Fatal Identity

by Joanne Fluke

  “I don’t think we can.” Trish shook her head. “You see, you almost have to be . . .”

  “. . . a twin.” Rick finished the sentence with a laugh.

  “Okay, okay.” Brad held out his hands. “Let’s go look at the horse hospital. And then I’ll take you down to the paddock and you can pick the horses you like for the next race. I suppose you’ll want a—”

  “. . . hot dog on the way back.” Marcie finished Brad’s thought, and the twins started to laugh. “See? You don’t have to be a twin to do it.”

  When they walked away, the twins were still laughing. Marcie was pleased to see they were walking on either side of Brad, holding his hands. Coming to the track this afternoon had been a marvelous idea. The twins were beginning to develop a closer relationship with Brad, and that was very good. All it took was a little time together, and they’d think of him as part of their family.

  But how did she think of Brad? Marcie frowned slightly as she considered it. She liked him. A lot. Perhaps too much for a brother-in-law. She didn’t want to leave him to go back to Minnesota.

  Marcie slipped off the lovely blue sweater she’d found in her sister’s closet, and sighed as she looked out over the track. Thinking about Brad always made her feel warm, and a little uncomfortable. And she’d thought about Brad a lot in the past few weeks. What would happen to him when she left? If she left?

  When she’d called Mr. Metcalf to request a leave of absence, he’d told her not to worry, that she was entitled to eight weeks with full pay and an additional four weeks with half-pay. If she added in the sick days she’d never used, it would take her to the end of the school year. Then it would be time for a contract renewal, and she had to make a career decision. Did she want to go back to teaching? Or would she rather move to California, and let another teacher have her job?

  Sam had pointed out that she was now a rich woman. She could pursue her own interests, and never have to worry about money again. That was a big factor. Was it fair to go back to her job in Minnesota, when there were so many other teachers who really needed the position?

  Marcie sighed. She remembered a seminar she’d attended last year, sponsored by a local women’s group. The topic had been self-esteem, and the speaker had asked them to introduce themselves, and tell the group one additional fact about their lives. Shirley Whitford had given her name, and then she’d said, “I’m married to a wonderful man, and we have two children.” Harriet Scharf had been next, and after she’d given her name, she’d announced, “I love to bake cookies, and someday I’d like to write a cookbook.”

  Marcie’s heart had hammered hard as she’d waited for her turn. Then she’d said, “My name is Marcie Calder, and I’m a teacher.”

  When everyone had finished, the speaker had explained that the second part of the introduction had been a personality test. If you said something personal, as Harriet Scharf had, it meant you were comfortable with your life, and you had high self-esteem. And everyone had said something personal except Marcie, who’d defined herself by her profession.

  Driving home in the inky blackness of a Minnesota night, Marcie had realized that she had no hobbies, no outside interests, no personal life outside the school. Teaching was her whole life. And perhaps that was why she was so reluctant to give it up now, even when she was free to do so. It meant taking a long, hard look at herself, and redefining what she really wanted to do with her life. Of course, she wanted to be a mother to the twins, but she was wise enough to know that it was dangerous to make them her whole purpose for living. She’d known mothers who’d done that, and they had been devastated when their children had grown up and left home.

  What would she miss if she gave up her job and moved out here to California? Marcie thought it over carefully. She’d enjoyed teaching for the first few years, but it had turned into a ritual of boredom lately. She had no real control over the curriculum, and she’d been required to teach the same projects, over and over, with each new class of students. Every year the routine was the same. She taught a drawing class, a painting class, a crafts class, and a design class. How many macramé plant hangers could you make before you never wanted to see a ball of twine again?

  But would she miss her roots in Minnesota? Marcie had thought it over carefully, and she’d decided she wouldn’t. The nuclear family had gone with the death of her parents, and she’d sold the family home. She still exchanged the occasional letter or card with uncles, aunts, and cousins, but the only time she saw them was at their annual family reunion. She could always fly back for that, and take the twins with her. It would be good to give them a sense of family. And the family reunion was always held in the summer, thank goodness!

