”

  “Wonderful now that I’ve reached you. I know it’s late, but I left several voicemails today and finally decided to try the backup number I had on file.”

  “I’m so sorry. My phone died today, and I haven’t even had a chance to check my voicemail,” Charlie said, not wanting to get into exactly how her phone had died. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I was mostly calling to make sure you were on board with your mother’s treatment plan. After some discussion, we’ve decided that some time in an inpatient facility is the best option right now.”

  Charlie blinked.

  “We…” Charlie repeated. “My mother agreed to this?”

  “It was her idea.” Dr. Kesselman sighed. “I think almost harming you was somewhat of a wake-up call for her.”

  The air around Charlie suddenly felt heavy. Taking care of her mother was Charlie’s responsibility, whether she’d asked for it or not. And she’d failed. Maybe it wasn’t her fault, but she’d failed and now Nancy needed inpatient treatment.

  “I’ve arranged for her to be transferred to the Cedar Grove Healing Center tomorrow,” Dr. Kesselman went on. “I can give you their number and information if you’d like to arrange a visit at some point soon.”

  “Of course,” Charlie said, her mouth working on autopilot now.

  After hanging up, Charlie let her head fall back into the cushions of the couch. She felt like crying but fought the urge.

  Percival hopped up beside her, and Charlie swiveled her neck to regard him.

  “Why do I have the feeling you’re not supposed to be on the furniture?” she asked.

  The dog flopped onto his belly, resting his head on her lap. Charlie chuckled.

  “OK,” she said. “You win.”

  Stroking the dog’s head, Charlie stared up at the gloom clinging to the vaulted ceiling and let the tears run down her cheeks.

  There’d been a noise. A strange, one-note chime. And it was familiar somehow.

  Charlie woke on the couch in Marjory’s house, having dozed off. She looked around.

  A small desk lamp lit one corner of the expansive living room, but the shadows swelled to fill most of the space. Boxes of moonlight reached through the windows and stretched over the floor, but they could merely cut slices out of the dark and leave the rest untouched.

  A thud came from the direction of the front door, and Charlie realized suddenly what the noise had been.

  The security system beeping because someone had just entered the house.

  Charlie jumped up from the couch, forgetting that Marjory’s dog had crawled into her lap. Percival tumbled to the floor in front of her, and Charlie had to scramble her feet to avoid trampling the small creature. The frantic, clumsy movements sent her tripping across the room, where she spilled into the hallway and slammed into the wall.

  The figure in the foyer staggered backward, arms lifted defensively. Charlie recognized him quickly from a few of the photographs in the house. Trevor Steigel.

  A pair of crutches protruded from his elbows, and Charlie wondered exactly what kind of damage they could do if swung into someone’s skull. Not wanting to find out, she put her hands out and spoke.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you like that.”

  To Trevor’s credit, he regained his composure quickly. The feet of the crutches came down with a clack, and he took a bold step forward.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

  Percival yapped excitedly, perhaps sensing the alarm in his master’s voice.

  “My name is Charlie Winters. I’m an investigator hired by the Carmichaels. I was the one who… found Marjory.”

  Trevor stopped stalking toward her. The rigid tension in his shoulders relaxed infinitesimally.

  “I see.” He sighed. “And why is it you’re in my house?”

  Charlie pointed at the dog, who had stopped barking.

  “Percival. The family was concerned about him being here alone, so I volunteered to come check on him, and I… sort of dozed off on your couch,” Charlie said, adding a sheepish smile for good measure.

  “Of course.” He nodded and then paused to squint at her. “You said your name is Charlie Winters?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Ah, so you’re the one who left approximately twenty messages on my voicemail?”

  Charlie grimaced.

  “Yes. Sorry. It’s just that it’s very important that I talk to you.”

  “Can it wait?” he asked, suddenly sounded exhausted. “I drove straight from the airport to Marjory’s bedside, and I only came back here to get a few hours’ sleep before I return to the hospital first thing in the morning.”

  “How is she?” Charlie asked.

  “She’s stable now. But they have her pumped full of sedatives, so no one has been able to speak to her yet to figure out what on earth she was thinking.” He made a move toward the door. “If you come back in the morning—”

  “You and Marjory are getting a divorce,” Charlie said, spitting out what had been on her mind since she’d first noticed the state of the house. The bare spaces everywhere as if someone had removed only half of the items.

  Trevor slowly swiveled to face her.

  “I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, it’s just… I really need you to answer a few questions. And it really can’t wait.”

