Marnie continued to stare at it for several seconds, not quite sure what was bothering her. Abruptly, she realized Alison was standing where she had just been, at the bow—where Alison was supposed to have gone over the side. Marnie’s stomach rolled as if the boat had moved. She turned the page and saw more pictures of Alison—a full page of them in snapshot size. These were different shots, but she was standing in the same place.
Marnie didn’t understand. Two pages of pictures of Alison at the scene of her accident, one of them a blowup. Why would Andrew do this? Last night’s conversation came back to her. She didn’t want to believe he’d pushed her, but he so clearly hated her.
A sense of foreboding gripped Marnie. Another roll of her stomach forced her to put the journal down. She left it under the stack of books where she’d found it, her only thought to go above and get some air. But her foot caught on something as she made her way through the main cabin.
She glanced down at the heavy wooden handle protruding from the oblong hole in the teak drawer. The drawer was a built-in storage unit beneath one of the couches, and the hole served as a pull. Marnie knelt and wrestled the drawer open. The handle belonged to an odd-looking, narrow-bladed saw with jagged teeth.
The kind of saw to cut through a lifeline.
The way her thoughts were going frightened her. She jammed the saw back into the drawer and shut it. The question propelled her toward the stairs that would take her above deck. The hatch door was open, and as she climbed the steps and the cockpit came into view, her heart dropped. She wasn’t alone on the boat. While she’d been below, someone had come aboard, and he was the most unwelcome visitor Marnie could imagine.
Tony Bogart was standing in the pit, his hands on his hips, staring at the sweating woman who’d frozen midstep. She could not let him see what she’d just seen.
Rebecca tried the handle of the guest room door, relieved to find it unlocked. Andrew was still out of town and Alison had left early this morning without a word to anyone, so Rebecca had decided to take a chance and check out their room. She hadn’t had the opportunity to prepare it for them because of Julia’s sudden decision to switch their rooms. The unlocked door might mean the beautiful couple had nothing to hide, but she sincerely doubted it. Everyone in this psycho family had something to hide, especially these two. She just hadn’t figured out what it was yet.
She started with the nightstands. People kept their most personal and private possessions right next to them, and it was amazing what they didn’t lock up, what they thought was safe just because it was nearby. She’d been working for wealthy families since she was a kid, first as a babysitter, then a housekeeper, now an assistant, and it was better than a degree in psychology for digging up dirt—and for predicting what people were going to do next.
The Fairmonts had been predictable from the beginning, although Rebecca had wanted to believe differently. She’d wanted to believe Bret saw her as someone worth his precious time and interest, and that Julia would recognize her potential. But money had made them all careless—and cruel.
Julia treated her like hired help. Rebecca was used to being dismissed, ignored, even invisible. The wealthy had a way of making you feel as if you didn’t exist except to serve their needs, but Julia had crossed the line when she started ridiculing Rebecca for being fat and incompetent. And Bret pretended to be her ally, but he treated her like trailer trash. Even Alison, who’d defended her in front of Julia, had made it look as if Rebecca was some pathetic thing who couldn’t defend herself.
Huge mistake. She could defend herself.
A trembling smile crossed her lips and her heart surged with anticipation at the beauty of her plan. Just watch and be amazed, world.
She spotted Andrew’s side of the bed by the fancy leather case on the nightstand. It contained his jewelry and other odds and ends, but nothing all that interesting—or incriminating. There was also nothing of interest in the nightstand drawer, just some loose change, a pack of breath mints, airline tickets and a few receipts. Rebecca wasn’t sure whether Andrew was the exception to her rule or whether he knew this was the first place a good snoop would look.
Alison’s side was a whole different story. Rebecca opened the nightstand drawer and clapped a hand over her mouth when she saw the gun. “There is a God,” she said under her breath.
She eased the drawer open farther, trying to figure out if the weapon was real. “Shit,” she whispered as the bullets and the instructions came into view. Shit. This was perfect. They were playing right into her hands, all of them.
Rebecca didn’t have much use for people like the Fairmonts. They’d been given every damn thing they had, the money, the social status. None of them had worked a real job in their lives. They bitched about everything and appreciated nothing, especially her. She’d worked hard and killed herself for what? A little bit of praise, a hint of approval?
But this gun had to be a sign that she was doing the right thing. Someone needed to cut the Fairmonts down to size, and maybe it really was supposed to be her. In a way it was justice.
God, she hoped that was true.
“Rebecca? What are you doing in here?”
Bret had the door wide-open and was leaning against the frame, watching her. She had no idea how long he’d been there or whether he’d seen what was in the drawer. It blew her mind that she hadn’t heard him, hadn’t heard a thing.
“Hey, Bret, you’re up early.” She took a step toward him, smiling as if she were actually pleased to see him—and blocked his view of the nightstand. “Alison asked me to clean up while she was out today.”
“That sounds like Alison.” He rolled his eyes. “Spoiled brat should do it herself.”
“Yeah, probably.” Rebecca still had no idea what Bret was up to. She edged back until she felt the drawer against her hip, and pushed it shut. “I’ll just finish up, though.”
