"That's why I tried to do something good," I admit. "That's why I reached out and helped Jacqueline. After all of that stuff that we did, I had to make it right."
"It's not going to make it right. Just one good deed in the ledger against, what is it? Fifty, one hundred bad ones? No. That's not going to make it right. You know it and I know it."
31
Jacqueline
I go back to the cottage and I don't find Allison. I wander around the streets not knowing where she could have gone or what could've happened.
Her stuff is still there, so either something happened this morning or last night, or she's still somewhere out trying to teach me a lesson, but where and why?
The more hours that pass, the more frantic I become and I even consider going to the police but first, I need to talk to him.
I walk up to Dante's property and ring the doorbell. A few minutes later, they ring me inside.
Adele is sitting by the pool, relaxing with a book and a cocktail and after a brief hello, I say that I have to talk to Lincoln about something.
"You're supposed to be on vacation," Adele yells after me, "this isn't the time to think about your investments."
I force a laugh and go inside. In the kitchen I find Dante and Lincoln icing their faces with bags of frozen peas.
"Oh my God, what happened?" I ask.
Marguerite emerges from the walk-in refrigerator.
"These two got into a fight, can you believe it? I mean, it's like they're teenagers."
I stand with my whole body clenched tight waiting for their explanation. Does Marguerite know what happened?
Did Dante confront Lincoln about Allison and that's why they both look like they do, or does this have nothing to do with it whatsoever?
Both Lincoln and Dante give me strained looks and I realize that they didn't tell Marguerite a thing. She must think that they just got into a fight over nothing in particular, stupid childhood sibling rivalry situation, and I play along for a little.
"Sorry, I get really lightheaded if I'm on my feet for too long, but I'll be out in a little bit," she says, grabbing my hand and squeezing it lightly. "I want to catch up for sure tonight."
"Yeah, I'd love that.” I nod.
When I hear her footsteps disappear down the hallway and wait for the door to open and shut, that's when I finally turn to them, Lincoln in particular.
"Where's Allison?" I ask.
"I have no idea.” He shakes his head.
"What happened?"
At first, he tries to deny it, to hesitate but Dante clears his throat and he finally admits the truth.
"Please don't tell Marguerite a thing," he says in a very hushed tone.
I nod. "I just want to know where my friend is."
"Nothing happened. I mean, we met at the party, she was there alone, I was there alone. We started chatting. We had fun. And then we left around five in the morning. She said she was going to walk back but it's five miles away, so I convinced her that I would drop her off."
"And you did?" I ask.
He nods. "Right in front of the gate. I saw her punching in the code and then walking toward the cottage. That's when I drove away."
"What time was this?"
"Around 5:30 or so. A few people went out to get breakfast, but she didn't want to, so I dropped her off and came home."
"Then what?" I ask, crossing my hands.
"Then I went to bed," he says, clearing his throat.
What I want to hear him say is that he climbed into bed with Marguerite and lied to her about where he was but this isn't the time to make an enemy.
Of course, I judge him, but I need his help.
He's the last person that I know who has seen Allison.
"So you don't know anything about what happened to her after that?"
"No, I thought she just went in and fell asleep and that's it."
His story's plausible, it's also possible that she did go inside, sleep it off and then disappeared when I happened to come by closer to midday.
All of this is very plausible, but is it realistic?
Is it something that could have happened? I don't know.
I tap my fingers on the quartz island and pop grapes mindlessly in my mouth with my other hand.
Whenever I'm nervous or going through something, food is always a solace, it fills the time and gives me something to do with my hands and my mouth.
We talk about the outcomes in somewhat hushed tones. Dante doesn't seem nearly as worried as he should be and Lincoln could care less, he just keeps looking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure that either his mother or Marguerite don't hear what we're saying.
"Look, I'm really sorry about your friend," he says, after long pause.
"I'm not sure what to do if she doesn't come home soon," I say, walking nervously from one side of the kitchen to another. "I might have to go to the police."
"No!" Lincoln yells at me. "You cannot go to the police."
"I don't have a choice. I have no idea what happened to her unless you do."
He shakes his head. "If you go to the police, Marguerite is going to find out, okay? They're going to have to interview me and this whole thing ..."
"Well, you should have thought of that before you went over there," I snap.
“Listen," Dante gets in between us, "let's not lose control here. We're going to find her. Have you tried calling her?"
I give him a blank expression. "Of course."
"And what? She doesn't respond?"
I shake my head no.
"Have you tried tracking her phone?"
Now that's an idea. It feels like a light bulb goes off in my head. "No, actually, I haven't," I admit.
"Well, what if we did? Come here.” He grabs his laptop and opens an app. "What's her phone number?"
I read it out and he searches for her iPhone. A few minutes later, a location pops up, another house two doors down from the one where The Redemption white party happened.
"What would she be doing there?" I ask.
I stare at Lincoln's face trying to read for any signs. If he had something to do with her disappearance, then he would be freaking out right now, but he's not.
