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

by Cathryn Fox

  “Maybe he needed to get away for a while.” She looked out the window at the ocean. “Sounds like a good idea to me right now.” Roxanne got up, turned on her heel and went up to her bedroom. The feeling of malcontent hadn’t entirely pervaded the air here yet. She couldn’t wait until all this was over and she could get rid of this house.

  If Al was ever going to get paid for all this work he’d been doing on her behalf, she’d better sell the house for a lot of money. Roxanne decided she would pay him his regular fee. No discounts. She sat at her desk, took out a notebook and started a log of Al’s work from when he first started. She had already paid him for the divorce papers that were served on Don. That’s as far as they’d gotten with their divorce. She almost laughed out loud as she glanced out the window toward the ominous crashing waves. A thought snaked through her mind. What if Mark refused to come back to testify for her?

  Melvin knew he should have waited until Penelope got home the moment he pulled the letter from under the false bottom of Don’s brief case. He wondered if Don had put it there, or if Penelope had done it. He looked over its contents.

  Penelope barged into the room and then stopped short when she met his eyes. “Therese told me she let you in here,” she said as she glanced at the paper he was reading.

  So she knew after all.

  “You had no right coming in here.” Her voice was cold, calculating, but her eyes flickered, avoiding his. She moved forward and reached out to snatch the letter from his hands.

  But Melvin knew what she was going to do. He knew what she was up to now. He spun around, keeping the precious paper from her. There was no doubt it was genuine, and there was no doubt what it meant.

  “Give that letter to me, Mr. Lipman. That was not meant to be read by strangers. It could be misunderstood.”

  “Oh, there’s no misunderstanding, Mrs. Boswell. I understand everything perfectly. This is a letter of intention to commit suicide.”

  “That’s ridiculous. It doesn’t say that.” She gathered her aplomb.

  “Oh, it’s classically ambiguous and shadowy all right. But under the circumstances, it reads like black and white. And it would to any jury in the world.” Melvin watched her.

  “What’s the matter with you? What’s gotten into you? Have you forgotten? You work for me.” She looked wild for a moment, and sexy as hell. Then she calmed down to her indignant stance before returning to her collected, controlled self. She turned and walked toward the desk. The large dark hued furniture had been her husband’s. But it suited her.

  Right now Melvin wished he never bothered cajoling his way in here to take a look at the insurance papers. Watching Penelope look up and stare back at him, his stomach turned.

  “Look, this…letter was written the day before Donald died. I know it implies he was desperate, but I’m sure it was never meant to be more than a therapeutic exercise.”

  Melvin couldn’t decide if she really believed her own words or not. Yesterday he would have given her the benefit of the doubt.

  “Mrs. Boswell,” he began, but he didn’t know what he was going to say.

  “All right. Have it your way. If you think it’s that important, if you think it’s imperative that the police see this, then I’ll give it to them.” She looked at him unblinking, with her hand extended. “Give me the letter, Mr. Lipman. I will give it to Detective Turner. First thing tomorrow. We will let him determine that the letter is meaningless being the expert that he is. Then we may both proceed with clear consciences.” This time she smiled.

  He put the letter into her hand. She nodded, folded the paper and turned from him. Walking back toward the door, she said, “I think you’ll find the insurance papers you’re looking for in the top drawer of the desk.”

  Melvin stared at the doorway she walked through, knowing she wouldn’t give that letter to Detective Turner. But he also knew she would never destroy it. The letter of desperation written by a son to his mother validated everything she was doing. She would keep that letter all right, good and safe.

  Now, Melvin thought, the only question was, what was he going to do about it?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ROXANNE STOOD at the rail, letting the ocean’s cold winds blow through her. But she was not cold. She looked out toward the distant, murky horizon until her eyes were slowly drawn into the shoreline.

  Then she saw him standing on the rocks with the water lapping at his legs. He was unmoving. His clothes hung soaked and torn and the wound on his head bled hideously. Donald looked up at her.

