Dead to Her

by Sarah Pinborough

  “Did the doctors say that?” Jason asked.

  “Not in so many words. Not yet. But they did say that if he made it through the next few hours then they’ll have to evaluate the extent of the long-term damage. He may need constant care, even if he can be discharged.”

  “That’s so awful,” Marcie muttered. Why had she come here? These were details she didn’t need. “I can’t help but think he’d rather be dead.”

  “That decision is in the lord’s hands. If he lives, even if he lives like this, the lord must have a purpose for him.”

  “I guess so,” Marcie said. “Do you want me to go get you some coffee or breakfast?” Anything to get out of the room. The sight of William, so ruined, was making her skin crawl.

  “I’m fine,” Elizabeth said. “Really. The nurses have gotten me so much coffee this morning I’ll probably never sleep again. I’m still in shock I guess, like everyone else. I can’t believe that something like this could have happened.”

  “The police are preparing to charge Keisha,” Jason said. “That’s what Noah told us last night.”

  “I heard. That’s shocking too. I don’t understand why she’d have done something so obvious. Maybe she panicked when he said he was ending it. The postnup stopped her getting his money in a divorce but she stood to inherit plenty if he died. And I mean a lot.”

  “From what the police say, she nearly got away with it,” Jason said. Marcie didn’t like the gossipy tone in either of their voices as they talked, so she left them chatting and went to the restroom, where she could breathe freely without thinking she was sucking in William’s poisoned air. She took far longer than she needed washing and drying her hands, scrubbing herself clean until her skin was pink and raw, and when she finally returned, Jason was thankfully making their excuses to leave.

  “I’m heading home myself in thirty minutes or so, after I’ve seen the doctors again,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll get some rest and take a shower. I have to check how things are at the house too. The police . . . I expect they’re still looking for the syringe she used. I dread to think what kind of mess they’re making. Zelda will be going quietly crazy. You know she likes to keep that place spotless.”

  “We’ll come see William again soon,” Marcie said, leaning in to give the dumpy woman a polite half-hug, hoping that Jason didn’t drag her back too quickly. This room, with William in it, felt as if it had absorbed all the rot of her past and Jason’s present. It was hellish and too warm and cloying. It was trying to suffocate her. She’d be happy to never come back ever again. She would, of course. Appearances had to be maintained.

  It was only when she went to sign them out on the visitors’ register that Marcie idly scanned down the other names as she waited for Jason to come back from the men’s room. She saw it halfway down. A visitor for William Radford at 3 a.m. Jacqueline Marshall.

  Jacquie.

  47.

  It was amazing how such a big house could still feel claustrophobic with only two people in it if the atmosphere was right, or perhaps more accurately, wrong. Marcie had tried to sleep while Jason retreated to his study to carry on doing whatever it took to right the mess he had put them in. As the day ticked around to evening, she’d offered to go pick up some Chinese takeout. Anything for some fresh air. To be out. Away from him and his I’ll make it up to you, it will be a fresh start for both of us bullshit.

  She drove slowly around the city, not heading straight to the restaurant, instead giving herself some time alone with her thoughts. She wished she could speak to Keisha and find out exactly what had happened. In so many ways, Marcie hoped it was all true. That Keisha had tried to kill William. It would make everything a whole lot smoother. If William died and Keisha was guilty, then Jason would automatically be senior partner and take over running the firm, probably without the hassle of a buyout, and then there would be a new king and queen in town. A new Magnolia.

  It would also be easier to try to get back on an even keel with Jason if Keisha wasn’t around. If Marcie didn’t have to see her, then maybe the spell Keisha seemed to have her under would finally break. She thought about her too much. The feel of her. The touch. Even in the midst of all this madness, there was an animal hunger at her core that Jason’s touch couldn’t satisfy, especially now that Keisha was so definitely out of reach.

  Jason. What was she going to do about him? She burned with resentment and anger at his lies and deceit, but she needed to be nicer to him, at least until they were past this immediate crisis. And after that? Would she divorce him? Would he divorce her? Was he simply being nice to her because she knew? Or maybe he was right—maybe now that they’d stripped down to their bare secrets in front of each other things would be better. She wasn’t sure it worked that way somehow. That’s why secrets normally stayed secret. Secrets broke things. For now though, she’d play the game. Whatever the hell the game was.

  Games. Once again, her thoughts turned to Jacquie. Jason hadn’t been concerned when Marcie told him that his ex-wife had gone to the hospital in the middle of the night. He said she was an insomniac and always up and at the gym while the world was sleeping. It used to drive him crazy. Plus, she’d known William for a long time before she moved. It was hardly a surprise that she’d go visit him. Marcie had told him that Jacquie had been at the party too, casually trying to find out if Jason had spoken to her. Apparently not. He claimed not to have seen her; he had shrugged and said that now Jacquie was back, however much they tried to avoid her it was likely she’d end up moving in the same circles as them. He’d then closed the conversation down by saying they had bigger problems right now than being jealous of Jacquie.

