Tall, Dark, and Deadly Page 4

  There was an undertone in the woman’s voice. Or was Sam imagining things?

  “Well, if she comes in, please make sure to tell her that Sam has been trying to reach her.”

  “My pleasure. I’ll be sure to give her the message.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sam hung up, more worried than ever. So Marnie hadn’t come home and gone on into work. But maybe she had still come and gone while Sam was out at work that morning herself. Mrs. Cassie Jefferson had recently undergone a hip replacement, and her doctor had sent her to Sam’s place, which was, of course, great—postsurgical therapy was her specialty.

  So Sam had been out early, and back early, and she was becoming more and more certain that Marnie hadn’t come and gone in that time.

  The phone rang so suddenly that Sam nearly bit her pencil in half. She leaned across the desk to grab the receiver, hoping it might be Marnie, feeling like a fool for being so worried about a grown woman with—in all honesty—the morals of an alley cat.

  “Marnie?”

  Silence. Then a hurt tone. “No, it’s Laura, your cousin, your flesh and blood. Remember me?”

  Sam smiled. “Sorry. I’m just worried.”

  “Why?”

  “I haven’t seen Marnie.”

  “Is it cocktail hour yet? If she thinks it’s too early for a drink, then she’s probably still sleeping.”

  “Laura, you’re being cruel.”

  “You’re being naive. She’d walk all over you in a second. She would. Only if it was necessary, of course—she does really like you. And don’t you argue with me. Uh-uh! You see, I may be in another place, but in my mind’s eye, I can see you now, throwing up your arms and saying patiently, ‘Laura! Don’t always think the worst. People can only hurt you if you let them!’ ”

  Sam stared at the receiver. It was exactly what she’d been about to say.

  “Well, it’s true,” she said defensively.

  “No, it’s not true,” Laura said with a strangely bitter note to her voice. “Ask Teddy.”

  That was Laura’s husband, a cop, in homicide. Ex-husband now, Sam reminded herself, for almost two years. Laura and Teddy had met at Sam’s house, introduced by her father. Sam and Teddy’s younger sister, Posie, had been childhood friends, and Teddy had taken them out fishing in the Everglades dozens of times. Teddy had since taken Laura and their kids out fishing dozens of times. Their marriage had been a familiar story. Years of marriage, raising kids, struggling, finally getting it together—then boredom. On Teddy’s part. There had been another woman. Laura had been devastated, then furious, vengeful… then morose. In all those years she’d become a couch potato, giving up on herself. She’d gained too much weight, she’d gotten gray… and Teddy had fallen for some younger woman. Laura had never found out just who it was that caused her divorce, and to give Teddy credit, he’d been willing to try to make up. He loved his kids. But Laura had been too hurt.

  Sam felt closer than ever to her cousin now. She’d done her best to take Laura in hand, get her moving, back into life—and improve her self-esteem. The gray in Laura’s auburn hair was gone now, and thanks to the regimen she practiced at the gym, she was in exceptional shape. She’d spent years being a wife and mom and little more, taking little interest in herself. Now she spent time with a masseuse, thrilled by her bimonthly manicures and pedicures, and took pride in her trim new appearance.

  Of course, it had all backfired a bit on Sam, too. At least as far as Teddy went. She liked Teddy. He had been to see her a few times, asking her to intervene. Which she had tried to do. But Teddy didn’t waste time while trying to make it up with his wife. He acquired a new blond girlfriend. “Just a casual acquaintance,” he assured Sam. But Laura didn’t see anything casual in it, and she’d been hurt all over again. She wanted Teddy to pay, and with her lean figure and sophisticated new look, she managed to make him do just that.

  In their divorce settlement, Laura had received the house they’d bought at the start of their marriage. Teddy’s great pride in the house had been his enclosed back porch with its spectacular whirlpool and sauna. Laura had seduced a young man at the gym and brought him home— to Teddy’s whirlpool. Strange, what sets people off. She knew exactly where to strike to get Teddy. If she had taken half a dozen older lovers, he might have thought it was little more than a fair trade, but bringing a young hunk into his whirlpool sent him into a fury.

