A Secret in Salem

by Sheri Anderson

  Kelsey waited until she heard the smooth sound of the Bentley as it drove away, then moved to the man she had been having an affair with for over two years.

  “It will all be fine, papi,” she said and attempted to wipe his hair from his face.

  Richie brushed her hand away sharply.

  “Olivia’s dead,” he said with an anguished tone that surprised her. “And I’m going to prison.”

  “I’ll wait for you,” she said with a seductive smile that only made him angrier.

  “You’re fired,” he snapped. “Get your things and get out.”

  Richie pulled away from her and stormed through the doors leading to the back patio. The last thing he needed right now was a clingy mistress.

  Kelsey sat numbly; then she started to weep.

  She was jolted out of her shock as police sirens blared.

  Richie had accidentally pierced the perimeter of the rolling grass lawn, and the ankle monitor had tripped the alarm. Within seconds, the police were heading in his direction.

  He smashed the Baccarat snifter against one of the massive trees that lined the property.

  No matter how gorgeous it was, he was in a prison of his own making. Until he got sent to a true prison forever.

  CHARLEY HAD BEEN SEDATED AN HOUR AGO, YET SHAWN WAITED patiently outside the ICU. He was inexplicably drawn to this girl, and he didn’t know why.

  The chaplain assured Shawn he had done nothing wrong. Shawn knew that, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Charley was suffering, and she had no idea the mess her father was in.

  Shawn’s phone rang, and the nurse at the desk coughed to get his attention. She pointed to the sign that said “TÉLÉPHONES PORTABLES INTERDITS ” with the translation “No Mobiles Allowed” below it.

  He pressed the button on the upper–right-hand edge of the phone, sending the caller to voice mail. He did see that it was Belle, and he realized he hadn’t checked in since he’d left the Fancy Face IV that morning. He needed to call her but didn’t want to leave Charley alone, in case she needed him.

  When Shawn saw two men in their twenties exit the private elevator, he had no idea who they were. He was never one to read the gossip columns or tabloids, although it was a favorite guilty pleasure of Belle’s. If he had, he would have recognized them from their various escapades.

  “We’re here to see our sister,” Chance told the nurse in perfect French. “Charley Gaines. How is she?”

  “Resting, but doing well,” the nurse assured him in French. “I’ll let Dr. Bonnet know you’re here.”

  “Thanks,” Jackson said in English. He too spoke fluent French but preferred using English since it had become the international language.

  “How much do we tell her?” Jackson asked his brother as the nurse turned to call Charley’s doctor.

  “Just that Dad’s dealing with some financial issues at the moment?” Chance answered, unsure.

  “She’ll see right through that, bruv,” Jackson cautioned. “Best to say he’s taking care of things for Mum.”

  Chance nodded. They didn’t like lying to her but feared another shock could send Charley over the edge. “I wonder how much she remembers about the accident.”

  “She remembers the car sailing over the railing,” Shawn said, interrupting.

  “Who’re you?” Jackson asked.

  “Shawn Brady.”

  “The guy who saved her life,” Jackson said, recognizing the name.

  “Whatever,” Shawn said modestly. “Now that you guys are here, I’m going to go call my wife.”

  Shawn headed out, and Jackson and Chance steeled themselves, then went in to see their beautiful little sister.

  Charley was thrilled to see Jackson and Chance.

  “Hey,” Jackson said sweetly.

  “Hey,” Charley answered, managing a smile.

  “Someone needs to bring you a hot orange robe, Sis,” Chance teased, pointing at her hospital gown.

  “How’s Dad?” she asked with sincere concern. Others were always her first priority.

  “A wreck,” Jackson said. He knew that was truer than she could imagine. The emotions were too raw to dive into immediately.

  “I’m sure.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  “Whew,” she said, breaking the tension.

  “Whew,” Jackson echoed, arching his eyebrows.

  “Whew,” Chance added, quickly completing a familiar ritual the siblings had.

  All three managed to smile.

  “For someone who lost over two pints of blood, you look pretty good,” Jackson said. “Sorry we weren’t here.”

