A Stranger's Wife

  Shocked, Meg exclaimed, “Mr. Chastain didn’t beat me! I fell in a poorly lit parking lot and hit my head.”

  Guadalupe didn’t look convinced, and Meg recalled Rhea’s claim that Jake could be violent. Meg wondered uneasily if he, like herself, was also putting on an act. No, she decided immediately, she couldn’t be that wrong about him—and besides, Rhea was a confirmed liar. Still, how well did Meg know Jake Chastain, really? After such a short acquaintanceship, how could she be sure what kind of man he was?

  That evening Jessica pronounced the meal delicious and coyly suggested she might stay on for a few more days.

  Jake said, “Rhea and I have to go away on business for a couple of days, Jess. You’ll be better off at home—you can take Mason with you as well as a maid.”

  “Mason! Absolutely not. He intimidates the heck out of me.”

  Meg smiled in sympathy. She felt the same way about the butler.

  Jake said, “Well, Carmelita will be back late tomorrow. As I said, Rhea and I have to leave. You don’t want to stay on here alone, do you?”

  Jessica sighed. “Oh, all right.” She slipped a piece of chicken under the table to Huxley, and both Jake and Meg pretended they hadn’t noticed.

  Meg’s head was throbbing again and she longed to crawl into bed.

  Mason appeared, carrying a telephone. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but a gentleman insists you told him to interrupt no matter what you were doing. He wouldn’t give his name.”

  Jake took the phone, listened for a moment, then said, “Hold on.” To his mother and Meg he said, “Finish your dinner, I’ll take this call in my study.”

  IT WAS LATE that evening before Meg was able to speak privately with Jake again. He’d driven Jessica, Huxley and one of his more mature maids back to his mother’s house, then taken several more calls in his study.

  Meg had soaked in a warm tub and, exhausted, slipped on one of Rhea’s nightgowns and crawled into bed. She awakened to find Jake gently stroking her hair.

  “I would have knocked,” he said, “but one of the staff might have seen me. I don’t want to give rise to any rumors that we’re breaking up, in case a gossip columnist gets wind of it. I don’t usually knock on doors in my own home and I’d like to keep things as normal as possible. I thought you’d like to know what I found out about Aragon.”

  Meg sat up, instantly awake.

  Jake said, “He was killed execution style, two shots to the head. No forced entry, suggesting he knew his killer. The place had been ransacked and several items are missing, all pointing to robbery. But needless to say, the police are also interested in his list of clients.”

  “What about his files? Did they find anything?”

  “They think he kept all of his records on a computer, but it was one of the items stolen. All the police know about our connection to him is what I told them—that my wife asked him to trace her biological family.”

  Meg was all at once aware that one of the straps of the satin nightgown she wore had slipped from her shoulder. She had left a bedside lamp on when she got into bed, intending only to rest rather than to sleep, and now realized she was showing a great deal of cleavage.

  Jake seemed to have read her mind. Maintaining his carefully detached expression, he picked up the satin robe she had left lying at the foot of the bed and handed it to her.

  “Are you too tired to talk?”

  Slipping on the robe, she got out of bed. “I slept for a while, I feel better. Perhaps we could sit over there?” She indicated the fireplace, flanked by twin sofas.

  A ghost of a smile plucked at Jake’s mouth. “Yes. I’d better keep my distance.”

  They took opposite sofas. Rhea’s portrait above the mantelpiece looked down on them with a contemptuous smirk.

  Jake said, “I never offered my condolences on the loss of your husband.”

  “Thank you. To be honest, I lost Hal long before he disappeared. But it’s hard to believe he’s dead.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Too handsome, too talented, too impatient to wait for the success that surely would have come to him in time. Like many great chefs, he was something of a showman and needed constant reassurance from an adoring audience. I guess my adoration wasn’t enough for him after our restaurant went under.”

  In this dimly lit, intimate setting, it was easy for Meg to ask, “What about Rhea? The Rhea you fell in love with, I mean, before her brother got out of prison.”

