“I had no idea.” Jill closed her eyes. Suddenly, an idea took shape. Did Marc approach you or anyone else in town?”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Mrs. Ivey answered for Chase. “Why do you ask?”
“Because he never builds just one house. That’s not how he works. He builds developments and puts a model home on site to show buyers. He didn’t do that here,” Jill explained. It was one piece that didn’t quite fit.
As soon as she gave voice to it, Jill regretted her question. The story had gone beyond what she intended and seemed to be taking a toll on both of them. And her question was callous.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking out loud. Please continue.”
“There’s not much more to tell,” Chase replied, though his expression had shifted. He seemed wary now. “Marc filed papers to have the state clear debris from the waterfront lots he bought—for free, I might add. That process alone took the better part of a year. There was a petition at first and a few half-hearted protests, but it didn’t matter. The lot was vacant for so long that we thought he might have reconsidered, but he hadn’t. Later, he brought a crew down from New York and built what stands there today.”
Jill sagged against the back of the chair. “I wish I’d known.”
“We all wish that,” Mrs. Ivey said. “For a long time, Dianne blamed herself, and it was heartbreaking to see. Even after the divorce, she was afraid to visit, and she’d lived here for most of her life. Marc took that from her.”
“What about her father?”
“He lives near her, up in Rhode Island,” Mrs. Ivey answered. “But he’s not the same man he was.”
Outside, dusk had turned to darkness. A patter of fall rain tapped on the windowpanes. Chase reached for a blanket and laid it across Mrs. Ivey’s lap. She didn’t seem to notice that she’d shivered.
“That man told us he’d come to help, but he didn’t.” Mrs. Ivey’s voice shook with emotion. “He came to plunder.”
The thought from earlier tugged at her. She needed to ask again, but she chose her words carefully this time. “During our divorce arbitration, Marc said his company hadn’t earned a profit in all the time we were married, but I don’t believe that’s true. To prove it, he submitted a financial packet. Inside was a document from the state. I saw the seal.” At the time, Jill had disagreed with what Marc had said but she hadn’t looked closely at the financials. A mistake she regretted. “Then earlier today Nancy Pellish said ‘after what he did in Mantoloking.’ Do you know what she meant?”
“I don’t,” Chase said. “But Mantoloking’s not far from here.”
“Marc told the judge a property he owned had been declared a total loss. But the only properties I know of are the development in Summit, which he just completed, and the land in the Berkshires, which he just bought. Could the property he mentioned be the same one Nancy Pellish was talking about?”
“It’s possible,” Chase said slowly. “There are parts of Mantoloking that are still underwater, even today. The hurricane carved an inlet through a residential neighborhood over by the bridge. I think that town was hit the hardest.”
Marc had testified that his business hadn’t turned a profit in years, yet they’d both spent money freely. His watch alone had cost almost fifty thousand dollars, her shopping trips had been frequent and pricey. In addition, there had been country club dues, gym memberships, personal trainers, dinner parties, vacations—the list was endless. And that was only personal spending.
Chase interrupted her thoughts. “You said you came for answers. What did you want to ask?”
“I know that Marc arranged for you, specifically, to be at the party in August. Do you know why? Do you know what he wanted to talk to you about?”
“I assumed it was about investing.” Chase shrugged. “Marc always asked me about investing.”
But Chase’s reply only stirred up more questions.
If Marc’s company was losing money, he had nothing to invest. Why bother Chase? But Jill wouldn’t press. Reliving the hurricane had clearly cost them something and Jill couldn’t bring herself to ask for more. It was time to leave. She reached into her bag for her camera and removed the memory card.
“Would you mind giving this to Ryan? He needs it for the website.” Then she rose from the chair. “Thank you for your time.”
Pausing at the front door, she added, “I’m sorry for what Marc did. You can see now that I didn’t have any part in it.”
“I’m not sure that matters,” Chase answered. “The fact remains: if you’re selling that house, then you’re part of it.”
Twenty-Two
Jill hurried back to the beach house.
After leaving the Bennett home, Jill cut down a side street to avoid the festival activity in town, though she didn’t want to. In the few days she’d been here, she’d come to like Dewberry Beach—the people, the town, the shore. Avoiding them now felt wrong, like she was accepting blame for a scheme she’d had no part in. It bothered her that Chase believed that selling the house made complicit. This was Marc’s doing, not hers. Why couldn’t Chase see that? She kicked a stone in her path and it skittered across the street, smacking the opposite curb with a satisfying crack. Marc’s lies had affected her as well; she was a victim too. But the worst part was that Marc was free to live his life while those he’d deceived struggled to find theirs.
Back at her own house and utterly exhausted, Jill let herself inside, locking the door and drawing the shades, hiding from the neighbors. But she already knew they were watching. She kicked off her shoes and settled into an alcove away from the windows, thinking that she should follow up with the real-estate agent, but she didn’t have the energy.
