“Why don’t you give me a hand with these cups,” Iris continued. “My arthritis is playing up and if I’m honest, I don’t trust myself to carry them all without causing an accident.”
Marcie took two coffees in one hand and went to hold open the door. “I saw Jacquie’s name in the visitors’ register,” she said casually, as Iris led the way into the hall. “It was nice of her to come see William. I didn’t think they were close. I’ve not heard him mention her much.”
“They weren’t overly close, no. Jacquie was more Eleanor’s friend. You know how it is, the boys play golf and the girls play tennis. But she would come down from Atlanta when Eleanor was sick. Especially toward the end. They would sit and play cards. Have dinner. She’d stay over in a guest bedroom, perhaps catch lunch with Virginia and Emmett and then head home. Toward the end, when Eleanor was sleeping most of the time and a lot of people began to stay away, she’d just sit in the quiet with her. It was a kindness. Especially in those last few weeks when Jacquie had the passing of her own husband to cope with. She can be very sweet sometimes.”
So Jacquie had been in the house a lot when Eleanor was sick. It felt odd that no one had mentioned it—had Jason known at the time? Had William told him? Had they all kept it a secret from Marcie because they thought she’d make a fuss? To be fair, they would have had a point. Even though she’d won Jason, Marcie still felt strangely jealous of Jacquie, so hearing that her rival was visiting from Atlanta and behaving like a modern-day Florence Nightingale wouldn’t have gone down a storm. Right now, though, that didn’t matter. What did matter was that if Jacquie had spent time with Eleanor in those final weeks, then she very definitely could have known about the needles and syringes with the vial of morphine. Jacquie could have poisoned William’s coconut water herself.
She’d also met up for lunch with Virginia and Emmett—something they’d never mentioned either—so Jacquie could potentially have known about Jason’s investments and thought they were suspicious. Doors were opening in Marcie’s mind and behind each one she saw her husband’s first wife.
58.
Marcie felt the shift in atmosphere as she walked into the church, but even amid the quiet gasps the roof didn’t cave in, and after a flurry of whispers and sideways glances, the natural politeness of the congregation settled back down to the odd word murmured behind hands. Marcie didn’t care. She hadn’t come to get anyone’s approval or even to pray for William’s return to full health. She was here for information.
Many of the guests who’d been at the party were likely to be here and no doubt Virginia, down at the front, was taking a mental roll call that all the right people had shown their faces. Marcie didn’t listen much to the sermon, only occasionally fighting a smirk or a smile at some glowing recommendation of William’s character, his kindness, his sweetness. No mention of his entitlement and bombastic behavior. Making Eleanor hide her grief at the loss of their only son. Marrying a much younger woman when his wife was barely cool in the ground and then trying to break her, and the way he’d always kept Jason dangling on a promise of elevation to the point that Jason resorted to theft to make it happen. Having Elizabeth at his beck and call every minute of the day. Not exactly a saint. Still, whatever he was, William probably hadn’t deserved this fate of hanging in limbo between life and death, but then most people didn’t deserve what life threw at them, good or bad.
The church was standing room only but over the hour of gushing words, Marcie had plenty of time to study the congregation. There were the true churchgoers, all in the front rows with Virginia and Emmett, eyes shining and singing loud as they cast their good wishes heavenward. Everyone else simply whined out the hymns under their breath, unsure of the melodies, while making token nods to the prayers. Marcie almost envied that inner circle. The power of their religion. The solidarity it gave them with their fellow believers, to automatically belong somewhere. The sense of community, of invisible bonds. She’d seen it with the women who helped at the Mission. United by worship and the need to serve their God in all they did, to help each other. It was anathema to Marcie. She figured religion had to get you when you were young, before cynicism set in. With her upbringing, if Mama’s efforts at dragging her through childhood could be called that, cynicism had set in way before Marcie could even spell the word.