  Free will, Teddy, Sam thought dryly. You might have talked it over with your wife, kept your fly zipped.

  “Now as to Marnie…” Laura said.

  “Yes?"

  “Admit that Marnie is selfish and self-centered, and tell me you won’t spend hours worrying about her. Although…”

  “Although what?” Sam asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t ‘nothing’ me after that kind of a lead.”

  Curiously, Laura still hesitated. “Nothing… really. Except that…”

  “Laura!” Sam implored.

  “Well, it’s just curious, that’s all.”

  “What’s curious?” she demanded, shaking her head as she realized she was almost shouting. Sometimes she just had to sympathize with Teddy.

  “Well, Teddy had told me this, you realize.”

  “Told you what?”

  “Well, Teddy knows about some things that have happened at Marnie’s law firm.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, one of their young secretaries disappeared without a trace about a year ago. Marnie said she must have gone off with the Colombian she was seeing, but her parents came down and filed a missing-person report on her.”

  “And what happened? Did they find her?”

  “Not a trace.”

  “Maybe she really did run off with a Latin American and is living happily in Cozumel.”

  “Maybe. The case is still open; the cops are still looking. But there’s so much swampland down here, so much ocean, so many islands… sometimes when a person just disappears, there’s nothing that can ever be done. The disappearance stays a mystery forever.”

  “How terrible for the poor girl’s family!”

  “Then one of their clients at the law firm disappeared as well. Don’t you remember? This one was in the papers because of shady dealings. Mrs. Chloe Lowenstein, the hotshot society belle? Well, she had a reputation straight from the gutter, of course, but it seems that’s allowed if you raise money for every charity known to man. Except that there was some scandal about her keeping money that was raised. The firm was representing her; in fact, she was Marnie’s client. Then…”

  “Then?”

  “She just up and disappeared one day. Can you imagine?”

  “Yes, I can. I do remember that story. I was talking to one of Marnie’s associates soon after it happened— Kevin Madigan. He thought she had money stashed all over the world. And the IRS was after her. If she was very, very rich—and on the take and in trouble—she could easily be living in Argentina, Bolivia, Switzerland, or so on.”

  “Umm. Maybe, maybe not. It’s just awful curious, don’t you agree?”

  Damn curious, Sam agreed. “So, if people disappear, maybe I should be worried about Marnie.”

  Laura snorted. “Maybe she’s already sleeping with the new neighbor. From what I understand, he’s been a client for a while, too.”

  “The new neighbor?”

  “Your new neighbor, remember? The other side of Marnie’s house. The one she seems so possessive about— and so smugly secretive, to boot!”

  “The new neighbor is one of Marnie’s clients?” Sam asked.

  “No… silly. He’s a client with the firm. He was looking for property for a while, from a distance, I guess, so he was with Eddie Harlin, the real estate attorney over there. That’s how he and Marnie crossed paths again.” Laura let out a sigh of impatience. “Sam, we talked to her not a full twenty-four hours ago. She’s a grown woman. No, I take that back. She’s a grown barracuda!”

  “You’re being
mean. Your claws are showing.”

  “I’m old. I’ve got a right to be nasty. Didn’t anyone ever explain to you why really old people are so crotchety? Life made them that way. Every year you get a little older and meaner.”

  “You’re not old.”

  “In my forties, kid. And you haven’t even hit the mini-big three-oh. Give yourself time. Soon. Then you too can grow to be a raving bitch.”

  “Laura, honest, I think I should hang up now. Really, I’m not so sure there’s anything I can say that will make you happy at the moment,” Sam said. Laura was definitely in one of her moods.

  “Yes, you can. You can tell me that you want to go shopping.”

  “Shopping? For what?”

  “Something that will make me look younger. Aidan’s group is playing the Hot Patootie tonight on the beach. You’re coming with me.”

  “I am?”

  “Didn’t I tell you last night?”

  “No, you didn’t tell me.” Sam said, wincing. She wasn’t sure she was in the mood. She was glad Aidan’s group was getting some good-paying gigs, but the Hot Patootie was small and poorly air-conditioned—and it was usually peopled by a pickup crowd.