  Marcie had called Shirley Whitford the night before, and asked her to give Miss Ladybug a good home. Shirley had been very grateful, and she’d admitted that she thought that Marcie would be foolish to come back before winter was over. The wind chill factor had been minus forty, and Marcie had heard the howling winds rattling against the windows in Shirley’s living room. Shirley was right. There was no way she’d miss the hardships of Minnesota winters.

  The first month of snow was wonderful. Marcie loved the soft white blanket of snow that shrouded the familiar landscape and turned it into a fairyland of glittering icicles and snug houses capped with gleaming white roofs. Towering trees with bare branches that resembled stark black fingers stretched up toward the pale winter sun, and children dressed in brightly colored parka frolicked in a sparkling white world. But the novelty wore off very quickly, when the snow became an obstacle.

  Tons of dirty snow were piled in banks by the sides of the road, so motorists could inch their way down icy thoroughfares. Wet boots left muddy tracks on every floor. Wool coats smelled like wet dogs until they dried. And anyone who hadn’t lived in snow country couldn’t believe how heavy and awkward a snow-filled shovel could be. And then there was the cold.

  When the temperature was below zero, even taking out the garbage called for survival gear. Lips chapped, lungs hurt with the freezing air, and fingers were unwieldy in heavy gloves. Just last week, when Sam had asked her what winter was like in Minnesota, she’d told him to try wearing oven mitts to unlock his door, and he’d get the general idea. No, she wouldn’t miss Minnesota winters at all. Not one little bit.

  Marcie laughed. She’d just done an excellent job of persuading herself to stay in California. The twins would be delighted. They loved their school and their friends, and she knew they didn’t want to leave. Rosa would be delighted, too. She was used to life in California, and although she’d agreed to go anywhere with her babies, Marcie knew she’d rather stay right here in a familiar setting.

  Sam would be happy. He loved the twins, and he’d told her he didn’t want them to move away. And she was sure that Brad would be very relieved to know she was staying. But should she make such a big decision on the spur of the moment?

  As always, caution won out. Marcie sighed and shook her head. She was ninety-nine percent positive she wanted to stay in California, but she’d give herself another week to mull over the possibilities. Brad was leaving on a business trip tonight, and she’d wait until he came home to make her final decision. Perhaps she’d ask Rosa to fix something special for dinner on Friday evening when Brad came home—a standing rib roast, or rack of lamb. And then, after the twins were tucked in bed, she’d invite him to join her on the patio, and she’d tell him.

  Just anticipating that moment made Marcie’s eyes sparkle. She was sure Brad would open a bottle of champagne to celebrate. And then he’d hug her, and tell her how pleased he was. He might say more about how close he was beginning to feel toward her. And then, perhaps, he’d even kiss her.

  Marcie’s face turned pink, and then bright red. It was happening again, that warm, breathless feeling that always rushed through her whenever she imagined Brad’s kisses. But she was being ridiculous, indulging in a fantasy that was terribly adolescent. Brad had told her that he was beginning to feel ver
y close to her, but that was only normal. She was here, she looked like Mercedes, and she was living in her sister’s house and finishing her sister’s work. She was Bad’s closest link to Mercedes. They were all in transition, just like the school psychologist had said.

  Marcie drew a deep breath and nodded. She had to be very careful not to let her emotions run away with her. Brad was a handsome man, a nice man, a loving man, and it was only natural to feel affection for him. Soon things would be settled, and everything would return to normal. And when it did, she was sure she’d get over the foolish notion that she was falling in love with her dead sister’s husband.

  CHAPTER 13

  Marcie tiptoed down the hallway, the revolver in her hand. They were there, in her bed, the two people she’d trusted most in the world, the two people she’d loved with all her heart. But her love had turned to hatred, when she’d learned how they had betrayed her, and now her beautiful face was contorted with rage. She would exorcise them like demons, drive them out of her life and send them scuttling back to the depths of hell. She was an avenging angel, and they were sinful worms she would crush beneath her heel.

