Summer Rental

by Mary Kay Andrews

  Don let go of her arm, and she slumped to the floor, crying softly.

  “Adam knows what?” he said, looking down at her. He prodded her with the toe of his golf shoe. “I asked you a question, Maryn.”

  “He knows there’s something funny about the way you’ve handled Prescott’s finances. The company has hired outside auditors! They know you’ve been stealing from them.”

  “Adam doesn’t know dick,” Don said calmly. “The auditors don’t know dick.” He jerked her up by the arm to a standing position. “And you don’t know anything either. Do you hear me?”

  “Don,” Maryn said, her eyes riveted to his. Maybe there was a mistake. Maybe she’d misunderstood. “I saw the files in your office. It doesn’t look right.”

  “Shut up,” Don said. “And listen carefully. You didn’t see anything in my files. You don’t know anything.”

  “I hear,” she mumbled.

  “Understand me, Maryn,” Don said, a strange light coming into his pale-blue eyes. “If you say anything to anybody, I will bury you. Someplace where you’ll never be found. Nobody will even know you’re missing until it’s too late. Not Adam, not your mother, nobody will know what happened, where Maryn has gone.” He’d smiled at the thought of that. A moment later, he’d released her, but not before bending his head to her forearm and tenderly kissing the angry red welts he’d left there.

  He glanced at his watch. “I’m meeting Robby and a couple of the guys at the club for drinks, and I’m already late. The other wives are meeting us for drinks and an early dinner, and Robby made a point of letting me know he expects you to join us.”

  Maryn had stared at him wordlessly. Five minutes ago, he’d threatened to kill her. Now he was casually inviting her to dinner—with his client, who was also her former boss at R.G. Prescott Insurers, Robby Prescott, from whom, she was certain, he’d embezzled a couple of million dollars.

  “I … I’ll try,” she’d stammered. “My mother called, and she’s been begging me to come for a visit.…”

  “No,” Don said, shaking his head curtly. “Tell your mother you’re busy. If Robby wants you to have dinner with us, that’s what you’re going to do. And you’ll be just as relaxed and charming as you always used to be. Understood?”

  “Well…” Maryn started, her mouth dry.

  “Then I’ll see you at six,” Don said, heading for the front door, content that he’d given her the day’s marching orders. His golf cleats clicked across the marble foyer. “And for Chrissake,” he added, his look taking in her disheveled hair and tearstained face, “get yourself put together before you show up at the club tonight.” He’d reached in his pocket, pulled out his money clip, and flung a wad of fifties at her.

  After Don was gone, Biggie stood by the bedroom door, his liquid brown eyes bewildered. He knew a suitcase meant a trip, and every other time, if they went to the Jersey shore, or just away for the weekend, Biggie went too. Maryn knelt down beside him and cradled his graying muzzle in her hands. “Not this time, buddy,” she said, stroking his soft fur.

  There was no time for more. She’d been dressed for shopping, her cover story in case Don got home early, in a cream sleeveless silk-wrap blouse, black slacks, her favorite black patent leather slingbacks. She changed into a top that would hide the angry red welts on her arm and she threw clothes into a duffle bag she found on the closet floor, not wanting to take the time to drag her big suitcase out of the guest-room closet. She tossed in some toiletries, her makeup bag, a jumble of shoes, unsure of what she’d need or want since she had no destination in mind. Just away. Far away. She grabbed the cash hidden in her boots and her Rolex Oyster watch and threw them into her cream Prada bag. At the last minute, she remembered her laptop. She slung the strap of the black-leather carrying case over her shoulder and ran for the front door.

  And there was Biggie, sitting by the door, ears pricked up, the red-leather leash in his mouth. “Oh, Big,” she’d said, mourning the dog already. She stepped outside and closed the door quickly, but she could hear him scratching at it.

  Maryn ran to the Volvo SUV and threw the duffle bag and laptop case on the passenger seat. She drove without purpose, intending only to put miles between her and the stranger she’d married.

  And now, nearly a week had passed. This house was quiet. Too quiet. She had to know what was going on at home. Had the auditors discovered the extent of Don’s embezzlement? And what about Don? He’d been leaving messages on her phone. She’d been too terrified to listen to any of them, deleting them as soon as they arrived.