Once she’d spotted her, it was hard not to just stare at Jacquie. The brunette, hair in an elegant bun, was standing over to the right, about halfway back, not part of that religious inner circle. Jacquie and her bitterness. Jacquie and her revenge. Jacquie the crazy bitch. She hadn’t glanced back, but she wasn’t fooling Marcie. She knew Marcie was there. Jacquie might think she was playing with Marcie, but Marcie was on to her now.
After seeing Iris the previous day, Marcie had gone home and called her old high school, asking the secretary if they kept copies of past yearbooks. They’d put her through to the librarian, who’d laughed, surprised, when she’d said she was interested in spare copies of the 2004 edition. Apparently a woman emailed a while back asking for the same. She remembered because she never got requests for that far back, not often. People move on, don’t they? Marcie’s stomach had been in her throat when she’d asked if the librarian had a copy of the email, but she hadn’t. The woman must have come and collected one though, because there was one fewer than there had been in the storage room. She must have come in, maybe during the vacation when there were only office staff in. The librarian promised to ask her colleagues, but wasn’t sure she’d get an answer. It was several months ago and in high schools everything was always such a blur wasn’t it? All that youth racing around.
Once she’d gotten rid of the wittering woman, Marcie had almost called Anderson right away to share her theories but stopped herself. She needed more.
“Hey!” she called out, as the doors opened and the crowd spilled free. “Julian!” The party planners were hurrying off toward their car, heads down and faces like thunder. “Julian! Pierre! Wait!”
Pierre stopped, peering over his sunglasses, and waited for her to catch up. “Well,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I thought I should show my face,” she said. “I don’t want people thinking I’m hiding. Do you want to get some brunch? My treat. I’m not going to lie, I’m in need of friends.” She might be deep in the shit long term, but for now she was cash rich. “And obviously”—she winked irreverently at Pierre, knowing how to play him—“I have all the gossip.”
“Alessi’s,” Pierre said, after a moment. “I could murder one of their martinis.”
“Let’s steer clear of the M word, shall we?”
“Deal. As long as you tell us everything about what it’s like in the real world of Orange Is the New Black.”
“Oh, you’re funny,” Marcie said
“Come on,” Julian said, unsmiling. “Let’s get out of here.”
She didn’t wait for a showdown with Jacquie or to chat with Virginia or Iris or any of the women who kept glancing her way as if she were radioactive, but got in her car and followed the boys out of the lot. If anyone knew about people’s movements that night, it would be these two. For all their flamboyance, they were professionals and would have been sober and observant all night.
The martinis were already on the table when she slid in to join them at the booth.
“You said she’d be there,” Julian was saying. “What a waste of a morning. You know I can’t stand churches. They hate us in there.”
“That’s not true. They all love us. And hate is a strong word. They’re confused by the gays they don’t know. Which means they probably don’t hate them at all.”
“You thought who’d be there?” Marcie said.
“Elizabeth,” Julian said. “We’re still owed a lot of money from the fiasco of a party. The balance.”
“Although to be fair,” Pierre added, “the scandal has got everyone trying to book us. Who would have thought attempted murder would be so profitable?”
> “Elizabeth seems to have set up camp at the hospital,” Marcie said. “Like a loyal dog dying with its master.” She smirked. Julian and Pierre—well, mainly Pierre—unleashed the bitch in her. “But I guess you may have to wait awhile until things have settled down. I have no idea who can access William’s money at the moment, if anyone can. Must be a bit of a mess.” I sure can’t access mine, she wanted to add. “Are you guys broke?”
“Oh, hell no.” Pierre looked aghast. “Don’t even say that word.”
“That’s not the point.” Julian drank half his martini in one swallow. “I didn’t want to do another of William’s parties in the first place. Not for a second wife, however nice she might be. He always made us feel second rate and like we owed him.”
Pierre leaned across the table. “In case you missed it, here’s the recap. Eleanor gave us some money when we were starting out because she loved Julian. He was her link to Lyle.”
“And William hated that,” Julian cut in. “But he could never say anything about it, because then he’d have to face the truth all over again.”
