The House Guest, page 29
The shells had been moved.
Alyssa stared at them. When she’d left for the Cape, they’d all been lined up on the left of the mirror, the biggest in the back, the smaller ones in the front. Tammy always arranged them that way. Now all the spiky white shells were on the right side of the mirror, nearer the door. And the tip of every shell was pointed the same way. Toward the closet.
THE NEXT
WEDNESDAY
FIFTY
It was almost magic, Alyssa thought, how certain fragrances could elicit such deep memories. The sweetness of the frangipani blossoms that encircled the railed balcony where now she stood, alone, at the St. Barts condo Bill had named Eden. The coconut sunscreen she’d applied to her bare arms and legs. The pungent fresh pineapple she’d cut and cored and sliced by herself, now arranged in a chunky ceramic bowl, her favorite one, painted in the same intense turquoise as the Caribbean that stretched out to the almost-matching blue horizon before her, past the serene waters of the still-breathtaking infinity pool three marble steps down, past the treetops of the palms beneath the water’s edge, and the vast vacant expanse of pearlescent sand.
It had taken less than a day for her to make all the arrangements. She’d used her credit card to buy her tickets. She’d quickly packed the little she needed; they both had Eden clothes so they’d never need luggage. Ubered to the airport, arrived on the island. A different world now. A beginning.
She’d make new memories, she decided, tasting the sweetness of the fruit and the possibilities of what was to come. Licking the juice from her fingers, she selected another piece of pineapple, and let the almost-equatorial wind play with the hem of her gauzy white sundress. Her bathing suit was underneath, the tiniest she could find, and she’d taken a moment, looking in the coconut-shell bordered mirror in the entryway, to recognize that the weight she’d lost in grief left her looking pretty darn great in a bikini. She’d left her hair wild, untouched, and it had curled and waved with the humidity and salt air.
When the doorbell rang, she expected the groceries she’d ordered from Étienne’s or the fresh towels their majordomo had promised to provide. She adjusted her filmy dress, making sure it was presentable—though St. Barts had its own particularly lax rules about “presentable”—tossed her hair and opened the door.
Bill.
She took two steps back, feeling nervous and somehow uncovered, put her fingers to her lips.
“Bill.” His name was all she could think of to say. What she did now, what she decided, would change her life, and his, maybe, and she knew it.
“Lissie,” he said. “You look amazing.”
She hadn’t seen him in—more than a month? So no reason to be surprised that he looked the same, but he looked even better than the same; a white linen jacket, a Caribbean turquoise linen shirt over white jeans. Woven sandals. Sunglasses. His hair seemed somehow already sun-kissed, and Bill, too, had his own fragrance.
“How did you know I was here?” She almost didn’t recognize her own voice.
“Oh, Lissie.” He hadn’t moved from the doorway, and stood, with the succulent-bordered walkway behind him, palm fronds from graceful cylindrical tree trunks almost touching the top of his head. “I always know where you are.”
“But—” Her mouth and brain were not connecting, and her knees were not quite right. “How?” was all she could think of to say. “Why?”
“Don’t you know that by now? Every time you use a credit card, I see it. It’s my connection to you. And my airline person called me the instant you booked St. Barts, babe. Sometimes I come visit you when you’re not home. I know the damn rules, but I can’t resist. I touch your clothes, check your mail, sit in my chair.”
She could only stare at him. “You left a knife on the kitchen floor.”
“Knife falls, gentleman calls? Right? Did you get that? And how about Tammy? She must have told you I was there.” Bill kept talking, his words encircling her. “She’s an idiot if she didn’t. I told her to tell you! I rehired her, by the way. Just to make you happy.” He pointed at her with one forefinger, amused. “You. She told me you sent her the emerald necklace I gave you. The house necklace. You’re too much, babe. And we’ll get you another one.”
“What about last weekend?” She’d make him admit that, too. And she’d never tell him about her traps. “The alarm? Why would you terrify me like that?”