  She should be alarmed, frightened. He laughed, a loud, echoing gurgle. Then he raised his rigid arm and pointed a gun straight at her.

  “Donald,” she said, but she was still not afraid. She didn’t move. She waited. He laughed again, louder this time, and he turned. His whole body turned to face in another direction. The gun was pointed at someone else now. Her eyes followed the line of his aim until she saw what it was that stood in his sights.

  “No!” she screamed. But Donald didn’t hear her. “No, don’t!” She yelled again as he cocked the trigger. A surreal glow seemed to surround him.

  Barry stood there, unmoving. Unaware of the danger.

  “No, please. Run!”

  Donald shot the gun into an explosion of light and sea mist and when it all cleared, they were both gone.

  “Nooo!” The scream woke her with the sudden shock that it was her own. Her hands swept up to her face. There were tears on her cheeks. Beads of sweat dotted her temples. The sensation of being terrified was still with her as she fought the accelerated beating of her heart in an attempt to regain calm. Pushing the covers aside, she rose from her bed and went to the window. She had to convince herself none of it was real. But the struggle for rational thought was difficult as her heart pounded louder, demanding to be heard over the calming notion of reality. There was no free will involved as she reached the window and her eyes searched the rocky shoreline. There was no thought that she should or should not see something there.

  Now she wiped her face with her hand and said aloud in the moonlit room, “It was only a dream. What’s wrong with me?”

  Bonnie appeared at her door. “I heard you scream …”

  She looked up at the woman’s questioning gaze. It was as if Bonnie didn’t need to be told. Nightmares were to be expected.

  But not this one.

  “It was so real, but it was only a dream. I’m still having palpitations.” Roxanne laughed a brittle laugh, putting her hand to her chest. She stepped toward the older woman. “Join me for a brandy. I’ll need it if I’m going to get back to sleep.”

  “Haven’t been sleeping well myself. But it’s no surprise with the court hearing tomorrow.”

  Roxanne poured two drinks and they sat in the pair of chairs at the silent fireplace.

  “I should be looking forward to it. Al’s very optimistic that it will end everything. That they’ll drop the charges.” She stared ahead. The anxious feeling left by the dream hadn’t left her. She took a long swallow of the brandy. It felt warm and invigorating. But she knew it wouldn’t help.

  There was something about that dream that wouldn’t go away. And it wasn’t something good.

  “Of course Al also mentioned it would be a day of hell before it’s over. Once the criminal case goes away he’s certain he can get the civil suit dismissed too. And I’ll still have to deal with the media for a while.” Roxanne was glad for the comfort of Bonnie’s presence.

  Bonnie shook her head. She downed her brandy and rose to leave. “You’ll handle it. You always do—a hell of a lot better than your mother ever did or would have.” Bonnie almost smiled, patted her arm, then turned and shuffled from the room.

  Roxanne hadn’t heard such kind words from the older woman in a long time. “Thank you, Bonnie,” she called out after the woman. Bonnie snorted in reply.

  Now she had to attempt to go back to sleep. She lay in bed with her covers pulled up to her chin, not from the cold
but for protection. The residue of terror remained with her for the rest of the night.

  Al hired a driver to take them to the courthouse. He seemed more nervous than she was, Roxanne thought. Bonnie stayed home. Roxanne knew Bonnie wouldn’t want to get emotional in public.

  “We’ve got everything put together for the hearing—the expert forensic testimony, the results of the testing on the dynamics of the fall from the deck. At least that should surprise them. We have everything covered except one detail of course.” Al looked at her.

  “Mark Baines.”

  “Right. Not a minor detail, I’m afraid. Roxy, to be perfectly frank, we need his testimony if we want to prevent this thing from going any further. I haven’t heard from the detective this morning. Maybe that means he’s got him and they’re in flight.” Al looked skeptical.

