The Arrangement

by Suzanne Forster

  Five days. Marnie marked time by scratching tiny pieces of cement against the large slab she slept on. Four crude lines and a diagonal slash. She’d had no visitors, no word from anyone in that time, other than Paul Esposito, who’d come by to tell her he was trying to get her change-of-plea hearing moved up. Right now it was still two weeks away. Esposito had also given her a signed document from Julia, who’d agreed to provide care for Josephine Hazelton until her death. She’d accepted all of Marnie’s terms, and they had been considerable.

  Marnie wanted the cottage renovated and redecorated, according to her grandmother’s wishes. She wanted Gramma Jo moved back and all her care provided, including a live-in companion and a home health care nurse as necessary. Julia was to pay any medical bills, plus provide all creature comforts—living expenses, a generous monthly allowance, an annual vacation.

  Julia had agreed to it all and offered to throw in James Brainard for Alison’s defense, but Marnie had refused. Why would she need him now? Everything was settled, and Marnie was at peace with her choice. For her, all the questions had been answered. Paul Esposito had promised to see that Julia followed through with the agreement, and he’d also arranged for Marnie to call her grandmother.

  Over the aching lump in her throat, Marnie had told Gramma Jo that she had a surprise for her, and that she should be mentally preparing herself to go home soon. Marnie couldn’t resist giving away that much of the surprise. Gramma Jo had broken down and cried. They’d both cried, and Marnie had hoped she could always hang on to the sweetness of those feelings.

  Gramma wouldn’t let Marnie go without asking her if she’d talked with Julia. Marnie had assured her that was part of the surprise, but she’d begged off answering any more questions, and then she’d made up a story about having to take a short trip with Andrew, so she wouldn’t have to explain why she couldn’t come visit. That conversation would come someday, but not now. Marnie wanted as much time as she could steal to savor the idea of her grandmother’s return to the cottage with no shadows darkening that vision. It was the only thing keeping her alive right now.

  She took a tiny pebble of cement and began to scratch out another day. Now there was nothing for her to do but wait.

  “All rise,” the clerk intoned as the judge, robed in black, assumed the bench. The clerk called the case of the County of San Diego versus Villard, read off the case number and the charges—two counts of murder in the first degree.

  The judge turned on his microphone and spoke into it. “Mrs. Villard, your attorney tells me you want to change your plea to the charges against you?”

  “I do, Your Honor.” Marnie rose to her feet and stood at the defendant’s table with Paul Esposito next to her. The judge had a fatherly look and a warm manner, but Marnie wasn’t getting her hopes up. She had liked James Brainard’s looks, too. “I’m pleading guilty to both charges.”

  The judge slipped on a pair of reading glasses and scanned the papers in front of him. “Not so fast, Mrs. Villard,” he said. “Some things need to be covered before we get to your change of plea. Do you understand the charges that have been brought against you?”

  “I do,” Marnie said, uncomfortable with the way the judge was peering over his glasses at her. She just wanted this over.

  “You understand that you have been charged with two counts of capital murder,” he said, “and that the penalty for each count could result in the imposition of the death penalty, or in the alternative, a life sentence at a maximum security prison?”

  Marnie stated that she did, and he continued asking her questions that stressed the gravity—and finality—of her decision. She answered in the affirmative to every question, robotically nodding her head. Yes, she understood.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Villard. Now, would you please explain to me why you want to do this? You’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you. Why not go through the trial process?”

  The question stopped Marnie. She wasn’t sure how to answer him. It had taken her an entire agonizing night to make the decision, and she’d been living with it for days. But how did she boil all of that down to a few words that would make sense to this godlike figure in a black robe?

  Paul Esposito glanced at Marnie, as if to encourage her. She could feel the heat in her face, the dampness at her temples. Her skin was breaking out, and Paul must have seen it, too, because he spoke up immediately.