  He shrugged ruefully. “I don’t believe I ever was in love with her. ‘Marry in haste’—what’s the rest of the quote?—‘repent at leisure’? I didn’t really know her. We were swept away by passion, and perhaps I gave her too much, too quickly. Sudden wealth is difficult for some people to handle, especially for someone who’d spent most of her life on the edge of poverty. Jess thinks I saw myself as some sort of Svengali, but I didn’t try to make Rhea over, she was already well along the way to transforming herself when I met her.”

  “What did she do—for a living, I mean?” Meg asked.

  “She was an inveterate job-hopper. Never stayed long in any one place apparently. Waitress, clerk, sometimes model. She’s bright enough to do or be anything she chooses, but the term ‘instant gratification’ was coined for Rhea.”

  “When we were in St. Maarten, you mentioned that she’d had an abusive childhood.”

  “Yes. One foster home after another, deprivation, beatings and I suspect sexual abuse, although she never admitted it. I’ll be truthful, I was a bachelor for a long time and perhaps more in love with the idea of marriage and family, when I met Rhea, than with her. I so desperately wanted her to be my soul mate that I overlooked a lot of warning signals. I knew before the honeymoon was over that I’d made a mistake.”

  “But you stayed married—for eighteen months. There must have been some love between you.”

  “I’d made a commitment and I didn’t want to admit I’d been wrong. My feelings for her soon proved to be an illusion. There’s no love without fidelity.”

  How true that was, Meg thought, remembering Hal’s transgressions.

  Jake let out a long breath, as though he’d been bottling it up for some time. “Shortly before I flew to Paris, one of my business acquaintances informed me that she was cheating on me. I didn’t bother to confirm whether or not it was true, because I’d suspected it for months. I asked for a divorce. She suggested we wait until after the St. Maarten hotel opening and my European trip before discussing it. And then, there you were... I thought dreams did come true, after all.”

  “I wish I could have known her years ago,” Meg said with genuine regret. “If only we could have grown up together. We would have had each other, and maybe she wouldn’t have been influenced by Sloan.” She added, “Perhaps it isn’t too late. Perhaps she’s being manipulated by Sloan and isn’t guilty of—”

  Jake shook his head. “Don’t nurture any false hopes, Meg.”

  It was the first time he had called her by her real name, and she was unprepared for the impact it had on her.

  “I have people searching for her,” he added. “People I can trust. I’m hoping we can find her before she does anything foolish.” He stared at Meg for a moment. “You really are identical.”

  “My hair isn’t this color naturally,” Meg said, “and I don’t usually wear it this short.”

  “Rhea’s hair was shoulder length and honey colored when I first met her.”

  Like mine used to be, Meg thought. “Jake, surely you must have had some inkling that I wasn’t Rhea. There had to be some differences.”

  In the half light she could see a small smile playing about his mouth. “I wondered about your fingernails. Rhea favored talons, but she knew I didn’t care for fake nails and I rationalized you got rid of them to please me.”

  “Mike evidently forgot the nails in my makeover. All I got was a manicure. Didn’t you become suspicious when I couldn’t do the tango?”

  “Ah, yes, the tango
,” he murmured, and didn’t elaborate.

  They were silent for a moment. Meg said awkwardly, “Perhaps we ought to turn in.”

  He stood up. “I’ll be in a guest room two doors down the landing from this one if you need me—or if you think of anything else that might help us find Rhea.”

  At the door he turned and looked back at her. “There was something else that seemed out of character.”

  “Yes?”

  “When we kissed...you seemed to mean it.”

  Meg was glad the dim light hid her framing cheeks.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The vegetables in Meg’s dream were enough to set the pulse of any cook fluttering: eggplants dressed in purple satin, rosy beets, deep green kale, gnarled celery roots. An abundance of the riches of the earth. But then a shadow fell across her work area, a raised arm holding a cleaver that glistened with blood.

