The Last Mrs. Parrish

by Liv Constantine

  My heart actually ached. She was a criminal, a fugitive. And what she had done—it showed such a clear lack of conscience, no remorse. How could I not have seen it?

  Her entire life was here in these pages. A new picture began to form. A poor girl from a small town consumed by jealousy and want: covetous, predatory. She’d mapped out a plan, and when it had failed, she’d exacted her revenge. She had fooled everyone there too, had turned another family’s life upside down, irrevocably damaged them, then run away. Then she’d taken on a different identity. A chill passed through me as I thought of the real Amber Patterson’s disappearance. Had Lana had a hand in it? Now I understood why she always hid from cameras. She was afraid of someone she’d known in her other life seeing her photo.

  The door opened, and the detective returned. “How did someone like you get mixed up with someone like her?”

  I exhaled. “Doesn’t matter. Tell me, according to this, there’s an open warrant out for her. What would happen if I called the police?”

  He leaned back in his chair and tented his hands. “They’d pick her up, call the Missouri police, and have her taken back there to stand trial.”

  “What kind of sentence does perjury and jury tampering carry?”

  “Varies by state, but it’s a felony and usually carries a prison sentence of at least a year. The fact that she skipped out on bail is going to add some time as well.”

  “What about what happened to that poor boy? Will that factor in?”

  He shrugged. “There’s not a punitive component to the criminal charges, so not technically. But I’m sure the despicable intent will sway a sentencing judge, even if he or she doesn’t admit it.”

  “This is all confidential, right?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me if I’m obligated to turn her in?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m not an officer of the court. This is your report; you do what you want with it.”

  “Thank you. Um, this has nothing to do with Amber, but I need you to look into one more thing for me.” I filled him in, handed him a folder, and left.

  I hailed a cab and had it take me to the bank—the one twenty miles from home, where Jackson didn’t know I had an account or a safe-deposit box. I looked through the file one more time before putting it away. A picture caught my eye: a woman who must have been Amber’s mother. That’s when I realized the other thing she had done—and that is what convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt that Amber, aka Lana, was as devoid of a conscience as Jackson. That revelation was liberating. It meant that I could proceed with the plan that I had begun to formulate in my mind.

  I wasn’t going to turn her in. No, she wasn’t going back to Missouri to serve a measly couple of years in prison. She was going to get a life sentence right here in Connecticut.

  Sixty

  If there’s one thing living with an abusive psychopath has taught me, it’s how to make the best of a bad situation. Once I recovered from the betrayal, I realized Amber could be the answer to everything. It was now obvious that she’d only used me to get close to Jackson. She had manipulated me into getting her a job so she’d be right there every day. But the problem was, Jackson wouldn’t be as easily fooled as I was. And as cunning as Amber was, she had only half the picture, no real idea what made him tick, what turned him on. That’s where I’d come in. I would feed her the information she needed to succeed in turning his obsessive focus from me to her. Little by little, I would play her, just as she’d played me.

  I had to make him want her more than he wanted me. His money, power, and meticulous planning ensured that my only way out was for him to let me go. Up until then, he’d had no reason to do so. That was all about to change. I decided that I needed to pretend that he had once cheated on me. I wanted her to believe there was a crack in my marriage, that Jackson was capable of being tempted.

  We met at Barnes & Noble that Saturday, and when she approached, I almost didn’t recognize her.

  “Wow. You look fantastic.” Her hair was no longer dishwater brown, but a beautiful ash blond, her brows shaped into perfect arches over thick, luscious lashes and perfectly applied eyeliner. Contoured cheekbones, just the right amount of blush, and glossed lips completed the picture. She looked like a different woman. She hadn’t wasted any time transforming herself.

  “Thanks. I went to one of those makeup places at Saks and they helped me. I couldn’t go to work in a fancy New York office looking like a country mouse.”

  Please, that was a Red Door makeover if I ever saw one. I wondered where she’d gotten the money. “Well, you look wonderful.”

  After browsing a bit, we went across the street to a café for lunch.

  “So how are things going? Still loving the job?” I asked.

  “Yes. I’m learning so much. And I really appreciate Jackson giving me the chance to fill Battley’s shoes. I know it wasn’t easy for him, after working with her for so many years.”

  I had to hand it to her, she gave nothing away. I don’t know how she did it, but when Jackson came home a few short months after Amber had started and told me that Battley had resigned, I’d suspected she’d had a hand in it. “She was a gem. So loyal. Jackson didn’t really tell me why she decided to retire early. Do you have any idea?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Well, she was up there in age, Daph. I think she was really more tired and taxed than she let on. I had to cover for her more than once.” She leaned in toward me conspiratorially. “I probably saved her getting fired on a few occasions when she deleted an important meeting from Jackson’s calendar. Luckily I caught it in time and fixed it.”

  “How lucky for her.”

  “Well, I guess she realized it was time. I think she was ready to have more time for her grandkids too.”

  “I’m sure—but enough about work. What’s going on with your personal life? Any cute guys at the office?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever meet someone.”

