by Joanne Fluke
Marcie glanced at the massage chair. It was another expensive purchase that Mercedes had told her about, a leather desk chair with remote-controlled rollers, designed to ease back pain while you were working.
Sam switched on the chair and leaned back with a smile on his face. “Very nice. My partner has one of these. It’s a little expensive for my taste, though.”
“Not really.” Brad shook his head. “Especially when you consider what a good masseuse charges. I figure this chair paid for itself in the first month.”
“Well . . . that might be true in your case, but I don’t have a masseuse. Do you have back trouble, Brad?”
“Not anymore.” Brad gave him a grin. Then he turned to Marcie. “How long can you stay, Marcie?”
Marcie frowned slightly. “I’m not really sure. As long as you need me, I guess. I’m sure the school will grant me a leave of absence.”
“Good.” Brad nodded. “I want you to feel that this is your second home, Marcie. Mercedes would have wanted it that way.”
“Thank you.” Marcie smiled at Brad. Then she turned to look at Sam. He was leaning back in Brad’s massage chair, wearing a very startled expression. But before Marcie could ask him what the matter was, Brad took her hand.
“Another thing, Marcie, while we’re on the subject. If you want any of Mercedes’s things . . . as far as I’m concerned, they’re yours.”
Marcie took a sip of her wine and blinked back tears. Mercedes’s things. She hadn’t even thought about the task that lay ahead of her, going through all of her sister’s possessions. It was bound to be painful, but that was why she was here. It would be cruel to ask Brad to do it alone.
“Thank you, Brad. That’s very generous. Perhaps we could go through them together, and put some things away for the twins. When they get a little older, they’ll want some of their . . .” Marcie cleared her throat and choked back a sob. “. . . their mother’s things to remember her by.”
“Of course.” Brad nodded solemnly and squeezed her hand. “I was hoping you’d help me with that, Marcie. I wouldn’t know what to save for them. Another drink, Sam?”
Sam looked very uncomfortable as he shook his head. “No, thanks. I really have to be going.”
“Just a second. I’ll open the gates for you.” Brad stood up and went to a box on the wall with flashing red lights. He punched in a code and returned to shake Sam’s hand. “Thanks, Sam. I appreciate all you’ve done for us.”
“No problem.” Sam nodded. “I can see myself out.”
“Oh, I’ll walk out with you!” Marcie jumped to her feet. “I’d like to check to make sure I didn’t leave anything in your car.”
Marcie hoped she hadn’t been too transparent as Sam followed her to the front door. She knew she hadn’t left anything in Sam’s car, but she needed a private moment with him.
It was a beautifully clear California evening. The night breeze was gentle, barely moving the heavy palm fronds in the two tall trees that bordered the driveway, and Marcie could smell the scent of sweet flowers blooming as she walked Sam to his car. For one brief moment she thought about Minnesota and its icy cold winds and deep snowdrifts. Then she put the freezing temperatures firmly out of her mind. No wonder Mercedes had moved here! California was wonderful!
“Do you want me to open the trunk?” Sam took out his keys.
“No. I know I didn’t leave anything. I just wanted to talk to you, alone.”
“Are you all right?” Sam turned to her with concern.
Marcie nodded. “Yes, thanks to you. You made me feel much better, Sam, and I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate it. But I do have one question before you go.”
Sam gave her a quizzical look, and Marcie took a deep breath. She might as well just blurt it out. “You looked so startled when Brad told me to regard this as my second home. Why?”
“Sorry, Marcie.” Sam turned away from her slightly. “I really can’t tell you right now. You’ll have to be patient, okay?”
“Uh . . . okay.” Marcie was still puzzled, but she put her arms around Sam and gave him a big hug. Sam had been her sister’s friend, and she hoped he’d be hers, too. The hug felt good, especially when Sam put his arms around her and hugged her back. Sam made her feel safe, as if nothing bad could ever happen to her again.
“Marcie? Do you want me to drop by tomorrow, after my meeting? I can help you and Brad make all the arrangements.”
