Murder by Design Trilogy

by Mary Jane Forbes

  ───

  IF THEY HAD BEEN looking up at the top of the bank several houses down, they would have caught a flash of light through a cluster of bushes, the sun’s rays reflecting off the lens of a pair of binoculars. The binoculars were trained on the pair down on the beach as they approached a flight of rickety stairs.

  Chapter 19

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  Paris

  SUMMER FLOWERS FILLED THE sidewalk stalls along the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Tourists filled the outdoor cafes and double-decker sightseeing buses. Vehicles of all sizes jammed the streets jockeying for position, an opening to make a dash to their destination. The aroma of coffee mixed with the scent of roses mingled with the exhaust of the buses. All in all it was a thrilling weekend in the city of love.

  Maxime gazed out of his luxury apartment window at the gently flowing waters of the Seine twinkling in the sunlight. He had made some decisions since returning from Seattle, the image of Gillianne cradling their baby seared into his brain. He knew the chance of winning her heart again was very, very, remote. But no matter how remote he had to try. And, he had to get his life back, a life that had slipped off the tracks. Too much deference to his mother and father, especially his father.

  Adding up the pluses and minuses, he had to give his parents credit for providing him a pathway to join the family law practice. With his family’s connections he had no trouble gaining admittance to the University of Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne which offered a top level degree in law and political science. He had soaked up every word his professors uttered. He had a passion for the law, had enthusiastically embraced his studies, and had finished in the top five of his class.

  Now practicing law in the firm his grandfather founded and being elected to the Senate, the career side of his life’s ledger was in good order.

  Ah, but his personal life was another matter. It was in tatters. He had entered a loveless marriage to please his parents, and regrettably he had remained in the marriage. But the worst part, he had bungled the opportunity to grasp the love of his life. How stupid could a man be?

  He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to regain Gillianne’s trust but in order to begin the process of restoring his personal life, putting it back on the right track, he had to deal with Bernadette.

  It was time.

  Way past time.

  Maxime pressed the intercom button for Eric, his valet, and asked him to tell Bernadette he wanted to talk to her and to bring their afternoon cocktails to his library.

  The cocktails arrived before Bernadette, and Maxime poured his martini from the decanter into his glass. Bernadette entered the room as Maxime took his first sip.

  “Maxime, we’re starting a little early aren’t we? We’re not due to arrive at your father’s for another two hours,” she said. Maxime was standing at the other side of the library, a room encased in walnut bookcases filled with law books, filled with the musty fragrance of history. Bernadette hated this room—hundreds of books none of which interested her in the slightest. His back was to her as he had taken up his position at the window. He did not address her question.

  She helped herself to a martini and a salmon canapé, and then sat uncomfortably in a brown leather chair sinking into the generous cushion. “Did you have something you wanted to discuss? If it’s about that dreadful—

  “I’ve called my father and cancelled our dinner plans.”

  “You what?” Bernadette snapped. “We always have dinner with the Count on Saturday night. What’s the matter with you? Are you trying to pick a fight with him? Or maybe you’re trying to pick a fight with me. Why aren’t we going—

  Maxime turned around. Stared at his pinched-face wife. Some would say she was beautiful. But her greed for money, and her snarly attitude had lined her face and had taken away any warmth and compassion that might have been there at one time. However, Maxime now believed love was never there only an evil plan to ingratiate her way into his life.

  “I’ve drawn up divorce papers.” Maxime strode to his desk, picked up a manila envelope and handed it to Bernadette. Standing near her, her perfume filled his nostrils—heavy, overwhelmingly sweet. How he detested the smell of her.

  Bernadette did not reach for the envelope. Instead she took a sip of her cocktail letting the envelope drop to her lap.

  “Maxime, what we need to fix our marriage is a child. A baby to love, and then we will learn to love each other in return.”

  “Bernadette, we never loved each other, AND it would be wrong to bring a child into this loveless union. Take the envelope, look over the papers. I think you will see I’ve been quite generous—our villa in southern France along with a generous allowance. It may not be the amount you are used to spending, but more than enough to staff the villa and generous enough so that you will be able to have a nice, worry-free life style unless you choose to squander the money.”