  Closing his eyes and then blinking a few times, Trevor finally nodded.

  “Very well,” he said. “Though would you mind if I have a drink first? I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Everything in the vast kitchen was white. White marble floors. White marble counters. White cabinets. White walls. Even the vase of tulips on the counter was white.

  Trevor moved to the fridge and removed a bottle of tonic water and a bottle of gin from the freezer.

  “Can I offer you a gin and tonic?” he asked as he reached for a glass in one of the cabinets. “I don’t usually drink at this hour, but given the circumstances…”
>
  He finished the thought with a shrug.

  “No thanks,” Charlie said, settling on one of the stools across the wide island from where Trevor stood to fix his drink.

  She waited until he’d mixed the two liquids, added ice, and sipped the concoction before she dove in.

  “Can you think of any reason Marjory would have done this? Had she seemed depressed lately?”

  He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

  “There was the divorce, of course. We hadn’t told anyone yet,” he explained. “That was how she wanted it, and I went along, because… I suppose I thought it would make things easier to let her decide that side of things.”

  “I take it you initiated it then? The divorce, I mean.”

  “Yes. And to be clear, it was something that was decided well before her father passed. If I could have known everything that would have transpired since I announced I wanted to separate, I would have waited. God knows I’d already waited years as it was. What would another few months have been?” He shook his head. “The financial ramifications alone would have been difficult for her to adjust to, but to add on top of that the death of her father and her sister… well, perhaps that’s enough to break anyone.”

  He went silent, and Charlie spurred him on.

  “And by financial ramifications, do you mean that the majority of your household income comes from your endeavors?”

  “That’s correct. And based on our prenup, she… well, it’s quite specific. Marjory is to receive a single fifty-thousand-dollar payment upon the finalization of the divorce. A modest sum to almost anyone. But based on Marjory’s lifestyle? It’s not much. And now, with all the uncertainty surrounding her father’s estate, I believe she’d be close to broke. At least in the short term.”

  Charlie considered the pains Marjory had taken to hide this detail. The story about remodeling the house to cover up the real reason she was packing her things. How even her family didn’t seem to be aware of her impending divorce.

  “I see,” she said. “I mean, I can imagine that would be a lot for anyone to deal with.”

  When Trevor spoke again, his voice shook a little.

  “Our marriage may have failed, but I didn’t want… I mean, I’d never have dreamed that she’d hurt herself or anything like that. I just… I think…”

  He trailed off again, just shy of divulging something, Charlie thought. She thought about asking him outright whether he thought Marjory was capable of murder, but something told her to take the subtle approach. Besides, the fact that Marjory would have been ruined financially after their divorce was an even stronger motive for her to murder Dutch in an attempt to cash in on her inheritance early. Charlie chose her next words carefully.

  “Can I ask why the marriage… fell apart?”

  Trevor studied her for a few seconds and took a long drink.

  “It’s all a bit complicated… but to begin with, I should explain that I have epilepsy. It’s a rather common coexisting condition for those of us with cerebral palsy. When Marjory and I first met, I was having a bit of difficulty controlling my seizures. They left me quite weak and impacted my mobility, so I was using a wheelchair more frequently at the time. I think that gave her certain misconceptions about my… capabilities.”

  Trevor’s tone was pointed. It was a few seconds before she grasped his meaning.

  “You mean… sexually?”

  “Yes,” Trevor said, his demeanor matter-of-fact. “I had a somewhat sheltered upbringing. My parents are devout Christians, and I was raised believing all those virtuous things about waiting to have sex until marriage. On top of that, I was a very shy young man. I think it’s part of my nature, but… having a disability that marked me as being different from my peers didn’t exactly help me in the social department.”

  Trevor brought his shoulders up into a shrug.

  “My point is that our wedding night was, you could say, something I’d been anticipating for a very long time.” The smile he gave her then was tight and not altogether pleasant. “Only it became abundantly clear that Marjory had been under the impression all along that the reason I’d never… initiated anything before was because I wasn’t able to have sex. And so began our marital woes.”

  “So you and Marjory have… never…?” Charlie said before realizing what an intrusive question it was. She held up a hand. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

  “Please. I’ve been over this topic with so many therapists and marriage counselors at this point that I almost can’t remember what it feels like to be embarrassed about it anymore.” Ice cubes tinkled as Trevor swirled the contents of his glass. “Marjory found it within herself to, on occasion, join me in our marital bed. But only because she wanted children, you see. ”

  He took a long drink before setting the glass down on the counter.