  She had to know something. She picked up her cell phone, intending to call Adam, or at least see if she had any other missed calls. Damn. The phone was dead. In her haste to flee the town house, she’d left the wall charger behind, and she’d been keeping the phone charged with her car charger. Which was, of course, out in the car. In the garage.

  But there was still the laptop. She hadn’t even bothered to look at it since she’d moved into Ebbtide, unsure of whether or not the house had wireless Internet.

  Only one way to find out. She picked up the black-leather case and lifted it onto the bed. For the first time, she was struck by how heavy it was. Don was a nut for new gizmos, and he’d bought both of them the latest ultra-slim MacBooks back in the springtime. She mostly used hers to play online games or to shop. Frowning, she unzipped the case and reached in to grab the computer. Instead, her hand closed over a thick rubber-band-bound bundle of paper.

  Not just paper, though. Currency. She was holding an inch-thick stack of bills. With trembling hands, she rifled the stack. All hundred-dollar bills. Now she picked up the case and dumped the contents out onto the bed. The MacBook slid out, and so did nine more identical bundles of bills.

  Maryn stared down at the money and the MacBook. Her laptop was hot pink. This one was white. In her frenzy, she’d grabbed Don’s briefcase. And his computer. And his money.

  So much money. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands, probably. Her hands shook as she picked up one of the bundles of bills. Where had this much money come from? Too much for Vegas winnings. What was Don doing with all this cash? And what would he do when he discovered it—and Maryn—were missing?

  Suddenly, there was a soft tap at the bedroom door. Maryn’s heart felt as though it would leap right out of her chest.

  “Madison?” It was Dorie, the strawberry blonde who’d befriended her in the luncheonette.

  “Yes?” she managed to croak.

  “I hate to bother you, but since it’s Sunday, and it’s raining cats and dogs out, we decided to fix a big ol’ brunch. Julia’s making waffles and bacon, and I’ve got fruit salad, and we’re having mimosas. Why don’t you join us, Madison? We’ve hardly gotten to see you at all since you moved in.”

  The smell of bacon and coffee wafted all the way up to the third floor. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Maryn looked down at the pile of money on the bed, and then back at the door. All week, she’d managed to avoid the women except for a couple of brief, awkward encounters while she was coming and going from the house on her bike. Now, it was raining out, so she couldn’t very well take off on her bike. Her stomach growled again. She’d been a hermit long enough. Maybe one meal wouldn’t hurt. Hurriedly, she began scooping the money back into the briefcase. She would figure out what to do about it later.

  “Brunch sounds nice,” she called finally. “Just let me get myself presentable, and I’ll be right down.”

  * * *

  “She’s coming down,” Dorie reported to the others. “See, I told you we should ask her.”

  “Oh goodie,” Julia said sarcastically, bowing and grandly waving her spatula like a scepter. “We finally get a real audience with the queen.” She dipped a quick curtsy. “Hello, your majesty.”

  “Shh, she’ll hear you,” Dorie said. “You wait. She’s not stuck-up. She’s just … an introvert, I think.”

  Julia drummed her fingertips on the wooden tabletop.
“I don’t buy that bit about her being in ‘transition’ after a breakup with some man. What’s she really doing here? Money obviously isn’t a problem, so why hang out in a dinky little beach town like this? Why isn’t she someplace glamorous? Why doesn’t she have any friends or family? She keeps her bedroom door locked every second she’s gone. I know, because I’ve checked. And she hasn’t moved that car of hers since she parked it in the garage. I’m telling you, she’s hiding from somebody or something, and I intend to figure it out.”

  “She’s a mystery, all right,” Ellis agreed. She popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and started filling the plastic flutes they’d picked up at the dollar store earlier in the week. Dorie put her hand across the top of her own flute. “No champagne for me, remember?”

  “Of course,” Ellis said. “But orange juice is good for you. No coffee, though, right?”

  “Nope,” Dorie said, shaking her head. “Caffeine’s not good for the baby, sad to say. I’m missing that a lot more than the alcohol. And I’m already getting tired of drinking all that milk.”