  Bernadette drained her drink, smiled coyly at Maxime’s back. “Mark my words, a child will make all the difference in the world, my dear husband.”

  Maxime turned. His eyes full of hate. “Take the papers. Hire your own attorney. He’ll tell you to take the offer and be quick about it. However you want to handle your side is up to you. The signed papers are to be back in my hand by mid-August. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly, Senator.”

  “Good. You are to be out of this apartment by the end of next week. If you are not, your rooms will be packed and moved to the villa for you.”

  Bernadette put her empty glass on the silver tray and left the room clutching the envelope, her jaw clenched, her breathing rapid and shallow.”

  ───

  MAXIME QUICKENED HIS STEPS as he left his apartment building emerging into the morning sunshine. A grand day. The weight of ten years of a loveless marriage had been lifted from his shoulders. Giving Bernadette the divorce papers had gone rather smoothly. At least she hadn’t thrown a tirade, or thrown a glass at him, only repeating that a child would solve all their woes.

  Tourists smiled back at the handsome Frenchman who smiled at everyone he passed, nodding his head over and over again in greeting. During the night he had thought of going on a little shopping spree—pink baby clothes for Robyn. A frilly little dress, cute bunny pajamas—surely the baby shop down the block would be able to help him.

  Two hours later, four bags with handles swinging by his side, he stopped at an outdoor café a few blocks from his building and ordered an espresso. Smiling, he once again looked out over the Seine and asked the waiter for a piece of paper with the café’s name on it. He and Gillianne had stopped here once. Maybe she would remember it. The waiter returned quickly with a piece of stationery, refreshed the coffee, and hustled to the next table.

  Maxime retrieved a pen from his pocket and wrote a short note to Gillianne telling her he couldn’t resist buying the enclosed gifts for Robyn. He told her the saleslady urged him to buy sizes for a one-year-old. “They grow so fast she said. I didn’t listen to her. Our baby is so tiny that I purchased everything marked six months.” He signed the note, Your Maxime.

  Back home, he asked Eric to bring him a box sturdy enough for shipment to Seattle, in America. Carefully laying each item, wrapped in white tissue, into the box, he folded the note he had written, put it in an envelope with the seal of the French Senate in the upper left corner, and placed it on the top layer of tissue paper. He addressed the box to Gillianne Wilder at her little shop. He wrote at an angle next to the address: Open by Addressee Only.

  Chapter 20

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  Seattle

  PAINTINGS OF THE MONTANA mountains and plateaus, as well as framed photographs of his herd of black Angus cattle filled the walls of the long hallway from the front door to Philip Wellington’s library. Sauntering along the gallery beside Gillianne, Philip explained to her, through the artwork, his love for his ranch—the beauty of the land but also the hard work the ranch demanded of his life.

  “Do you mis
s your ranch, Mr. Wellington?”

  “Oh dear, you called me Mr. Wellington again. This visit must be serious,” he said pulling his face into a mock squint.

  Gilly laughed. “You win, Philip. I asked to see you because I have a business proposition.” Her lips parted in a radiant smile, green eyes sparkling.

  “Oh, good. Most people coming to me with a business proposition,” he said in a stern voice pulling his chin into his chest, “are stodgy old men. Finally, a delightful, beautiful woman once again lights up my home. Have a seat, Gilly. If we’re going to talk business we must have coffee.” He pushed a button on the intercom. “Gladys, please bring a coffee service to the library for Gilly and myself and put some of that seed concoction on the tray that Skip Hunter dropped off the other day. Thanks.”

  Gilly removed her black suit jacket, laying it on the back of the caramel-colored leather couch. Smoothing her black skirt and white short-sleeved blouse, she sat down facing Philip over a coffee table. A table carved from a large round section of a ponderosa pine, the official state tree of Montana, another piece of nostalgia from his ranch.