He looks blank, perplexed, as perplexed as we are. While Marguerite is still in the other room, we go out the front door and get into Dante's car with me sitting in the front and Lincoln squeezing in, in the back.
It's a small roadster with a tiny back seat and he complains about it the whole way over. But with the top down and with fresh air running through my hair, I like the feel of it.
"What happened to the BMW?" I ask.
"There's a garage of about ten cars, I like to vary it a little when I come down."
"Uh-huh.” I nod.
I hadn't even realized that there was another part of the property I haven't been to.
We drive over to another gate and dial zero for information.
No one answers at first, but Dante keeps trying and on the third ring, someone stumbles to the intercom.
"Hello?" she asks and I immediately recognize her voice.
"Allison? Allison?" I yell across Dante.
"Is that you, Jacqueline?" she says, her voice sounds distant and not exactly clear.
I wonder if she's been drugged and kept here against her will.
“Here, let me buzz you in," she says, slurring her words just a little.
We drive down a large circular driveway with magnificent oaks lining the road. This is probably the biggest house that I've seen the whole time I've been here and it blows my mind away.
Allison comes out in a short summer dress over a white bathing suit. Her hair is drenched and her skin is deeply tanned, something that she could always do after just a few days in the sun.
"Hey, sweetie," she says, holding a cocktail and wrapping her arms around my neck. "How did you find me?"
"We tracked your phone. Where have you been?"
"Oh, Lincoln," she says, seeing him
get out of the car. The expression on her face immediately changes.
"I thought something happened to you."
"How do you know each other?" she asks.
"This is Dante's brother."
"Oh," she mumbles, looking down at her feet. The pedicure is new and so is the manicure.
"What happened?" I pull her away to one side. "What are you doing here? What is this place?"
"Well, after a fabulous time last night, Lincoln dropped me off. I slept a little bit and then I went to get some food since you have practically abandoned me living with Dante this whole weekend."
"That's not what I'm doing."
"Okay, whatever. Anyway, out on Main Street, I got my nails done, got some coffee, and ran into this guy."
"What guy?"
"Richard," she says and almost on cue he emerges out of the house.
32
Jacqueline
The man standing in the doorway is broad shouldered with peppered gray hair a little long around the ears. He has a nice warm tan that stands out against his loose fitting dress shirt and L.L. Bean shorts paired with flip-flops.
His attire is casual, but in that way where you know that he is incredibly wealthy. He looks like he is at least twenty years older than Allison, but has a nice juvenile look on his face, easygoing and casual.
He smiles broadly and without any sort of discomfort and welcomes all of us into his home after shaking our hands.
"Richard and I just met at The Latte," Jacqueline says, referring to the coffee shop back in town.
"Just a few hours ago?" I ask under my breath as the guys walk slightly ahead of me.
"Yeah. He invited me over for some lunch, showed me a nice view of his home, nice view of the ocean."
As we enter through the great room, my mouth nearly drops open as I stare at least twenty feet of glass facing the Atlantic Ocean. The sand right outside is white and clear, and there's a large piano in the corner, sleek and spotless.
"We can't stay long," I protest, but Dante and Lincoln are already swerving around a picture of some exotic car hanging in the foyer.
"I have the real thing here if you want to see," Richard offers and the two of them practically start to drool.
He invites us as well, but I pull Allison aside to have a moment of some private time.
"What is going on here?" I ask her when the men disappear, headed toward the garage on the other side of the building.
"Nothing. He's nice, right? A real gentleman."
"But you just met for coffee."
"I know."
"And you were just with Lincoln," I say, somewhat under my breath.
"I know. I feel terrible about that. But it was a party. He was there. I had no idea who he was."
The lack of awkwardness between the two of them makes me incredibly uneasy. "Why are you here? Is this like a romantic thing?"
"Well, I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that we have this insane chemistry, but I'm taking my time."
"What does that mean, that you haven't slept with him yet?"
"I'm entitled to be with whoever I want whenever I want."
"I know. I'm sorry." I throw my hands up and I am.
It’s judgmental and a shitty thing to say.
“It's not that I care about that in particular. I was really worried about you, okay? I thought something happened at the club. I thought that maybe Lincoln had something to do with it after he denied being with you."
"No, Lincoln was a gentlemen. A married gentleman. And of course, he only revealed that fact when he dropped me off so I was a little annoyed."
"You didn't expect anything to happen?”
"No, of course not," she snaps at me and walks toward the kitchen with the two giant quartz kitchen islands, parallel to each other.
The way she moves around the place makes me feel like she's already at home here, and it's only been a few hours.
She opens the fridge, reaches inside, grabs a bottle of water, and offers it to me. I look at the label.
"It's from Iceland," she says when she sees me peering.
"Okay.” I nod, knowing that I should clearly be impressed, God knows how much that costs.
She pours me a glass and one for herself, tapping her nails on the counter.
Her heels make a light clicking sound as she walks on the marble floors. They are so pristine and expertly waxed, that I feel like I might slip and fall with any wrong move.
