The Rich and the Dead

by Liv Spector

  With four minutes left, she aimed her gun at the lock, and fired. The explosion rang in her ears, and the bullet, which grazed the lock, ricocheted off the metal door. She aimed again, then fired. Fired again. And fired once more. She lunged toward the lock. It was pulverized. She tore open the door. Once inside the tiny storage space, Lila looked at her watch. 4:15 P.M. Just in time.

  She stood in the middle of the room. The only sound she heard was her own frantic breathing. 4:16. Taking a sharp exhale and closing her eyes, she waited. For what? The rapture? Beam me up, Scotty?

  Inhale. Exhale. Okay. Still nothing. She opened her eyes and looked around the four cinder-block walls. How was this supposed to work again? When she’d traveled back in time, Teddy and Conrad had been there to guide her, but now she was alone, without any idea what to do.

  Still 4:16 P.M.

  And then there was an instant change, as if drugs had just kicked in. The contours of the room suddenly began to blur. It was as if all the molecules around her were trembling and stretching. The room started to vibrate, and a high-pitched screech filled her ears until it felt as if they’d pop. Lila crouched down on the floor, closing her eyes, cringing, and covering her head with her arms.

  Then.

  Total silence. Profound darkness. She couldn’t feel her body as different from the space she was inhabiting.

  Then.

  The return of sound. The return of light. She felt her body heavy in space and looked around to see that she was, once again, in the leather-and-steel cockpit of the time machine. The door unfurled, and there at the bottom of the stairs was the hollow face of Teddy Hawkins, his eyes flickering with hope.

  Before she could climb out of the jade dome, she blurted out, “I’m sorry.” She was unable to bear the sight of anticipation. “I failed you.” She kept her eyes closed so that she wouldn’t have to see his hopes crashing down around him.

  AFTER CONRAD RAN her through a series of tests to check her vitals, the two men brought her up from the subterranean lab to sit, once again, by the pool.

  Everyone was quiet.

  “You changed your hair,” Teddy finally said, before falling back into silence. He seemed to be at a loss for what to say.

  “I went back in time and all I got was this lousy haircut,” Lila said, her voice edged with bitterness and fatigue.

  Teddy stood up, agitated. “Just tell me now. What happened?”

  Lila put her head in her hands. She felt dizzy and angry and sad. “I got close, so many times. I thought I had him. Then I thought I had her. But now I’m back empty-handed.” She paused and looked up at Teddy’s face. He was crestfallen. The small amount of hope he had summoned instantly drained out of him. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know what a disappointment it must be for you.”

  He took a few steps away from her, as if he was already distancing himself from this failure. “You were the best person for the job,” he said. “If you couldn’t solve it, then no one could.”

  “I appreciate you being kind. I really do. But I know what it meant to you. I know about Meredith. That you loved her.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “I thought you might figure it out,” he admitted.

  “There’s so much I uncovered, but the puzzle pieces didn’t come together.”

  “Then perhaps we can talk things through. Maybe together we can figure it out.”

  He returned to his seat, and Lila once again marveled at how different he was from his earlier self, how he seemed to be missing that energy and sparkle that had made him the center of the universe that afternoon at the Fisher Island Club.

  They sat by the pool for hours as Lila told him everything. About Scott Sloan’s affair. About all the files Javier had on Frederic Sandoval, but that Sandoval had died before Lila managed to talk to him. About his connection to Sam Logan’s tennis rival, Pedro Bolivar. About Javier’s arms dealing. About Alexei Dortzovich’s schemes, his destruction of Chase Haverford’s hotel empire. About Effie and Chase’s dangerous liaison. About the hit man.

  When Lila gave Teddy the abbreviated version of how her relationship with Effie went from friendship to framing for murder, he was astounded.

  “But even if Effie was setting me up to take the fall for the Star Island murders, a lot of questions are still unanswered.”

  “Like what?” Teddy asked. His eyes were bewildered, as if all this startling information had caused his brain to fry slightly.

