“This evening, actually,” Chance said simply.
Jackson was in Richie’s office on his iPad, and he was livid.
He scrolled down the page and was horrified at each new image he saw. It was Spectator.com, and Abby’s pictures from the funeral, both in the cathedral and outside, kept coming. The last was the close-up of Olivia in the casket.
Blake had indeed done a spectacular repair job on the face that had been shattered on one side, and Olivia looked as though she was having the most serene dream.
It gave him a weird feeling of solace to remember his mother this way, looking so free of pain. He still wanted to wring Abigail Deveraux’ neck.
Jackson had heard Chance return to the house a short while ago.
“Chance?” he called out.
“Up here, bruv,” Chance answered. It was coming from Charley’s room.
“Need to see you now,” Jackson said. “In the den. Alone.”
Chance appeared upstairs on the landing, with Richie behind him.
“Alone, he said, Dad,” Chance told his father firmly.
Richie didn’t like it, but at this point he had no bargaining power.
Jackson was pacing, running his hand through his thick chest-nut brown hair when Chance entered.
“What now?” Chance asked.
“Take a look.”
Jackson presented his little brother with the image of Olivia in the casket.
“How…?” Chance was gobsmacked.
“That cute blonde at Jimmy’z last night?” Jackson answered. Chance looked confused. “Oh right, you were a little distracted. She runs the Spectator.com website and sneaked a camera into the funeral.”
“Holy shit.” Chance winced.
“Can we sue her ass?” Jackson was steaming.
“For being an insensitive twit? I don’t see how.”
“This has to be illegal!” Jackson railed.
“Immoral, maybe, but illegal, no,” Chance answered.
“Someone’s got to at least tell Dad and Charley,” Jackson said. “I don’t want Sis seeing it by accident. Him, I really don’t care.”
“We can tell her together,” Chance offered. “I’m about to take her over to the hospital. Why don’t you come with us?”
“Glad I got you, bruv,” Jackson said.
“It’s what family’s for,” Chance answered. “Let me get dressed, and we can go.”
Jackson nodded.
“Oh, and my date last night?” Chance said. “Willy.”
“The medical examiner?” Jackson said, floored.
“Pretty nice guy, actually. The toxicology reports are in, and I’m seeing him later. Want to be there?” Chance asked.
“I would,” Jackson said, steeling himself. “For now, let’s not tell Charley.”
Chance nodded in agreement. Until they had answers, they didn’t want to further upset Charley.
And tonight they would have answers.
MARLENA’S TOUSLED HEAD RESTED AGAINST JOHN’S STRONG chest as they held one another in the bed where they had reconsummated their unbridled love.
The phone on the bedside table rang, and John reached over to answer.
“Must be Tara,” John said apologetically as he picked up the receiver. “My physical therapist,” he explained.
“Tell her she did a very, very good job,” Marlena smiled.
“Very good morning,” John said into the phone.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have the wrong room,” the voice said, startled.
“Belle?” John said.
“Dad?” Belle answered in total shock. “I, well, I was calling Mom at the hotel. I must have dialed wrong.”
“Did the operator connect you to this room?” he asked.
“What is going on?” Belle sputtered.
Marlena took the phone from John. “Sweetie?”
“Mom…?” Belle said weakly, more confused than ever.
“Come on over to the hotel.” Marlena smiled. “Your dad’s here, and he’s just plain fabulous.”
“Things are fabulous here too, Mom,” Belle said, smiling to a very confused Shawn. “Give us a little over an hour, and we’ll be there.”
Marlena handed John the phone, and he hung it up.
“They’ll be here in—” Her sentence was silenced by John’s kiss.
“A little over an hour,” he said and kissed her again. “I heard.”
He kissed her neck and then her shoulder, and Marlena melted once again.
“John?” she warned. “I need to shower and wash my hair.”
His answer was to kiss her stomach.