"Look, last night, I was really mad at you," Allison says, tossing her hair.
She's definitely hungover, but she's holding everything in quite well. That's probably why she sounded so tired and a little bit slurred in her speech earlier.
"I had a good time. I went to the party and I met Lincoln and we had a good time. I didn't expect him to call me or anything like that, but I also didn't expect him to be married, which is something that he just happened to announce when he dropped me off: happily married and expecting a child, so you know how that is."
I shake my head.
"And then I was, of course, mad at you."
Her eyes laser-focus on mine.
"I'm sorry," I say after a pause. "I know this weekend is nothing like it should have been. It should have been a girls’ trip. I ran into Dante and his whole family's here, so it's been unfair. How can I make this up to you?"
"I don't know," Allison says, propping her head up with one hand, tapping her index finger on her cheek, "but I'll think about it."
She's back to her joking self, easygoing, casual. It’s my favorite kind of Allison.
Dante, Lincoln, and Richard emerge from the other side of the house with placid and entranced looks on their faces. Richard looks just as unbothered as he was earlier, clearly used to making impressions on impressionable people.
"You should see this guy's garage," Dante gushes. "I mean, the cars that he has in there? 1964 Ferrari 250 LM, 1994 McLaren F1 LM, 1961 Ferrari 250 GT SWB California Spider. I'm just blown away."
"You know, you get old enough, you start to collect things."
"I want to grow up to be just like you," Dante says, and we all laugh.
Richard offers to make us a round of drinks and pulls out a pre-made charcuterie board filled with fruit, hummus, pita chips, crab legs, caviar, and an assortment of other delicacies.
"Let's go out on the patio," he says. "We can get to know each other a little bit."
I'm tempted to leave, but Dante and Allison clearly want to stay. Lincoln looks only a little bit uncomfortable. I stay behind to grab the glasses and Lincoln approaches me.
"Did she say anything about last night?"
"No. I mean, yes, she told me that you two met at The Redemption," I say under my breath.
"Please, please, please don't tell Marguerite."
I freeze, holding the glasses and the ice cold Icelandic water under my arm, chilling myself to the bone. "Okay. Yeah, I guess I won't."
"She wouldn't be able to handle that kind of news right now, and I'm already having some problems with my work schedule. I just... I didn't mean to hurt her."
"Listen," I say, taking a step toward him, "I can tell you that I won't tell her anything, but don't act like this is her fault at all or has anything to do with anything but you and your shit."
Walking away from him, I know that I could have handled that a little bit better, but I've always hated cheaters. They rub me the wrong way. The lies and the deception, what's the fucking point? You want to be with someone, you don't want to be with someone, tell the truth.
Out on the patio, the five of us sit down at his luxurious dining room table and look out at the empty beach right up front. The patio is strategically placed slightly behind a wall of glass, giving it a little bit of shelter from the harsh Atlantic winds. The glass is spotless and it's almost as if it's not there at all.
“So, what is it that you do for a living, Richard?" Dante asks. "This is quite a home you have here."
"It is my pride and joy. It's where I go t
o relax, forget about the world. Not like my place in Manhattan."
He smiles at Allison who beams in his direction.
"I'm a musician. Composer," he says with a slight nod and a shrug, casual and very unassuming.
"Wait, are you Richard Reeves?" I ask, suddenly remembering seeing something about him online.
"The one and only."
I raise my eyebrows and my mouth falls slightly ajar. "You write music for movies, right?" I ask.
He nods. “I score films, yes. I also write a lot of songs, pop songs. The former gets a little bit less fanfare, but the money's good," he says in an understatement of a lifetime.
"What kind of songs? For who?" Allison asks.
"Madonna, Lady Gaga, Kelly Clarkson. Wrote a bunch for Whitney Houston. Dolly Parton and I collaborate a lot."
"Wow.” I smile.
Allison leans back into the plush pillows of the wicker chair and holds her cosmopolitan up to her lips, giving him a sultry look. He looks at her almost the same way, and I sense a connection I haven't seen, well, in a long time.
Something about Allison's hard, no-nonsense demeanor melts away and another person that I know well emerges: the one that wears sweats around the apartment, eats ice cream late at night, and drinks a little bit too much Grey Goose while watching The Voice.
I ask Richard more about his music and I notice the way that his eyes light up when he talks about it. He invites us all back inside so he can play us a little bit on the piano, taking a seat on his cliffside teak sectional.
When Richard places his hands on the keys, he becomes someone else. He closes his eyes and begins to play. His fingers are effervescent, moving with the music. He even sways a little.
The song begins slowly and builds and builds until it reaches a climax. He pounds at the keys but ever so slightly like a baby bird breaking through the egg shell, quick-focused and persistent.
When he's done, we all clap.
He smiles and nods and invites us to a party that he's having for a few friends.
"Dinner party, nothing too extravagant," Richard says with a smile. "I'd love for you all to come."
"I don't think I'll be able to make it," Lincoln says quickly.
Dark Redemption Page 14