“Terrify? You’d gone to Osterville with … those people. That was our place, Lissie. Only for us.” He made his pleading-puppy face. “I screwed up about the door, okay? And I erased myself right after, I was so embarrassed. I was just … missing you.”
She saw longing in his eyes. He missed her?
“May I come in?”
She caught herself, took another step back. Tried to remember the last time Bill had asked for permission for anything, remembered all the things she’d promised herself she’d say if she ever saw him again. She’d expected, for a long time, that it would be in the contentious iciness of a lawyer’s office, not standing on the warm terra-cotta tiles of their stucco island villa.
“What are you doing here?” she finally said. “Are you trying to take this, too? My peace? My privacy? Everything I have left?”
“Babe.” Bill’s voice was the old Bill’s voice. Beguiling. Persuasive. She’d heard it so many times. Been enticed by it, swayed by it, seduced by it. “You got my postcards, I hope? To remind you how much I was missing you? Our time together? Hon? Will you let me talk?”
Alyssa shivered, even in the heat. “I’m freezing,” she said. “I’m getting a wrap. Don’t move. If you stay there, I’ll know I can trust you.”
“You have one minute,” he said. A rangy black bird fluttered to the railing behind him, and perched there, blinking its yellow eyes at her.
Alyssa whirled, felt the gauze floating behind her, and felt Bill peering through the translucent fabric. She came back wrapped in a black terrycloth robe, belted hard and tight, its shawl collar up to her neck. He was still at the door. Still smiling. Still watching her.
“I’d seen you in far less than that,” he said.
Alyssa smelled the tequila on his breath. He always drank on the plane to Eden. “You said you wanted to talk.” Alyssa adjusted her bulky robe. “Talk.”
“It would be easier if I came in.” He took a step across the threshold. Sniffed. Drew in another long breath. “Smells like Eden,” he said. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”
FIFTY-ONE
“You said you wanted to talk,” Alyssa said again. She chose the fan-backed wicker chair, leaving Bill to sit alone on the flowered couch across from her. She’d created several oversize arrangements of deep red frangipani encircled with glossy green leaves, and one sat on the end table beside him.
Bill had taken a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Held it up. “I got this awesome letter from the FBI,” he said.
She blinked, waiting.
“There’d been an investigation into my finances. Those assholes. And I knew it, knew it from moment one. Some moron at some bank decided I was a—” He paused. “Whatever, it’s not important, that’s why I had to leave. I couldn’t risk you being drawn into it.”
“Into what?” she asked.
“Oh, Lissie, it doesn’t matter. As soon as I got this, though, I couldn’t wait to find you. The letter says it’s over. It was bullshit, but now it’s in writing.”
“Really?”
“The letter doesn’t protect us going forward, but—”
“Us?”
Bill shrugged, amused. “Well, me. But I’m out, you’re out, we’re in the clear.”
“I’m out of what?” Alyssa’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Of course not.” Bill put the paper back into his jacket pocket. “I didn’t, either. Ha ha.” He leaned toward the frangipani, drew in the fragrance, closed his eyes. “Eden,” he said.
“Out of what?” Alyssa said. “In the clear of what? Ha ha what?”
“You don’t need to pretend anymore.” He leaned back on the couch, crossed one bare ankle over a white denim knee.
She opened her mouth to answer, but Bill kept talking.
“Remember Parker? The FBI agent you talked to?”
Alyssa blinked, silent. “The FBI agent?” she finally said.
“Oh, come on, babe, it’s over now. You have no secrets from me, never have. I know you know her, because I sent her. I hired her. Sorry, not sorry, not FBI. She’s an actor, a damn expensive improv actor, and gotta say, she played her part to the hilt. That office in Two Center? A floor away from mine? I knew those feds, even the real Parker, who’d retired to some weird place. And that day you talked to my Parker? Come on. I heard everything you said, and even if her wire hadn’t worked, she told me you didn’t divulge one word. That you defended me, even when she threatened. You refused to let her search my study. Even when she tempted you with twenty-two mill in a secret bank account. Even when she offered to compensate you. You’re the best, Alyssa, my girl. That’s when I knew I could trust you. That’s not a real account, FYI.”
