Dead to Her(88)

“Ah.” Catherine, as her name badge declared, one of the interchangeable women in black who took turns at the club reception desk, stared at the screen that was discreetly hidden behind the mahogany counter. “Can you wait here for a moment, Mrs. Maddox?”

“Is there a problem?” Marcie asked.

“Probably an error.” Catherine kept hold of the sleek membership card between her perfectly manicured red fingernails as she glanced back at an older man working at his desk. “Sir?”

It was Ernesto, one of the day managers, and Marcie felt a flood of relief. She knew him well. He’d straighten this out. Ernesto didn’t give her his usual smooth smile, however; he came around to the front of the desk before taking her to one side and keeping his voice low.

“I’m afraid your husband’s membership has been suspended, Mrs. Maddox.”

She stared at him, confused. Jason paid the extortionate fees annually so it couldn’t have to do with the accounts being frozen. “I don’t understand.”

Ernesto coughed quietly behind his hand as if it were hard to get the words out before saying, “We have a policy regarding members who become involved in activities that may bring the club into disrepute. Until this current situation is . . . resolved . . . the committee has made the decision to suspend Mr. Maddox’s membership. I hope you understand.”

“As you can imagine, this is a very difficult time for me,” she said. “But I have done nothing wrong and—”

“Sadly at this present time only men hold full memberships. Therefore, while your husband is suspended, your associate membership is not valid.” He shrugged, as if it were all out of his hands.

Marcie bit her lip to stop herself from screaming obscenities she might regret at the aloof man and forced herself to smile. “I understand. But if you could ask Iris Cartwright or Virginia Habersham if they could come speak to me I’d be grateful.”

“Of course, of course.” Ernesto retreated behind the counter and picked up a phone.

“I’ll wait out front,” Marcie mumbled. So this was it, she thought as she headed back out into the heat. She’d been ostracized already.

Both Iris and Virginia came, their expressions dropping as they took in her clothes, as if her scruffy look was the worst crime committed by their friendship set this week.

“Oh good lord, Marcie.” Virginia clapped her hands together. “So it’s true. They have let you go.”

“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know about anything.”

“Oh, of course not, honey.” Her words were a flurry of excitement. “I mean, it was quite a surprise to find out about your first husband—but I’m so shocked about Jason. I hear that’s true. And now they think he could be responsible for all of it?”

“Let the girl breathe, Virginia. I told you to stay inside. Why don’t you go back to the table, your shrimp will be getting cold.” Virginia wasn’t happy but she did as she was told. Iris waited until she’d gone. “That woman loves to know everything.” She paused. “Would you like to come in, Marcie?”

“No.” She shook her head, noting Iris’s relief. The Cartwrights did not like gossip and scandal, and now they were surrounded by it. There would be no more Magnolia invites for Marcie. “I just need some . . . some help.” Her eyes blurred again. “They’ve frozen our accounts. I couldn’t pay for my groceries.”

“Of course. Here, take this for now . . .” Iris rummaged in her purse and handed over $150. “Go home and let me speak to Noah. I’ll come to your place in an hour or so with more.”

“Thank you,” Marcie said. “Thank you so much.” Cash. Of course Iris carried cash and thank God for it. At least she could eat today.

Iris nodded and turned away. She wasn’t filled with the sympathy she’d had for Marcie before she’d been arrested, but she wasn’t icy and at least she was going to help.

Alone again, Marcie took a deep shaky breath and headed for her car. She was halfway across the lot when she heard laughter behind her. Several women had emerged, still in tennis skirts, unnecessary pastel sweaters tied around their shoulders, tanned faces Botox-smooth, looking like an ad for a Tybee Island resort.

She stared as one face looked her way. Dark hair and feline features. Their eyes met and the woman’s smile grew broader. Victorious. And then the moment was gone, the woman’s attention back on the gaggle of friends slipping into convertibles, no doubt heading for a cocktail somewhere on their way home.

Still, Marcie’s whole body smarted.

Jacquie.





54.

Iris brought her five thousand dollars. It didn’t seem very much at all, but Marcie accepted it gratefully as they stood in the vast entry hall of her mausoleum of a house.

“I’m sorry for the awkwardness at the club earlier,” Iris said, her hands clasped in front of her. She was beautifully dressed, her hair swept up in a chignon. She and Noah, who was waiting in the car outside, obviously had dinner plans. Life moved on, despite William being hooked to machines and Jason and Keisha locked up. Marcie understood. Iris and Noah were smoothing out the wrinkles that had appeared in their perfect lives by continuing as normal.

“But in this town, dear,” she continued, “murder is considered classier than embezzlement. Several of William’s clients are club members. So, you can imagine.” She looked around at the marble stairs and the expensive decor, no doubt mentally totting up the cost that came out of other people’s money. “You won’t remember this, but there was a lot of sympathy and help for Jason after his father got himself into trouble. This is not how people like to be repaid for their kindnesses. And sadly, although it’s understandable why you would have liked to keep your past private, that has added another layer of deception that will take some time to forgive. But we have big hearts in this city, and Jason’s sins aren’t yours. Things will settle down.”