The arrangements? For a moment Marcie was confused, but then she realized that Sam was referring to the funeral arrangements. “It’s kind of you to offer, Sam. Everything will be a lot easier if you’re here.”
“Promise me you’ll try to get some sleep?”
Marcie nodded. “I will.”
Sam gave her another little hug, and then he opened his car door. He reached inside, pulled out a card, and handed it to her. “This is my private home number. Call me anytime, day or night. If I’m not there, the service will find me for you.”
“Thank you, Sam.” Marcie gave a little wave as he slid behind the wheel. She stood and watched as he started the car and pulled out of the driveway, red taillights disappearing around a bend in the road. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt a terrible sense of loss.
She heard the gates at the bottom of the driveway slide closed, and she knew that Sam was gone. Suddenly, the night felt chilly, as if Sam had taken all the warmth with him. Marcie shivered and turned to walk slowly back to the house. She wondered why Sam had told her to be patient. It didn’t make any sense at all.
The only light in the house came from the husband’s bedroom window. It cast a gold rectangle on the surface of the pool, and he shuddered. He couldn’t think about her now. There was work to be done. The evil red was hiding somewhere here in the darkness, and it was his duty to ferret it out and destroy it.
No rest for the wicked. The Red Lady had told him that, and then she’d laughed. And you’re a very wicked boy, aren’t you, Jimmy? He’d nodded. That was what she expected. And then she’d laughed again. That’s why Uncle Gene came to see you. He adores wicked little boys.
He shuddered again, pushing back the memory of sweat-soaked sheets and nasty sounds in the night. It was over. He was here. The Red Lady could no longer hurt him with the Uncles. That chapter in his life was closed. The final word had been written. The Red Lady was neutralized, and he would never be forced to endure another Uncle.
His ears were alert for any sound as his eyes searched the familiar shadows. There was no longer any red in the pool. It had been drained and filled with fresh water. But this red gave off an almost palpable scent, hot and angry and violent. It was here somewhere. He had to find it.
The bougainvillea was flowering but its blossoms were orange. There was no danger in orange. And the night-blooming jasmine had white flowers. No danger there, either. The rose garden was neutralized. He’d seen to that right after the housekeeper and the children had left, digging out the roots of the American Beauty Rose and tossing them in the Dumpster at the bottom of the hill.
Could his instincts be wrong? He wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air again. Damp and dark, with a hint of jasmine. And then he smelled it again, a faint trace of red that tickled his nostrils with a scorching, metallic odor.
He sniffed his way across the patio, to the potted palms at the end. And then he saw it, a shiny red matchbook left carelessly on the arm of the lounge chair. Who had left it there? Not the housekeeper. And certainly not the children. A repairman perhaps, or one of the gardening crew. It really didn’t matter. He had found the red, and now he could neutralize it.
He approached slowly, stepping carefully over the red mist that rose around his ankles. His mind was filled with thoughts of destruction. Which method should he use? Which ancient element would give him the power to destroy the evil red?
Earth, air, fire, and water. He would use fire, of course. He pulled out the matches he carried in his pocket, the matches from her wedding. White matches with gold tips in a
white satin box. The gold writing on the cover spelled out their names, Brad and Mercedes, September twentieth. Nine, two, zero. It was the combination for the gate, the one the husband had thought was so clever.
He glanced down at the matchbox and frowned. They had been kept in a large white basket on the bar at the reception. Although he didn’t smoke, he’d taken several for just this purpose.
Even though the matches were over two years old, he was certain they would work. She had always bought quality goods. But the red mist was rising up toward his knees, and he had to hurry.
He used a towel that had been left on the chair to flick the red matchbook from its hateful resting place. Then he opened his pure white matchbox, took out a match, and struck it.
The flame was a bright flicker in the darkness as he dropped to his knees and brought the point of fire to the edge of the evil red matchbook. It was a bit like bringing coals to Newcastle, and he would have smiled if he’d been able.