  Jealous of Jacquie. She’d wanted to punch him for that. What if Jacquie was their problem? There was still an odd edge to Jason when he spoke of her. Was that simply the awkwardness of discussing an ex-wife with a current one? Or something else? Jason had proven himself a slippery eel when it came to the truth. Was he keeping more from her? What had Jacquie been talking to him about that afternoon at Sacchi’s? Jason had called her. Marcie couldn’t forget that. Jason, who was so bad at confrontation, had called his bitter ex-wife by choice?

  Had she been trying to get him back and he’d turned her down? Could she have done some digging and sent the yearbook to try to split them up? It was possible. Or maybe she wanted more than that. Maybe she’d done it for money. True, she probably didn’t need it, but taking it from Jason would still give her pleasure. She’d tried to take everything when they divorced. Maybe this was her trying to clean up again? Whoever it was who’d sent it probably wanted money. Otherwise they’d have told other people what they’d discovered and Marcie would be in the crap right now. The thought was a relief. Everything was nearly always about money.

  What was it Mama used to say? Her pearls of wisdom on the world? Money, sex, and power are the father, the son, and the holy ghost of life, honey. Just remember that. And women can get all three if they’re not stupid. So don’t be stupid.

  The city looked different at dusk, the night coming to life as the day died, shadows like ghosts under each streetlamp, and she finally headed to pick up their food and take it home. Jason was in the kitchen, plates and cutlery ready, two glasses of wine poured. “Where have you been? You’ve been gone for nearly two hours.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, leaning in and kissing him. “There was a line and you know how I hate to wait so I went for a drive. Got carried away.”

  “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

  He sounded so lost and lonely her heart almost melted a little. Almost.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” She smiled through gritted teeth. “I just needed some space.” She nodded toward the cartons. “Kung Pao Shrimp. And a couple of your other favorites.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I love you.” Hollow words. She found herself thinking of Keisha when she said them. Wild, free, and open Keisha. So different from this liar of a husband
of hers. Her heart would recover though. It always did.

  They ate as if everything were normal and then before they went to bed Marcie called the hospital to see if there had been any change. There hadn’t. They hadn’t heard from Virginia or Iris all day, and Marcie hadn’t called them either. They were all withdrawing to process what had happened to William, and she wished she could do the same without the rest of this shit strangling them.

  This evening she and Jason both undressed in the same room, Marcie dropping her clothes on top of the party dress and mask abandoned on the floor what felt like a lifetime ago. They had sex. Bodies going through the motions, enforced intimacy between sudden strangers. Finally, they fell apart, both panting. Neither of them spoke and within minutes Jason fell into a deep sleep, leaving Marcie wide awake and staring at the ceiling, wishing the man next to her and his lies were still in the guest bedroom.

  At around five the thunder started, low rumblings overhead that grew into a storm, lashing the house with wind and rain and keeping the morning dark. By seven, they knew that William hadn’t died in the night. He was breathing by himself and whatever life he’d been left with was refusing to give up. He was here for the long haul, living in the dark, hooked up to machines. He could afford to be. Marcie wondered if poverty would have been better for William now. At least he’d have been able to let go. To die with dignity. Instead, he’d be left to rot away in a hospital bed like some awful zombie for the next however many years they could keep him breathing.

  She made coffee, the rain keeping them housebound for now, as Jason took calls from clients and the other attorneys in the firm, and for a while Marcie stood outside the study door, watching him through the narrow gap. She felt something between awe and dread at the emotion he was managing to instill in his voice without any showing in his face or manner. Who was this chameleon she’d married? He’d be at work by lunchtime, she heard him say, which was a relief. She’d have the afternoon to herself. Maybe she’d sleep. God, she needed to sleep.

  48.

  Keisha had found the storm comforting before the lights went on and the new day started. It was as if all the madness in her head had fled this cell and taken to the skies. She felt empty. There had been so much talking yesterday, so many questions, that her head had been left whirling. Some she’d answered and some she hadn’t, depending on what her lawyer had told her to do. She’d been a good puppet as he pulled her strings and it was easier than thinking for herself.

  Thunder rolled again. How loud must it have been outside if she could hear it all the way down here in the bowels of the building. It was the grumble of ghosts. Ghosts. Her head had been filled with ghosts. The boy—always the boy—Eleanor, Lyle, and William. Except William wasn’t dead. He was somewhere in between. Did the ghosts talk to him now too? Today’s nugget of treasure, a glittering jewel of a gift, had been the news that William wasn’t going to die yet. Which meant that neither would she if they found her guilty. It would be attempted murder, not murder. A life in a cell for her and a life trapped unmoving in the dark for him. Buried alive in his own skin. She trembled. Guilty. Was she guilty? She hadn’t wished this on him.

  She’d expected more questions today or for this to reach what seemed the natural conclusion—they’d charge her. Even her lawyer—her attorney, as they called him—was talking about plea deals and mitigating circumstances, as if her fate was predestined to go a certain way. She should be more nervous, but it all rolled over her. She’d reached too high above her station and now she had to fall. The girls at the club would be laughing now. What would Dolly think? Had the police already talked to her? She stared at the ceiling of her cell, drifting through memories. Maybe this would be it for the rest of her life. A narrow bed. A narrow room. A narrow view. Bells and shouting and routine. No more drinking and dancing. No more aiming high. She felt suddenly, desperately tired. At least she’d escaped her family. But no more Marcie. How was she supposed to cope with that?

