A Secret in Salem

by Sheri Anderson

  “Andy?” Charley interrupted.

  “Ah, yeah?” he said, snapping back from his fascination with the all-American blonde.

  “If there are any left, Mr. Kasagian can keep them. He’s paid for them all,” she said. “You handling security personally tonight?”

  “I am,” Andy responded.

  “See you then.” Charley smiled.

  Andy hoisted the boxes of white gold OMG key chains and headed out of the shop, stopping to glance back at Abby.

  “Too bad he’s always had a thing for blondes,” Charley said, looking to Chelsea.

  “Too damn bad.” Abby sighed with a Cheshire-cat grin.

  Chelsea knew exactly what that meant.

  IT NORMALLY TOOK MARLENA LESS THAN AN HOUR TO REACH the Geneva International Airport from Maison du Noir. It was a beautiful drive with the Swiss countryside on one side and views of Lake Geneva on the other. Today, however, the traffic was heavy.

  August is the busiest month for tourism in most of Europe, and Switzerland is no exception. A fender bender in the fast lane of the thruway didn’t help. European traffic was no better than that in the States; there are lookie loos in every country of the world.

  On top of the frustrating traffic, the drive with Desiree was strained, and Desiree was visibly shaken.

  What Marlena didn’t know was that Desiree’s father, Maurice Gauche, had been guiding his daughter’s investments since she graduated from nursing school. And things were falling apart.

  Dr. Gauche, because he was so well respected, had the ear of not only Desiree and her friends, but also dozens upon dozens of medical professionals from nurses’ aides to heads of the medical boards across Europe.

  Everyone trusted him completely.

  In fact, Marlena had once been contacted by Dr. Gauche for a meeting, but John’s condition had been so tenuous at the time that she passed.

  Marlena pulled into the airport whose northern end runs along the Swiss-French border. Fortunately, travelers going to or from France didn’t have to go through customs and immigration if they stayed in the French section of the airport, so Desiree would likely make it to the plane on time.

  “I cannot thank you enough for this, Docteur Evans,” Desiree said as she grabbed her overnight case from the Mercedes.

  “Let us know if someone needs to pick you up,” Marlena said.

  “You are too kind,” Desiree answered, then sprinted into the Air France Terminal for the two-o’clock flight.

  Not too kind.

  Marlena didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but she relished excuses to drive through the Swiss countryside. Not that she needed them, but with John growing more and more distant, she found herself welcoming time away from the estate.

  She checked her rose gold Oyster Rolex that had been a gift from Salem Hospital’s staff when she and John left.

  It was 1:25.

  Marlena checked her phone. There was no return text from Blake Masters.

  When she had received his text that morning, Marlena had been interrupted by Desiree. Then, in her rush to leave, she had merely texted back that she could see the plastic surgeon today.

  He could be in surgery, she thought. For what other reason wouldn’t he answer?

  Someone honked behind her and shouted something rude in French. Before she could put her foot to the floor, a burly Frenchman jumped out of his car, slamming his door.

  It was times like this she appreciated John’s insistence on the best for her. Her Mercedes, an S65 AMG, was not only the safest car on the road, but also the most agile. She was away from her pursuer in a flash and maneuvered quickly out of the airport and toward Blake Masters’s four-story offices on Route de Chêne.

  Her fingers tapped the steering wheel as she drove, and she became very aware of the diamond on her left hand.

  After parking her car with the strapping young valet downstairs, she entered through the familiar pink door.

  “Dr. Evans,” the receptionist said, perplexed. “Did you have an appointment?”

  The receptionist remembered her after only one visit, and Marlena was once again impressed.

  She stammered, “I-I’m not actually sure. Dr. Masters said he wanted to see me today…”

  That’s not exactly true, she realized.

  “There must be some error. I am so sorry.” The petite redhead frowned. “Dr. Masters isn’t in the office today.”

  “Oh, it must be my mistake,” Marlena said.

  “He’ll be in tomorrow, and we have a cancellation. Would you like me to put you in the book?”

