Dead to Her(87)

“Look Elizabeth . . .”

“It’s not my business. I’m struggling hard enough to get my head around all of this as it is without getting caught up in things that happened in a different state to people I don’t know.”

“My first husband . . . ,” Marcie started again. “I didn’t . . .”

“I’m sorry I said anything. I’m very tired and upset. I’m sure you didn’t do, well, that to your husband. The law decided you were innocent and I have no reason to believe any gossip to the contrary.” She glanced over at Marcie. “But some people will. People who are fond of Jason. People who like to believe the worst of people for their own entertainment. Be prepared for that.”

“I know, Elizabeth,” Marcie said, as the tears came. “I’ve been here before.”





53.

Once they’d parked, Elizabeth hugged Marcie as she let it all out, stroking her hair and muttering soothing words as she cried, and Elizabeth smelled good—no expensive perfumes, just clean and fresh and motherly. Mama had never smelled like that, and Marcie almost regretted when her tears dried up and there was an awkwardness between them again, the sort that came after a moment of intimacy between relative strangers. Elizabeth didn’t take up the offer to come in for some coffee and by the time Marcie had gotten inside, her hard shell was locking into place and she was regretting the show of weakness.

It was strange to be back in the house knowing that probably only hours ago the police were still painstakingly going through all her things. She felt violated and dirty and headed straight to the shower. She was free. They didn’t suspect her anymore. Even here, safe in her decadently large bathroom, it was hard to believe the sudden change.

She tried to keep hold of her relief, but it was overridden by other concerns. What was going to happen to her now? Even if they didn’t charge Jason with William’s murder, there was all the financial fallout. Had Jason gotten the money to repay what he’d stolen if his investments with Emmett paid out? What would that mean for her? Would she get to keep what money they had? This house would have to go, but it was probably mortgaged to the hilt anyway. What would she do?

It was an endless round of questions she had no answers for and when she finally got too hot to stay under the water and was fed up with worrying, she dried herself off and her grumbling stomach reminded her that she’d had no breakfast and it was now the middle of the afternoon.

There was very little in the fridge—there never was much and what there had been was out of date—and she couldn’t face going to a restaurant alone, so she dressed in a pair of old jeans and a hoodie, dug out one of Jason’s baseball caps, and put on some shades before heading to the store. Something from the sushi counter would do, and a whole cooked chicken and salad. A tub of ice cream and a bottle of wine. The rest could wait.

No one recognized her and although there was a large TV up on the wall beyond the checkouts, it wasn’t showing the news, which was a relief. She had no desire to hear people tearing her and Jason apart. She’d been released, so maybe they’d ease up on her now. She wasn’t holding her breath. Gossip quickly became gospel, as she’d learned in Boise, and between her past and Jason’s present, they must be the talk of Savannah at the moment. Keisha, the outsider, was probably forgotten.

She waited while her items were bagged and then handed over her credit card, eager and ready to get back to the privacy of her own kitchen. The machine beeped—a little too long—and the checkout girl frowned. “Let me try again,” she said. Once again there was a long beep. Marcie, flushing with embarrassment, muttered something about there being a mistake and pulled a second card from her wallet. That too failed.

“Do you have the cash?” the girl asked, studying Marcie with something close to pity. Marcie didn’t. She never carried cash, not when she had Jason’s credit cards. Did anyone carry cash anymore? The girl nodded her in the direction of the ATM where she tried again. With each card a message flashed up telling her to contact her bank. Her pulse throbbed in her ears as the truth dawned on her. The police must have frozen all Jason’s assets while they investigated him.

She didn’t return to the shame of the checkout, but instead left the store by the farthest door and rushed to her car. Surely they couldn’t leave her like this? With nothing? She thought about calling Detective Anderson but decided against it. They’d only just let her go and, ridiculous as it was, she didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to herself in case that made them change their minds. She had no choice. She was going to have to borrow some money to tide herself over until all this was sorted out. She took a deep breath, swallowed her pride, and then dialed Virginia—let’s see how far your Christian charity extends, shall we?—as she drove, her whole body burning with shame. There was no answer. She tried again with Iris and it went straight to voice mail. Were they ignoring her? Virginia might be but that wasn’t Iris’s style. She was made of steel. She’d answer even if it was only to tell you she wasn’t taking your call.

The club. That’s where they’d be. The younger members may flout the rules of no cell phones in the clubhouse or on the course, only by the pool, but the old stalwarts were strict with themselves. Virginia’s and Iris’s phones would be switched off in their purses. She felt a pang of jealousy that the four of them were no doubt having an early dinner, maybe after visiting William, observers of all the action, not participants, no stain from these events spreading to them. Her heart sank at the thought of walking into the club on her own, but she had no choice. She needed to see her friends—they were the only people likely to lend her any cash. Maybe it would be all right once she got inside and everyone saw that she was free and innocent; they might feel some pity for her.