“What the heck?” Marlena laughed and pulled the man she craved on top of her.
Marlena had just finished blow-drying her hair when she heard a loud squeal coming from the living room. In a flash, Claire was bounding in to see her.
“GiGi!” Claire roared. “Grandpa’s in there. Come in and see!”
Claire grabbed Marlena and started tugging, then stopped, wide-eyed. “Strawberries!”
It was easy for the nearly four-year-old to be distracted, and she grabbed the few red gems left and popped them in her mouth before tugging at Marlena again.
“Come on!”
The living room of the suite was not nearly as raucous. Marlena and Claire entered to find Belle wrapped in her father’s arms, neither saying a word.
Shawn stood by, smiling.
John’s incapacity had affected the entire family who prayed daily for his recovery while not quite believing it would ever happen. But there he was, strong, healthy, and the man who had promised to protect them all forever.
“Does Sami know and Brady? Did you call Eric?” Belle was overcome.
“You’re the first, baby girl,” John said warmly.
“I’m glad,” she admitted guiltily. In her heart, she always relished that she was a composite of two of the best and most admired people she knew. She only hoped she was somehow like them.
“They like strawberries too,” Claire chirped from a mouth red with the evidence. “They were by the bathtub.”
The adults all shared knowing glances. Although kids never like to think of their parents having sex, this time Belle was thrilled.
The moment was interrupted by the ring of Belle’s phone.
“Abby, hi,” she answered.
“Chelsea Brady and Abby Deveraux are in town too,” Marlena explained to John.
“We’ve got to head back to London today,” Abby informed her. “Any time Chels and I can see you?”
“If I told you who I’m staring at right now, you wouldn’t believe it,” Belle said. “My dad.”
“Huh?”
“He’s surprised us all, and he’s just, well, perfect.”
Even Abby was dumbfounded. John’s condition might not have been worldwide news, but in the world of extended Salem, this was bigger than global warming.
“When do you leave?” Belle asked.
“I think we may have to stay a little bit longer,” Abby replied. She recognized a good scoop when she heard it.
THE DRIVE TO THE HOSPITAL WAS EXHILARATING FOR CHARLEY. She had forgotten how lovely it felt to have fresh air rushing through her hair.
Chance drove, while Jackson sat in the backseat with his iPad, answering email. With all the chaos swirling around them in the last week, he was back-loaded.
Charley could see Jackson reflected in the mirror on her visor. She was fixated on his image and turned to look at Chance. Chance had a more refined nose and ears that hugged his head, but they were perfectly formed liked Jackson’s. Now that she thought of it, they were also like Olivia’s.
They also had the same square jaw and cleft in their chin as Richie. There was no doubt that they were brothers and shared the same parents.
She, on the other hand, was more fair than either of them, had a pointed chin, and nearly black hair with a slight widow’s peak. Why had she never noticed those things before? Was it because they were boys and s
he a girl?
Since the revelation in the hospital about neither parent being a match for blood donation, Charley’s mind had been spinning. On the few moments she had had alone at the villa, she sat in the sunroom and went through all the family photos.
Obvious now. So obvious. She was adopted.
Chance put his hand on her knee, pulling her out of her reverie.
“We’re here, Charley,” he said.
Chance pulled up to the back of the hospital at the private entrance. He had made arrangements for them to enter that way, in case there were any reporters. Like Abby Deveraux.
Chance stopped the Maserati and then walked around the car and opened the door for his sister. Charley smiled. Whatever else they did, the couple who had raised her had taught manners to all three children.
They made their way through the maze of hallways and were aware of a buzz among the nurses and volunteers.
“Tragic,” one of the nurses said to another as they passed.
“I don’t know if I could work in a hospital, dealing with tragedy on a daily basis,” Charley said.
Then a young couple passed them with a newborn in the mother’s arms. They were full of life and hope.
“Then again, maybe I could.” Charley smiled softly.