Marcie frowned, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“Lyle of course,” Pierre said. “He was gay. He was Julian’s first love. Why do you think he joined the army? To try to impress his daddy. To be a man in his eyes.”
“Eleanor didn’t want him to go. She knew he was only joining because William was so ashamed and disappointed in him and he wanted his father’s approval again.”
“And as if there are no gays in the army.” Pierre rolled his eyes. “I mean seriously. They all work out, and they all wear uniforms. The army is basically the goddamn Village People.”
Marcie sat, stunned.
“Eleanor didn’t care about his sexuality, she just wanted him to be happy. But William—as we all know—isn’t someone to be argued with.”
“So Lyle went off to the army to make his daddy proud, and then he died and the heartbreak very nearly killed Eleanor.”
“Just because William couldn’t stand the thought of a gay son.”
“Wow.” It was all Marcie could muster. So much family history she didn’t know from back when the ghosts were breathing.
“And you wondered why I have no real desire to organize parties for William Radford the Fourth,” Julian said.
Parties. This was her in.
“Well, I don’t think you have to worry about organizing another one for him, do you?” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “I left early. Thankfully for my freedom as it transpires.”
“You little two-name jailbird.”
“You’re so funny. But thank God for that headache. Although I almost came back when I saw Jacquie turning up as I left. I thought she might be making a play for Jason, now that she’s a widow. Stupid, I know. And actually, given everything that’s happened since, I should let her have him.”
“Straight men are such dogs,” Pierre said. “But you shouldn’t have worried about that. I saw them briefly talking but he didn’t look very pleased about it.”
“And I saw her later,” Julian said. “Mask off and face like thunder. She’d gone upstairs. Said the bathrooms were all in use downstairs, although I’m not sure they were. Plus, we’d arranged those rather gorgeous temporary restrooms outside that looked like safari yurts, across the garden from the catering truck.”
She’d gone upstairs. Had she been in Eleanor’s bedroom stealing a needle? Then done what needed to be done?
“Now, let’s get back to the important stuff,” Pierre said, ignoring the brunch menu but waving the waiter over for another round of martinis. “We need to know all about this first husband of yours and what happened there. You’re like a phoenix”—his grin was razor sharp as he waved his hands dramatically skyward—“risen from death in a trailer park to these dizzying heights.”
And it was a long way to fall back down again, Marcie thought, as she resigned herself to another hour or so of grilling. But at least she’d found out what she needed. And no more martinis if she was going to speak to Detective Anderson this afternoon.
“Can you get her to call me?” Marcie said into the hands-free as she put the car into drive. “Marcie Maddox. It’s urgent. I have some information on the attempted murder of William Radford.” Kate Anderson was out at the airport apparently but would be back in thirty minutes. Marcie hung up. Maybe that wasn’t so bad. It would give her time to get home and make coffee before presenting her case. Despite her resolve to not drink more, brunch had been entirely liquid, and the heavy storm clouds gathering overhead weren’t helping shake the two martinis away, but her adrenaline was firing her onward as she mentally listed all the evidence—circumstantial though much of it was—she had against Jacquie.
Jacquie had been ridiculously bitter all through the divorce. She didn’t like William and had visited Eleanor plenty when she was sick so could easily have known about the needles and syringes in her drawer. She’d wanted Jason back and he rejected her. A woman had emailed and asked for a copy of her old high school yearbook. That could have been her. If Jacquie had been following Marcie, she could easily have taken the photo that Keisha said William received the night of the party. But what for? Maybe to make him pissed and snappy at people. Cause him to argue with Jason and make him look guilty? She knew Emmett and Virginia and could have known about Jason’s heavy investments and guessed at money problems. Finally, Jacquie had been upstairs on the night of the party to go to the bathroom and could have taken the syringe then before poisoning the coconut waters.