  When her attorney returned, his fat face was smiling. It wasn’t an expression she’d seen before. “I’ve got some good news,” he said. “The game is not lost.” He rubbed his hands together. A game. Her life was a game to him. “They’re not charging you yet, but they have applied to keep you ninety-six hours without charge and that’s been granted.”

  “That’s the good news?” she asked. It didn’t sound so good. The conclusion was still probably inevitable.

  “No, that’s not it.” He drew himself up tall and his grin widened. “There’s a fresh line of inquiry. A serious one. A new suspect. They’re bringing him in now.”

  Keisha’s head swirled as she gasped, her heart thumping, life bursting through her veins again. She’d resigned herself to this fate. She’d half-convinced herself that she’d actually done it. Now here was a glimmer of hope—a chance at freedom. It was almost too much to bear. Him the attorney had said. But who?

  49.

  Marcie knew that surreal thoughts had a tendency to fill her head when she was panicking, but that didn’t stop her from being annoyed that the cleaner wasn’t due until tomorrow and they were traipsing all over her house while the bathrooms weren’t perfect and there were clothes on the bedroom floor.

  “Do you have a personal computer in the house, Mrs. Maddox?” Detective Anderson asked. “We’ll need to take it if you do.”

  “An iPad,” Marcie said. “I think it’s in the kitchen. And a MacBook in the den, where the rest of the boxes we haven’t unpacked are. But I never use that.” They’d already taken Jason’s desktop and laptop—she’d seen them go by as the officers took them out. Her nerves jangled. He said he’d thrown the yearbook and the note in the trash. She hadn’t checked. What if he hadn’t? Where were they?

  “Are you sure I can’t get you some tea?” she asked again. She knew she was pale and trembling. At least her fear was helping her fake her shock.

  She’d gotten out of the shower, a long blissfully hot affair, barely ninety minutes before to find Jason throwing clothes in a duffel bag and rummaging in a drawer for his passport. Sandy had sent him a text from the restroom telling him that the police were all over the office, locking it down. He’d snapped at Marcie to get packing. They needed to go. Immediately. Marcie hadn’t moved. Wrapped in a towel, skin scrubbed pink and brain fuzzy from the heat, she’d instead sat on the bed and told him no, they couldn’t run. How guilty would they look? She’d asked how obvious his issues—she hadn’t wanted to say thefts—were in the accounts or whatever at work. He’d said they’d have to dig deep to find the start of the trail, but he didn’t even understand why they were looking. There was no reason to, no one was suspicious of him at work. He was the golden boy. The king in waiting. Why would they be storming the firm as if they knew something?

  There hadn’t been any more time for discussion, because the doorbell had rung and Marcie had quickly emptied out the bag and crammed it in the closet, while Jason answered the door, and now here they were.

  Or rather here they weren’t. Only Marcie was, in her robe with her hair still wet; her husband had been taken in for questioning, while she worried that the men searching her house were judging her cleaning standards.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Anderson said, answering for both herself and the huge detective standing behind the couch where she sat. “I know this must be unsettling, but we will leave your house tidy, I assure you.”

  Marcie nodded. She’d already been through the I don’t understand why you’re here routine and she didn’t want to lay her disbelief on too thick. They’d had a tip-off, Anderson had said, before they took Jason away, regarding his financial activities in the firm. Jason had already called Thomas Tonyer to come down and meet him. At least they didn’t have to worry about representation. Attorneys always knew the best attorneys.

  Marcie however, didn’t have one, and she wasn’t refusing to cooperate. She was a good, law-abiding Southern wife doing her best to smooth out this terrible mistake. Oh, please God, don’t let them
find the yearbook.

  “On the night of the seventh of July, at William Radford’s party, your husband and Mr. Radford had an argument in his office in the house. What do you know about that?”

  “Nothing really. And argument is a strong word. William and Jason were close friends. They didn’t ever argue.”

  “But it was a strong disagreement then.”

  “As I said, I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I felt unwell and went home early.”

  “Yes, Elizabeth Glapion told my colleague that she drove you home. But she said she’d found you outside the office and you both heard raised voices. She said that you were nervous about interrupting.”

  So they’d been to Elizabeth before they’d come here, maybe before they’d gone to the firm, getting their ducks in a row. “I was, yes, but then I never like to interrupt Jason when he’s talking to anyone about work. It’s not my business.”

  “But there were raised voices?”

  “A little, yes.” She was picking her way through a minefield. She kept her hands down, resting on her knees, so Anderson couldn’t see the sheen of sweat on her palms. “I think it was something to do with the system crash at the office. That was all I heard.”

  “So it was nothing to do with the audit that was planned? Your husband wasn’t worried about that?”

  “No. Why would he be? Jason was keen for the buyout to go ahead.” Her heart raced. Jason had said the police would have to dig to find a trail. She had a feeling this woman intended to.

  “Are you aware of any financial problems your husband might have?”

  “We don’t have any as far as I know.”