“She wanted me to send people to—” Alyssa began. She remembered what he thought she knew. “Wait, she wasn’t really—you hired an actor to pretend to be an FBI agent? Is that even legal?”
“Legal. Like that’s the problem. I had to see if you’d agree, babe,” Bill said. “But you held out. I had you followed home that day, wondering if you’d head for the cops. Even had a bug put in your car, which, sadly, malfunctioned soon after.”
“A bug. In my car.”
“I heard about your two new friends, too—and I had to wonder what that sweet little arrangement was. But you’re allowed to have your fun, however you want to change partners or entertain yourself. You thought we were separated. And we’re all adults. I forgive you.”
Even with the robe, Alyssa felt a chill, and made sure the fleecy black folds were in place.
“So water under the bridge, or over the dam, we’re home free. I had to test you. I had to see how loyal you would be. I figured if I made you hate me, truly hate me, and if even then you passed the loyalty test—”
“Loyalty test,” Alyssa whispered.
“Big-time. And if even then you passed,” Bill went on, sounding pleased with himself, with his own ingenuity. “After that, I knew you were truly on my side, and no matter what, if I managed to get through this, we could be together again. We had something, Lissie. I knew if I could trust you, we’d always be together. And safe. And rich.” He patted the jacket pocket, almost caressing his letter. “Can you forgive me?”
“You…” Alyssa tried to decide. “Made me miserable. Miserable. On purpose.”
“Babe. I knew you’d get over it. You’d understand it was for the greater good.”
The greater good, she thought.
“So…” She could hear her own heart beating. “You don’t want a divorce?”
“Hell no. You’re my wife, and we’re gonna stay that way. Isn’t that awesome?”
“Awesome.” Alyssa nodded.
“Is there champagne?” Bill leaned forward, twinkling at her, closing the space between them. “We should celebrate, right? You up for a swim? No suits allowed.”
“Just wondering,” Alyssa interrupted. “Before we get champagne. So that means even if they asked me to testify in court, I wouldn’t have to.”
“Hundred percent. You’re a smartie. Always were. I couldn’t be forced to testify against you, either. But—I knew I could. Right? If it came to that? If worse came to worst, I’d simply say you knew all along, and helped.” Bill leaned back again, his arms open across the back of the couch. “And which of us would they believe? You saying you didn’t? Or me saying you did? If that bullshit investigation led to an indictment, it would be a massive crapshoot. But now it’s over.”
“Sounds perfect,” she said. “So what was the bullshit investigation about?”
“Come on, Alyssa. You passed the test. But you don’t have to pretend with me.”
“But maybe I’m wrong,” she said. “You’d never really explained anything, and if I said something incorrect, then you would be in trouble. So since it’s over, and since you’re so—” She thought of their times together. Of silver chiffon, and a kiss from a rose, and that first plane ride to St. Barts. Of loyalty tests. “Since you’re so safe. But maybe I should be prepared? About what not to say?”
Bill looked up as if asking providence to be patient with his dense, benighted wife.
He cleared his throat. “Did you ever wonder how I did so well raising money for charities?”
“Not really,” Alyssa said. “I assumed they paid you?”
“So, hon, it’s complicated.”
“We have time.” Alyssa let her robe fall open a bit, sliding down one bare thigh. She nestled the collar even closer, as if keeping part of her secret. A promise.
“Hmm.” He eyed her, the old Bill. “I have missed … everything. So, babe, if you insist. See if you can understand this. People give me money, I give it to charity, the charity pays me a portion. The donor gets a tax deduction. Then, all good and everyone is happy. But sometimes, the charities weren’t completely … charitable. To anyone but me. Us. Me. And then, to make it win-win-win, they got some of their money back. From me.”
“You accepted money for fake charities. Sometimes kept it for yourself. Then kicked back a chunk to the donors. All under the table. And got paid for doing it.”
“Bingo. Look. The trust fund was headed underwater—yeah, for a while the market was killing me and I was bleeding money—and I needed the cash influx to keep things afloat.”