  Julia glanced over her shoulder at Dorie. “Have you even gained any weight yet?”

  “Actually, I’ve lost seven pounds,” Dorie reported. “But that’s just because I had hideous morning sickness the first two months. The nurse-midwife at my obstetrician’s office says I’m doing just fine. She says some women don’t really start gaining until they’re in the middle of their second trimester.”

  Julia shook her head. “Only you, Dorie Dunaway, could get pregnant and actually lose weight.”

  “Is somebody pregnant?” Madison stood in the doorway, looking elegant even in white capris and an oversized pink-and-white striped shirt. Her blond hair was in a ponytail, and she wore pink Ferragamo ballet flats.

  Dorie blushed and Julia looked chagrined.

  “Well…” Ellis began.

  “I am,” Dorie said, smiling brightly. She sat down at the kitchen table and held up one of the champagne flutes. “Come sit and hear my tale of woe.”

  Madison sipped the mimosa cautiously as Dorie calmly repeated the story she’d told her friends just the night before.

  “Wow,” Madison said, when Dorie had finished. “So … your husband doesn’t know yet?”

  “No,” Dorie said, nibbling on a piece of bacon she’d snagged from the platter in the middle of the table. “I’m such a coward, I just really haven’t been able to face talking to him yet—let alone tell him about the baby.”

  “Well,” Madison said, “I admire your courage. I don’t know how I’d feel about being a single mother. My folks split up when I was thirteen. It was rough. I mean, raising a baby alone, that’s a lot.”

  Julia slid a waffle onto Madison’s plate. “So,” she said, trying to sound casual. “What about you, Madison? Kids? Husband?”

  “Neither,” Madison said without looking up. “I guess I’ve been too busy concentrating on work to settle down and start a family.”

  Julia’s eyes flickered meaningfully at Maryn’s ring finger—the one with Don’s diamond solitaire. “Oh, this?” Maryn said, fluttering the finger in question. “This is an old family piece.”

  “Some family,” Julia said.

  “Julia and I have already appointed ourselves Dorie’s baby’s godmothers,” Ellis was saying.

  “Fairy godmothers,” Julia added. “Of course, she’ll be the most beautiful child in the world. With Dorie’s hair and eyes.”

  Madison glanced at Dorie. “Oh, you already know you’re having a girl?”

  “No,” Dorie said. “I don’t want to know the baby’s sex ahead of time.”

  “Julia thinks she’s a witch,” Ellis explained. “She thinks she can just will Dorie to have a little girl so we can spoil her rotten.”

  “Naturally,” Julia agreed. “An angelic little girl. With red-gold curls and green eyes. Her Aunt Julia will teach her how to dress and accessorize—skills her mommy, unfortunately, never learned.”

  “Hey!” Dorie said good-naturedly, smoothing the wrinkles in her faded Our Lady of Angels soccer tournament T-shirt. “I think I resent that.”

  “Her Auntie Ellis will teach her math, and how to swim, and of course, we’ll read lots of books together. I’ll take her to the zoo, and the beach.…”

  “I’ll take her to New York and Bergdorf’s,” Julia said.

  “And if it’s a boy?” Dorie asked, spreading the palms of her hands across her belly.

  “We’ll put him on a raft and gently shove him out to sea,” Julia declared.

  “Julia!” Ellis and Dorie exclaimed.

  “Kidding,” Julia assured them. “Mostly.”

  20

  It was nearly three by the time Maryn managed to pry herself away from the other women. Brunch had been a leisurely affair, and truthfully, she’d been surprised to find how much she enjoyed their company. They hadn’t made her feel like an outsider at all. It felt good to laugh, relax, let her guard down. And with women her own age. That was the big surprise. But she’d only allowed herself to relax a little. Ellis and Dorie seemed genuinely warm and friendly. But Julia was a different story. Julia listened intently to every little shred of information Maryn had reluctantly imparted about herself.

