by Marti Green
I arrived shortly after 10:00 a.m. and was assigned to a guide. For the rest of the day, I felt pampered as we toured the back lot of the studio, marched to the front of the lines for rides, and had the best seats for the shows. By the time I returned to the hotel, I was exhausted, but I had less than an hour before I had to meet Brian and Stan for dinner. I lay down for fifteen minutes, then took a quick shower and got dressed.
I was meeting them at Culina, an Italian restaurant in the Four Seasons hotel. When I got there, they were already seated, and both jumped up as soon as they saw me. Brian was the first to grab me in a bear hug. When he pulled away, Stan did the same.
“Sweetie, aren’t they feeding you here? You’ve lost weight,” Stan said when we were finally seated.
“It’s LA. Everybody here is on a diet. I’m just trying to fit in.”
“Well, you look fabulous,” Brian said.
I had to admit, it was great seeing them both again. I knew I was supposed to cut all my ties once I’d moved into Ben’s parents’ house, but Brian had been in my first art class when I’d moved to New York, and every one after that. I just couldn’t turn my back on him.
By the end of our five-course meal, each course accompanied by a glass of wine, I was feeling pleasantly tipsy. Brian insisted on waiting with me for a taxi and walked with me to the front of the hotel. He told the doorman I needed a cab and slipped some bills into his hand. Moments later, one pulled up, and a man emerged from the back seat.
“Charly, what are you doing here?”
My first reaction was panic, but I quickly scanned my memory for the pictures Ben had sent me, and the ones I’d seen on Charly’s social media pages, of her friends and family. He was her second cousin, Phil, living in Boston. If I were alone, I’d respond with a big smile and ask about his wife, Sally, and his parents, Ginger and Barry. But I wasn’t alone. Brian was standing by my side with a confused look on his face.
“I think I must have a common face. People keep confusing me with others, but this is the first time I’ve been mistaken for a man.”
“No, no, Charly’s a woman. Short for Charlotte.”
“My name is Mallory.”
It helped that it was dark outside, with just some lights from the hotel behind me. He simply nodded and apologized, then entered the hotel. I kissed Brian goodbye, and I got in the back seat of the taxi.
Part of me had hoped that, by keeping in e-mail contact with Brian, when this whole mess was finished—Charly dead, me taking her place, divorcing Ben, and divvying up the money—then I could return to being Mallory Holcolm and resume my friendship with Brian. Now, I understood. Keeping in touch with him was too much of a risk. Ben was right. I had to stay in my cocoon.
CHAPTER 20
Ben barely saw Charly anymore. He’d wake up next to her, they’d mumble “Good morning,” then each would quickly dress and leave for work. They didn’t even have breakfast together. Each morning Charly would beg off, saying she wasn’t hungry. Ben wondered if the stress of her father’s illness had taken away her appetite. He wouldn’t care, except that the more weight she lost, the more Mallory had to lose. He’d taken to leaving the house early to pick up freshly baked cinnamon rolls, Charly’s favorite, from the corner shop, then dropping them back at the house before heading into the office. When he returned at night, they’d be gone, but he had no idea whether Charly actually ate them or brought them into the gallery for her assistant.
Ted Manning had taken over running the business in Rick’s absence, and he pretty much ignored Ben. If Ben had been playing games on his computer all day, or checking out porn sites, Ted wouldn’t know or seemingly care. Ben figured Rick had explained that his son-in-law had a guaranteed job there, at least while he and Charly were married.
A little earlier than usual, Ben left the office for his weekly racquetball game with Graham. He got to the sports club before Graham and began hitting some warm-up shots. By the time Graham arrived, he’d already worked up a sweat. They got right into a game, Ben taking the first one easily.
“You’re more relaxed than I’ve seen you in years,” Graham said as they took their first break.
“It’s a lot less stressful with Rick out of the office.”
“Any more news about him?”
“It’s going to happen soon. Probably no more than a month.”
“Charly must be freaking out.”
Ben took the towel in his hand and wiped it across his forehead. “She is, but we hardly see each other now. She heads off to her father as soon as the gallery closes, then heads to bed as soon as she comes home.”
“Maybe when her father is out of the picture, you two can try to reconnect. You used to be crazy about each other.”
Ben shook his head. “Not going to happen. After she’s finished grieving—six months, at the most—I’m leaving her for Lisa. I’ve made up my mind.”
“That’s big. You’re really going to walk away from her money?”
“I’m going to do whatever I need to in order to be with Lisa.”
Graham slapped him on the back. “Man, I’m proud of you. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that. You don’t need money when you have love.”
Ben smiled as he thought, Yes, but it’s so much nicer to have both.
Ten days later, Ben headed to Brooklyn again, to the same bar where he’d met Jeff Mullin weeks before. This time, Jeff was there with another man, already seated in a booth in the back. After Ben joined them, Jeff introduced Danny Clark. He looked to be a few inches shorter than Jeff, maybe five eight, and was dressed in army fatigues, his muscles bursting through the tight T-shirt. His hair was worn in a buzz cut, and he was clean-shaven.
“Jeff told you what I’m looking for?” Ben asked.