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “Yes, please—” Marlena realized she’d never asked the receptionist’s name. That was not like her.

  “Lisa,” the redhead answered, saving embarrassment. “Three o’clock?”

  “Perfect,” Marlena said, though she had no idea if it was. Feeling flushed, she just wanted to get out of there.

  Taking the card from Lisa, she put it in her bag and quickly exited.

  The afternoon air was balmy, and she drank it in. Without her even asking the valet, he brought her car.

  What now?

  Putting the car in drive, she headed for one of the parks. The Natural History Museum was a few blocks away, and she could clear her head.

  Then the ding! of a text: “Perle du Lac. 5 p.m.?”

  It was a lovely restaurant next to the Lake Geneva footpath.

  Marlena hesitated. A restaurant?

  After a two-second hesitation, she texted back: “See you then.”

  Marlena knew the shorthand text lingo, but it seemed so impersonal. She checked her watch again. Two hours to kill. Or should she go home? Now? Right now?

  She was sitting under a turquoise umbrella on the serene terrace of Perle du Lac overlooking the footpath and nursing a glass of Domaines Ott when she finally saw Blake headed toward her.

  “Dr. Evans,” he said shakily.

  “Marlena,” she corrected him, then quickly wished she hadn’t. “Are you all right?”

  “My son was playing baseball this morning and got hit in the face with a bat.” He cleared his throat and signaled a nearby waiter. “He lost six of his permanent teeth and is a mess.”

  “My God.”

  “Bourbon on the rocks,” he clipped. “Make it a double.”

  No need for translation. The staff in every restaurant and hotel spoke fluent English.

  “A concussion?” she asked.

  “Slight. He’s going to be okay, but he’ll have to have several sets of implants as he gets older.”

  Permanent teeth. Baseball. As he gets older. How old is he? What’s more, how old are you?

  “He’s twelve.”

  That’s right. He can read my mind.

  “This is why all the confusion today,” he said. “I stopped at the clinic, and Lisa said you’d been in. Checked my phone and realized…”

  “As long as your son’s going to be all right.” She tried to comfort him. “And if there’s anything I can do for him or you, I’m happy to.”

  “The doctor doctoring the doctor,” he said, smiling that crooked and sexy smile.

  The waiter set his bourbon on the table and also a fresh glass of rosé for Marlena.

  “You needed to see me,” Marlena said.

  There was an odd mix of tension and guilt in the air. Blake had wanted to see her again, badly, having had dreams of his hands all over her body and knowing that for some reason John wasn’t being honest about his own.

  “Evelyne, my wife, has sent the samples from John’s back to the lab,” he answered. “She should have the results back in the next few days.”

  “Good.”

  “To his health,” Blake said, raising his glass.

  “And your son’s,” Marlena answered. The crystal glasses pinged as they toasted one another. Their hands briefly touched, and both reacted by pulling away. It was a familiar touch and made them instantly uncomfortable.

  A moment lost, he thought.<
br />
  A moment saved, she thought.

  Adultery was something Marlena abhorred. She had only strayed once in her life, while she was married to Roman. But that had been a confusing time in her life in Salem. Salem, where life was never quite normal. Her lover then was John, and their encounter had caused her to become pregnant with Belle.

  All those thoughts swam through her head as her eyes met Blake’s.

  If only she weren’t so needy, and Dr. Masters so incredibly fascinating.

  But vulnerability was no excuse, and she was as vulnerable as she’d ever been. She knew at that moment that she needed to steer clear, very clear, of this temptation.

  THE SUN WAS SETTING OVER THE HILLS BEHIND THE GAINES Villa, streaking hues of peach and crimson across the crisp blue sky. The August night, as usual, was spectacular.

  The engraved invitations for dumpy little Dalita’s party stated that the festivities began at eight o’clock sharp and would last until a line of Swarovski crystal question marks. In other words, this party could go on forever.

  Party wasn’t just a word in the south of France; it was a lifestyle. But even those who regularly partied until dawn felt that for a sweet sixteen, the extravagance was a little much.