  “So, Skip gave you some of his seed mixture. He must have told you he’s training to run in the Seattle marathon.”

  “Can you believe it?” Philip said, nodding to Gladys as she set the silver tray on the highly polished coffee table.

  “How’s that baby, Ms. Wilder?” Gladys asked her rosy cheeks and pink lips drawn into a broad smile.

  “Growing like a weed, Gladys.”

  “Can you bring her by sometime? We’d love to see that little darling.”

  “You bet I can.”

  Gladys beamed and then left returning to her household duties humming softly.

  Philip lifted a crystal bowl of seeds offering them to Gilly. She picked up a few, put them in the palm of her hand and then poured coffee into their cups.

  “Skip and Agatha … have you met Agatha?” Gilly asked.

  “Oh, yes. That dog of his is a real character.”

  “She sure is. Anyway, he and Agatha visit Gramps every Saturday for his long training run. Then they kibitz over lunch. Skip writes the rest of the day and most of Sunday, and then returns to the city.”

  “Your grandfather must love that … the company.”

  Gilly smiled popping a couple of the seeds into her mouth.

  “Now, tell me about this proposition, young lady, and don’t skimp on the details.” Philip smiled enjoying his visitor.

  “Well, so much has happened in the last few months. I don’t know if you’ve passed my shop lately, but—

  “Yes, I have. You’ve reopened and it looks charming—from the outside mind you. How about the second floor loft? Ready for you soon, I hope.”

  “Actually, next week.” Gilly helped herself to a cashew. “A few weeks ago, Gabby and I went to LA to check out the site of their fashion week next March. I’m taking my staff to LA to see the fall show to observe the event in action—see what works and what doesn’t, and how best to present our collection. We’ll also pick up information from the models, their agencies, and the hair and makeup stylists.”

  “Sounds like a big deal,” Philip said leaning back in the couch across from Gilly.

  “Oh, it is. IMG sponsors—

  “What is IMG? Never heard of them,” Philip asked.

  “IMG stands for International Marketing Group. They sponsor all kinds of sporting and media events. They also sponsor the New York Fashion Week along with Mercedes Benz. Same for the LA show.”

  “When is the LA show? You said the fall?”

  “October, but we’re just going to observe. We’re signed up for the March show. But, listen to this, when Gabby and I returned to Seattle, after our first trip to LA, Nicole and Maria were literally bouncing off the walls.”

  Philip smiled. Gilly’s enthusiasm was contagious. He leaned forward elbows on his knees so as not to miss a single nuance of what she was saying.

  “They took a call from Macy’s … New York, no less, wanting to place an order for our fall collection …for several of their biggest stores! And, that’s why I’m here.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well …”

  “Let it out, Gilly, before you burst. Tell me why you’re here. Your proposal,” Philip said chuckling, urging her on.

  Gilly inhaled a deep breath. “I need $200,000—some to participate in the show but at least eighty percent would go to start filling the orders for Macy’s. They’re paying a deposit but it won’t cover the factory costs to fill the orders, let alone the fabric.”

  There she said it. What’s he thinking? He’s laughing. Why is he laughing? Did I mix up my words?

  “Oh, my goodness. You are a treat. The way you were leading up to the money … it’s always about the money you know … business. I was expecting you to ask me for a million. So, now tell me, what do I get for $200,000?”

  “My lawyer, you met him, Hawk Jackson. He and Maria are married. Anyway, Hawk set up my business as a corporation. I asked him and my accountant, Arthur Lewis, whom you also met, to let me know how an investor might benefit. The long and short of it is that you will own a share of the company. Hawk and Arthur will explain how that works.”

  “Oh, I know how that works—the number of shares, the actual percentage of the company the investment will represent. They’ll spell it out for me I’m sure. I only have one question.”

  “What’s that, Philip? Of course, we, I will work very hard to be sure you don’t lose your investment, that—

  “Lose my investment?” Again he laughed. “I’ve seen you in action Ms. Gillianne Wilder. The morning of the fire, the way you took hold. No fire was going to stop you. I saw so much of myself struggling those first years with my ranch, struggling against all odds—droughts, falling bee prices. The money is yours, my dear. My question is about the amount.”