The red matchbook smoldered, the cover was flame resistant. For a moment, he thought he might have to light a second white match, but just as he was about to strike the second match, it blazed brightly, almost leaping up to lick his face.
He stumbled back awkwardly, catching himself as he began to fall. Then he got to his feet by the flaming pyre, and glanced up toward the windows. A woman had come in the night. He’d seen her arrive with the lawyer, but it had been too dark to see her face. She was staying in his love’s room, something he found disturbing, but perhaps she was only an overnight guest.
No light spilled from her window, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. No one could know that he was here, inside the locked gates. His presence was a secret that had to be kept.
The fire was dying now, fading to a flicker and then to darkness. He stared down at the small pile of ashes the ancient element had left in its wake, and gave a shaky smile. No need to sweep the patio. The morning breeze would lift the ashes and bear them away. He would have time to get to a place of safety, before the blackness closed in and made him sleep.
CHAPTER 4
Marcie awoke to sunlight streaming through sheer sea green curtains. Very pretty. It was a lovely color that reminded her of spring, and tiny green shoots of early-blooming irises peeking up through the cold, white snow. But the curtains in her bedroom weren’t green. They were harvest gold!
The shock made Marcie sit bolt-upright in bed. She blinked in confusion at the array of perfume bottles and jars of makeup on the white wicker dresser. She didn’t wear makeup, and this wasn’t her dresser. Her dresser was an antique oak piece she’d taken from her parents’ house. She turned her head, blinked at the enormous walk-in closet, the white wicker chaise lounge in the corner with its peach and green cushions, and finally . . . the waving palm tree outside the window.
“Mercedes!” Marcie closed her eyes as the pain washed over her in a crashing wave. She was in her twin sister’s bedroom. And Mercedes was dead.
Marcie sat there for a full minute, blinking back tears. But it was against her nature to dwell on tragedy. She had to get up and get busy. Rosa and the twins would be home today, and they would need her. And Brad would need her, too. She had to hurry and dress.
One glance at the clock on the white wicker bedside table, and Marcie let out a groan of remorse. It was almost ten in the morning. How could she have slept so late? And so soundly? She’d expected her dreams to be full of painful memories, perhaps even a nightmare or two. But she’d slept very peacefully. The sheets weren’t twisted up in a ball as they usually were when she was upset, and the blanket was still tucked in. She felt almost guilty for sleeping so well on the night after her sister’s death.
Marcie stood up and stretched. She felt rested and ready to cope with the day. Then she remembered that she had nothing to wear. Had her suitcases arrived while she was asleep?
She padded, barefooted, across the deep pile rug and opened the door. The hallway was deserted. No suitcases. She was sure Brad would have brought them up if they’d been here when he’d left for his golf tournament. She remembered how apologetic Brad had been last night, when he’d mentioned the tournament. He’d told her he’d tried to cancel, but he hadn’t been able to find a replacement on such short notice. Marcie had urged him to go. His partners were depending on him, and the tournament was for charity. It would do him good to get out of the house and be with his friends. She’d promised him that she’d take care of things on the home front so he needn’t worry. Sam was coming over to help with all the arrangements, but they’d wait with any final decisions until Brad got home.
Poor Brad. When she’d mentioned the arrangements, he’d confessed that he just couldn’t face making them. Anything she wanted was fine with him, as long as it was private. Could Marcie please take care of it for him?
Of course, Marcie had agreed. Brad shouldn’t worry. She would take care of everything. But in the cold light of morning, Marcie wondered exactly what she should do. How did one arrange a funeral in a city as large as Los Angeles? Thank goodness Sam was coming over this morning to help her. But he could be on his way right now, and she wasn’t even dressed!
Marcie walked to the connecting door to Brad’s room, and knocked. Perhaps he hadn’t left yet. She needed to ask him if she could borrow some of Mercedes’s clothes until the airline delivered hers. But there was no answer.
Marcie opened the door and peeked in. There were several crumpled towels on the floor, and she could smell the faint hint of his cologne in the air. She was too late. Brad was gone.