  “Let’s not get into that now,” Charley said, staring into his dark brown eyes. Unsaid was the fact that if Jackson and Chance had gotten to Monte Carlo on time, everything might have been different.

  Dr. Bonnet entered and shook both of their hands. He was clinical but also kind as he gave them all details of both Charley’s condition and Olivia’s injuries.

  The three were relieved to learn that Charley’s only major injury was the gash on her neck, which appeared to be from a branch she hit on the car’s trajectory through the trees. It was also a mixed blessing that Olivia had died. The injury to her skull had damaged her brain and spinal cord so badly that she would have surely spent the rest of her life as a vegetable.

  “I was lucky,” Charley told them as she touched the abrasions on her chest.

  “We spoke to the mortuary and think we can have Mum’s funeral at the end of the week,” Chance ventured. “Only if you’re out of the hospital by then, of course.”

  Dr. Bonnet let them know it was likely that Charley would be in the hospital only a few days.

  “I’m anxious to get home,” she said.

  Jackson and Chance exchanged a look. At some point they’d have to let her know about their father.

  “I’ll check in on you in a while,” Dr. Bonnet said warmly. “And whatever you need, let the nurses know. They’ll be in soon with your meds,” he added as he left for rounds.

  Charley nodded as she watched him go. Shawn had returned from his call and was outside the door. Something was forming in her mind.

  “We should let you rest, Sis,” Jackson said.

  “Try to forget everything that happened,” Chance added.

  They kissed her on both cheeks simultaneously from each side of the bed. As they headed toward the door, Charley tried to clear her head, but her mind was reeling.

  “Guys,” she called out. Her tone was serious, and they stopped. “Mummy was…incredibly dizzy before the crash.”

  “Had she had champagne?” Jackson said. They all knew their mother’s habits.

  “I know her when she’s tipsy, and that wasn’t it,” Charley said, straining to remember. Her eyes widened. “She was dead before the accident.”

  “What?” Chance sputtered.

  “Before?” Jackson said.

  Both brothers were stunned.

  “What are you saying?” Chance asked, as only a lawyer could.

  Even from outside the room, Shawn heard the conviction in Charley’s voice.

  “I spent nearly the entire day with Mummy, and she was fine. Better than fine, she was at the top of her form because of that ridiculous party,” Charley said, gaining steam. “She wasn’t sick, she wasn’t tired; she had even had a physical two weeks ago, and her test results were normal.”

  “Charley, you’ve been through a lot and—”

  She cut her brother off. “I reached over to help her when she passed out, Jackson, and I can’t tell you why, but I realize now, at that very moment, I knew Mummy was dead.”

  “But you said she was fine before you got in the car,” Jackson demanded.

  “She was…” Charley insisted. “Which means one thing.” She took a long breath, barely able to say the words. “I think she may have been murdered.”

  “AUNTIE CHELSEA!” CLAIRE SQUEALED AS SHE AND BELLE walked onto the terrace of the Monte Carlo Beac
h Hotel.

  The day was a sunny, balmy seventy-eight degrees, and Belle enjoyed being on solid ground. Her months on the boat were exhilarating, but exhausting, and the firmness beneath her was welcome.

  “Is there anywhere around here that’s not gorgeous?” Belle asked.

  She heard, “Belle, is that you?” coming from Abby’s MacBook Air.

  It was Jennifer, who was iChatting with Abby from her home office in the upscale section of London’s Notting Hill.

  “Jennifer?” Belle smiled. “Hi! Claire, say hi to Abby’s mommy.”

  “Hi,” Claire chirped and leaned into the camera.

  “You are so pretty!” Jennifer said.

  “I know.” Claire giggled and started making funny faces.

  “Claire!” Belle chastised her.

  “It has to be true. Everybody tells me,” Claire said matter-of-factly.

  “It’s great to see so many people from home.” Belle laughed. “Is anyone left in Salem?”

  “Give your mom my love, will you?” Jennifer smiled. “Tell her and John we miss them.”

  “I will,” Belle answered. “You guys are obviously working. Sorry to bother you. But good for you with the exclusive.”