  She awoke with a silent scream trapped in her throat.

  The room was dark, but she was certain the bedroom door had just closed with a faint click.

  Snapping on the bedside lamp, she leapt out of bed and ran to the door, flung it open and looked out.

  The landing was deserted.

  Perhaps she had imagined that someone opened her door. Or maybe it was Jake, checking on her? He said he was sleeping in a guest room two doors away. He could have returned to it in the time it took her to reach the bedroom door.

  What am I doing here? Meg thought, experiencing a sudden longing for her own modest rented house. She had been drawn into a web of intrigue that had ensnared her before she realized there was no escape route.

  She switched on all the lights in the bedroom, wishing the night away. It was a little after four a.m.

  Looking around, she tried to determine if someone had crept in and disturbed anything while she slept. Everything seemed to be in place.

  I’ve got to do something, she told herself. I can’t just sit around and wait for something to happen.

  Her gaze rested on the desk, where Rhea had concealed the letter from the adoption agency inside a paperback book. Had she hidden anything else that might offer some clue as to her plans—or better still, her whereabouts?

  Knowing she would be unable to get back to sleep, Meg decided to shower and dress and then make a thorough search, not just of the desk, but of the entire room.

  She didn’t have to look far. Opening the top drawer of the desk she saw an envelope that had not been there when she found the letter from the adoption agency. Unlike the letter, the envelope was in plain view. It was marked, Open if anything happens to Jake or Rhea.

  Meg tore it open. Inside were photocopied pages from either a diary or a journal.

  With mounting indignation she read:

  Spoke to Meg today. She wants to take my place in St. Maarten. She says since Jake will be in Europe, no one will be any the wiser and it would be a lark. I’m uneasy about her and wonder if I made a mistake in agreeing to meet her. She complains about how rough her life is and how I have everything she ever wanted.

  Meg gasped as she flipped to the next page and read on.

  I’m terrified of what Meg is going to do. She has made herself over to look exactly like me. Hair, clothes, everything. I believe she wants to be me. She refuses to meet Jake, or any of my friends. She says it will be more fun to keep our relationship secret so we can switch places whenever we please. She says if I tell Jake about her he will think I’m crazy, because she will simply vanish, and since neither she nor I knew we had an identical twin until just a few weeks ago, nobody will believe me. It’s all too weird and scary.

  The third page was torn in half, the top portion missing.

  ...and I thought if I let her go to St. Maarten that would satisfy her, but now she’s masquerading as me here at home and refuses to leave. She showed me a gun and threatened to kill Jake’s mother unless I stay away. I don’t know what to do. If I go to the police, it would be Meg’s word against mine, and she is with Jake, in our home. I’m now on the outside. What do they say—possession is nine-points of the law? Besides, I can’t put Jessica in danger. Meg Lindley—God help me, my twin sister—is a psychopath.

  Meg reread the entries. Her throat constricted. Since the pages were photocopied, there would be an original diary somewhere. The copies had been left because Rhea wanted her to know about the diary. The message to Meg was obvious: If you go to the police, it will be your word against mine.

  With Mike dead, Meg had no doubt Rhea’s story would sound plausible. Worse, would Rhea’s account of their relationship be believed by Jake? Meg desperately wanted Jake to trust and believe in her.

  But outweighing every other consideration was Rhea’s not-so-veiled threat against Jessica. Whether or not Jake would be inclined to believe Rhea’s account of their relationship, he had to be told that he must protect his mother.

  Gathering up the pages, Meg made her way to his room. Another thought hammering at the back of her mind was that although Rick had been dismissed, someone had entered the bedroom and planted those diary pages in the desk.

  She knocked on Jake’s door. There was no response. She knocked again, louder, then opened the door.

  His bed had been slept in, but there was no sign of Jake. Suppressing a stab of fear, she hurried downstairs.

  She saw with relief that there was a glimmer of light under his study door.

  He called, “Come in,” in response to her knock.

