A Secret in Salem (11 page)

“A
UNTIE
C
HELSEA
!” C
LAIRE SQUEALED AS SHE AND
B
ELLE
walked onto the terrace of the Monte Carlo Beach Hotel.

The day was a sunny, balmy seventy-eight degrees, and Belle enjoyed being on solid ground. Her months on the boat were exhilarating, but exhausting, and the firmness beneath her was welcome.

“Is there anywhere around here that’s not gorgeous?” Belle asked.

She heard, “Belle, is that you?” coming from Abby’s MacBook Air.

It was Jennifer, who was iChatting with Abby from her home office in the upscale section of London’s Notting Hill.

“Jennifer?” Belle smiled. “Hi! Claire, say hi to Abby’s mommy.”

“Hi,” Claire chirped and leaned into the camera.

“You are so pretty!” Jennifer said.

“I know.” Claire giggled and started making funny faces.

“Claire!” Belle chastised her.

“It has to be true. Everybody tells me,” Claire said matter-of-factly.

“It’s great to see so many people from home.” Belle laughed. “Is anyone left in Salem?”

“Give your mom my love, will you?” Jennifer smiled. “Tell her and John we miss them.”

“I will,” Belle answered. “You guys are obviously working. Sorry to bother you. But good for you with the exclusive.”

“Thanks to your husband and Chelsea,” Jennifer answered.

Chelsea waved her off. Yes, she and Shawn had been integral to all this, but there was something about it all that made her uneasy.

“We’ll be another twenty minutes or so,” Abby told Belle, Chelsea, and Claire.

“This is boring, Mommy,” Claire piped in. “Let’s go.”

“Ah, motherhood.” Jennifer laughed with a look to her daughter.

Chelsea came to the rescue. “Why don’t we get you some gum? They have it in the hotel gift shop.”

“Yum!” Claire said, throwing her hands in the air. “I love gum.”

“And me?” Chelsea scowled.

“Yup,” Claire said as she grabbed Chelsea’s hand and pulled her toward the doorway. “Come on!”

The three of them exited as Abby continued her work with Jennifer.

“Let me show you the accident site,” Abby said. She got up from the table with her computer and aimed the built-in camera toward the street, which had been totally cleaned up. The detritus in the hills was still evident. Tourists were taking photos.

“Tilt up the camera,” Jennifer requested.

Abby moved her computer so her mother could see the street to the broken railing on the Route de la Grand Corniche marked with yellow police tape.

“Honey?” Jennifer asked quietly.

Abby turned the computer back to her own image.

“What’s the image in the upper–right-hand corner of the photos?”

“Where?” Abby asked.

“Is that someone looking over the guardrail?”

Abby studied the photos that were downloaded on her desktop.

“Poor guy.” She shuddered. “Whoever it is, he must have seen the whole thing happen. How awful.”

Chelsea was leading Belle and the antsy Claire through the hotel lobby when Shawn called.

“Stop, baby girl, stop,” Belle instructed her daughter. “It’s Da.”

“Tell him I’m getting gum!” Claire said, tugging at her mother.

“Tell him
we’re
getting gum.” Chelsea took Claire’s hand. “See you inside,” she added to Belle.

“How’s Charley Gaines?” Belle asked.

“As good as can be expected, I guess,” Shawn responded. “Are you okay if I stick around?”

“Sure,” Belle assured him. “Claire and I haven’t had a day together for a while. You’re always showing her the sights.”

“Thanks. How’re you feeling?” he asked.

“Great.” She lied. In fact she was feeling queasy.

“You sure Claire’s not too much for you?” he chided.

“As my mom just reminded me, there’s no stronger bond than between a mother and daughter.”

“True. No insult intended,” he teased.

“You know what I mean,” Belle said.

“I do, and frankly, you’re right. Your mom is one smart cookie.”

“Text me later,” Belle said.

“Love you,” Shawn said.

“Same back.” Belle hung up.
I do love you, Shawn, I really do
, she thought.
Then why won’t I tell him about Philip?

Shaking it off, Belle headed into the hotel gift shop and found Chelsea and Claire at the cash register. Claire had five packs of gum, every flavor and color, and already had a purple tongue from the three grape sticks she’d popped in her mouth.

“Yum!” Claire smiled. A purple, drooly smile.

“You are getting spoiled!” Belle teased her daughter.

“I love Auntie Chelsea,” Claire mumbled through the wad in her mouth.

Chelsea signed the bill to her room as Claire jiggled around excitedly. The little girl bumped into the counter, jarring it.

“Claire!” Belle scolded as several things fell from a display. Belle scooped them up. They were pregnancy tests.

Belle dropped them as if they were hot potatoes.

Chelsea noticed.

