What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 5)

by Cathryn Fox

  “I live in Marblehead Neck.”

  “Wealthy community. On the ocean?”

  She nodded. Maybe not so harmless a question.

  “I should have guessed. The mystery woman with an oceanfront mansion, lots of money. She has it all—except a job.” He seemed amused.

  She was not. She turned back to the window, withdrawing into her thoughts. That was another thing she did not want to discuss, her money—or her lack thereof. She should have been relieved that he hadn’t paid attention to the news. But he’d find out about her eventually if the media kept up their coverage.

  “I bet you were born rich, one of those blue bloods with a family history and relatives in the Revolutionary War.”

  “No, not even close. In fact, right now I’m broke and in hock up to my neck.” She felt compelled to set the record straight at the risk of prodding his curiosity. She looked around the room. She needed to check in with the caterer.

  “For some reason, I’m not too worried about you.”

  Roxanne snapped her head back up to look up at him, and sure enough he was smiling with that lopsided grin of his. And without sympathy. In that moment she decided she liked this man.

  “What are you doing here tonight?” he asked.

  “I’m running the show. I do volunteer charity work for Children’s Mercy Hospital.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Good.”

  “What else do you do with yourself?”

  “Isn’t this enough?” She spread her hands to indicate the vast crowd all laughing and drinking and eating, because she had brought them together.

  His stare was hard to meet. She could see why his peers found him such a fierce competitor.

  “What about men?” he asked.

  “What about them?” She answered without flinching. Miraculously.

  “You must have quite a collection.”

  “I used to.”

  “Gave it up for Lent?” His smile quirked.

  She shook her head, turning to the window once again. This is where she needed to draw the line. Barry shifted his weight to move closer. She wasn’t prepared to go any further with this flirtation no matter how intriguing she found him. The last thing she needed was more complications in her life. She wished he’d politely—or even not so politely—excuse himself now, and move on to some other woman at the party.

  But he didn’t move on. She turned to look at him. He was looking at the hand she had raised to the window; the hand with the boulder of a diamond and a wedding ring.

  “You’re married.”

  He waited for her response without expression. She bowed her head, still unwilling to part with her story. Roxanne had put the rings back on her finger for this purpose.

  “That’s a pretty important fact to leave out of your life story.”

  The accusation in his voice was unmistakable. She could say nothing, but raised her head to meet the intense blue eyes without apology. He stared back, neither prompting any explanations from her, nor offering her a graceful way out. She knew they had been flirting. They both sensed the connection and the excitement. But she couldn’t let herself go further.

  He simply walked away. She winced, imagining what he thought of her. He made no polite departing remarks and neither did she. She returned her stare to the streets of Boston below. She turned to see him disappear into the crowd, draining his bottle of beer.

  The weight of her guilt had been crushing since Don’s death. There was nothing she could do about Don now. There would never be anything she could do about their disastrous marriage. But Roxanne vowed that it would never happen again. She would never get married again; no matter how much a man begged her and no matter how much he claimed to adore her. She would not be swept off her feet again no matter how grand a show a man might put on.

  Tonight was the first time she had flirted in a long time. Barry Dennis’s heart would not be broken. She would let him think she was a married woman and he would move on to flirt with someone else. With that charming grin and sharp wit he’d have no trouble finding any number of women. Maybe she should feel lucky to escape.

  Lifting her chin and placing a purposeful smile on her face, she checked the spot on her left breast. It had faded, but it could be permanent. It would have to do. She moved away from the window and melted into the crowd to do her job, still clutching Barry’s hanky.

  The only place to go was to the bar to have a drink. Suddenly she could use one. There were people she knew there and they had welcoming smiles for her. Dr. Oki was the main beneficiary of this affair, in his work at Children’s Mercy Hospital. Her mind had been too preoccupied with her problems. This function was more important than her little issues. Her charity work was all she had left since she’d been fired from her Channel 7 job. She couldn’t let herself get involved with men. She needed to concentrate on solving her immediate problems. Men were sure trouble. After all, letting herself get distracted by a man got her into this mess. She thought of her late husband again before shutting him out of her mind.