  Jake was seated at his desk, his computer screen lit up and the phone in his hand. Seeing her, he put down the phone.

  “You’re up early. Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Well, no. Jake, do you have a security system here?”

  “Yes, a very good one. Why?”

  “Someone got into the bedroom last night and left this.”

  She handed him the envelope.

  He caught his breath. “It’s Rhea’s handwriting.”

  Slipping the photocopies from the envelope, he read the diary entries and then looked up at her. She tried unsuccessfully to read his expression.

  Meg said quickly, “I swear to you that none of that is true. It all happened the way I told you. Mike Aragon came to me and asked me to stand in for your wife while she visited her dying brother.”

  “Speaking of whom,” Jake said grimly, “I called his parole officer in San Francisco. Sloan hasn’t reported to him.”

  “Jake...do you think they might hurt your mother?”

  “No, I think it’s part of an elaborate scheme to set you up. But I won’t take any chances. I’ll persuade Jess and Carmelita to go on a convalescent trip and assign one of my security people to go along with them.”

  “Jake, you do believe that I’m not trying to...that I don’t want to...” Meg floundered, feeling herself color.

  The study was dark except for the pale glow of the computer screen and a single desk lamp. A gray dawn sent tentative fingers creeping around the window shutters. Jake’s obsidian-dark gaze seemed to pierce her mind, finding thoughts she dare not admit even to herself.

  He finished for her. “Do I believe you want to take Rhea’s place as my wife?”

  Meg felt her color deepen. “Well, the diary entries...”

  Jake stood up and walked around the desk. “No, I believe what you told me. If you’d had any romantic designs on me, I certainly gave you plenty of opportunities to explore them. You kept me very much at arm’s length most of the time.”

  “You’re a married man,” Meg murmured. “And until a couple of days ago, I believed I was a married woman.”

  “And now that you know you are a widow, and you’re aware that my wife and I were virtually separated before you came along...?”

  Meg cleared her throat. “We can’t have this conversation, Jake.”

  He said softly, “I suppose I’m hoping you feel some spark of interest in me. For myself, I see a woman who physically is a duplicate of the woman whose beauty captivated me, but whose character repulsed me. But you
know, Meg, even now I find it hard to believe you and Rhea are blood-related, because you have none of her flaws.”

  Meg looked away from his questing dark eyes, willing herself to remember that she had brought chaos into his life. At length she sighed. “I have plenty of flaws, Jake.”

  “I wish you’d exhibit some. Right now you seem to be the woman of my dreams.”

  “How about my impersonating your wife? For a price?”

  “You thought it would be a harmless masquerade and we’d never meet—and the price included Aragon finding your missing husband. A saint would have been tempted.”

  Meg was silent, fearing anything she said might give away her feelings.

  After a moment Jake said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Now, before you decide to run out on me, how about fixing a fast breakfast while I call Jess?”

  “Isn’t it a little early to wake her?”

  “Good point. I’ll drive over to Laguna and pick her up. I can be more persuasive face-to-face.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” Meg murmured.

  He followed her into the kitchen. None of the servants were up yet, and Meg found the empty room and Jake’s presence beside her curiously intimate. She opened cabinet doors, looking for a coffeepot.

  “Jake, you said you have a good security system, and yet someone got into the bedroom.”

  “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that.” He went to the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of orange juice.

  “How long has Mason been with you?” Meg asked. “I think he’s known from the beginning that I’m not Rhea.”

  “Mason’s been with me for years, since long before I married Rhea. Perhaps he was more perceptive than everyone else. As for the rest of the staff, Mason always runs a thorough background check before hiring anybody. Still, it’s an unfortunate truism that anybody can be bought.”

  He brought her a glass of orange juice and watched as she put on the coffee, then took some eggs from the refrigerator. “I can whip up an omelet in nothing flat. Will that do?”

  “Great. Excuse me if I stare. I’ve never been around a woman who cooks. Jess never did, and neither did Rhea.”