Clark nodded.
“You ever done anything like this before?”
“You mean outside of the army?”
“Yeah.”
“It doesn’t bother me, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You’d have to make the body disappear. No one could ever find it.”
“That’s doable.”
Ben sat back and eyed both men. “How can I be sure you won’t talk to the police?”
Clark looked over at Mullin. “Jeff saved my life, and took shrapnel to do it. Left him in constant pain that only narcs seem to help. I inform on you, you tell them about Jeff’s role, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him go in the clinker.”
Ben nodded, then reached into the inside pocket of his sports jacket and withdrew two envelopes. “Here’s ten grand for each of you. Jeff, you get the rest when the job is done. Danny, I’ll give you half of the remainder, ninety-five thousand, just before I’m ready for you to do it. The rest when it’s over. That work for you?”
They both murmured, “Yes.”
“One caveat,” Clark said. “We don’t meet after it’s done. I don’t want to be seen with you. I’ll let you know after it’s over how to get me my money.”
“Sure.”
“You know,” Clark continued, “the husband is always a suspect. How can I be sure you won’t squeal on us?”
Ben smiled. “Not this time. No one will even know my wife is gone. No one will miss her. It’s foolproof.”
Clark reached over and took both envelopes, then handed one to Mullin. “Don’t kid yourself. Nothing in life is foolproof.”
CHAPTER 21
Today would have been my mother’s forty-fifth birthday. When I was very young, I used to draw a picture for her as a birthday present. She’d hug me and tell me how much she liked it, and I always felt loved in those moments. There weren’t many times when I did, and as I got older, my anger toward her grew. If she wasn’t going to love me, then I wouldn’t love her. Tit for tat. Except, I wanted her to love me, to tell me she was proud of my art, of my good grades, of my hard work. I couldn’t see past my disappointment.
My mother always bought me a present for my birthday, even if it was
something small. She would bake a cake for me, and when she’d returned from her cleaning jobs and we’d finished dinner, she would present the cake with the number of candles for my age, plus two. I remember, on my eighth birthday, smugly telling her that there should be only one extra candle—eight, plus one to grow on. She smiled, but her eyes looked sad when she said, “You’re so special that you deserve two extra candles.” Now I understood that the second candle was for my sister.
I wonder how my life would have been different if I’d grown up with Charlotte. If my mother had kept us both, the little money my mother had for gifts, even for food and clothes, would have been split between us. But I don’t think I’d have been as lonely if I’d grown up with a sister, no matter how little money we had. When you’re a child and poor, it doesn’t matter if you have a little less—it’s all that you’re used to.
If, instead, she’d given us both away, would the Jensens have adopted me as well? Would I have grown up spoiled and selfish, like my sister? I’d had a lot of time to fill in my country hideaway, no job to report to, no classes to take. I’d spent hours looking up studies on identical twins, and it seemed clear that personality traits were genetically determined, and since twins shared the same genes, they had similar personalities. Yet, Ben’s description of Charly was so at odds with how I saw myself. The studies also said that when identical twins were raised separately, their different life experiences could have an impact on brain development, resulting in different personalities.
I hesitated. The glowing picture I had of myself was borne out of necessity. I had to be hardworking to survive. There were no extras in my life to hoard selfishly. If I acted out, my mother withheld affection more than she usually did. So, who was I really? Did my genes make me the compliant child, always wanting to please? Or was I meant to be cold, calculating, and self-centered, like Ben had described Charly? Whose personality had been changed by her environment? Mine or Charly’s?
I knew the answer. It had taken me less than two weeks to agree to murder a sister I’d never met. Until Ben had presented his plan, I’d accepted my life—the poverty, the struggling, the lack of maternal affection. Now, I wanted what Charly had. I wanted her wealth. I wanted the townhouse and the gallery. I wanted her life. I was as greedy and coldhearted as my twin.
I woke up to a foot of snow on the ground. I’d been living in High Falls for seven weeks now, and other than a few sprinkles, this was the first snow they’d had. Everything outside was covered in white, unspoiled by cars or footprints. I was due to have lunch with Jake today but knew that would be canceled. He’d be busy plowing driveways. At least I’d see him when he came to do mine.
I poured myself a cup of coffee, bundled up in a warm jacket, slipped into boots, then took it out on the porch to sip. It was too beautiful to stay inside. The house was surrounded by snow-covered trees, and it looked like a scene from an Andrew Wyeth painting. Just as I thought that, two deer popped out of the trees and skipped across the snow to woods on the other side of the lawn, completing the picture of Americana.
I finished my coffee and was about to step inside when I heard the rumble of Jake’s truck, slowly plowing snow as it crept up the driveway. When it reached the top, I waved at him. He opened his window and shouted, “Hi.”
“Have time for a ten-minute break and a hot cup of coffee?” I shouted back.
He nodded, then shut off the motor and stepped outside. He was bundled up in a heavy lumberjack jacket, snow pants, and high boots, with a wool cap pulled down over his ears and heavy gloves on his hands.
“It’s not that cold outside,” I said when he got closer.
“It is when you’ve been out doing this since five a.m.”