After all she’d heard, several things still nagged at her: one of them was the idea that Marc had built a single house instead of a development. He never did that, ever. How many times had she overheard him tell his associates, at parties or dinners, that profit came from developments, not singles. “Single builds lose money”—she could hear his voice as clearly as if he were standing in this room.
And the other was that Marc’s whole business was losing money. That wasn’t true either.
She’d been ordered to leave the Summit house because it had sold—the last house in a successful development. And if the development wasn’t successful, how could Marc afford to move ahead with the Berkshire development? The money from the mortgage that Cush had stolen was significant, but not nearly enough to pay for the land Marc needed. So where did he get the rest?
It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.
Maybe she should start with the financial packet Marc had submitted to the judge.
Jill closed her eyes and tried to recall every detail about that day. There was a document in the packet, official correspondence from the state of New Jersey, that Marc had said proved his company had failed to turn a profit. She remembered the letterhead and the foil seal at the bottom. At the time, Jill had been furious but more concerned with losing her temper so she hadn’t questioned it.
Maybe she should have.
Jill rose from her chair and went to get her laptop. Retreating to a guest bedroom in the back of the house, she drew the shades and began her search. With only a vague idea of what she was doing, Jill looked for the document Marc had given the judge. Her first thought was that, as a court document, it might be part of the public record, but Jill couldn’t find it.
Several hours later, a bigger picture began to form, but it was murky. Jill printed documents and pictures that seemed like what she needed, even though she wasn’t sure. Everything she discovered seemed to offer some clue, and yet nothing came together.
The chirp of her cell phone startled her. Straightening, she winced at the crick in her neck. As she reached for her phone, she noticed the room wasn’t as dark as it had been when she’d started.
“Hello?” Jill’s eyes felt grainy and dry.
“Hello, Ms. DiFiore. This is Sheri, Seth’
s assistant?” a chipper voice began immediately. “He asked me to call you. I hope it’s not too early.”
Jill cleared her throat. “No, not too early at all.”
“I’m calling with good news: the client Seth toured the house with yesterday is very interested. He’s requested another showing and wants to bring his team down this morning, if that’s okay with you?”
“He has a team?” Jill echoed, her head fuzzy from lack of sleep.
“Yes. He’s hired an architect and an engineer to look into expanding the widow’s walk on the roof. It’s got such a great view, there’s really no reason not to.” Her voice was much too cheery for this early in the morning and it made Jill’s head ache. “They were delighted to discover that the property has almost no restriction on building or expanding. Such an advantage, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it is,” Jill agreed, without enthusiasm. Of course there would be few restrictions. Peter Muscadine had trusted his son-in-law.
“So do you mind if we come down and measure? Maybe take some photographs? If things go well, Seth might have an offer for you very soon.”
“Sure. Of course. Come whenever you like.”
“Great!” Sheri gushed. “We hoped you’d agree. Seth and the client are on their way to you now. This showing will be a long one. But, with luck, it will be the last.”
“That’s fine. Take as long as you like. I’ll be out all day.”
After the conversation ended, Jill rose and threw some things in her bag. On her way out the door, she grabbed the pages she’d printed, along with her camera case. She needed to talk to someone she trusted.
Twenty-Three
Ellie was still away when Jill arrived back at the apartment. Dropping her bags, she made her way to the spare bedroom, pushing away all thought of Dewberry Beach and the festival as she shrugged off her coat. Right now she was supposed to be delivering her photograph to Brenda’s framers. More than anything she wished she could. It hurt to lose this opportunity.
And what would Brenda think of her when she found out who she was?
What would they all think?
The obvious answer was that they’d think she was no better than Marc. And that judgment wasn’t fair.
Sometime later, Jill woke to the sound of the front door opening. The light outside was dim, and her head felt fuzzy from the oddly timed sleep.
“Hello?” Ellie called.
“I’m in here,” Jill croaked as she sat up.
Ellie appeared at the guest-room door, looking contrite. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were sleeping.”
“It’s okay. I need to get up anyway.” Jill pushed the blanket from her legs. “How was the wedding?”
“Fine. The Brockhursts paid well, but I didn’t like it. I’m not sure organizing posh weddings in the Hamptons is the best career path for me.” She reached for the door. “You want to go back to sleep?”
“Uh-uh.” Jill shook her head as she stood. “I’m hungry. Have you eaten?”
“They gave us a boxed lunch, but honestly, I could seriously go for a Mama G’s pizza.”
Jill smiled. It felt good to be with her best friend again. So why did her thoughts pull her toward Dewberry Beach?
They ordered a pizza and set the box on the coffee table when it arrived. Ellie grabbed two beers from the refrigerator and settled on the floor, just like they used to, and as they ate, she told Jill about the Brockhurst wedding—the luxury and the guests. She described the woman who’d brought her twins to an adults-only reception and had been furious that on-site childcare hadn’t been provided. And the teens who’d crept into the wine cellar for a bottle of their own, setting off the alarm in the process. It almost felt like old times—almost.
When the pizza was reduced to just a few crusts tossed into the box, Ellie’s attitude became more serious. Her gaze sharpened as if she were trying to solve a puzzle.