  “Your Honor, Ms. Villard wants to pay her debt to society, and changing her plea is the first step. She has great remorse for what she’s done and is willing to do whatever she can to make it right.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Esposito,” the judge said with a raised eyebrow and great forbearance. “I’d like to hear that from Mrs. Villard herself, since she’s the one whose life and liberty is at stake here.”

  Marnie understood that her attorney was trying to help her, but he’d gotten it completely wrong. He’d never asked her reasons, so he couldn’t possibly express them for her. Worse, her struggle to come up with an answer was making her wonder if she’d made the right decision. This was her life and her liberty, as the judge pointed out. Maybe she wasn’t ready to give it up without a fight.

  She tried to speak, but couldn’t get the words out. A strange sensation of numbness was invading her extremities. It was almost as if she were balanced on Satan’s Teeth again. It would all be over once she jumped, and she wanted that, the freedom of nothingness, the release from pain. But her legs wouldn’t move, her arms wouldn’t move.

  A tremor ripped up her spine, unlocking her. Feelings flooded her, and suddenly she was awash in sorrow and loss, consumed with rage at the unfairness of it all. “I just want it to be over,” she said. “The alternative is unthinkable.”

  The judge frowned. “What alternative, Mrs. Villard? Can you tell me what you mean?”

  Esposito spoke up again. “Your Honor, my client was very clear with me about what she wants. She may be having trouble expressing herself, but she fully understands the consequences of her actions and—”

  The sound of a door banging open behind them interrupted the attorney. Marnie turned, half expecting to see Tony Bogart stride into the courtroom. If anyone would want to see Alison self-destruct, it would be Tony. But she didn’t see him anywhere.

  Stunned, she realized it was a woman who’d entered. Julia Fairmont? What could she possibly want? Marnie’s first reaction was apprehension, but it evaporated the moment she realized there was nothing Julia could do to her now. Marnie was beyond being hurt by anyone.

  “She’s an imposter.” Julia actually pointed her finger at Marnie. “She isn’t, and never was, Alison Fairmont. My daughter is still missing, and I believe she was deliberately pushed from her husband’s—Andrew Villard’s—yacht.” Julia spotted the bailiff coming toward her and began frantically waving her hands. “Wait, let me finish!”

  Marnie wondered if she was having a breakdown. Her hair was disheveled, and she looked desperately out of control, at least for Julia.

  The judge rose to his feet as the bailiff hooked her by the arm, clearly intending to eject her.

  “Let her stay,” the judge said. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

  Esposito spoke up again, addressing the bench. “Who is this woman—and why is she being allowed to interrupt the proceedings?”

  The judge silenced him with a look. “This is my courtroom, Mr. Esposito.” He directed his next question to Julia. “Please approach the bench and tell the court your name and your relationship to the accused.”

  Julia straightened her linen suit as she came forward, aligning the jacket and skirt. She combed a hand through her hair and then looked up abruptly with a tiny, nearly invisible shudder.

  “I’m Julia Fairmont of Mirage Bay,” she told the judge, “and the accused was living in my home, and pretending to be my daughter. She lied, deceived and took advantage of me, and if that isn’t a crime worthy of capital punishment, it should be.”

  Julia’s bitterness rang t
hroughout the room. She probably would have continued to rail about Marnie’s duplicity if the doors at the back hadn’t crashed open again.

  Andrew Villard entered the courtroom, and Julia fell quiet. Everyone fell quiet. Marnie had to lean against the table to steady herself. Her head was spinning. Had he found a way to force Julia to come forward?

  “Excuse me, sir,” the judge said, “are you a party to this proceeding?”

  “I’m the accused’s husband,” Andrew explained.

  “In that case, take a seat.” The judge waved him toward the defendant’s side of the gallery. “Mrs. Fairmont, would you be good enough to sit down until I call you. Are any other family members expected, or can we get on with this hearing?”

  Julia stayed where she was, planted in the aisle in the middle of the courtroom. “Your Honor, that man isn’t the accused’s husband. He’s Andrew Villard, my daughter’s husband, and the accused is not my daughter.”