  She stared back at him unblinking. “He’ll show.” She didn’t know why or how she knew, but she felt sure. She felt calm. She used up all her heart palpitations last night.

  “You’re either being terribly optimistic or a little too cocky.”

  “Call it a hunch.” Roxanne smiled at him.

  “I hope your psychic powers are real. There’s been enough bad press on this case to sway opinion already.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. I’ve decided. I won’t let anything bother me from here on out. I’ve decided I can live with myself, and that’s who I have to live with. I’m not perfect, but I know I’m better than I was. And you’re wonderful, do you realize that?” She touched his arm. His smile lasted only momentarily.

  Al fell into silence. They had arrived. They could see the assembled media waiting for them. He turned to her when the door was opened for them. He stared at her. There were tears in his eyes.

  She looked away. Her stomach knotted, tearing at her insides. So much for her calm. He took her face with her hand and turned it back to look at him. He was more composed now.

  “No matter what happens, Rox, remember two things: we’ll find a way to prove you innocent and …” He paused, searching her face. Then he sighed. “And I love you.” He turned from her and got out of the car before she could say or do anything.

  Her mouth opened. But all she did was sigh.

  The probable cause hearing began in the Marblehead District Court before the clerk magistrate, without Mark Baines. Roxanne was led into the courtroom with Al and a uniformed officer. At first she didn’t look at the people filling the benches, only straight ahead at the chair that awaited her behind the defendant’s table. But before she sat, she looked around. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and held her chin high as she glanced around the crowded courtroom.

  There were familiar faces of friends who nodded at her, and there were the curious stares of the media. Before she glanced away, she caught the eyes of someone unexpected. Barry.

  He met her eyes without expression, but with acknowledgment. Roxanne took her seat then, before the sudden unsteadiness of her nerves reached her legs. She looked over her shoulder and saw Penelope’s smug face.

  The proceedings began with the assistant district attorney’s opening speech to the Clerk Magistrate. Roxanne tried not to listen. “…there is sufficient evidence to show that Roxanne Monet had motive, opportunity and the means to have murdered her late husband, Donald Boswell III. Medical evidence will support the conclusion that the cause of death was murder induced by severe head impact of the deceased’s skull on the rocks where his body was found.” He paused to look over at her. She met his eyes. It was clear so far that their strongest “evidence” was her supposed motive.

  The clerk magistrate was about to prompt the ADA to go on when there was a commotion at the back of the court. Someone had come in and riled up the media.

  Roxanne turned around to look, not knowing what to expect. Her heart leapt to her throat and her hand automatically came to her mouth to stifle the cry.

  Mark Baines walked from the back of the room down to the front where she sat with Al. The clerk magistrate pounded his gavel to quiet the murmurs and sudden confusion.

  Mark’s face was taut and tanned. He looked thinner and sported a scraggly beard and longish hair. He looked at her with regret in his eyes and introduced himself to Al. Al’s detective had walked in behind Mark and shrugged his shoulders.

  “I found him.” The PI shrugged again and took a seat in the front row behind them.

  Mark remained standing and watching Roxanne long and hard before turning toward the clerk magistrate who patiently waited for an explanation. “I hope I’m not too late to prevent this miscarriage of justice from going any further,” he said.

  “I hope not too,” Al said.

  “Sit down. This is my courtroom,” the magistrate said.

  “We’ll get an affidavit later. You’ll have to speak for yourself on the stand. It’s highly unusual but I think the magistrate will let it go under the circumstances,” Al whispered to Mark while she listened in with her heart pounding in her ears again.

  “I think I can handle it,” Mark said. He looked at her again. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a coward.” He smiled. “But at least I’m not as much of a coward as Don was. Don’t worry.”

  Roxanne smiled back. There was a lead ball in her stomach now and her nerves jumped. She thought he looked terrible and was freshly panicked. “I’ve missed you, Mark.” She couldn’t help her watery eyes. He leaned over and gave her a hug. She pressed his strong shoulders to her, welcoming the comforting warmth of a friend.

