Dead to Her(93)

“Isn’t Virginia with you?” she asked. It was odd seeing William still the center of attention but so passive. What conversations had they had around him? Could he hear them talking as if he weren’t there or were dead already, or discussing the twenty-four-hour care he was going to need even if they did ever let him out of here? How awful that must be. Did William even like Moby-Dick? She tried to imagine Elizabeth attempting to do characters’ voices and reading loudly when maybe all William wanted to do was rage at her to shut up and leave him in peace to sleep. But maybe not. Maybe he cherished every word of company. He should, she thought. People moved on. If he didn’t die quickly he’d be spending a lot of time alone in the dark with his thoughts.

“She was here earlier,” Emmett said. “She’s at the church helping prepare for tomorrow’s special service to pray for William’s recovery.” He looked back at the body in the bed, instilling his nasally voice with false good cheer. “A lot of people will be sending prayers to the big guy on your behalf in the morning, buddy. I fully expect you to be up and tap-dancing by lunchtime.”

Buddy. How William would hate the lack of respect wrapped up in that word, and she couldn’t imagine Emmett’s ever having used that mildly patronizing tone around William when he was his normal self. But then William’s power was gone now. Washed away. He’d been reduced to something less than a child. He would never be William as they knew him again, and whatever he was hearing or thinking there was nothing he could do about it anymore. It was a horrific thought and she couldn’t bear to stay in the room. “I was hoping to find Iris here. I needed to see her.”

“She’s getting us coffee. Just down the hall,” Elizabeth said. “In the family room.”

“Thank you.”

Marcie hadn’t realized she’d been breathing shallowly until she was scurrying back around the corner near the reception desk, as if what was wrong with William was infectious, and she sucked in three deep breaths before going to join Iris, who looked up as she poured cream into china mugs. “Oh, Marcie. I didn’t realize you were coming in today.”

The coffee smelled strong and rich. Nothing about this place was cheap. “I called your house earlier and Noah said you’d be here,” Marcie said. She pulled out the bundle of cash from her purse and held it out. “Your money back. Thank you so much for lending it to me.”

“That was quick. Are you sure you don’t need it?” Iris looked surprised, as if she’d never expected to see her cash again.

“I sold a few pieces of jewelry. I’m okay for now.” Marcie smiled, as sweetly as she could muster. “But it was so lovely of you to help out. I know it can’t be easy after what Jason has done. I feel awful.”

Iris softened and squeezed her hand. “You haven’t done anything, Marcie. And you really didn’t have to sell anything to get me that money back. No one is judging you for what Jason has done.”

Marcie thought the sentiment was sweet but found it hard to believe, especially with her own past now in the mix.

“Why don’t you give me a hand with these cups,” Iris continued. “My arthritis is playing up and if I’m honest, I don’t trust myself to carry them all without causing an accident.”

Marcie took two coffees in one hand and went to hold open the door. “I saw Jacquie’s name in the visitors’ register,” she said casually, as Iris led the way into the hall. “It was nice of her to come see William. I didn’t think they were close. I’ve not heard him mention her much.”

“They weren’t overly close, no. Jacquie was more Eleanor’s friend. You know how it is, the boys play golf and the girls play tennis. But she would come down from Atlanta when Eleanor was sick. Especially toward the end. They would sit and play cards. Have dinner. She’d stay over in a guest bedroom, perhaps catch lunch with Virginia and Emmett and then head home. Toward the end, when Eleanor was sleeping most of the time and a lot of people began to stay away, she’d just sit in the quiet with her. It was a kindness. Especially in those last few weeks when Jacquie had the passing of her own husband to cope with. She can be very sweet sometimes.”

So Jacquie had been in the house a lot when Eleanor was sick. It felt odd that no one had mentioned it—had Jason known at the time? Had William told him? Had they all kept it a secret from Marcie because they thought she’d make a fuss? To be fair, they would have had a point. Even though she’d won Jason, Marcie still felt strangely jealous of Jacquie, so hearing that her rival was visiting from Atlanta and behaving like a modern-day Florence Nightingale wouldn’t have gone down a storm. Right now, though, that didn’t matter. What did matter was that if Jacquie had spent time with Eleanor in those final weeks, then she very definitely could have known about the needles and syringes with the vial of morphine. Jacquie could have poisoned William’s coconut water herself.

She’d also met up for lunch with Virginia and Emmett—something they’d never mentioned either—so Jacquie could potentially have known about Jason’s investments and thought they were suspicious. Doors were opening in Marcie’s mind and behind each one she saw her husband’s first wife.





58.

Marcie felt the shift in atmosphere as she walked into the church, but even amid the quiet gasps the roof didn’t cave in, and after a flurry of whispers and sideways glances, the natural politeness of the congregation settled back down to the odd word murmured behind hands. Marcie didn’t care. She hadn’t come to get anyone’s approval or even to pray for William’s return to full health. She was here for information.