  “If I’m asking for too much—

  “No, it’s not too much. My question—is it enough?”

  Chapter 21

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  EVERYTHING WAS CLEAN, FRESH. The heavy odor of refinished oak floors was long gone, and the stink of new construction, spackled wallboard, and freshly painted cream walls had dissipated. Only the smell of new remained in the air.

  The Band of 5, Arthur’s nickname for the four women and one male, made quick work moving from the loft above the shoe and mobile phone stores to the loft over Gillianne Wilder Fashions, Catering to the Career Woman. All the rented furnishings were picked up ending that expense, but the lease for the restored building kicked in—the landlord giving the fledgling business one month free.

  Thanks to Maria’s and Gabby’s constant efforts to build excitement for the reopening of the shop, they had created a buzz as pedestrians consistently lined up at the display windows to catch the activity going on inside—the transformation from smoked filled, damaged interior to a showcase for the summer collection. A splash of color and sophistication was revealed in the display windows when the glass door swung open for business several weeks earlier.

  The loft apartment featured three small bedrooms, a bath—one side for bathing the other a long vanity with mirror—enough space to handle two women applying makeup or drying their hair at the same time.

  Gilly’s bedroom was larger than the other two providing an alcove for Robyn, giving Nicole and Gabby their own bedrooms. Nicole hadn’t had the luxury of her own bedroom since leaving home to work in Paris over three years ago.

  The living room, a great room in some homes, was an open space separated by an island in the back corner concealing a galley kitchen—sleek, modern, and small, but efficient enough to prepare spaghetti, or zap a frozen dinner—no gourmet meals allowed. Furniture was still an issue, non-existent, as the pieces they had accumulated were all destroyed in the fire. However, Maria and Hawk gave Gilly a bedroom set—bed, nightstand, and dresser; Nicole’s parents sent her a check—enough for a bed and dresser and Gabby purchased a bed but stacked boxes on end
as makeshift shelving until she found a dresser.

  Anne and Gramps found a couch, practically new, at a garage sale along with four barstools perfect for eating at the island counter. Skip sauntered in with two of his reporter friends carrying an eight-by-ten foot oriental rug from a discount warehouse—they rolled it out anchoring the great room. Gilly returned to the used furniture shop where she had purchased the furnishings for her baby before Robyn was born and bought a couple of items to fill in what was still needed—absolutely needed.

  Home!

  The design studio was separated from the front of the loft by a wall and three doors—an exit to the back ally, an entrance to the apartment, and an entrance to the small hallway at the top of the center staircase to the shop below. The studio was painted a soft, creamy white separated by large windows at the back providing natural northern light. Three strips of track lighting ran across the beamed ceiling. Two eight-foot folding tables were in the center of the room with five black metal folding chairs, padded seats. Another three were leaning against the wall.

  The studio was Gilly’s bailiwick. Two mannequins stood guard over the space and once again Will, her dad, provided the muscles, along with Arthur in hanging a whiteboard, and two eight-foot sections of cork board to tack printouts of the latest collection as it evolved. A few bolts of fabric leaned against the wall in the corner, more were on the way from the factory. Vinsenso and Nicole had sourced new stretchy wool from a supplier as well as new silk blends, and a few bolts of holiday fabrics Gilly had requested.

  Arthur commandeered a corner—a desk, file cabinet, and a small four-foot table.

  Gabby’s client area in the back of the shop had already been set up before the shop reopened. The furnishings included a glass coffee table, two upholstered chairs, and a loveseat. The upholstered pieces using the same black on white fabric as the white lacquered chairs in the shop—striped cushions set against fabric of toile French scenes—tufted back and arms. After seeing Skip’s gift, Gabby visited the same warehouse and purchased a burgundy, five-foot oval Aubusson rug. The area to greet buyers, or a customer who wanted to order pieces of the collection that were not currently in stock, was charming and the rug grounded the little business space with class.