  “Well, I saw her pay a hit man whom I know for a fact wasn’t the Star Island killer. So, what did she pay him for?”

  “Let’s try to think this through. Did anything else suspect happen around the time of the murders?”

  Immediately Lila’s mind went to Dylan, shot down in the middle of the day. But she didn’t say anything. There was already too much for them to discuss, plus he had nothing to do with the Janus Society.

  “Wait!” Lila said, remembering. “Scott Sloan’s mistress was killed just a couple days before the murders on Star Island. And”—Lila paused, trying to recall the exact information—“I remember witnesses reported seeing a red sports car speed away from the scene of the crime.”

  Teddy looked pensive. “I remember her death quite well,” he said softly.

  Lila was on a roll. “Maybe Effie paid this hit man to use my car when he murdered Scott Sloan’s mistress. The last time I left her place on Star Island, three police cruisers were pulling in. What if they were looking for Camilla Dayton? What if they were there to inspect the car? Wait.” She sprang up from her chair. “We’ve got to go online.”

  Teddy handed Lila a tablet and she typed, “Willow Morris death.” Up popped several newspaper articles about the accident and the subsequent police search for Camilla Dayton, owner of the Maserati GT spotted at the scene of the crime.

  Teddy read off the computer screen, “Police were unable to track down the suspect, Ms. Dayton, who was a houseguest of social fixture Effie Webster. Ms. Webster’s recent murder is also currently under police investigation.”

  Lila and Teddy both stood silently, processing this information.

  “But why would Effie want Scott’s mistress killed? And then who was the Star Island killer?” Teddy asked.

  “I have absolutely no idea,” Lila said. All the facts were so jumbled in her head that she couldn’t think straight. “I need a drink.”

  Teddy went to the poolside bar and poured two glasses of Wild Turkey over ice. He handed one to Lila. At first, she was surprised that Teddy knew what she drank, but then she remembered that he knew everything. Well, almost everything.

  She took a deep gulp of the bourbon. “You know what I keep thinking about? Right after the murders in 2015, when I was investigating the case, the clues I was most fixated on were a broken basement window, a battered-down door, which led to the wine cellar, and this short video from the one operational surveillance camera that had two seconds of footage showing a figure dressed in all black. Aside from the bullets lodged in the brains of the victims, that was literally the only physical evidence at the scene of the crime that I had to point me in the direction of the killer. And now”—Lila began to laugh, a slightly hysterical, rueful laugh—“I know it was me who broke the window and busted the door. Me! It was me in that footage. Which means for years I was hunting myself.”

  She took another giant swig of the bourbon, letting the burning sensation travel down her throat. “It’s enough to make you think you’ve gone crazy,” she finished.

  Teddy was looking off toward the ocean. Lila wondered if he’d heard anything she just said.

  “Have I lost you?” Lila asked. Her mind was spinning, and she needed Teddy there to tether her to reality.

  “Oh, sorry.” He shook his head, as if trying to wake himself from a dream. “It’s just that . . .” He let out an enormous sigh. “Willow. Well, Meredith talked about her a lot. I mean, she was her husband’s mistress. So it’s not a big surprise that Meredith was fixated on her. But I never really und
erstood it, if I’m being honest. I mean, we were in love. Why waste time thinking about that terrible husband of hers with his stupid mistress? But in Meredith’s mind, Willow was the one that stood in the way of us being together.”

  “Why?” Lila asked.

  “Meredith and I were discreet about our relationship. Incredibly discreet. But Scott found out, and he told Willow. Meredith knew it was just a matter of time before Willow made this very private information public because it would be her best shot at breaking up the marriage and getting Scott all to herself. Of course, I secretly thought this would be great. If the cat was out of the bag, Scott could be with Willow, and Meredith and I could also be together. But Meredith wouldn’t have it. She knew if her infidelity came to light, even if Scott’s was also revealed, the divorce settlement would be millions of dollars less advantageous.”

  “Why couldn’t Meredith use her knowledge of Scott’s affair against him in court? After all, they were mostly living off her family’s money.”