  Lying about her marital status had been a mistake. When had she become such an accomplished liar, Maryn wondered. She should have just admitted that she’d left her husband. They would have been sympathetic. Instead, Julia was now even more suspicious. She wasn’t overtly hostile, but Maryn could tell from long practice when another woman was sizing her up. Just as Maryn was accustomed to sizing up every woman she met, right from the start. Well, that was fine. Julia was watching her. And she was watching Julia.

  Maryn knelt beside the bed and reached for the briefcase. She laid the stacks of bills out on the bed and counted the money, her heart pounding as the amount grew. Ten thousand dollars in each stack, a hundred thousand dollars in all. The stacks were bound with green rubber bands, not the neat paper bands a bank would use. And the bills weren’t new; their numbers were nonsequential.

  Her mouth felt dry. What was Don doing with this much cash? She looked warily at the laptop. Were the answers locked somewhere inside Don’s computer?

  She grabbed the power cord and plugged in the MacBook. It booted up right away. But she didn’t have Don’s password. For twenty minutes, she played around with different combinations of letters, words, and numbers. His birthday, her birthday. Their anniversary. That was a laugh!

  She’d managed to lie to herself just as convincingly as Don had lied to her, right from the very start of their relationship. As it turned out, he already had a family. Of course, she hadn’t known about his wife and teenaged children until they’d been practically living together for three months.

  Adam had broken the news to her. Reluctantly, he claimed. It had been a terrible blow to Maryn. She’d never claimed to be an angel. She’d slept with her share of men, broken her share of hearts. But she had a rule. No married men. Ever. She’d never do to some other woman what another woman had done to Maryn’s mother. She was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a home wrecker. Or so she thought.

  Another lie. There had been so many, she’d forgotten what was truth and what was not.

  She’d confronted Don about his lies, and he’d laughed them off. “We’ve been living apart for years,” he told her. “Abby doesn’t care what I do or who I sleep with, as long as the money keeps flowing. She thinks I’m her personal ATM. So why do you care?”

  “What about your kids?” she’d demanded. “Don’t you care about them?”

  “I see the kids,” he’d said carelessly. “It’s not like they’re in first grade. Ashley’s what, fourteen? Cash is sixteen. They have their own lives, their own interests. They’re not interested in taking a trip to Disney World with Daddy, Maryn.”

  He’d left a copy of the divorce papers on the dresser, where she’d see them. And three months later, on a Friday in early February, he’d come
home and proposed. If she were brutally honest with herself, she had to admit that the diamond solitaire, twinkling from its white satin cushioned box, had blinded her. To everything. She’d wanted a real wedding, with at least her mother and Aunt Patsy—and Adam—present, but Don had flatly refused. In the end, they’d gotten married before a justice of the peace Don knew, and flown to Aruba for a five-day honeymoon.

  Those five days had been the happiest of her life. Don was relaxed, he was tender, attentive, everything she’d dreamed a husband would be. He’d talked about their future together. He’d already bought a lot where they’d build their dream home: ten thousand square feet, five bedrooms, five baths, a three-car garage. And it was on a lake. Maryn would have a bathroom with a fireplace and a whirlpool tub, all marble. And a kitchen that would rival any in the best restaurants in town.

  “And kids,” Maryn said dreamily. “I know you’ve done that already, but I want kids of our own, Don. I’m thirty-two. My clock is ticking.”

  “Whatever,” he’d said, brushing aside any specifics.

  She tapped away now at the laptop keyboard, trying different passwords. His company name, his kids’ names—Ash and Cash, he called them—the nickname his golfing buddies used for him, Shack. None of them worked.

  Madison fetched her duffle bag from the armoire. She stacked the money in the bottom of it, and put a dirty T-shirt on top before placing the duffle under her bed. Her thoughts drifted back to Adam. She had to talk to him, let him know where she’d gone.

  Rain pelted her as she stepped out onto the rusted iron spiral staircase. She locked the door behind her and, clutching the rail with both hands, picked her way down the steps, feeling the staircase sway with every step. When she got to the bottom, she ran to the garage and unlocked the car. She turned the key in the ignition, plugged in her phone, and sat waiting as the battery recharged.

  When the phone’s display window lit up, she saw that she had eleven missed calls. All from Don. He’d left voice-mail messages too. Now she forced herself to listen.