“Oh, okay. But when those people took deductions for fake charities, why didn’t someone find out? Like, the IRS?”
“Well, yeah, obviously, they did. Eventually. After I heard they were onto it, I went a little crazy for a while. I felt like crap, and probably took it out on you. But two big things. Rule number one of finance, deny everything. And rule number two, deny everything. The stupid feds finally gave up.”
“Rule number one and rule number two, deny everything,” Alyssa repeated, nodding, an obedient student. “I hear you. But weren’t you worried? At all? At how mad someone might be? Even a victim of some kind?”
“Nah.” Bill leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head. “The real charities got the real money, so there weren’t any actual victims. I mean—who would be a victim? Uncle Sam? As if.”
“That’s all? ‘Only’ the federal government?”
“Okay, fine. Sure. Some other people came to me for advice about their pensions and savings. Worker-bee types. Heard about me in the news, I guess.”
“They did? And you told them—”
“My advice was to give me the money. Right? Though I never put it that way. Their fault for not checking it out, am I right? As if I’m supposed to babysit for them. The IRS may audit them, but hell, they signed. If they got greedy? It’s on them. The losers. Let ’em sue me. Life doesn’t come with guarantees.” He made a dismissive snort. “Instead of champagne, do we have any of that gold Patrón?”
“I’ll look.” Alyssa stood. She paused, thinking. “Actually, no. We’re out. And I know how you love it. I’ll change, quickly, and run to Étienne’s. You rest.”
“Perfect.” Bill shifted on the couch, tucked a pillow under his head and stretched out his legs, planted his shoes on the farthest cushion. “I’ve missed you, Lissie. And maybe we’ll never go back to Boston—like I told you on the plane that time. Remember? We’ll stay here for the rest of our lives, eating pineapple and drinking mai tais. We’re together. And free.”
“And rich?” Alyssa said.
“And rich,” Bill repeated. “Nothing sweeter than living on someone else’s money.”
THE
NEXT DAY
FIFTY-TWO
“I think we should get a dog when we get home,” Alyssa said. The seductive scent from the white-flowered tropical vine that twisted across the trellis above them on the lanai combined with the pungency of the lush foliage and the sharp perfection of their coffee. Their al fresco breakfast, surrounded by voluptuous nature, stayed perfectly private. She sat across from Bill at their rattan breakfast table, sipping her sweetened coffee, keeping one of her jewel-toned frangipani bouquets between them.
They’d discussed sleeping arrangements—Bill had assumed they’d sleep in the same bed, even teasing her to take off her terrycloth robe. But she couldn’t, not after all that had happened. The Patrón and Bill’s jet lag and a few promises had helped her negotiate, and she’d eventually led him, docile and staggering, to the guest room, where she’d deposited him on the flowered bedspread. Out cold.
“It felt sad,” she went on now, “having an imaginary dog. Even sadder when I had to be there all by myself. I was really frightened.”
“You know I’m allergic,” Bill said. “And how I feel about dogs.” He selected a cinnamon scone from the wicker basket, broke off an end. Tasted it, and put the rest back. Took a blueberry muffin. “And now you won’t be alone. Now you’ll have me. And Lissie?”
He slowly peeled away the muffin’s pleated paper wrapper. “I can’t wait to do this to you.” He held up the sugary-sparkled muffin and eased away the last of the paper, leaving the pastry’s bare sides exposed. He took a bite. “Delicious.”
“Allergic,” she said. “Right. There’s more food coming today, by the way. I ordered from Étienne when I got the tequila and the breakfast. I couldn’t carry the rest.”
“Again.” Bill licked his fingers. “Now you’ll have me.”
“I know that,” Alyssa said. “More coffee?”
Eden’s doorbell was three quick fairy twinkles, high and soft, like the waving of a magic wand. She and Bill both looked toward the door.
Alyssa drew her flowered cover-up closer, put a hand to her chest. “I’m not really dressed for—”
The bells chimed again.