  “She couldn’t risk it. She knew if she took him to court, our affair would surely come to light, and she felt we had more to lose. I could never convince her otherwise,” Teddy said sadly.

  “But where does Effie fit in? Would she kill someone for Meredith?”

  “Are you implying that Meredith may have had something to do with Willow’s death?” Teddy asked, his lips pressing into a tight grimace. “Because if you are, I will ask you to leave immediately.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lila quickly said. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. So, did you and Meredith talk about Willow’s death?”

  “Of course. I mean, I hate to say it, but news of that poor girl’s death made me incredibly happy. I knew we’d be together. Finally.”

  “But then . . .” Lila said.

  “But then, five days later, Meredith was killed. And the only thing that’s kept me going since then is the hope of finding the person who robbed me of my happiness.”

  Lila finished her drink, then went over to the bar, grabbed the bottle, and brought it back to where she and Teddy were sitting. She filled both of their glasses. Teddy’s experience was painfully reminiscent of what had happened to Lila with Dylan.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her for you.” The alcohol was beginning its work on her, opening her up and loosening her tongue. “But even if I tried, I learned that you can’t change fate.”

  Teddy, his red-rimmed eyes on hers, shot her a quizzical look. “Fate? What does that mean?” he asked. “I told you that you are not allowed to alter the course of events. You could neither kill anyone, nor prevent anyone from being killed.”

  “But I tried,” she said in a barely audible whisper. “I tried to stop someone from being shot and I found out that I couldn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  It was getting late. They sat together in the gentle light of the blue hour, that luminous transition when day becomes night. Lila had never felt so tired in her life. Slowly, fumbling over her words, she told Teddy the story of Dylan. How she fell in love with him. How she knew he was going to be shot and paralyzed. How she tried to save him. And, finally, tragically, how fate intervened three hours early.

  “Fate is fate, I guess,” she said bitterly. “Our destinies have already been written.” She felt her head grow heavy with fatigue. She closed her eyes.

  “Why don’t you stay the night?” Teddy suggested. “You’re clearly exhausted, and I hate to send you back to that little spider’s nest you call home. I’ll have one of the guest rooms fixed up for you.”

  If she hadn’t been so tired, Lila would’ve protested. Instead, she allowed Teddy to guide her toward a bedroom and pour her into bed. In seconds, she was asleep.

  CHAPTER 41

  THANKS AGAIN FOR the ride,” Lila said as she stepped out of Teddy’s midnight-blue Bentley. Conrad, of course, was at the wheel, as silent and watchful as ever.

  “Are you sure you feel all right?” Teddy asked. “You were in the past for quite some time. Your old life may seem strange to you at first.”

  She looked up at her run-down apartment building on this shitty block in Little Havana. All she could think was how broken everything looked—the cracks in the building walls, the trash on the sidewalk, the yellowed undershirt of one of her neighbors hanging out on the stoop.

  “Strange,” she said. “That’s one word for it.” Shithole is another, she thought.

  “Let’s talk in a few days,” Teddy said. “It’s not over yet, remember that.”

  Lila nodded in agreement, but she’d had enough. She was done chasing after ghosts. And from what she could see, she suspected Teddy was done, too. This was their last shot, and she had blown it. Time to move on.

  When she opened the door to her apartment, a wall of heat and humidity hit her. It was over a hundred degrees inside her spare little place. She regarded it with mostly embarrassment. How had she ever lived like this? It wasn’t just that she’d been living in luxury for the past three months. It was something more. That time away from the present had allowed her to see how low she’d let herself fall and how little she’d come to expect from herself and from her life.

  One thing was clear. She needed more than this.

  She needed Dylan.

  She knew it was best to leave him in the past. He had made it clear that she had done something he could never forgive. So much of their relationship had been built upon a foundation of lies. But Lila knew it wasn’t only lies. There was also love there, a connection she’d never known before and doubted she’d experience again.