  Slowly, very slowly, she inched open the door. Her hands were steady. Her eyes gleamed with the same cold steel that she held in her hand, the killing instrument, the weapon of death that she would turn on them without mercy.

  Her lips parted and she made a sound, a hiss of wrath that ended in a subhuman growl. They looked up, and she took a dark pleasure in their startled confusion, at the way their fingers scrabbled for the blankets in a futile attempt to cover their shame. And then her pleasure heightened as their fear bloomed and spread to abject, cowering terror. Their time had come. Revenge would be both hot and sweet.

  She raised the gun, bringing the luster of the cold blue metal to the burning glow of malice deep in her eyes. And then, quite deliberately, she pulled the trigger.

  The gunshots bounced and echoed for a moment. Then they faded away to silence. She watched, eyes blazing with fervor, as the life fled from their blood-spattered faces.

  Then, almost imperceptibly, her expression began to change. She blinked in confusion, as if she were waking from a nightmare. Then she looked down at the gun she still clutched in her hand. Puzzled. Why did she have it? And then as realization began to dawn, she glanced toward the bed again.

  Now her expressions changed like wildfire. Shock. My God! And horror. What had she done!? She shuddered, and let the revolver drop from her nerveless fingers. And then her mouth opened and released a keening wail that ended only when she crumpled to the floor and curled her body into a whimpering circle of unending pain.

  “Cut!” Dave Allen’s voice was shaking, and he swallowed hard. Everyone on the set burst into spontaneous applause, and Dave and Jolene rushed to help Marcie up.

  Marcie blinked, and then she smiled. “Was that all right?”

  “All right!” Dave threw back his head and laughed. “Jesus, Marcie! That was fucking incredible!”

  “We don’t have to do it over?”

  Dave shook his head. “Nope. It doesn’t get any better than that! You’ve got the rest of the day off, kiddo. See you bright and early Monday morning.”

  Twenty minutes later, Marcie was sitting in front of the mirror while Rhea Delaney styled her hair. She was dressed in jeans and a blouse, her usual attire for trips to and from the studio.

  “Very sexy.” Rhea smiled as she brushed Marcie’s hair up and back, securing it with a gold barrette. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Uh . . . well . . . I’m not sure.”

  “A man.” Rhea answered her own question. “It’s always a man when a woman’s eyes sparkle like yours. So he’s finally getting serious, huh?”

  “Who?” Marcie felt her face grow hot, and since she was facing the mirror, she could actually see the blush rising to color her cheeks.

  “Brad. We all figure it’s only a matter of time before he begs you not to leave him.”

  Marcie whirled around in the chair to look at Rhea in surprise. “Do you really think so?”

  “Absolutely. Beau noticed it first. Of course, he’s always had his eye on Brad.”

  “Uh . . . his eye?”

  Rhea laughed. ”I’m sure he’d like to have more than that, but Beau’s not doing any more than looking right now. He just broke up with the guy he’d been living with for ten years, and it’ll take him a while to get over it.”

  “Beau is gay?”

  Rhea nodded. “Does that bother you?”

  “Not at all. But why does Beau think Brad is interested in me?”

  “It’s a lot of little things, and they all add up. Brad sent you flowers, and he never sent them to Mercedes. And he always hugs you after you finish a tough scene. And he comes to take you out to lunch at least twice a week.”

  “That’s true.” Marcie nodded. “But Brad’s just being supportive. He wants me to finish this picture for Mercedes.”

  “That’s what I thought. At first I was sure that Beau was imagining things, but then I saw the way Brad looked at you the last few times he’s been here. He never came to watch Mercedes, you know. And then Jolene noticed, and so did Tom and Reuben. And just the other day, Lee commented on it.”

  “I guess everyone noticed but me.” Marcie gave a little self-conscious laugh. “But really . . . I think Brad just likes me because we’re related. And don’t forget that I look exactly like Mercedes when I’m on the set.”

  “That’s true, but I don’t think Brad is looking for another Mercedes.”

  “Why not?”

  Rhea looked very uncomfortable. “Let’s just forget I opened my big mouth, okay?”

  “No way.” Marcie shook her head. “I want to know what you mean.”

