Dead to Her(81)

The call took less than a minute, and when it finished Marcie knew they were in trouble. There was a shift in the air. Her stomach turned to ice.

“We’re going to need a full search,” she said to her sidekick before turning back to Marcie. “Mrs. Maddox, do you have a friend you can stay with tonight?”

A friend? Keisha was her friend, but Keisha was locked up. “I think so.” Her voice was quiet. “Why can’t I stay here? What are you looking for? When is Jason coming home?”

“You’d better go and pack what you need. Detective Washington, go with Mrs. Maddox, please.”

They didn’t even trust her to get some clothes without watching her. This was bad. What had they found at the office? What were they going to find here?

She knew what they were looking for. The syringe. But they wouldn’t find it. Jason hadn’t known about the needles. Jason didn’t hurt William. Still, as she threw her toiletries, a nightie, and some fresh clothes in the duffel she’d only just emptied from Jason’s attempt at fleeing, she felt dizzy with fear.

It was only later, when she was in the cab, that she remembered. They’d been in the car on the way home after the first time she’d hung out with Keisha. After the first kiss. He’d been angry with her for getting high and she’d laughed and said it wasn’t hers. She’d told him where Keisha had found the grass. She’d told him what else had been in Eleanor’s drawer.

Jason very definitely had known about the needles.





50.

Marcie had burst into tears as soon as Iris opened the door—real, hot tears of shame and fear that made her sob loudly, surprised by her own loss of control, and she felt a rush of gratitude when the older woman wrapped an arm around her shoulder and ushered her inside to the safety of the polished wooden floor and elegant class of the old colonial mansion.

Iris had sent the housekeeper to her rooms for the evening to give them privacy, and then soothed Marcie, made her chicken soup and reassured her that it was all no doubt a terrible mistake.

Noah was out. Iris didn’t say as much but he was obviously trying to manage the shitfest of William’s attempted murder. The media was loving every sordid detail of it and Marcie knew that Jason would be all over the news by morning.

“I don’t think it can be a mistake,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes with her sweatshirt sleeve. “I don’t mean that I think Jason hurt William—God, I don’t believe that, I can’t—but the money . . .” Tears threatened to spill again. Whatever happened now, she was pretty sure her life was in ruins. The police had found something. She was going to be broke again. Back in the gutter. Jason probably going to be in prison for a long time. She didn’t have to fake how upset she was, and she knew it would be worse when the reality sank in. She’d be alone again.

But Iris, she thought as she sipped the homemade broth, was turning out to be a kinder person than Marcie had ever given her credit for. She wasn’t the snob she’d always thought. She’d had sympathy for Keisha even when unsure whether she might have poisoned William. Would she also be sympathetic to Marcie’s plight? Maybe they’d all rally around her? Make sure she wasn’t left destitute? “I mean, surely they’d have let him go by now if there was nothing?”

Iris leaned across the kitchen table and squeezed her hand. “There is no point in worrying until you know if there is something to worry about. Which I know is easier said than done.”

“But why would he steal from the firm? It’s so . . . not Jason. Do you think maybe he has a gambling problem?”

Iris sipped her tea. “The things men do never fail to surprise me. Surprise and disappoint in equal measure. Even Noah still has his moments, old as he is. They all like to keep up, don’t they? But the problem with a race is that someone is always ahead and the rest are always chasing. The keeping up is endless. And exhausting. The benefit of being as old as I am, my dear, is that you learn to stop giving a shit.”

Marcie giggled through her tears as Iris smiled. “That’s better. Nothing like an old woman swearing to make youth laugh. Now dry your eyes and finish your soup. You don’t need to get any thinner. Not while I’m looking after you.”

The doorbell rang and Marcie stiffened, her heart racing, as Iris went to answer it. What now?

Virginia. Of course it was, and Marcie heard her before she saw her, as was often the way.

“What a day, Iris. Emmett’s still talking to the police about Jason’s investments—now there’s a situation that’s floored me, I don’t mind saying.” She stopped in the doorway mid-sentence. “Oh. You didn’t say Marcie was here.”

“To be fair, dear, you haven’t given me a chance. Marcie’s staying the night.” Iris didn’t add because the police are searching her house and neither did she look overly happy that Virginia had shown up unannounced.

“If you’d rather, I can go,” Virginia said. “I only stopped by for thirty minutes or so.”

“Don’t be silly,” Iris said. “Let’s have a glass of wine. I think we all probably need it.”

“What investments?” Marcie asked lightly. The email to Emmett telling him to pick up his phone. Just how much of his ill-gotten gains had Jason gambled on the markets with?