They took the elevator, and Jackson punched the button for the second floor, where Chief of Staff Roisten had his office. Roisten had agreed to see Charley personally since he was a friend of Richie’s. There were times that connections paid off.
When they turned the corner, they were stunned to see police making notes and a gurney being wheeled out of the chief of staff’s office. It was a male form with a sheet draped over it.
“What happened?” Jackson asked a passing officer.
“Poor guy blew his brains out,” the officer said. “Lost nearly everything he had in that bloody Ponzi scheme. Then put whatever he had left on his favorite number. You’d think a guy like him’d be smarter.”
Chance and Jackson froze in their tracks as the officer moved on.
Charley was in shock. “This was because of Dad?”
Jackson grimaced at the realization. “He was one of Dad’s first investors.”
“And had a wife dying of terminal cancer,” Chance added grimly.
“Sorry you had to see this,” Jackson said, turning to Charley.
Devastated, Charley couldn’t utter another sound.
Instead, she fainted.
When Charley came to, she was in a private room on the VIP floor.
Esther, the warm and caring nurse she’d had before, was at her side. “Have a sip of water, love,” Esther said. “Let me get the doctor.”
Not Chief of Staff Roisten, Charley thought. He killed himself because of my father.
A handsome young Nigerian internist entered.
“Dr. Abani,” he said, introducing himself. “How are you feeling, on a scale of one to ten?”
“Nine,” Charley said.
“Really,” he said, knowing full well it was a lie.
“Maybe a six,” Charley admitted. “But I want to go home. I need to.”
“Your vitals are actually in line, and the stitches don’t come out until next week. Your brothers assured me you have someone there,” he said. “So I can release you, but I think you might want to talk with someone.”
“I will.” She nodded.
“Call my mobile if you have any problems.” He smiled, handing her his card. “Any at all.”
It was obvious he was drawn to Charley. She had that effect on people.
“I’m sorry about Dr. Roisten,” Charley said.
“Yes,” he answered softly and headed out the door. “We all are.”
After a brief consult with him in the hallway, Jackson and Chance entered.
“Did you find out any more details?” Charley asked.
“They say that after finding out about the scheme, Roisten opted to take whatever he had left and let it ride on his favorite number,” Jackson offered. “It didn’t come in.”
“So he took himself out,” Chance said, pointing his finger to his temple. “Pow.”
“Abani said we can go,” Jackson said, changing the subject. “But he wants us to find you a professional to talk to.”
“I have someone,” Charley answered. “Dr. Evans.”
“DID YOU SEE THE SPECTATOR THIS MORNING?” GEMMA SAID in a conspiratorial tone as lobster Benedict with gobs of beluga was placed in front of her.
“What’s the Spectator?” the plasticized socialite to the left of her said.
“The hottest place for news since the Enquirer,” another guest said through overly plumped-up lips.
Eight nipped-and-tucked middle-aged women, who would have preferred being called cougars, were seated around the highly polished agarwood table on the upper deck of Serge Kasagian’s K.
“Olivia Gaines’s photo was on the front page,” one platinum blonde chortled. “Looking pretty fucking good for someone who’d had their head bashed in,” she added.
“Who is her doctor?” a cinnamon-colored ex-model asked.
“Blake Masters, obviously,” Gemma offered. “Why else would he have been at the funeral?”
Gemma dug into her food with the finesse of a truck driver.
She took a bite. “Kelsey?” she bellowed.
Kelsey made a beeline for Gemma. She knew when the lady called, you answered. Otherwise you were out the door, and right now Kelsey needed this job.
“Too much lemon!” she wailed. “Take all of them back to the chef. What was he thinking?”
“Mine’s delic—” the platinum blonde started. She nearly choked on her words as Miss Plasticized kicked her under the table. They all knew Gemma was no one to contradict. Not if you wanted to be in the most publicized social circle in Monaco.
“I’ll have it taken care of, Mrs. Kasagian,” Kelsey said apologetically.