  That didn’t stop anyone from RSVP’ing, as much to see the obnoxious extravagance of offshore pharmaceutical king Serge Kasagian as to fete his daughter. Oh yes, and Gemma Kasagian.

  It was rumored that Gemma owned three of the largest diamonds in the world and loved to pass them around for her friends to hold and drool over during dinner parties. Of course, the Kasagians didn’t realize their blinding flash didn’t stir up envy, but instead pity for a family who had wealth but no self-worth. They were an amusement and nothing more.

  The Gaineses, while occasionally invited onto the yacht, weren’t truly on that social level, as hard as that was to believe. As successful as Olivia was, she couldn’t stop trying to compete with their socially ridiculed friends.

  It was the one thing Charley didn’t like about her mother.

  It was after seven when Charley got home from the shop and flew up the stairs to get dressed.

  Jackson and Chance hadn’t arrived but were due any minute, and she had to be ready.

  Charley’s loo was a bit of a mess, but she knew exactly where everything was.

  She threw on a big plastic shower cap covered with flamingos, then got in the shower. The water was tepid, as she liked it in summer, and jets from all sides cooled her.

  “7:10,” she muttered, looking at the clock embedded in the side of the marble shower. She began scrubbing quickly.

  “Have you heard from Jackson?” Olivia said as she poked her head into the bathroom.

  “Not yet,” Charley answered.

  “I told your father I’d meet him there. Why he likes to arrive on time is a mystery to me.”

  The truth was, Richard Gaines never wanted to make a big entrance, and it was impossible with Olivia on his arm. Even though he’d walk three paces behind her, he’d be caught by the cameras, and he didn’t like it.

  If Richard went on his own, he was just one more mega-multimillionaire so no one cared.

  It also meant he could have his daily tryst with one of the women he had in every port. Kelsey, his Jennifer Lopez look-alike housekeeper here in Monte Carlo. Jules in London, Mimi, Gayle, Robin…some with names he’d never bothered to ask.

  Charley flipped off the shower and grabbed a plush towel from above the bidet.

  “The party’s all on a timed schedule, with guests arriving at fifteen-minute intervals,” Charley reminded her.

  “Gemma is such a control freak,” Olivia responded, totally oblivious to this flaw in her own character.

  “It makes sense when trying to get three hundred guests down that dock,” Charley answered. “Is Garrison driving you?”

  “He has the night off,” she said gleefully. “I’m going to drive all of us. Won’t that be fun?”

  Charley pasted on a smile. “Fun,” she answered.

  Truth be told, her mother’s driving made them all crazy. But Olivia loved her yellow DBS and loved seeing herself in the press described as “free-spirited, unpredictable, and carefree.”

  “Now hurry! And no yellow!”

  While hot orange was the color this season, Olivia was known for always wearing shades of yellow to parties. She knew it made her stand out—as if she needed to—and matched her ridiculously expensive car.

  Charley pulled a slim orange sheath from her closet as Olivia smiled and flitted out.

  Charley wasn’t like her mother. She could throw herself together and look fabulous. Her makeup routine was minimal, in part due to her flawless skin, lush lashes, and perfectly arched brows that framed those sensational blue eyes flecked with hazel and brown.

  While orange wasn’t known to complement brunettes, everything seemed to complement Charley’s coloring beautifully. She slipped on a pair of five-inch OMG pumps, applied a few quick strokes of her favorite Bobbi Brown mascara, followed by rich salmon lip color, and ran a brush through her hair.

  In twenty minutes total, she was ready.

  “Is this osetra?” Olivia said, curling up her nose in disappointment, looking at a silver tray full of canapés set on the bar downstairs near the foyer.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gaines, but with the Kasagians’ party…” Kelsey’s voice trailed off.

  “I can’t believe they bought up all the beluga in the area,” Olivia answered.

  “Mrs. Kasagian sent this to tide you over,” Kelsey informed her.

  “Typical of the bitch,” Olivia said, scrunching her well-sculpted nose.