“Belle?” Chelsea questioned.

“I’m on the pill,” Belle said, defending herself way too much.

Chelsea gave her another look that only said
So?

Chelsea grabbed Claire’s hand and swung her around. “Wanna see the pool?”

“Yup!” Claire said, oblivious to the tension bubbling beneath the surface.

“I’ll race you!” Chelsea said, pretending to run.

Claire bolted past her.

Belle stood stock-still for a minute that seemed like an eternity.
She wondered,
Could I be pregnant?
then shouted in her mind,
But I’m on the pill!

Belle started out but stopped in the open doorway and returned to the salesgirl. She put one of the pregnancy tests on the counter.

“How much?” she asked, handing the beaming teenager a stack of colorful notes.

“Fifteen euros,” she was told as the girl took a ten and a five.

“Why?” Belle muttered to herself.

“Because that’s what they cost.” The clerk grinned.

Belle simply smiled but inside was torn apart.

Why now, you idiot?
she thought.
Why is this happening now?

“T
HERE WILL NOT BE AN AUTOPSY
!” R
ICHIE BELLOWED
, slamming his pool cue into the rack of balls on the antique pool table.

Jackson and Chance stood in front of him in the den where they’d played so many games since he’d bought the house when they were teenagers.

Richie had purchased the six-million-dollar villa on the edge of Monaco as the family’s base to avoid taxes. Truth was, it was their vacation home, but they spent exactly the minimum amount of time there to be considered permanent residents. There is no doubt that the Riviera is a playground, but Richard Gaines’s best game was finance, and he loved duping the stuffed shirts in London.

The balls scattered, two landing in side pockets from the force of his break.

“Charley’s insisting, Dad,” Jackson said.

“Your mother died from her lousy driving and refusal to wear a seat belt. I won’t have her carved up because Charley has a hair up her bum,” Richie sputtered.

“She is dead, Dad; she won’t feel a thing.” Chance glared.

“Funny.”

“Not meant to be.”

“Who’d want her dead?” Richie asked incongruously. “Whatever she thought, she really wasn’t that important.”

Maybe the twenty-four hours of incarceration were already getting to Richie, but Jackson and Chance did not like what they saw in their father.

Richie hit an intercom on the side table.

“Sophia, we need drinks,” he barked.

“Sophia?” Jackson asked.

“I fired Kelsey. Don’t ask.”

Jackson and Chance never asked their father questions. They learned from observing. It was how Jackson had become such a smooth womanizer; he had observed the best.

Richie took another angry shot, the eight ball careening off the side of the table and landing in a side pocket.

“Don’t say it,” he said, throwing the cue on the table.

“Mr. Gaines, you called?” It was an unfamiliar voice to Jackson and Chance. A pale, average-looking girl in her midtwenties appeared in the doorway. Tall with slim hips and only the hint of breasts, unlike Kelsey, she was not Richie’s normal type.

“Drinks in the bar, please,” he said, and the girl slipped away. “Your mother hired her last week. She’ll cover Kelsey’s shift until you can find me someone better.”

Richie strode out of the room, and his sons followed.

Sophia had scooted ahead of him and was at the bar.

She began pouring a double Macallan into a snifter and handed
it to her boss. She already knew his likes, but it didn’t matter a whit to him—she wasn’t pretty, so she wouldn’t last.

Richie took the drink. “Make it three,” he ordered, and she started to pour.

“None for me,” Chance said and pulled out a joint from his breast pocket.

Richie went to his perch on the sofa overlooking the patio. He swirled the snifter with his palm under the bowl. The heat released the pungent bouquet.

Jackson took the golden nectar from Sophia and noticed a picture frame had been turned over. He looked at the images of his sister and mother in goofier, lovelier times.

“Dad,” Jackson said. “Charley deserves our respect. If she thinks something’s fishy, we need to listen.”

Richie sat quietly for a long moment, then indicated for Chance to pass him the joint.

He took a long hit from the indica marijuana, held it in his lungs just long enough, and released it slowly.

“No autopsy,” Richie said with an expression they knew all too well. “And that’s final.”

Several hours later, Jackson and Chance returned to the hospital. Charley was sitting up in bed, her hair combed beautifully, and she was picking at food from a silver tray. Poached eggs, fresh fruit, and scones were served on Hermès porcelain dinnerware. VIPs were treated very well at Princess Grace Hospital.

The color was returning to her cheeks, and she looked
amazingly radiant for a woman who had plummeted down an embankment less than twenty-four hours before. Her brow, however, was furrowed, as she was deep in thought about all that day had brought her.

“Hope this fits,” Chance said as he put a bag from Hôtel de Paris on her bed.

Inside was a luxurious burnt orange Chinese silk robe.