Marcie sat back in the seat, her heart racing. There was definitely a case there. Jacquie hated Jason and Marcie, everyone knew that. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. If they arrested her would they let Jason and Keisha go? Would Jason get bail? Maybe they’d wonder if Jacquie and Jason were in it together. Her stomach tangled in knots at the thought of both her lovers being freed. Who did she want to see the most? Jason was a lying bastard, but he was her husband and maybe there was a way they could wriggle out of this financial mess if he wasn’t under suspicion of murder—maybe she at least could keep this life while he did whatever time they gave him. Perhaps the status quo could be maintained.
But what about Keisha? She was wild and unbalanced but she did something to Marcie’s insides. She made Marcie crazy in the way Jason used to, but could she stand the scandal of coming out with Keisha and starting again somewhere? Did she really want to live the kind of life Keisha would now she was in her mid-thirties?
She was still turning over her limited options when a flash of umber on the sidewalk ahead distracted her. She stared as she drove by. The tall old black woman, cane in hand, was shuffling along the street around the corner from Alessi’s. Marcie had passed her in a nanosecond but she was sure, when she looked in the rearview mirror, that as her car drove by, the old woman had paused and beaten the ground with her stick three times, her head thrown back in laughter. Was this another of Jacquie’s games? Was she trying to send Marcie as mad as she’d driven Keisha with all this voodoo stuff so that when the police finally came for Marcie—which she was pretty sure was the plan—she wouldn’t be thinking clearly?
Not me, Marcie thought.
I’m ahead of you, Jacquie. You won’t beat me.
59.
“Jacquie?” Marcie almost dropped the champagne glass she was holding. She’d still been a little squiffy from the martinis, but the phone call with Detective Anderson had gone so well, she was sure she had something to celebrate. But now, with Jason’s ex-wife standing on her doorstep, she realized she’d been premature.
“You thought I set up Jason because I wanted him back and he rejected me?” Jacquie rested one hand on her hip, exasperated. “Jesus. Not in a million years. You’d better let me in.” She nodded at Marcie’s glass. “And we’re going to need something stronger than that for what I have to tell you.”
Marcie didn’t move. “Detective Anderson told you about our call? After everything you’ve done?”
“I haven’t done anything, Marcie, except up front tell her to look at Jason’s finances—but not because I wanted him back. Trust me, I’m not your enemy. Now let me in. We don’t want to do this on your doorstep.”
Marcie stepped aside, nodding Jacquie through to the kitchen while noting how effortlessly elegant she looked, even in jeans and a sweater. Born to this life. Marcie felt dowdy beside her, even though she had a ten-year youth advantage over Jason’s first wife. Marcie couldn’t help it. She hated her. And Jacquie had been the tip-off about Jason. What else had she done?
“So what is it you’ve got to tell me?” Marcie poured her rival a glass of champagne, ignoring the earlier request for something stronger. She didn’t want Jacquie in the house any longer than she had to be. It had to be Jacquie behind all this. It had to be.
“Let me ask you something.” Jacquie perched on a stool at the kitchen island and studied Marcie, thoughtful and cool as a cucumber. “When you found out he was stealing from client accounts did he say he’d done it for you? He was trying to keep you in love with him? Trying to give you everything you wanted?”
Marcie opened and closed her mouth as she looked for words of denial that she couldn’t find. “How do you know that?” The world was spinning again, turning events once again on their head. She knew the answer before Jacquie spoke. Because he’d said it before.
“How do you think I know? He used all that bullshit on me. A long time ago.” Jacquie sipped her champagne. “When I was young and stupid and should have seen through it.” She shook her head, annoyed at her younger self.
“When I came back for Eleanor’s funeral, she was buried in those beautiful South Sea pearls of hers. Elizabeth told me how she’d gotten so confused she’d lost them and then Jason found them somewhere. That was the first warning light in my head—hugely expensive pearls going missing around my darling ex-husband. I know Jason. He probably stole them on a whim and then realized he wouldn’t be able to sell them in town so put them back. When I heard about this big new house and his plans for buying William out, and Emmett told me he’d been making some high-risk investments, I knew it. I knew he was doing it all over again.”
Dead to Her Page 29