“Something happened at the shore, didn’t it?” she asked as she pushed herself up from the floor. “Something you haven’t told me.”
“Well, the sales agent may have found a buyer already, so that’s good news… great, in fact,” Jill offered, deliberately stalling. Ellie looked tired and Jill wasn’t sure this was the right time to present her findings. “And they’re measuring today. Or maybe they already have. The days are starting to blend.”
Ellie paused, her eyes narrowing as she considered. Finally, she shook her head. “Nope. That’s not it.” She took two more beers from the refrigerator and handed one to Jill.
Jill twisted the top and tossed it into the pizza box. She thought of the mortgage she wouldn’t have to pay and felt better. This was a good ending for a house she never should have taken in the first place. Maybe what happened next wasn’t up to her.
“Jilly,” Ellie prodded. “Out with it.”
Jill set the bottle down with a sigh. “I don’t know. There might be something, but it’s complicated.”
She rose to get the printouts from her bag. When she returned, they pushed the pizza box aside and spread everything across the coffee table. Jill explained the things she’d uncovered, fitting together what she’d learned about the house Marc had built, what Chase had told her, and what she’d overheard at the Yacht Club, but there were still gaping holes in the story. Holes that clouded the truth.
“It didn’t make sense to me that Marc would be content with a single house in Dewberry Beach. He doesn’t work that way,” Jill finished as she sifted through the pages. “I may have found something but I’m not entirely sure.”
She slid a page to Ellie, who set her beer down and frowned. “What am I looking at?”
“It’s a plat map of four adjoining properties Marc owned in Mantoloking. I think it’s where he wanted to put a development. I think Dewberry was part of a larger plan.”
“Why would he spread out like that?”
“For one thing, oceanfront property at the shore is wildly expensive, especially at Dewberry Beach, so maybe he couldn’t afford it. But—and this is more likely—I think they wouldn’t sell him what he needed.”
Jill told Ellie what she’d learned, about Dianne’s connections to Dewberry Beach and how Marc had used them to swindle property from hurricane victims. That after getting zoning approval from Dianne’s father, Marc had traveled to Trenton to modify the permits, then brought in his own crew to put the house up.
“That’s messed up.” Ellie leaned back, stunned. “How can anyone be that terrible?”
“I should have listened to you, El.” Jill scrubbed her face with her palm. “You’re my best friend and you never liked him. I should have listened.”
“I never liked him because he didn’t treat you well. The business stuff… I had no idea. You couldn’t have known either, so don’t blame yourself.”
“It gets worse.” Jill pointed at the plat maps. “This whole area was underwater after the hurricane.” She passed Ellie a picture showing the new inlet in Mantoloking. “This is what the neighborhood looked like before.”
“Holy mackerel,” Ellie whispered. “Is this right?” She touched the photographs with her fingertips. “Those poor people.”
Jill took a breath. “This is where things get sticky, and I’m not sure if what I think happened really happened.”
“Let’s hear it.” Ellie laid the picture gently on the coffee table.
“The dates suggest Marc bought this land after the hurricane, not before. Which is weird because by then it was completely underwater, unbuildable and worthless.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Before the hurricane, it was waterfront. See?” Jill pointed to the map again. “That’s Barnegat Bay right there. Waterfront.”
“I don’t get it, Jilly.”
“Okay.” Jill sat in the chair across from her friend. “Because this was waterfront before the hurricane, it was reasonable to expect it would be after. Officials expected floodwaters to recede and the coastline to return to normal eventually. But it did
n’t, and it never will. The force of the hurricane changed the coastline, so the land Marc bought is still underwater and worthless—or it was.” She took a breath to organize her thoughts. She was about to accuse her husband of something so horrible that it made her careful. “I found this deed in the County Tax Assessor’s digital archive.” She lifted a page from the pile. “Marc’s company bought a block of the most severely damaged properties along the new inlet. That was in 2013, right after the hurricane.”
“Okay.” Ellie took the page. “So what does it say?”
Jill pointed to the deed she’d printed. “He told the judge at arbitration that he didn’t have any personal assets, but this says he did. He lied, El. To a judge.”
Ellie squinted at the page. “Who’s Cushman Lawrence the third?”
Jill rolled her eyes. “Technically, he’s the staff attorney for Marc’s company—he and his wife are the ones who took out the mortgage in my name.”
Ellie’s expression hardened but she didn’t interrupt.
“This is where it gets tricky because the rest of it is so technical.” She went back to her papers. “I found a buy-out program that provides money to homeowners who’d needed it, who’d lost everything. There were a million programs after the hurricane: programs, subprograms, charities and loans, state and federal and private. One of them—”
“I get it, Jilly. Can you narrow it down?”
Jill shot Ellie a look. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to sift through all of this?”
“And I’m glad you did. But can you summarize?”
“Fine. In the financial packet that Marc submitted was a document from the state declaring the Mantoloking property worthless.”
“That’s when he lied?”
“Not yet. His lie comes later.”
The Girl I Used to Be: A gripping and emotional page-turner Page 20