  The judge leaned forward, locking Julia in his sights like a sniper with a rifle. He clearly had no interest in Andrew at that moment. “The only person in this courtroom charged with a crime is Alison Fairmont Villard,” he informed Julia. “Mrs. Fairmont, if the accused isn’t your daughter, who is she?”

  “Her real name is Marnie Hazelton.” Begrudgingly, Julia added, “And she didn’t kill anyone, except perhaps Butch Bogart.”

  The judge peered over his rimless glasses. “Unless I’m mistaken, Marnie Hazelton was one of the victims in this case.”

  “You’re not mistaken,” Julia said, “but unfortunately the county prosecutor’s office was when they charged her. The accused is Marnie Hazelton.”

  Julia produced two documents. The first was a handwritten record of Marnie’s birth, dated twenty-two years ago and signed by both Josephine Hazelton and Julia Fairmont. It listed Marnie’s vital statistics at birth, her weight and height, and it detailed her disfigurements. It also had rudimentary hand and footprints, done in what looked like black ink.

  According to Julia, Gramma Jo had prepared the document and insisted that Julia sign it, but had agreed to let Julia keep the only copy. For reasons she didn’t explain, she had not destroyed it.

  Marnie was amazed to hear Julia confess aloud that she’d had a baby out of wedlock, and that child was the accused, Marnie Hazelton. Marnie wondered what it had taken to make her come forward with that. Probably threats of death and dismemberment, she imagined. By Andrew?

  The judge didn’t want to hear the details of Julia’s indiscretion. He urged her to come to the point, and she quickly produced the second document, a standard-looking birth certificate, also with hand and footprints.

  “This is the official birth record of my missing daughter, Alison Fairmont,” she said. “Your Honor, even if someone has tampered with Alison’s prints in the criminal database, no one has touched these. This certificate has been in a safety deposit box since she was born.”

  The judge ordered Julia, the two attorneys, the court clerk and the bailiff to the bench. After a hushed conference, he rose and announced that court would recess until that afternoon, but no one was to leave the courthouse.

  “We’re fortunate to have an excellent forensics lab within the county complex,” he told the gallery. “The hearing will reconvene as soon as the documents have been verified as authentic and the fingerprints analyzed.”

  In an ominous tone, he warned that if the certificates were valid, but the prints didn’t match, he intended to dismiss the charges.

  Four hours later his Honor did exactly as he’d warned. Over the prosecutor’s furious objections, he threw the case out, saying the lab’s findings were enough to convince him that the defendent was not Alison Fairmont-Villard. He remained firm even when the prosecutor argued that while Marnie Hazelton could not have murdered herself, she could have killed LaDonna Jeffries.

  “The person charged with that crime is Alison Fairmont-Villard,” the judge reminded the court, “and there is no one by that name in this courtroom. If the district attorney’s office intends to charge Marnie Hazelton with a crime, then the necessary steps should be taken. Meanwhile, she’s free to go. I’m releasing her on her own recognizance.”

  “No!” The prosecutor was swift and shrill. “Your Honor, it’s imperative that Ms. Hazelton be held until we can determine what she’s done.”

  The judge fired back. “What’s imperative is this. Next time you charge someone with a capital crime, counselor, get the right person.”

  The prosecutor was clearly seething with frustration. She said nothing, but her glare spoke for itself. She fully intended to come after Marnie, but for now, there was nothing she could do but accept the judge’s decision.

  Julia ducked out of the courtroom without a word to anyone. Marnie found the presence of mind to thank Paul Esposito and ask him to give her a moment to catch her breath. Paul agreed to wait outside, and as he turned to go, Andrew was there.

  Marnie didn’t know what to feel or think as she looked at him. She was blank, still numb from the ordeal, and shaking. Even his appearance confused her. His slacks and shirt were immaculate, straight off the rack of some designer boutique, but his skin was devoid of color. His face was as gray and burned-out as ashes.

  He reached into the pocket of his shirt and drew out the gold chain she had given him. “You seem to need this more than I do,” he said, offering it to her.