“Come on in and warm up.”
He stomped up the porch steps and, when he reached the top, shook snow off his boots. I held the door open for him, and we stepped inside. He bent down to take off his boots while I just slipped off mine. I padded into the kitchen, poured coffee into a mug for Jake, then refilled my own. By now, I already knew he drank his black.
When he came into the kitchen, I handed him his cup, and we sat down at the table.
“You must be exhausted,” I said.
“Not yet. I’ll be doing this until it gets dark. Then I’ll collapse.”
I sat watching Jake as he drank his coffee. I’d thought him good-looking the first time I’d met him, but as I got to know him, he seemed even more handsome. More than that, he was kind, the type of person who’d go out of his way to help someone without expecting anything in return. If I only allowed myself one friend in my country hideaway, I was glad it was him.
“So . . . ,” he began, then took a sip of coffee.
I raised my eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
“Do you have someplace to go for Christmas dinner?”
The holiday was one week away. If my life hadn’t changed with the stare of a customer at Trattoria Ricciardi those many weeks ago, I’d probably be waiting tables. It was open both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and customers were overly generous both nights. When the evening was over, I’d crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep. It was the only time I missed my mother. As neglectful as she’d been, she was the entirety of my family.
“Just here,” I answered. “I’ll probably make a casserole, then watch It’s a Wonderful Life on DVD.”
“Come to my family dinner instead. We’d love to have you.”
Warning bells immediately started in my head. I’d rationalized having one friend to keep me from going stir-crazy, as well as my trainer, Jackie. It could be dangerous getting too entrenched in the community. What if, when Ben’s parents returned, people told them about my stay in their home? I assumed Ben would tell his parents beforehand that he’d lent the house to me, but if someone described me to them, they might realize I looked like Charly. Ben would have a hard time explaining that.
Still, I’d spent Thanksgiving alone. I didn’t mind giving up a holiday if it was to work, but somehow, staying in by myself had just made me feel pathetic. I smiled at Jake. “I’d love to.”
It was a starkly clear winter’s day, with a deep-blue sky and puffy clouds overhead. I was going to climb my first mountain today—Ashokan High Point—with Jake by my side. It was the Catskill peak that could be seen from his parents’ property, Jake told me. Before today, I’d gone to Rock and Snow in nearby New Paltz and purchased Gore-Tex hiking boots, and crampons and snowshoes, then practiced walking in them outside the house. Jake had already warned me it would be strenuous.
It was almost 10:00 a.m. when Jake picked me up in his truck. I’d prepared sandwiches and stuffed them, along with a thermos of coffee and two apples, into my backpack. We drove forty minutes to the trailhead, a small cut in the woods that would have been easy to miss had Jake not been with me. We started out by crossing a stream on a bridge made of wooden slats, then began the uphill trek. The snow was solidly packed, so I didn’t need the snowshoes. I was able to manage avoiding the occasional patches of ice, so I left the crampons in the pack as well.
Jake was right—despite my newly fit body, I was breathing heavily an hour into the hike. We reached a clearing and took a break.
“You’re doing great,” Jake said.
I loved his optimism, even if it was fake. I took out the thermos and poured us both some coffee and breathed in the rich aroma before sipping it down. It felt good—not just the coffee but being with Jake, climbing a mountain, and seeing how far I could push my body. I felt ready to become Charly . . . to be the confident, fit, beautiful woman who was used to getting what she wanted. Was I going to get what I wanted? I thought, Yes.
After ten minutes, we started up again, and an hour later, we reached the peak. The leaves were off the trees, and I could see mountains all around me—beautiful, jagged, majestic mountains. I wanted to climb every one of them. I wanted to be Charlotte Jensen Gordon and know that everything was in my reach. I knew that I could.
On Christmas Day
, Jake picked me up at exactly 5:00 p.m. I had begun to realize that punctuality was part of his personality. I had made a bread stuffing with sausage and dried cherries, as well as a pecan pie, and gathered those up before grabbing my coat and heading out the door with him. The weather had remained cold since the snowfall, and the tree branches were still covered with clumps of white powder.
“I keep meaning to ask you,” Jake said when I got in the car. “Do you like to ski? I thought maybe you’d like to go with me. Hunter or Bellayre are both nearby.”
Once again, a reminder of my austere childhood. “Nope. Never gone.”
“Well, think about it. Especially if it’s a snowy winter. Even though they have snowmaking machines, it’s much better with the real stuff.”
It took only fifteen minutes to arrive at the home of Jake’s parents. We turned off the public road onto a dirt drive that, although plowed, still had a thin veneer of snow, then drove uphill for half a mile. We reached their house, standing all alone in a copse of trees. A double strand of white lights framed the two-story house, and a large fir tree on the side of the porch was lit up with multicolored lights. Two other cars were parked around the circular driveway. We walked up the front porch to the double doors, a holly wreath on each. Jake knocked once and, without waiting, opened the door and walked in. The home was filled with the smell of a turkey cooking in the oven. Straight ahead, through a wall of windows, I could see the twinkling lights of Mohonk Mountain House in the distance, with just a tree-filled valley between the hotel and the house.