  “Thanks to your husband and Chelsea,” Jennifer answered.

  Chelsea waved her off. Yes, she and Shawn had been integral to all this, but there was something about it all that made her uneasy.

  “We’ll be another twenty minutes or so,” Abby told Belle, Chelsea, and Claire.

  “This is boring, Mommy,” Claire piped in. “Let’s go.”

  “Ah, motherhood.” Jennifer laughed with a look to her daughter.

  Chelsea came to the rescue. “Why don’t we get you some gum? They have it in the hotel gift shop.”

  “Yum!” Claire said, throwing her hands in the air. “I love gum.”

  “And me?” Chelsea scowled.

  “Yup,” Claire said as she grabbed Chelsea’s hand and pulled her toward the doorway. “Come on!”

  The three of them exited as Abby continued her work with Jennifer.

  “Let me show you the accident site,” Abby said. She got up from the table with her computer and aimed the built-in camera toward the street, which had been totally cleaned up. The detritus in the hills was still evident. Tourists were taking photos.

  “Tilt up the camera,” Jennifer requested.

  Abby moved her computer so her mother could see the street to the broken railing on the Route de la Grand Corniche marked with yellow police tape.

  “Honey?” Jennifer asked quietly.

  Abby turned the computer back to her own image.

  “What’s the image in the upper–right-hand corner of the photos?”

  “Where?” Abby asked.

  “Is that someone looking over the guardrail?”

  Abby studied the photos that were downloaded on her desktop.

  “Poor guy.” She shuddered. “Whoever it is, he must have seen the whole thing happen. How awful.”

  Chelsea was leading Belle and the antsy Claire through the hotel lobby when Shawn called.

  “Stop, baby girl, stop,” Belle instructed her daughter. “It’s Da.”

  “Tell him I’m getting gum!” Claire said, tugging at her mother.

  “Tell him we’re getting gum.” Chelsea took Claire’s hand. “See you inside,” she added to Belle.

  “How’s Charley Gaines?” Belle asked.

  “As good as can be expected, I guess,” Shawn responded. “Are you okay if I stick around?”

  “Sure,” Belle assured him. “Claire and I haven’t had a day together for a while. You’re always showing her the sights.”

  “Thanks. How’re you feeling?” he asked.

  “Great.” She lied. In fact she was feeling queasy.

  “You sure Claire’s not too much for you?” he chided.

  “As my mom just reminded me, there’s no stronger bond than between a mother and daughter.”

  “True. No insult intended,” he teased.

  “You know what I mean,” Belle said.

  “I do, and frankly, you’re right. Your mom is one smart cookie.”

  “Text me later,” Belle said.

  “Love you,” Shawn said.

  “Same back.” Belle hung up. I do love you, Shawn, I really do, she thought. Then why won’t I tell him about Philip?

  Shaking it off, Belle headed into the hotel gift shop and found Chelsea and Claire at the cash register. Claire had five packs of gum, every flavor and color, and already had a purple tongue from the three grape sticks she’d popped in her mouth.

  “Yum!” Claire smiled. A purple, drooly smile.

  “You are getting spoiled!” Belle teased her daughter.

  “I love Auntie Chelsea,” Claire mumbled through the wad in her mouth.

  Chelsea signed the bill to her room as Claire jiggled around excitedly. The little girl bumped into the counter, jarring it.

  “Claire!” Belle scolded as several things fell from a display. Belle scooped them up. They were pregnancy tests.

  Belle dropped them as if they were hot potatoes.

  Chelsea noticed.

  “Belle?” Chelsea questioned.

  “I’m on the pill,” Belle said, defending herself way too much.

  Chelsea gave her another look that only said So?

  Chelsea grabbed Claire’s hand and swung her around. “Wanna see the pool?”

  “Yup!” Claire said, oblivious to the tension bubbling beneath the surface.

  “I’ll race you!” Chelsea said, pretending to run.

  Claire bolted past her.

  Belle stood stock-still for a minute that seemed like an eternity. She wondered, Could I be pregnant? then shouted in her mind, But I’m on the pill!

