Dead to Her(106)

“We’ve found the syringe used to inject the coconut water cartons and a small water bottle containing coolant.”

Marcie’s eyes widened. What have you done now, Elizabeth? “I don’t understand.”

“Behind the cutlery drawer in the Radford house kitchen. There’s an odd gap there at the back that can only be accessed if you pull the drawer out at a certain angle. Did you know about it?”

Marcie nodded. “Yes, but—”

“If you were involved in the attempted murder and hid them there, or knew they were there, you’ve since had opportunity to remove them.” Marcie’s blank face prompted further explanation.

“You were at the Radford house earlier this evening and Iris Cartwright tells us you were left alone in the kitchen.” She paused. “Lucky for you.”

“So I can go?”

“Yes, we won’t be charging you.”

Marcie wanted to laugh out loud. Oh, Elizabeth. How you played us.

She was free, and if she wasn’t mistaken, if Elizabeth had stood by the choice she’d given Marcie, the future was looking pretty bright.





67.

It was a decadently hot night in the Bahamas, but a slight breeze blew in through the fluttering curtains and was delicious on Marcie’s naked skin. It had been a long few months and she—they—deserved this holiday away from everything.

Everything had played out as Elizabeth predicted. The syringe and bottle had only Jason’s fingerprints on them. The conclusion drawn was that he must have planned William’s death alone and had to quickly ditch the murder equipment in the broken drawer space after being interrupted by Elizabeth on the night of the party when Keisha had started shouting at Zelda. Both Marcie and Keisha had the opportunity to retrieve and dispose of them and they hadn’t. If either had been involved in any way they would have.

Poor Jason. He’d vehemently denied his guilt throughout the trial, which hadn’t exactly helped his case, and Marcie had felt the hatred coming off him in waves as she played her own part, weeping quietly on the stand, giving evidence against him. So that was it. Jason had gotten life for attempted murder and the trial for his financial wrongdoings was upcoming.

She wondered what evidence Elizabeth would have produced if Marcie had chosen differently. Something equally compelling against Keisha no doubt. But she hadn’t chosen differently. Why would she? She’d been getting bored with Jason before any of this happened and she’d never bought into that stand by your man philosophy.

“Can I ask you something?” Keisha murmured. “And you won’t get mad?” She was curled on her side, one hand protecting her growing belly, Billy having left her with more than money after all. Was it going to be another request for reassurance? Keisha, although still glorious in bed and now fabulously wealthy, was turning out to be quite needy.

“Sure,” Marcie whispered in reply.

“It’s really stupid, but I just need to hear it from you. You didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Jonny, did you?”

“No, of course not!” Marcie looked down at her. “You really have to ask that?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Keisha said, reaching up to kiss her. “I didn’t mean it, it’s just all been so crazy with Auntie Ayo and Uncle Yahuba having murdered that poor boy and maybe others, and then what Jason did, it’s just all such madness it’s making me question everything. Ignore me. I’m being stupid. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” Marcie leaned down and kissed her. “But you can trust me. I love you.”

They kissed more deeply and for a while Marcie let Keisha’s glorious body do the apologizing.

Afterward, as Keisha slept, satiated, Marcie stared into the night, at last alone with her thoughts.

You can’t cage a wild thing.

Marcie was a wild thing, always had been, and nothing could change that.

Jonny.

She sank back into the memories. How her heart had raced walking back into the trailer, not knowing whether he’d be dead or alive or if he’d even drunk the laced whiskey at all. The contrived argument the day before and then storming out to go to work. The shot of clean whiskey she’d secretly slipped in his coffee to give him a taste for liquor again. Staying out all night drinking and dancing with Janey, turned on by not knowing if her plan was working or not.

Oh yes, how her heart had raced when she walked into the trailer and saw him there on the floor, eyes wide, frozen in terror. Dead. And it had been so easy. Jonny always had stuff for the cars in the trailer. Oil, batteries, coolant. And sure, Jonny had straightened out for a while, but alcoholics relapse, and there was enough doubt to get her off scot-free.

So what if an air of suspicion hung over her? She’d had no intention of staying in Boise. God, she’d been banking on Jonny drinking himself to death and then she’d swan off with his payout, but no, he had to decide to get himself together. To start talking about a baby again. Trapping her in that life. She couldn’t have that. She’d rather die. Or, as it turned out, she’d rather he died.

Sociopath.

That was the word the police had used about her back in Boise, even if they couldn’t prove it. Same word they all used about Jason now. Like attracts like, she guessed. If she’d known what Jason was up to with the client accounts she’d have probably killed him too—but perhaps more imaginatively than she had Jonny. She’d grown as a person since then. Maybe even without the money troubles she’d have ended up getting rid of husband number two. She’d been getting bored and he’d been getting tiring with his sudden need to reproduce. She’d never wanted a child. What if it turned out to be like her?