  “For a long time I thought it was me. That she found me… unattractive. But a few years back, we started going to counseling together, and she managed to convince me it was just… who she was. That she wasn’t interested in that part of a romantic relationship. And she and the therapist even had a word for it: asexual. And of course it made sense logically, but it was more than that. I wanted to believe it, because it meant that none of it had anything to do with me. Had nothing to do with my disability.” Trevor paused, shutting his eyes. “I was such a fool.”

  Charlie had been following him up until this point, but now she was confused.

  “Sorry… are you saying Marjory isn’t asexual?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “But how can you know?” Charlie asked.

  It seemed like the kind of thing you had to take someone’s word for. Unless you caught them doing the very thing they said they had no earthly interest in.

  “Marjory was having an affair,” Charlie said, answering her own question.

  “Yes,” Trevor said, his mouth settling into a grim line. “Yes, she was.”

  SIXTY-SIX

  The next few seconds passed with neither Charlie nor Trevor uttering a word. The only sounds were the hum of the fridge and the small crunches of Percival eating kibble.

  “You caught her?”

  “In the act? No.” Trevor wiped a hand over his brow. “Nothing quite as sleazy as that. But Marjory keeps a journal, you see. And in it, she writes quite openly about her… escapades.”

  “A journal?” Charlie asked, unable to hide her interest.

  “Yes, and lest you think me some kind of snoop, I happened upon it quite by accident. Marjory likes to think of the second floor of the house as her domain.”

  He gestured in the direction of the stairway at the front of the house.

  “Stairs can sometimes be difficult for me, but I can climb them. Marjory just likes to believe I’m less capable than I am. I went up in search of Percival’s nail clippers one day, and there it was, just sitting out on her dressing table. It was even open, like she’d left it there right in the middle of recording an entry. And I suppose curiosity just got the better of me. The irony is, I’d spent the first few years of our marriage practically obsessing over the idea of Marjory sneaking off to be with another man. Once I found out about her supposed asexuality, I felt like a jerk. Was I really that jealous? That insecure?” He let out a dry half laugh. “Only it turns out I was right all along.”

  “Who was Marjory having an affair with?” Charlie asked, thinking that whoever it was would be an ideal candidate for an accomplice.

  “I don’t know. She describes a great many things in the journal, but one thing she never mentions is a name.” Suddenly Trevor’s posture seemed to collapse. “I’m sorry. But are we about done? I really would like to sleep at some point tonight.”

  “Yes, and I appreciate you taking the time to answer my questions,” Charlie said, hopping down from her stool. “I just have one last request. Before I go, could I take a look at Marjory’s journal?”

  “Take it with you, for all I care.” Ice cubes
clattered into the sink as Trevor dumped out his glass. “It should be on her dressing table upstairs. At the top of the steps, first door on the right.”

  Charlie padded down the hall and climbed the stairs. Her eyes strayed to the bathroom door where she and Zoe had discovered Marjory earlier this evening, and she quickly redirected her gaze.

  Pushing through the door and into Marjory’s room, she found the journal right where Trevor had said it would be. It was a small book with gilt-edged paper and bound in pale pink leather, the style with a strip of leather wound around it to keep it closed.

  “Ugh, even her journal is so prissy it makes me want to barf,” Allie said.

  Charlie scooped up the book. Flipped through pages filled with an intricate scrawl. Tiny and neat.

  She was itching to dive in now, but it was late, and she’d promised Trevor she’d leave. Tucking the journal into her bag, Charlie strode back to the stairs.

  Trevor was waiting near the door to let her out when she reached the bottom of the staircase.

  “One more question, and I swear it’s the last one,” Charlie said.

  “Yes?” Trevor said, holding the door open.

  “You said Marjory doesn’t mention a name, but if I asked you to guess who she was having an affair with?”

  Something like a laugh puttered out of his nostrils.

  “I have my suspicions. Yes.”

  He fell quiet for a long moment after that. Charlie didn’t press him.

  “Her assistant. Killian Thatcher.”

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  A little before noon the next day, Charlie drove over to where Zoe and a few other members of the sheriff’s department were surveilling Killian Thatcher’s home. Law enforcement had already been there for a few hours, but Charlie had overslept. With everything that had happened the previous day and night, she felt it was justified.

  She parked on a side street and approached on foot, spotting Zoe sitting at the end of Killian’s block in a silver Toyota Yaris.

  Charlie peered in through the passenger window, waved, and then climbed in beside Zoe.