  The ADA finished conferring with Detective Turner. The magistrate grew impatient, and the crowd started humming louder and louder.

  Roxanne could feel the tension behind her. Camera flashes were going off. Al turned to see.

  “Jesus. They’re taking pictures of Barry.” Al sounded disgusted. But she doubted it matched the alarm she felt. She didn’t want him to leave. But she didn’t want him to be put through this either. She didn’t dare turn around or it would only make the situation worse.

  “Okay. Let’s get this show rolling. Mr. Assistant District Attorney?” The magistrate banged his gavel and nodded to the ADA to continue.

  “We will establish that Roxanne Monet had the motive. She was desperate to get out of her marriage. Here are the depositions from many witnesses to her public fights with her late husband. There’s no doubt she wanted to retain her fortune and knew about the updated conditions of the will. I would like to submit this material for review.” The ADA handed over a stack of documents and files that looked intimidating to Roxanne by virtue of the mere volume. She wondered if they’d gotten Don’s lawyer to lie about her knowledge of the will. Of course they were conveniently leaving out the fact that he’d changed it back and that she hadn’t taken a dime of any of it, making everything to do with the will a moot point for motive.

  “Opportunity: Roxanne Monet was witnessed leaving the party she claimed to have been attending all night the night of the murder. I have affidavits here from witnesses who say she left alone and was gone for at least an hour and a half before she was seen returning in a disheveled state.

  “Further, Roxanne Monet knew her husband would be at her home. We have affidavits from neighbors who say he had been witnessed at her house frequently since their separation. He’d been harassing her for weeks.

  “Means: Roxanne Monet met Donald Boswell III, took him for a walk along the rocky shore, and most likely pushed him from behind on the slippery rocks, causing him to fall, his feet coming out from under him, fatally bashing his skull on those rocks. She left him, either for dead, or assumed if he was unconscious he would soon drown in the incoming tide. Then she carefully climbed back up to her back deck and returned to the party.” He handed over the last stack of documents to the clerk magistrate.

  Barry felt the eyes of the people and media surrounding him as he stared at the back of her head. Wishing he could light up a cigarette, he raked his fingers through his hair. The ADA finished his opening and it had sounded too real c
oming from a pro. He found it difficult to concentrate on anything but Roxanne anymore. She hadn’t moved. He tried again to pay attention to what Al was saying now. He wished to God he could see her face, wished he could touch her. The jolt of seeing her embrace Mark Baines had forced him to realize exactly how much he wanted her. For himself. If Al didn’t punch the guy out later, maybe he would. Why the hell had he waited so long to show up?

  Al began his argument. “I would like to enter into evidence the testimony of one last, but very important witness, Mark Baines. But due to the timing of this matter, I request that Mr. Baines be allowed to take the stand and speak for himself,” Al said.

  “Keep it short and to the point.”

  Mark took the stand. Barry watched, his attention drawn now to the man. He couldn’t help noticing the difference in Mark’s appearance since the last time they’d met. He listened to Mark tell his story.

  “On the evening in question, the evening of Donald Boswell’s death, I was with Roxanne Monet at a party—as I stated previously in an interview with the police. I know there have been some questions as to Roxanne’s whereabouts during the middle of the party at about eleven p.m. She told people she was going home.

  “But instead she took a ride with me.” Mark paused and sighed before continuing. “She ran into me on her way out. I’m afraid I coerced her into going for a drive. We drove along the coast and parked the car at a beach and talked.”

  “What was your relationship with Roxanne Monet at that time?” Al prompted.

  “I was in love with Roxanne …still am in love with Roxanne.” He paused again, this time to wait for the murmurs throughout the courtroom to die down. Barry couldn’t help the sudden jump of his pulse at hearing this. It wasn’t a surprise, yet he didn’t want to hear about it. He watched Roxanne’s head lower, but she raised it again when Mark continued.