  Right now she needed to concentrate on the one true gentleman in her life. Dr. Oki, who sat at the bar in front of her, had dedicated himself to medical research. The least she could do was dedicate herself to raising funds for him.

  “I think I’ll have a good stiff drink,” she said, smiling at Dr. Oki.

  “That means she’ll have a white wine—without the spritzer, bartender.” He laughed at his own joke and she did too.

  Sitting on a barstool next to him, she sipped her wine. It was comfortable sitting there next to him. The little Japanese doctor had that effect on most people.

  “How’s it going, Roxy? Am I making lots of money tonight?”

  “You’re rolling in it, Doc,” Roxanne quipped to the head of her favorite research lab. “I’m sure glad someone is,” she muttered. “Now you can start building your Frankenstein’s monster.”

  “Hey, what’s got you down? You’re usually the life of the party.”

  There was a look of real concern on his face. Giving in to her mood, she wrapped him in a heartfelt hug. “I’ll be fine,” she told him. There was truly not a kinder or more generous man on earth than this one. That’s why she’d made his lab her pet project for all her volunteer fund-raising activities.

  At that moment Roxanne’s friend Laura, who worked on the staff in the development office at the hospital, came over.

  “What do you think of the story, Dr. Oki?” Laura asked.

  “What story?” Dr. Oki asked, puzzled.

  Laura shook her head at Roxanne. “You haven’t told him yet? If you don’t tell him I will, and you do a better job of maximizing the drama.” Laura insisted.

  Roxanne sighed. Laura meant well, but she wasn’t too keen on discussing her plight.

  “What’s going on, Roxanne?” Dr. Oki looked very concerned now.

  She drew a breath. “Okay. I’ll tell you the whole story since the news reports only have it half right. You know after I separated from Don he gave me the house in Marblehead, right?” Dr. Oki shook his head in affirmation and she continued. “Well, what I didn’t know is that he made some changes to his will. We had a prenuptial agreement and I wasn’t supposed to get anything. And now… I knew I would have Don’s family to contend with when I divorced him, but I had no idea how bad it was going to be after he was found dead that night in the ocean behind my home. Here’s the story…”

  Roxanne had entered the room purposely late for the reading of Don’s will. The formal parlor normally reminded her of a brilliantly hued English garden. If nothing else, Penelope Boswell, Don’s mother, did have excellent taste. No doubt, Roxanne thought, Penelope would attribute her impeccable taste to her ancestry; she was always reminding Roxanne that she was a direct descendent of someone or other who came over on the Mayflower. But that day the room was subdued by dim lighting and drapes closed to the sunshine of the early summer day. Roxanne was the last to arrive.

  Don’s family
turned to Roxanne and stared. Roxanne was used to drawing attention, but these were not admiring gazes. Glancing around the room, she noticed Don’s Aunt Rose pursing her lips in disapproval. Aunt Rose’s eyes were riveted on the hemline of Roxanne’s dress, well above her knees.

  “Good morning, Roger.” Roxanne singled out Don’s nicest cousin, hoping for an ally. But she was more disappointed than surprised by Roger’s embarrassed nod and averted eyes in response. One more sweeping glance of the faces in the room told her she was on her own.

  They’d always disapproved of her and they always would, Roxanne thought. They were a conservative and snobby lot. If it wasn’t her short hemline that drew disdain, it would be the black feather that emanated from her veiled hat. Not that it mattered what she wore; they would never approve of her because she was not one of them. Not only was she not a blue blood with old money, but she was considered to be in show business. Although, Roxanne was fairly certain that if she was very famous and made lots of money at it, that would have made her okay.