  This was a routine they went through every time Olivia had a big night out. Whether in Monte Carlo, London, or the Hamptons, it was the same story.

  Kelsey knew her boss would only take a nibble or two at the party. Olivia wanted everyone to believe she stayed thin through dieting, not liposuction at the bitty bulge of an extra pound.

  She would have a drink or two, or three, maybe more, which is why she insisted on caviar before she went out. She’d been given a tip that eggs contain cysteine, the same nonessential amino acid that helps combat a hangover.

  Olivia rationalized that if poultry eggs have it, certainly the crème de la crème of cysteine would be in caviar. Thus, she reasoned, a few ounces of caviar with blini and an egg-salad tea sandwich or two before a party would not only help keep her from chowing down in front of the crowd, but would also stave off a killer headache in the morning. She was such a fanatic that she’d also recently bought cysteine capsules that she’d down on her way out the door.

  Olivia was a master at rationalization.

  The silver tray with blini and caviar, cucumber tea sandwiches, and pâté with crackers was set on the bar that was just off the foyer in the villa. Within minutes, the caviar was nearly gone.

  It was seven forty-five when Charley scurried down the massive staircase.

  “Any word from Jackson, Mum?” Charley asked, trying to hide her concern.

  “I spoke to your father, and he said the boys were running late,” she answered. “Jules called from London saying they had been detained.”

  “I’m going to wring Jackson’s neck when I see him.” Charley scowled.

  Charley scooped up a spoonful of caviar and popped it in her mouth.

  “Well then, we need to go without them.” Olivia grinned.

  “Your vitamins, ma’am,” Kelsey said. She offered Olivia two of the bright red capsules on a rectangular porcelain tray that was imprinted with the royal seal of Monaco. Her hands were a bit shaky. It had been a long day filled with arguments, and she had a headache.

  “Thank you for remembering, Kelsey.” Olivia smiled as she placed the capsules on her tongue. She took them with a sip of champagne. “And get two for Charley, Kelsey.”

  Charley held up her hand.

  “I don’t believe in supplements, Mummy, you know that,” Charley answered.

  �
��Humor me.” Olivia pouted, giving her that look that only meant she’d never give up.

  Kelsey hesitated, but Charley finally nodded in agreement. She knew if she didn’t agree, they’d never get out the door on time.

  Kelsey checked the bottle, but there were none left.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Gaines. Those were the last two,” she said somewhat shakily.

  “Shucks.” Charley smiled. “To a fabulous night,” she added, then downed the last of her Dom Pérignon rosé.

  ABBY HAD APOLOGIZED TO CHELSEA FOR NOT TAKING HER TO the blast on the boat but knew she had to be able to maneuver solo.

  “Any chance you have my camera, Shawn?” Chelsea said in a voice that meant she didn’t think so.

  “Your Nikon?” he said.

  “I love you!” she squealed. Chelsea was on her cell, wandering the beautiful streets of Monaco as she looked out to the harbor. The party was definitely under way.

  “The camera’s not that expensive, but I have so many memories on it.”

  “Not to mention that Robert Pattinson thing,” Shawn added.

  “How humiliating.” Chelsea laughed. “Don’t know if you can see the party from your boat, but all I can say is, wow.”

  She could indeed see paparazzi swarming the docks as celebrities arrived one by one in chauffeured Bentleys, Lamborghinis, and Maseratis, having been picked up from the gem of Monte Carlo, the Hôtel de Paris.

  Dropped at the easternmost dock of the most beautiful and infamous harbor in the world, they were escorted a few steps to four suited, immaculately groomed men armed with earpieces.

  Andy, whom she and Abby had met at OMG, was one of them, and even from a distance, Chelsea could see he was in charge.

  Ivanka Trump, Kate Moss, Emma Roberts, and Katy Perry and Russell Brand were greeted by name and given a personal escort to the ship. In fact, one of the jobs of this security detail was to have visuals on all the guests who’d been invited. They had to recognize by sight everyone from the most popular stars in the world to Serge Kasagian’s most boring friends.