  “Well . . . I know they were having problems at home. Mercedes said something that made me think they were getting ready to break up.”

  Marcie looked shocked. “What did she say?”

  “I’m not sure I should tell you. Mercedes didn’t exactly confide in me. It was just a slip of the tongue.”

  “Come on, Rhea. You’ve told me this much. You can’t stop now.”

  “Well . . . two months ago she came in looking like death warmed over. Beau and I worked on her for over an hour, but she still looked terrible. She told us she’d been up all night, and she couldn’t keep anything down.”

  “The flu?”

  Rhea raised her eyebrows. “That’s what Beau thought. But then I remembered that she’d been gaining weight lately, and I wondered out loud if she was pregnant.”

  “What did she say to that?”

  “She laughed. And then she said it was impossible, unless we’d seen a star in the East.”

  It took Marcie a moment to get it, and then she sighed. “Oh, dear!”

  “Hey . . .” Rhea patted her shoulder. “I don’t know whether she lost interest in him, or he lost interest in her. But I do know their marriage wasn’t working. Mercedes told us she hadn’t slept with Brad in over six months.”

  The twins were in bed, and Marcie and Brad were lingering at the table on the patio, sipping coffee. Marcie felt wonderful. Her part in Summer Heat was almost complete, and soon she could get on with her life. Before she’d left the studio this afternoon, Dave Allen had given her a copy of his newest script. If the studio liked the final print of Summer Heat, Ralph Buchannan was sure he’d be able to get the project funded. Dave wanted Marcie to play the lead, opposite Lee Thorpe. But Marcie wasn’t sure she wanted to do it. Finishing Summer Heat had been fun, but acting was a full-time profession. She wanted to have more time to spend with the twins, and she was still considering what Sam had said about pursuing her art.

  “That was a great dinner, Marcie!” Brad smiled at her.

  Marcie smiled back and her heart beat a bit faster. Brad looked incredibly handsome. “Thanks, but I didn’t make it. Rosa did.”

  “Then I’ll have to tell her.” Brad cupped his hands toward the kitchen. “Great dinner, Rosa
!”

  Rosa’s voice floated out of the open door. “Thanks, but I didn’t plan it. Miss Marcie did. Do you want dessert on the patio?”

  Brad turned to Marcie, and she shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m stuffed.”

  “We’ll wait until later, Rosa,” Brad called out. Then he turned to smile at Marcie again. “How about a quick swim? I need to burn off some of that dinner.”

  Marcie hesitated. She hadn’t been in the pool at all, even though it had looked very inviting. She wasn’t sure she’d ever feel right about using the pool again, after what had happened to Mercedes.

  “I’m sorry, Marcie. I just didn’t think.” Brad looked embarrassed as he realized the reason for her hesitation. “But I think all of us have to get over our fear of the pool. That’s why I took the twins swimming last Friday, before you came home from the studio.”

  “The twins went swimming in the pool?” Marcie looked up at him, startled.

  “Yes, and we had a wonderful time. Even Rosa went in, and she hates to swim.”

  “You’re right, Brad.” Marcie sighed deeply. “I know it’s silly to avoid the pool, but . . . I just can’t help thinking . . .”

  “I know.” Brad reached across the table to clasp her hand. “Just remember that it was an accident, a tragic accident. And now we have to get on with our lives.”

  Marcie opened her mouth to say that perhaps it hadn’t been an accident, that George believed Mercedes was murdered. But George could be wrong. There was no proof. Why upset Brad needlessly?

  “What’s wrong, Marcie?”

  Marcie realized that Brad was frowning, and she quickly shook her head. “Nothing, Brad. And you’re absolutely right. It’s not rational to be afraid of the pool.”

  “I’ve got an idea.” Brad gave her hand a little squeeze. “It’s pretty cold for swimming, so let’s use the Jacuzzi instead. And while you’re changing, I’ll get us both a snifter of Grand Marnier. Would you like that?”

  Marcie nodded quickly. “It sounds wonderful, Brad. But won’t the Jacuzzi take some time to warm up?”