  Marnie was startled at the icy chill of his hand as she took back her good luck charm. She studied the copper ring, she realized what had just happened. Julia had made sure that she exposed Andrew today, and now he would probably become the object of another investigation into Alison’s death, if she was dead. And who knew what he might be facing if the prosecutor decided to press charges? Someone had to have altered or switched Alison’s fingerprint records, and who had a better reason?

  Marnie had no idea where he’d been, but she was just beginning to understand what it might have cost him to show up at this hearing. His face was gaunt, as if he hadn’t eaten or slept in days.

  At least he’d had his freedom, she told herself. Fiery anger burned the back of her throat. She had no idea what to say to him. None.

  Fortunately, he articulated the emotions she couldn’t.

  “You must want to shoot me,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear him. “Give me a chance to explain before you pull the trigger.”

  Marnie had heard him, but she still couldn’t respond. She moved around him, her heart aching. She was throbbing with some emotion she couldn’t describe. It was too much for her, all of it, too much to take in. What she wanted now, the only thing she wanted, was to walk out of this courtroom, out of the courthouse, and see for herself if the sun was still shining.

  33

  So this was where he’d been?

  Marnie made no attempt to hide her shock as she registered the quaint beauty of the beach house Andrew had used as his hideout. The Cape Cod design had decks overlooking the ocean and a warm, rustic interior. It was hard not to fall in love on sight with the cedar shake walls, the comfortable plaid couches and the old-fashioned wood-burning fireplace.

  “Can I get you something?” Andrew gestured toward the kitchen, part of the great room they’d just entered. “I could make you an omelet. The food couldn’t have been very good.”

  “The food in jail, you mean?” Her tone was too sharp. The protective numbness had worn off, leaving her raw and exposed. She was angry that he’d abandoned her, angry that he’d left her to twist in the wind, angry that he hadn’t saved her sooner.

  “Marnie, you can’t think I wanted you to go through that.”

  She cut him off with a toss of her head. “So this was where you were—a perfectly charming beach house, while I was locked in a cement bunker, choosing between swill and starvation? Good food? Andrew, I was in hell, facing my life and my death. What were you doing?”

  “Trying to get you out of that cement bunker.” He walked to the wet bar, opened t
he refrigerator and took out a can of Red Bull.

  “Are you going to explain yourself?” she said.

  He popped the top and took a deep pull of the drink. The can stayed locked in his fist as he set it down, his back to her. “The original plan was to flush out a killer. I set a trap to see who would take the bait. But I had no way of knowing that LaDonna would be murdered and you’d get arrested. I just needed a little more time.”

  “Well, excuse me if I inconvenienced you.” She wanted to slap him. All of the emotion that had been dammed up by despair was flowing out of her, and she couldn’t seem to hold anything back.

  He turned and leaned against the bar, his arms folded. “I brought you here to tell you everything. Honest to God, I did. Are you going to let me do that?”

  She folded her arms, too. “Start with the change-of-plea hearing. How did you know about that? It can’t have been coincidence that you showed up in that courtroom at that moment.”

  “I had Diego Sanchez checking the court calendar on a daily basis. He’s the detective I hired to keep you safe while I was gone. Unfortunately, Bret took a dislike to him and kicked him off the premises, but Diego came through in other ways. His contacts within the criminal court system let me keep track of what was going on with you.”

  “So you knew I was in jail, charged with two counts of murder?”

  “You’re going to hate me for this, but at some point I realized you were safer in jail than at Sea Clouds. I needed the time to hunt down LaDonna’s killer, and I wanted you safe, Marnie. I had to rethink everything when I found out about your change-of-plea hearing. I couldn’t figure out what the hell you were doing, but I knew I had to get you out of there before you pleaded guilty to anything.”

  “How did you get Julia to the hearing?”

  “Simple blackmail. I searched her bedroom suite and found your birth certificate in her wall safe. That was enough to shake her down. I also insisted on a copy of Alison’s birth certificate for comparison.”