Rebecca pulled a dust rag from the rolled-up sleeve of her blouse and wiped down the nightstand, focusing on the table lamp. She kept a cloth stashed somewhere on her person at all times in case Julia wanted a spot cleanup. It happened.
Unfortunately, Bret hadn’t missed her attempt to cover her tracks. When she stepped away, he was still looking at the drawer.
After several long seconds, he glanced up at her with an expression of concern. “Maybe you’d better get out of here, Rebecca. You’re in enough trouble already, aren’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I found your notes. I know what you’re up to.” An enigmatic smile appeared as he nodded toward the bedroom door and waved her out.
“You’re quite a piece of work,” he whispered as she brushed past him. “Good luck.”
Rebecca began to shake once she was out in the hallway. Good luck? She hurried toward the stairs, wondering what he’d meant by that. Was he going to let her get away with it? Did he want her to do it?
24
Marnie patted the pocket of her shorts to make sure the keys to the boat were there. She had to get the cabin locked up quickly, but without making Bogart suspicious. The pictures of Alison had disturbed the hell out of her. The saw was probably a common tool used on the boat, and she intended to give Andrew a chance to explain all of it. Meanwhile, she didn’t want a bastard like Tony Bogart nosing around.
“Everything okay?” he asked her. “You don’t look so good.”
“Couldn’t be better,” she said evenly, determined not to give him even a glimpse of the anger flaring inside her. He had no business boarding the Bladerunner. He might as well have broken into their home, but of course, he assumed she wouldn’t dare confront him. No one confronted the FBI, even when they were unofficial.
“I was just getting ready to leave,” she said.
She turned her back to him long enough to lock the cabin door. There. Good. Now to get him off Andrew’s yacht.
“Returning to the scene of the crime?” he said. “In my experience, only killers do that, not victims.”
“Crime? What crime?” She feigned surprise that he would utter the word.
“Excuse me, the accident. Still, it must be difficult for you.”
“Not at all,” she said. “I’m lucky to be alive, and what else matters? I believe in closing the door on the past and moving on. You should try it.”
His head snapped up, and his eyes turned mean. Marnie met the visual assault with a shrug. They both knew what it meant. You got dumped, Bogart. Get over it.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, his tone contemptuous. “My interest in the past is limited to seeing my brother’s killer on death row, and trust me, I won’t rest until that happens.”
He scratched his face, rubbing his thumb along his jaw with enough pressure to leave a white crease.
Marnie had hit a raw nerve. The reckless corner of her soul didn’t care. No matter what Alison had done to Tony, it didn’t justify him stalking and harassing her like this. He was holding her hostage with his accusations, and getting away with it. Marnie was reasonably certain he didn’t have the jurisdiction or the authorization to investigate any of the alleged crimes that had happened February second, including his own brother’s death. And she was sick of him breathing down her neck. No wonder she’d felt as if she were being followed.
Perspiration trickled down the back of her neck, and the sane voice in her head told her not to provoke him any further. She might have listened, if he hadn’t made it personal.
“You weren’t even a good fuck,” he said, “you know that? I’m not sure why I bothered.”
Marnie climbed the remaining stairs and stepped onto the gleaming teak deck. Her breath came heavily, but not from exertion. “What the hell crime are you accusing me of, Special Agent Bogart?”
“What are you guilty of?”
“Wishing I had a gun? Why the hell are you here? You’re trespassing. Where’s your warrant?”
“What?”
“Produce a search warrant or get off this boat.”
“Prove you didn’t invite me here,” he said.
“You’re uninvited. Leave.”
She glared at him until he snarled something obscene under his breath, and jumped down to the dock. Only then did she unclench her sweating fists. Andrew had told her to call in case of an emergency. She’d tucked the cell phone he gave her in the same pocket as the keys. She dug it out, trying to remember how to use the speed dial function. He’d programmed his number in, but this wasn’t like her own cell phone, and the keypad might as well have been in Greek.
“Do you have the gun? Marnie, did you bring the pistol with you?”
“Stop asking if I have the gun,” she snapped, speaking into the cell’s mouthpiece. Andrew’s soft, gravelly voice yanked at her nerves, pulling them tighter, notch by notch. “What difference does it make? Bogart is gone.”
At least the cell phone worked. She’d reached Andrew on the first try, and told him that Tony Bogart had probably followed her to the boat. She’d also told Andrew about finding the photo journal and the pictures of Alison, but he seemed to be avoiding her demands that he explain.
“I had a feeling you might leave the house,” he said, “and I wanted to know that you could protect yourself. I wanted to be sure you’d be all right.”
She brushed at her forehead, wiping the dampness away. She must be a lovely shade of red by now. “I’ll be all right when you answer my questions. What are those pictures about? There must be a dozen of them.”
His silence made her heart hesitate.
“I was studying them,” he said at last, “trying to figure out how she fell. The one I enlarged was taken the evening it happened.”
“Who took the pictures?”
“I did.”