She punched a button on her beeper, and four hunky waiters in tight white polo shirts and shorts appeared from their positions at the edge of the deck.
“At least Olivia’s not here to deal with this fucking disaster Richie’s in,” Cinnamon Girl said. “What an ass. At least he’ll be behind bars so he can’t make any more lame promises to the dozens of bimbos he’s had on the side.”
Kelsey dropped one of the plates on the table, splashing béarnaise sauce and egg yolk all over Platinum Blonde.
“Kelsey, what is wrong with you?” Gemma roared.
“I’m so sorry,” Kelsey said, near tears as Platinum Blonde pushed away from the table.
“Go, just go! Get Misty a robe, and go buy her whatever size 0 she wants.” It was a Gemma order, so it would be followed.
Kelsey was at her breaking point as she followed Platinum Blonde to the elevator.
“The only promises Richie’ll make now are to stock Santa Maria Novella soaps in the prison showers.” Cinnamon Girl laughed.
“Oops, he dropped it,” Miss Plasticized said, putting her tightened hands to her lips, which were filled with fresh collagen.
The claws were out, and all the women were giggling.
Kelsey was not amused. In fact, she felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach.
“Enough about them,” Gemma scowled playfully. “While we wait, who wants to see my new jewelry?”
“Can you believe it?” Marlena said, her smiling eyes beaming as she watched Claire pulling John and her da into the deep azure of the Mediterranean.
“When did all this happen?” Belle said, truly curious. She and Marlena sat in pale blue and white beach chairs with floppy hats. The marina was full of yachts, including the K, with its bitchy ladies’ lunch in full swing.
“He’s been having intense physical therapy for months, which coincided with the feeling returning to his body,” Marlena explained. “Which I knew nothing about.”
“Nothing?”
“He wanted to be the best man for me he could,” Marlena answered. “At least, that was his excuse.
”
“That’s important to men, isn’t it?” Belle stated.
“Men of your dad’s generation, and I believe even younger,” Marlena said. “These are such confusing times for both sexes, but I still believe men need to know they’re needed. And not just for sex.”
“Not even that, since babies can be grown in test tubes now,” Belle said ruefully. “Or at least without the parents doing it.”
“Sometimes science is a bit scary,” Marlena admitted.
“Being pregnant is a bit scary,” Belle said. “I am so happy though, Mom.”
Marlena pushed back the blonde hair that drifted into her daughter’s eyes.
“Claire having a brother or sister is a wonderful thing,” Marlena said. “I still miss Samantha every day.”
Marlena’s twin sister, Samantha, for whom her daughter Sami had been named, had been murdered over twenty years ago.
“She had such a good heart. Like yours,” Marlena said.
They heard a squeal coming from the water. Claire was in a major water fight with John and Shawn, and she was winning.
“Claire’s a bit more like her dad,” Belle said. “At least I hope.”
“Uh-oh,” Marlena said, her eyes widening. Claire was running straight for Belle and Marlena.
“Come on! Come on, come on!”
Before they could protest, Claire dashed behind them and tried pushing them out of their chairs.
“Baby, no!” Belle laughed, but Claire was insistent.
“It’s fun!” Claire insisted, pushing even harder.
Her exuberance was intoxicating, but the girls weren’t interested in getting wet. On top of that, the beach was crowded with European sunbathers soaking up the hot August rays and not in the mood for rambunctious American tourists.
“Hey, party poopers, what are you waiting for?” John called as he and Shawn made a beeline to their wives.
“John—” Marlena warned.
“Shawn!” Belle warned.
But their protests went unheeded as the men swept them up in their arms and carted them into the bay.
Belle immediately threw up all over Shawn.
Marlena yelped happily as she was tossed into the water.
She didn’t hear her BlackBerry. A call was coming in, and the caller ID simply read: “Private.”
A Secret in Salem Page 16