  “You have to come with me. Please. I need you.”

  “What about Teddy? I’m sure he’s going to go—clap his little heart out and support his son and the like.”

  Laura hesitated. “Yeah, amazing, isn’t it? All those years I emotionally supported the kids. I went to every Little League game and dance class, every doctor’s appointment and school meeting. Teddy was always busy. Now we’re divorced and superdad is everywhere.”

  “Well, now I guess he has to prove he loves his kids. That’s kind of a good thing, Laura, to be forced to be supportive himself, and not depend on you.”

  “Yeah, well, Teddy said something about maybe having a date. Which I don’t have. I just have you.”

  “Ah. Thanks.”

  “I don’t mean that the way it sounds. I’m lucky to have you, you’re great—you’re just not a guy. But I do need you. Moral support. Please. Don’t let me down.”

  “All right, all right.”

  “Shopping?”

  Sam hesitated, glancing at her watch. “Laura, it’s already after three. I need to shower, and if you want to get there tonight—”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Aidan doesn’t even go on until eleven. He’s all excited about that. They’re the closing band. Apparently, the later, the better. I’ll get you about seven, the malls are open until nine, we’ll come back to your house, dress, and go. How about it?”

  “I guess—”

  “Think that’s enough time for me to find something great to wear? Something that’s wonderfully sexy but doesn’t say ‘older-woman-trying-to-look-young-and-coming-off-ridiculous-instead’?”

  “Actually, come to think of it, I know where you can find something terrific. I know exactly where to go and what would look great on you. I saw it on a mannequin in a window yesterday. At Cocowalk. Come get me at six. I can be ready by then. All ready. That way we can just buy you a terrific outfit, you can dress right there in the Grove, and we can head on out to the beach.”

  “You probably could be ready earlier—”

  “Six. Okay? Bye, then. I’ve got some stuff to do before you get here.”

  “Sam—”

  Sam hung up quickly, pretending she hadn’t heard the last. She looked over at Marnie’s house, wondering what on earth could make her feel so uneasy about her friend. Laura’s information about a disappearing client and secretary didn’t help much, although, come to think of it, she remembered the year-old scandal about Chloe Lowenstein. She was certain that Chloe—a bright woman, even if she proved to be a crook—was living somewhere in Europe or South America, surrounded by maids, men, and money.

  As to the young secretary… Young women did just run off. The world was full of runaways.

  She shrugged, then realized that she’d been feeling a growing restlessness. Okay, so Marnie hadn’t been gone that long. Didn’t matter. Sam decided to go over and see if her friend was there. She had the key to the house. Marnie definitely had her quirks, but in her way she could be very generous as well. She had told Laura to use the house anytime, borrow anything at all from the fridge or the wine cellar, take linens, anything.

  Determined, Sam picked up Marnie’s house key from her desk and hurried downstairs to the front door. She didn’t bother to lock her house. She never locked it when she was just in the neighborhood.

  As she crossed the lawn to Marnie’s, she reflected on her friend. In many ways Marnie was still like a little kid. She wanted things, dozens and dozens of things. She needed to be envied, but once envied, she was happy as a lark to share, to give things away. Marnie’s lifestyle said a lot of things about her.

  Psychology 101! Sam taunted herself, reaching the huge carved double doors at Marnie’s entry. Maybe her own lifestyle said things about her as well.

  Did it? Like what? She lived alone. She worked. She did well with her clients, especially the older men and women in therapy. As to her general-fitness members…

  She did fine. She was friendly, helpful, and she knew what she was doing. She could work with men and keep a proper professional distance. She was assured, confident, and comfortable in her life. She loved her home, and her job, and she didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

  Bull, she thought. The truth was, she was a coward, she accused herself. Afraid to take a chance again. Still, she’d learned a good lesson from it all. She’d learned to be careful.

  Play it safe, be austere, flirt, dance, form friendships… and keep it all right on the surface. Don’t care too much, and you can’t lose too much.

  She fitted the key into Marnie’s lock, then hesitated, knocked hard, rang the bell.