  Belle started out but stopped in the open doorway and returned to the salesgirl. She put one of the pregnancy tests on the counter.

  “How much?” she asked, handing the beaming teenager a stack of colorful notes.

  “Fifteen euros,” she was told as the girl took a ten and a five.

  “Why?” Belle muttered to herself.

  “Because that’s what they cost.” The clerk grinned.

  Belle simply smiled but inside was torn apart.

  Why now, you idiot? she thought. Why is this happening now?

  “THERE WILL NOT BE AN AUTOPSY!” RICHIE BELLOWED, slamming his pool cue into the rack of balls on the antique pool table.

  Jackson and Chance stood in front of him in the den where they’d played so many games since he’d bought the house when they were teenagers.

  Richie had purchased the six-million-dollar villa on the edge of Monaco as the family’s base to avoid taxes. Truth was, it was their vacation home, but they spent exactly the minimum amount of time there to be considered permanent residents. There is no doubt that the Riviera is a playground, but Richard Gaines’s best game was finance, and he loved duping the stuffed shirts in London.

  The balls scattered, two landing in side pockets from the force of his break.

  “Charley’s insisting, Dad,” Jackson said.

  “Your mother died from her lousy driving and refusal to wear a seat belt. I won’t have her carved up because Charley has a hair up her bum,” Richie sputtered.

  “She is dead, Dad; she won’t feel a thing.” Chance glared.

  “Funny.”

  “Not meant to be.”

  “Who’d want her dead?” Richie asked incongruously. “Whatever she thought, she really wasn’t that important.”

  Maybe the twenty-four hours of incarceration were already getting to Richie, but Jackson and Chance did not like what they saw in their father.

  Richie hit an intercom on the side table.

  “Sophia, we need drinks,” he barked.

  “Sophia?” Jackson asked.

  “I fired Kelsey. Don’t ask.”

  Jackson and Chance never asked their father questions. They learned from observing. It was how Jackson had become
such a smooth womanizer; he had observed the best.

  Richie took another angry shot, the eight ball careening off the side of the table and landing in a side pocket.

  “Don’t say it,” he said, throwing the cue on the table.

  “Mr. Gaines, you called?” It was an unfamiliar voice to Jackson and Chance. A pale, average-looking girl in her midtwenties appeared in the doorway. Tall with slim hips and only the hint of breasts, unlike Kelsey, she was not Richie’s normal type.

  “Drinks in the bar, please,” he said, and the girl slipped away. “Your mother hired her last week. She’ll cover Kelsey’s shift until you can find me someone better.”

  Richie strode out of the room, and his sons followed.

  Sophia had scooted ahead of him and was at the bar.

  She began pouring a double Macallan into a snifter and handed it to her boss. She already knew his likes, but it didn’t matter a whit to him—she wasn’t pretty, so she wouldn’t last.

  Richie took the drink. “Make it three,” he ordered, and she started to pour.

  “None for me,” Chance said and pulled out a joint from his breast pocket.

  Richie went to his perch on the sofa overlooking the patio. He swirled the snifter with his palm under the bowl. The heat released the pungent bouquet.

  Jackson took the golden nectar from Sophia and noticed a picture frame had been turned over. He looked at the images of his sister and mother in goofier, lovelier times.

  “Dad,” Jackson said. “Charley deserves our respect. If she thinks something’s fishy, we need to listen.”

  Richie sat quietly for a long moment, then indicated for Chance to pass him the joint.

  He took a long hit from the indica marijuana, held it in his lungs just long enough, and released it slowly.

  “No autopsy,” Richie said with an expression they knew all too well. “And that’s final.”

  Several hours later, Jackson and Chance returned to the hospital. Charley was sitting up in bed, her hair combed beautifully, and she was picking at food from a silver tray. Poached eggs, fresh fruit, and scones were served on Hermès porcelain dinnerware. VIPs were treated very well at Princess Grace Hospital.

  The color was returning to her cheeks, and she looked amazingly radiant for a woman who had plummeted down an embankment less than twenty-four hours before. Her brow, however, was furrowed, as she was deep in thought about all that day had brought her.