“All of them? All posed the same way in the same place? Doesn’t that seem a little bizarre to you?”
“Not bizarre at all. I searched for every photo I’d ever taken of her in that spot. I wanted to compare them. Marnie, there aren’t that many places to take pictures on a sailboat.”
Nearly the entire yacht was visible to her from where she was standing in the cockpit. “I’ve never been on a sailboat before, but I can see plenty of places.”
“Either you believe me or you don’t. Look again at the pictures taken the evening she fell, and you’ll see that each is a different contrast and intensity. I used a software program to bring up the detail. I was looking for evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“That the lifeline broke or that something was tampered with. Something tangible to explain why she went over the side.”
“Evidence that you didn’t push her?”
“Yes, exactly, but I didn’t find it.”
He didn’t sound hesitant or evasive anymore. He sounded tired of being accused every time they spoke—and she was tired, too. God knew she didn’t like being on the offensive any more than he liked being on the defensive, but she couldn’t ignore what was right in front of her. Still, she could feel her suspicions dissolving, and it was almost a relief. Believing him was easier. Living with paranoia and distrust was a bitch.
“What about the saw? I found a saw in one of the storage units.”
“What did you do, search the boat? Sometimes you have to cut through tangled rigging, and a saw’s the quickest way to do it.”
At this point she should either change the subject or apologize. She wasn’t ready to do the latter. “Is it dangerous there?” she asked him. “When are you coming back?”
“I’m not the one you should be worried about. The only risk a concert promoter runs is being pissed on by a drunk rock star.” He was silent a moment. “Marnie, go back to the house and get the gun. Don’t go anywhere without it.”
“Andrew, I don’t have a permit to carry it.”
“So, you’ll pay the fine. That’s better than being dead.”
“Why do you keep insisting that someone’s going to kill me?”
“Maybe I’m trying to scare you into being more cautious.”
“In that case, save yourself the time. I don’t respond well to scare tactics.”
“Marnie, Bogart is a mean bastard, and you’re no match for him, no matter what you think. He has a vendetta against Alison, and it’s not just because she dumped him.”
“All of which I already know,” she reminded him.
He gave a heavy sigh. “Do we have a deal or don’t we?”
“You asked me not to search for my grandmother, and I haven’t.”
“Will you go back to the house and stay there?”
She thought the boat was rocking, but when she touched the companionway door to steady herself, she realized it was her. She’d been shifting from foot to foot, rocking the way she used to when she was a kid.
“I’m on my way back to the house,” she told him. It was easier than trying to explain that she had errands to do first, such as stopping at the gas station for fuel and the drugstore for odds and ends that were essential to civilized life, like feminine hygiene products. Or that as beautiful as Sea Clouds was, she had to get out of there every once in a while or go insane.
She appreciated his concern for her safety, unless it was just one more way to keep her locked down and under control.
“Good. Take care of yourself until I get home. Can you do that much for me, please?”
Something about the tone of the conversation had irritated her from the beginning. She was being patronized, and this wasn’t the first time. He’d been doing it since the day she opened her eyes in the hospital.
“Sure.” She hung up the phone.
The strange gasping noises were like nothing Marnie had ever heard. At first she thought someone was strangling, or being suffocated. Sweltering in the midday sun, she stopped to listen. They seemed to be coming from the far side of the house, where there was a delivery entrance off the kitchen.
Marnie had just pulled into the front portico and let herself out of the car. She’d been heading into the house w
hen she heard the sounds. She didn’t know whether to be frightened or concerned. Even if it was just someone crying, she was going to be careful.
She was still damp all over, her face flushed and spotty. It had been a lousy day so far, and this weird turn of events didn’t bode well. She yanked off her cardigan sweater, tied it around her waist and prepared to investigate. She wasn’t anxious to go inside the house, anyway. She never knew what was lying in wait for her at Sea Clouds.
“Hello?” Marnie called out as she moved slowly around to the side of the house. “Who’s there?”
No one answered, and the noises got louder. It did sound like sobbing, she realized. She thought about going for reinforcements when she saw a pair of sandaled feet protruding from the recessed entrance to the side door. The gaudy, heavily jeweled sandals were immediately familiar, and so was the perfume. It smelled like someone had broken a bottle of Wind Song.
“LaDonna?”
Marnie discovered her childhood friend sitting on the stoop, bent over and sobbing her heart out.
“Did you fall?” Marnie asked, sitting beside her on the stoop. The pantry and kitchen were just inside the doorway, and she was concerned that someone might hear, but LaDonna didn’t look as if she could get up.
“Are you all right?” Marnie asked.
LaDonna’s auburn curls bounced as she shook her head. “No, I’m not all right. I’m terrible. I’m going to die.”
“Should I call 911? The paramedics? What’s wrong?”
“It’s your stupid brother. He just dumped me.”
“Bret? You and Bret?” Marnie was stunned. Her thoughts flashed back to the morning at Gramma Jo’s cottage when she’d come upon LaDonna. It must have been Bret who’d ducked out the back way.
The Arrangement Page 25