  She stood for a moment, watching the gathering of people, some standing, some seated in the folding chairs that had been brought in to accommodate them. Roxanne had not looked forward to this, but it was Don’s express wishes that they all be present, and she especially had to be there. She wasn’t sure why, since their prenup agreement stipulated that she would not inherit anything. She knew there would be no easy exit for her, even as much as she knew that she would need to get away. So far, she’d managed to avoid any confrontations with Don’s family, and notably her mother-in-law. But today she felt a confrontation was inevitable.

  Penelope Boswell was an attractive woman with neat, short, pale blonde hair, but her narrow blue eyes gave her a permanent pinched expression. With her compact figure, she possessed a cat-like grace. But unfortunately, Roxanne thought, she also possessed a cat-like personality. Roxanne’s gaze met Penelope’s directly, and the older woman did not bother to hide the displeasure apparent in her frown. Roxanne smiled and nodded her head in return. She lifted her chin, clutched her bag, clenched her free fist and strode toward the empty seat in front of the traditional brick fireplace where the family lawyer stood with Penelope. She shook the attorney’s hand. He mumbled greetings and condolences at the same time. She turned to Penelope and her mother-in-law immediately averted her gaze.

  With a stiffened back and a set jaw, Roxanne took her seat. She was not surprised that Penelope chose not to be civil, not to even acknowledge her. But it was disconcerting. Penelope had been angry with Roxanne’s request for a divorce, but only because her son Donald had taken it so hard. Roxanne decided she should be generous to the woman in her grief. Maybe if they continued to ignore each other she could escape the proceedings without having to utter another word to any of them. But that seemed doubtful. She didn’t think it was paranoia that gave her the feeling that eyes were staring at her from all around the room, just waiting for something to happen. And she knew that something would not be particularly pleasant for her. They all blamed her for making Donald miserable when she filed for divorce.

  She was, of course, not the monster they all thought her to be. But then neither was she the saint that Don had constantly proclaimed her to be. She sighed. The room was quiet save for a few whispers exchanged as the attorney looked through his papers and cleared his throat. Anticipation hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine.

  Roxanne didn’t know what the assembled friends and relatives were more eager to hear—the reading of the will or her dressing down at the hands of her mother-in-law.

  At last the attorney began and Penelope took her seat next to Roxanne. “Relatives and friends, we are gathered to hear the last will and testament of the late Donald P. Boswell III. As you all know, the execution of the conditions of this will are pending the completion of the police investigation of Donald’s death and any implications of the results therein.” Dillon looked directly at Roxanne. She felt heat rise in her and struggled to maintain her placid stare. She scolded herself to shore up her mental armor. That was only the first shot; the battle hadn’t even started.

  “Very well then, being of sound mind…” The attorney droned on that way, inserting neither comments nor emotion into the legal jargon of the document. The speech was punctuated only by the appropriately subdued reaction of each benefactor as they were named. Until he stopped altogether and asked those already named to leave. The servants, the cousins, the few friends, all left, confused in their mumblings as they went out the door. Another man from the lawyer’s office ushered the last of them out and closed the door behind them.

  The only people left in the room other than Roxanne were Penelope’s people. There was Penelope, Penelope’s daughter Jane, her sister Louise and her husband, and her late husband’s brother, Donald’s uncle Jerome. They sat silently, waiting. Roxanne had never been to a will reading. She had no idea what to expect, but this seemed odd to her. That only added to her growing discomfort.

  “It was Donald’s wish that this part of the will where he bequeaths the bulk of the family fortune, left to him by his father, be read in semi-privacy.” The man looked down at the papers and then up again. “Donald came to me several months ago to alter the will that had been drawn up just prior to his marriage to Ms. Roxanne Monet. As all of you were familiar with the contents of the will at that time, let me point out the major difference.” He stopped again and Roxanne could feel cold stares in her direction. She heard the other members of their small party shifted in their seats. Roxanne stared ahead and dared not guess what Donald had done to the will. His mother had insisted that Donald have a prenuptial agreement before marrying Roxanne, and had dictated the terms of the previous will. Roxanne cooperated without a fuss, relieved at the time that she couldn’t rightly be accused of being completely mercenary. Of course she was so accused, nevertheless.