  She waited. Nothing. She rang the bell again and again. Pounded. Still nothing. Even if Marnie had been dead asleep, she should have awakened.

  Dead asleep.

  Dead.

  Don’t! Sam warned herself. She turned the key, opened the door, and stepped inside Marnie’s foyer. It was quiet. She hesitated again, closed the door, and leaned back against it, chiding herself for being a chicken.

  Even as she did so, an odd feeling of unease suddenly wrapped around her.

  “Marnie!”

  Her voice was just a croak.

  Dunce! she accused herself.

  “Marnie!” she called more loudly.

  The foyer echoed the sound of her voice, and it seemed that the house itself was alive in a strange and haunting manner.

  She was tempted to run.

  No.

  She had to do what she could to find out where Marnie was.

  Chapter 3

  The houses here were really three stories, but because it was a flood zone, only two of the floors actually counted. The bottom area, code-wise, could be built up only illegally, but that didn’t seem to matter to most of the homeowners. A builder couldn’t put a bathroom on the lower level, but when buyers moved in, they could add a bath. The bottom, or flood level, was usually on a plane with the pool, and most people wanted a cabana bath. Rowan’s house had been lovingly planned by the previous owners, and his flood-level floor had been finished with indoor-outdoor carpeting and high shelving, along with patio furniture, a wet bar, small refrigerator and barbecue, a big bath with a sauna and Jacuzzi, and a built-up area for an entertainment system. He had added his own touch—instruments acquired through the years, a piano, keyboards, drum set, two bass guitars, three lead guitars, and a sound system that could highlight, diminish, play loud, play soft, play with computer enhancement, and be turned off altogether for acoustic work. He had designated one corner of the room for his scuba-diving equipment.

  He had just reached into the small refrigerator for a bottle of beer when he heard his name called.

  “Mr. Rowan? Mr. Rowan?”

  “What is it, Adelia?” he replied. His eternally pleasant and efficient housekeeper h
ad poked her head down the stairway. He’d tried to tell her she could call him Rowan, but no matter what he said, she still had to put the “Mr.” on it.

  “Telefono!” She made a face. “That reporter. I told her you weren’t here, and she said that she’d come here and stake the house, or something like that. I say, you come to his casa, I call the police! But then I think I’d better ask you.”

  Rowan grinned. He wished the young reporter dogging him would fall into the bay, but Adelia was priceless. Marnie had sent her. She came at nine in the morning, let herself in, kept the place immaculate, and left precisely at five, leaving him a cooked meal if he planned to be in. She had apparently decided she liked him, because she was being as ferocious as a bulldog in his defense.

  “Adelia, it’s all right, I’ll take it. Maybe I can say the right thing and she’ll really leave us alone.”

  Adelia nodded gravely. Her head disappeared. He could hear her once again busy at her task of putting dishes away.

  “Hello?”

  “Rowan!” His name came out in an annoying gush. The reporter was young, aggressive, and attractive. She seemed to think that they had become best buddies.

  “Beth, Beth Bellamy. Now, what on earth could you still need to know?”

  “Rowan, I am sorry to bother you again, but I’m trying to be complete and correct in everything that I write about you. Totally accurate. Now, I know it’s a sore spot, but we never really talked about the accident that killed Billy Marshall, the drummer. And you didn’t tell me if his death was the reason you didn’t want to go on—”

  “Billy hit a cargo van and died. Yes, it’s damned hard to have a group without a drummer. We had a good run of several years. To me, it was over. Anything else?”

  “Well, you might have been killed as well. And I heard that there was a big argument before he got behind the wheel. That you followed them. And you dragged Connie Marshall out of the vehicle—”

  “Billy is dead, it’s over. That’s that.”

  “But—”

  Beth was still talking; he had ceased to listen.

  Billy had been gone now for more than three years. It was really time that he was allowed to rest in peace. He had tried to keep Billy out of the driver’s seat that night, but Billy had eluded him. He’d done the best he could, racing after him. At least Connie had survived. Could he have changed things, no matter what? Like Dina, Billy had been set on a path of destruction and there was probably nothing that would have altered that.