  Lila moved quickly to her desk, opened up her laptop, and typed his name into the search field. Dylan Rhodes. Thousands of articles came up. She searched through them ravenously, eager for any news about him. Most of the information was about the Rhodes Foundation, founded by Dylan and Dr. Arun Verma, the doctor she’d met when she visited Dylan at the hospital. She looked up the foundation online. The mission statement on the website read: “The Rhodes Foundation is dedicated to curing spinal cord injury by funding innovative research and focusing on improving the lives of those living with paralysis.”

  Through his foundation, Lila read on in awe, Dylan had raised tens of millions of dollars for research on spinal cord injuries. There was an article about how Miami General Hospital had recently opened a Rhodes wing dedicated to treating patients with injuries similar to Dylan’s. Hoping to see a picture of him, Lila searched the article in vain.

  The article said that “Dylan Rhodes did not attend the opening of the wing named in his honor.” The journalist went on to make note of his “strange, solitary life.” “Although,” Lila read, her eyes glued to the computer screen, “he was once a fixture on the Miami social scene, Rhodes withdrew from the public eye following the robbery that left him permanently unable to walk. Today, he lives in almost complete isolation on a three-hundred-acre mangrove preserve by the Biscayne Bay on the outskirts of Miami.”

  Lila tried everything she could think of to get Dylan’s address online. But her efforts were futile. She bit the bullet and phoned one of her old partners at the police station. She hated calling in favors, but this was important. Within two minutes, she held his address in her hands: 1 Black Point Peak, Homestead, Florida.

  She couldn’t believe it. He was only a thirty-minute drive away. What would happen when he saw her? It had been only five days since she’d seen him, but years had passed since he’d seen her. Maybe he’d met someone else. And even if not, there were so many obstacles in their way.

  She looked outside. A summer storm was blowing in. Low, dark clouds hung ominously in the sky. The palm fronds tossed around in the increasing wind. Just then, the rain started to fall. Lila didn’t let the downpour stop her. She dashed to her car and set off to find Dylan.

  The storm picked up speed as she drove south, but she barely noticed. All she could think of was the fact that soon, she’d see his face once more.

  The rain had stopped by the time Lila pulled
up to the wooden gates that let onto Dylan’s estate. She was almost sick with nervousness.

  The gates were about ten feet tall and studded with iron rivets. Lila got out of the car and looked for any intercom or way of requesting entrance. There was nothing. As she continued searching, the gates opened slightly, and a portly and sun-creased man with a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder waddled out to greet her.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked. His face was kind, but Lila’s nerves, already taut in anticipation of seeing Dylan, were put on edge by the gun.

  “I’m here to see Dylan Rhodes.”

  “He expectin’ you?”

  “No, but I’m an old friend of his.” The wind whipped noisily through the forest of palm trees that grew wild beyond the gate.

  “He don’t got a lot of friends calling these days.”

  “Can you let him know that Camilla Dayton is here to see him?”

  The man with the rifle eyed her skeptically. It seemed as if in all his years guarding this gate, not one unannounced visitor had ever made it by him.

  “Wait right here,” he said, as he squeezed his giant belly back through the tiny opening. After a few seconds, Lila peeked through to see him in a little shed on the phone. The call didn’t last longer than a minute.

  The gates slowly opened all the way.

  “Mr. Rhodes will see you now,” the man said, quite grandly. “The road to the main house is a bit bumpy thanks to all the rain we got, but keep straight for about ten minutes and you’ll find your way.”

  Lila thanked him and climbed back into her car. She felt light-headed with anticipation.

  “A bit bumpy” was putting it mildly. It wasn’t so much a road as an unpaved collection of giant potholes and muddy puddles. Lila eased her little car through the difficult terrain very slowly. About two minutes from the gate, she saw a Land Rover barreling directly toward her.

  “Oh no,” she cursed. This car was going to run her right off the road, which had fairly deep gutters dug next to it. If her car was forced to veer off in order to avoid this maniac, she’d never manage to get back on. Yet the car kept coming. She was caught in an unwanted game of chicken.