  Now she didn’t move. She held her chin up and forced thought from her mind by trying to concentrate on the brick in the fireplace directly above the attorney’s head.

  But she thought of Donald instead. He’d been an adoring husband and she wanted that, needed it at first. But she couldn’t give him the same in return. He deserved so much better than she could give him and now he would never have it. She bowed her head and blinked her eyes. There would be no escaping the guilty mistake of her marriage now. She instinctively put a hand over her eyes. There were no tears, only that twisting knife feeling in her gut. But crying wouldn’t do any good. There was nothing she could do for him anymore. Donald was dead.

  She steeled herself.

  The attorney cleared his throat. “Whereas in the prior will, Ms. Roxanne Monet was to be bequeathed nothing, it has been amended. Ms. Monet is now bequeathed all remaining cash, stocks, bonds, real estate, and other material items such that were in the deceased’s possession at the time of his death. In other words, the remainder of the estate in its entirety goes to Roxanne Monet.”

  “NO! This can’t be!” Penelope bolted up out of her seat and stood in front of Roxanne. Murmurs of shock ran through the small group. Roxanne’s heart must have skipped a beat because she felt slightly dizzy for a split second, but that was all she had time for.

  “You little bitch!” The older woman slapped Roxanne’s face with a gloved hand. Roxanne did not flinch, but narrowed her eyes at the woman, refusing to budge.

  “You can’t hide behind Donald’s protection any longer. I was right all along about you. You’re nothing but a fortune-hunting slut! And now you think you’ve finally got what you wanted—all the money. Well you’re wrong!

  “You put him up to this change in the will and I’ll prove it! It will never stand. I will challenge it immediately.” Penelope turned to her astounded family.

  “We will contest this will. She’ll never get away with it.” She turned back to Roxanne and sneered.

  “I’ll see you penniless and friendless. And then I’ll see you thrown in jail for the murder of my son!” There were gasps. The atto
rney’s mouth hung open.

  Roxanne couldn’t help feeling a shade paler at the last accusation, before she quickly reset her jaw to a rigid line. Penelope turned and waved her hand at the lawyer signaling that the reading was finished and she stormed toward the door.

  “Wait just a minute.” Roxanne’s voice was quiet, but Penelope stopped with a jolt all the same. When the older woman turned back to look at her, Roxanne could tell that her well-controlled smile and demeanor maddened the woman. It was surprisingly easy to stand there and take the full wrath of Penelope Boswell after all. Somewhere deep down inside, Roxanne knew it didn’t matter what any of the Boswells thought anymore.

  “You can have your precious estate. I want no part of it—or you. As far as this new will is concerned, I’m just as surprised—and displeased—as you.

  “As for murder, I won’t even justify that ridiculous insinuation with a defense.” Roxanne turned to the lawyer. “I don’t want any of it. Draw up the appropriate papers and I’ll sign them.” She turned on her heel and with her chin up, she sauntered past Penelope Boswell to leave the room the way she’d come in.

  No one said a word. They only watched. When Roxanne reached the door she turned to Penelope once again. She lifted her right hand and yanked the monstrous emerald and platinum ring from it. She flung the family heirloom in the direction of her ex-mother-in-law so that it landed on the floor in front of her.

  “You may have that too.”

  A collective gasp was elicited from the small party. “Don’t mistakenly think that this exonerates you in any way. I won’t ever forgive you for killing my son. You will pay for it.” Penelope spoke in a quiet, controlled voice. Her narrow eyes aimed like lasers straight through Roxanne. Disconcerted in spite of her outward poise, Roxanne walked out without taking another breath until she got outside.

  “And that’s the story.” She patted Dr. Oki on the hand because he looked so distraught after listening to her.

  As the party swirled around her and she found herself staring into her now empty wine glass she felt compelled to somehow cheer her two good friends. They stood staring sympathetically at her. And she hated sympathy.