Even though she’d urged Brad to go to the golf tournament, Marcie still felt a bit deserted. But that was why she’d come, wasn’t it? She was there to deal with the tragic details and spare Brad and the children. She just wished that Brad had knocked on her door to say something before he’d left.
Marcie hesitated in the doorway for a moment, and then she stepped in. Brad’s room was done in dark green, with green and gold plaid on the overstuffed chairs on either side of the fireplace. Mercedes had mentioned that Brad’s favorite color was green, and the room was obviously decorated to please him. There was a heavy mahogany bed with dark green sheets and a matching bedspread. It was flanked by two mahogany bed tables, with identical brass lamps on their tops. On the far wall was a huge mahogany dresser, six drawers high and four drawers wide. There was a life-size portrait of Mercedes in a brass frame hanging over the fireplace, and several Remington prints on the walls.
Even though she knew she shouldn’t intrude on Brad’s private quarters, Marcie couldn’t resist walking over to examine the prints. She reached up to touch one, and gasped as she realized that they weren’t prints. Four Remington originals! Marcie’s mind boggled at what they must be worth. Then she saw the sculpture on the table between the two overstuffed chairs, and she gasped again. Another original Remington. It must have cost a fortune!
Marcie took a quick turn around the room, noticing the large walk-in closet filled with expensive clothing on wooden hangers, and the bathroom with its private sauna. This was a totally masculine room, the direct opposite of Mercedes’s feminine boudoir.
Marcie had been shocked when she’d first learned about her sister’s living arrangements. Wasn’t there something wrong when a married couple chose to sleep in separate bedrooms? But then Mercedes had explained it, and it all made perfect sense. She often had early calls when she was working on a movie, and Brad was normally a late sleeper. Mercedes preferred to go to bed early, and Brad stayed up past midnight almost every night. It’s just that we have conflicting schedules, Mercedes had said with a laugh. It doesn’t mean that we don’t love each other. After all, we have a connecting door.
Marcie walked back to Mercedes’s room and shut the connecting door. She felt slightly guilty for examining Brad’s room, but she couldn’t help being interested in the handsome man her twin sister had married.
She still hadn’t solved the problem of what to wear, but perhaps Rosa was here by now. Marcie picked
up the telephone on her sister’s night table, and pressed the intercom button. She really didn’t want to wear the same clothes she’d worn yesterday. They were wrinkled from her long airplane flight. But she wasn’t sure it was right to wear her sister’s clothes. She’d ask Rosa what to do.
“Miss Marcie!” Rosa answered on the first ring. “I’ll bring your tea right up.”
Marcie frowned. For some strange reason, she didn’t feel like tea this morning. “Rosa? I think I’d rather have coffee, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” Rosa sounded amused. “Why should I mind? I think it’s about time you stopped drinking that awful herb tea. I made a big pot of coffee for Mr. Brad so there’s plenty left for you.”
A moment later there was a knock on the door, and Rosa came bustling in. She set the tray down on the dressing table and rushed over to give Marcie a big hug. As Marcie hugged her back, she realized that there were tears in her eyes. She’d known the heavyset Hungarian housekeeper for ten years, and Rosa had always treated her like one of the family.
“Oh, Rosa.” Marcie stepped back to give her a teary smile. “I’m so sorry you had to be the one to . . . to . . .”
Rosa shook her head. “Don’t worry, Miss Marcie. You should be glad it was me, and not the babies. I’ve seen a lot of tragedy in my life. And I know Miss Mercedes is happy with Mr. Mike in heaven now. He was her first and best love.”
Marcie nodded. She certainly didn’t want to start a philosophical discussion about the existence of a higher being right now, and she was glad that Rosa could draw comfort from her faith in the hereafter. “How are the twins taking it?”
Rosa smiled. “I think they’ll be fine, Miss Marcie. They’ve got each other, and now they’ve got you.”
“Where are they?”
“Oh, Mr. Brad told me to take them back to school this morning. He says the longer they wait, the harder it’ll be.”