“I’m a J.Crew kind of girl, you’ve forgotten,” she said with a voice devoid of emotion. “But it’s beautiful. Thanks.”

Although the three were thicker than thieves, there was uncharacteristically not much being said between them.

“Dad said no,” Jackson said, unable to avoid the obvious. “No autopsy.”

Charley’s back went up, and her eyes widened.

“Something’s not right,” she said. “Did you tell him what I saw?”

Her blood pressure was rising, and the beep of the monitors reflected it.

“Calm down, Sis, please,” Chance cautioned. “Besides, I think we can have it done without him. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, dammit!” she insisted. She had just lost her mother in the worst way and all this was unimaginable.

A nurse appeared in the doorway.

“We’re sorry,” Jackson apologized as the nurse checked Charley’s vital signs.

Charley took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths. From all her visits to spas with her mother, she knew the art of relaxation, even at times of crisis. The last thing she wanted now was for the staff to send her brothers away.

“She needs to rest, gentlemen,” the nurse ordered.

“Promise me you’ll find a way, Jackson…” she said with the plaintive voice her brother couldn’t resist. “I need answers. I just feel so empty.”

He nodded, holding back tears.

“We love you, squirt,” Chance said as he kissed her on the forehead. He motioned to the new robe. “We’ll get an aide to help you put that on.”

Charley managed a smile, and the boys exited into the hall.

“You think we can do this?” Jackson asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Dad’s been arrested, and he loses that privilege,” Chance stated. “As his sons, we can do whatever the hell we want.”

Jackson fist-bumped his little brother.

“It’s going to open a barrelful of worms, bruv,” Chance said. “The officials are going to need Charley’s statement. And once the press gets hold of it…”

“Do you think he did it?” Jackson said, clearing his throat.

“I don’t know. Did we think he was a scumbag?” Chance answered.

The sad truth was, they realized, did anyone ever really know their father?

The Monaco medical examiner was busy when Jackson and Chance entered his office. It had been a busy month with several suicides, ODs, and a boat accident or two. The playgrounds of the rich and famous are also rife with drama.

“Are you the next of kin?” he asked them as if they were one. He was a well-built man of about forty who had a pleasant face, short-cropped hair, and a professional demeanor.

“Sons,” Chance nodded.

“From the police report, it looks pretty cut-and-dried as to what happened,” he said. “No pun intended.”

“We’re not sure the accident was an accident,” Jackson offered, ignoring him.

He cocked his head and looked to Chance. “Criminal circumstances?”

“Our sister, who was in the car with her, said Mum passed out just before she lost control. Our mother may have seemed fragile, but she had the constitution of a horse.”

“What’ll it take us to get this done?” Jackson said, noticing the examiner checking out his brother.

“You need to sign the authorization papers and guarantee the cost,” he said.

“That’s it?” Jackson asked.

“That’s it,” he answered.

“How much?” Chance wondered.

Looking at their John Varvatos shoes and Jaeger-LeCoultre watches, he smiled. “I’m sure you can afford it.”

Chance returned the smile. The examiner was actually warm and engaging, which they needed under the circumstances.

“You understand the procedure?” he added. “Some like to know the details of how it works; others would rather believe it’s just magic.”

Both guys shook their heads. No need for the gruesome details. They’d rather think of their mother as whole.

He pushed a letter of authorization in front of Chance.

“A full autopsy?” he asked.

“Whatever will find out what killed her,” Jackson said.

“If something killed her,” the examiner reminded them.

“How quickly will we get results?” Chance asked.

“It could be several weeks to a month,” the examiner said, tapping his pencil idly as he stared directly into Chance’s eyes.

“Any way to hurry it up?” Chance asked.

“I’ve got two corpses in front of your mother—”

Chance slipped off his $39,000 chronograph. “Are you sure it’ll take that long?”

“I can’t take a bribe, Mr. Gaines,” the examiner stated coolly.

“Chance,” Chance offered. “And Jackson.”

“William,” the examiner offered.

“Consider it a gift, Willy,” Jackson said as Chance laid the exquisite Swiss watch on the desk.

“It’ll help you keep track of the time.” Chance smiled.

Willy was taken by the man in expensive accessories and 501 jeans that fit like a glove.

“We need to keep this under wraps,” Chance added. “No pun intended.”

“I’ll do my best,” Willy said, lost in Chance’s eyes.

“Call me directly when you’re done.”

Chance handed Willy a business card with one hand and adjusted his crotch with the other.

“I’ll get on it as fast as I can,” Willy said with a tone that was an obvious double entendre.

Jackson and Chance headed out.

“And I thought Dad taught me well,” Jackson said once they were out of earshot.

They both chuckled, although the laughter soon faded.