  “Have you considered a dating service?”

  “No. I’m not really one for those kinds of things. I’m a big believer in fate.”

  Sure she was. “I get it. You want the old-fashioned boy-meets-girl story.”

  She smiled. “Yes. Like you and Jackson. The perfect couple.”

  I gave a small laugh. “Nothing’s perfect.”

  “The two of you sure make marriage seem easy. He looks at you like you’re still on your honeymoon.”

  I had my opening to make her think there was trouble in paradise. “Not lately. We haven’t had sex in two weeks.” I cast my eyes downward. “Sorry—I hope you don’t mind my talking about this.”

  “Of course not, that’s what friends are for.” She twirled the straw in her iced tea. “I’m sure he’s just tired, Daph. It’s been crazy at work.”

  I sighed. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell a soul?”

  She leaned in closer. “Of course.”

  “He cheated on me before.”

  I saw the delight in her eyes before she was able to disguise it.

  “You’re kidding? When?”

  “Right after Bella was born. I still had some extra weight, and I was tired all the time. There was this client—she was young and pretty and hung on his every word. I had met her at a social function, and from the way she looked at him, I knew she was trouble.”

  She licked her lips. “How did you find out?”

  Now I was just making it up as I went along. “I found her panties in the apartment.”

  “Are you kidding? He took her to your place in New York?”

  “Yes. I think she left them deliberately. When I confronted him, he fell apart. Begged my forgiveness. Told me that he’d just felt so ignored with all the time I spent with the new baby, and she’d flattered him so much. He admitted that her adoration was just too hard to resist.”

  “Wow. That must have been so hard for you. But at least you bounced back. The two
of you seem very happy. And you have to give it to him for not lying.”

  I could see the wheels turning in her mind. “I think he did feel bad. He swore it would never happen again. But now I’m seeing some of the same signs I did back then. He’s working late all the time, not initiating sex, seems distracted. I think there must be someone else.”

  “I haven’t seen anything suspicious at the office.”

  “There’s no one there that seems to be hanging around him more than usual?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I can think of. I’ll keep an eye on him for you, though, and let you know if I think there’s anything you have to worry about.”

  I knew she’d keep an eye on him—and maybe more than that. “Thanks, Amber. I feel so much better knowing you’re there looking out for me.”

  She put her hand on mine and gave me a steady look. “I would do anything for you. We have to stick together. Soul sisters, right?”

  I squeezed her hand back and smiled. “Right.”

  Sixty-One

  It was easy to arrange. He had been looking forward to seeing Hamlet, and I knew he wouldn’t want to waste the valuable second ticket. Bella wasn’t really sick, but I purposely bowed out of the show, hoping he’d invite Amber. He was furious that I’d missed it. My phone rang that night at midnight.

  “Don’t you ever do that again; you hear me?”

  “Jackson, what’s wrong?”

  “I wanted you with me tonight. I had plans for you after the play.”

  “Bella needed me.”

  “I needed you. The next time you break plans with me, there’ll be serious consequences. You got it?”

  Apparently Amber had no idea about his bad mood. She called me the next morning with just the right things to say.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Daph, it’s me.”

  “Hey. How was the play?”

  Rustling papers on her end. “Amazing. My first Broadway play. I was in awe the whole time.”

  Her Pollyanna act was getting old.

  “I’m glad. So what’s up?”

  “Oh, well, I just wanted to let you know that by the time we got out, it was late, and so we stayed at the apartment.”

  “Oh?” I made my voice sound appropriately on guard.

  “Jackson insisted that it was silly for me to go all the way home when I had to be back so early in the morning. I took the sheets off the guest room bed and put them in the laundry room so the housekeeper would know they needed to be changed.”

  Clever of her. She couldn’t come out and state that she’d stayed in the guest room, or she’d be implying that there was a chance she’d slept with my husband, but she was letting me know that nothing had happened.

  “That was thoughtful. Thanks.”

  “And I borrowed your red Armani suit, the one with the gold buttons. I hope you don’t mind. I obviously hadn’t brought a change of clothes.”

  I tried to figure out how I would feel if I still thought she was my friend. Would I have minded?

  “Of course not. I bet it looks great on you. You should keep it.” Let her see that it meant nothing to me, that Jackson’s wife had so much, I could afford to give her my castoffs as if they were no more significant than a pair of gloves. A sharp intake of breath came over the line.

  “I couldn’t. It’s a two-thousand-dollar suit.”

  Did I detect just the slightest bit of reproach in her voice? I forced a laugh. “Did you google it?”

  A long moment of silence. “Um, no. Daphne, are you angry? I think I’ve upset you. I knew I shouldn’t have gone. I just—”

  “Come on, I’m just teasing. I’m glad you went. Got me off the hook. Don’t tell Jackson, but I find Shakespeare a bore.” That wasn’t true, but I knew she’d use that bit of misinformation to her advantage. “I mean it about the suit. Please, I want you to have it. I have more than I can wear. What are friends for?”

  “I guess, if you’re sure. Listen, I’ve got to run. Jackson needs me.”

  “Sure. Before you go, are you free this Saturday? We’re having a few friends over for a dinner party, and I would love it if you’d come. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  “Oh, who?”

  “A guy from the club who happens to be newly single and perfect, I think, for you.” I had invited Gregg Higgins, a trust-fund baby. He was in his late twenties and extremely good-looking, which was fortunate for him, since he didn’t have much going on upstairs. His father had given up hoping that Gregg would take over in the family business, but had given him a big office and title and let him spend his days having long lunches entertaining clients. He would be putty in Amber’s hands and falling all over her, which is just what I wanted Jackson to witness. He wasn’t in the same league as Jackson by any stretch, so I didn’t worry about him actually distracting her, but he would be irresistible to her for the time being—her ticket to the club, glamorous events, and someone to pamper her until she achieved her ultimate goal. I figured she was also smart enough to realize a little competition would be good for arousing Jackson’s interest.

  Her voice was warm now. “That sounds interesting. What time should I be there?”

  “Starts at six, but you’re welcome to come a little early. Why don’t you come at noon, and we can hang at the pool for a while and then get ready around two? Bring your clothes, and you can shower and dress here. In fact, why don’t you plan to spend the night?”

  “Fantastic, thanks.”

  I wanted Jackson to see Amber in her bikini, and given how she’d stepped up her game lately, I knew she’d come over looking like something from the pages of the Victoria’s Secret catalog.

  I ended the call, grabbed my tennis racket, and left. I was meeting Meredith for a doubles game. Things were still a little strained between us since her confrontation with Amber. I knew Meredith was angry that I had bought Amber’s story about being on the run from an abusive father, but once she saw I was immovable, she’d finally let it go. I hated for our friendship to become a casualty of my plan, but for the first time in ten years, I felt a flicker of hope. I wasn’t going to let anything get in my way.

  * * *

  I ate a ton of carbs all the next week. Cookies, crackers, chips. Jackson had just left on a business trip, so he wasn’t there to stop me. The girls were thrilled to have some junk food in the house. Normally, he inspected the refrigerator and cabinets daily and threw out anything remotely resembling snack food. I had to swear the girls to secrecy and even hide it from Sabine, who’d already gone running to Jackson when I kept Tallulah up late one night watching a movie. But yesterday I’d insisted she take a couple of days off, and her delight outweighed her sense of duty.

  I wanted to make sure to pack on a few pounds before Saturday, so Jackson would notice how much better Amber looked in her bathing suit than I did in mine. It’s amazing how quickly the weight comes back when you’re used to eating fewer than twelve hundred calories a day. I was on my fourteenth food journal—Jackson inspected it every day when he got home and kept all the completed ones lined up in his closet, his little keepsakes proving his control over me. Occasionally I would write down a food that wasn’t on the approved list—he was too smart to believe I never cheated on my diet. On those days, he’d sit and watch while he made me run five miles on the treadmill in our home gym to make up for it. I hadn’t decided yet whether or not I would include some extras on the journal this week or just pretend that perimenopause was to blame for the extra weight. The idea that my fertility was declining would make Amber that much more appealing in comparison.

  I’d forgotten how good sugar tasted. By Friday my stomach had a nice little pooch to it, and my whole body was a bit puffy. I put all the wrappers and cartons in a trash bag and drove them to the dump. When he returned Friday night, the kitchen was in tip-top shape again. It was just past nine when I heard his car in the garage. I grabbed the remote and clicked off the television. I pulled roast duck out of the oven and se
t a place for him at the island.

  He walked in the kitchen as I was pouring myself a glass of pinot noir.

  “Hello, Daphne.” He nodded toward the plate. “I ate on the plane. You can put that away.”

  “How was your flight?”

  He picked up the glass of wine and took a swallow. “Fine, uneventful.” His brow creased. “Before I forget, I looked through the Netflix queue. I see that you watched some low-rate drama. I thought we talked about this.”

  I’d forgotten to wipe the queue clean. Damn it. “I think it came on automatically after the biography of Lincoln I’d been watching with the girls. I must have left the Netflix on.”

  He leveled a look at me and cleared his throat. “Be more responsible next time. Don’t make me cancel the subscription.”

  “Of course.”

  He scrutinized my face, put a hand on my cheek, and pressed. “Are your allergies acting up?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so, why?”

  “You look puffy. You haven’t been eating sugar, have you?” He opened the cabinet containing the trash and looked through it.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Get me your diary.”

  I ran upstairs and retrieved it. When I came back to the kitchen, he was looking through all the cabinets.

  “Here.”

  He snatched it from my hands, sat down, and went through it, tracing each item with his finger. “Aha! What’s this?” He pointed to an entry from yesterday.

  “A baked potato.”

  “That turns right into sugar. You know that. If you have to be a pig and eat a potato, make sure it’s a sweet potato. At least that has some nutritional value.” He looked me up and down. “You make me sick. Fat pig.”