A Secret in Salem (14 page)

“Ladies and gentlemen, please get ready for takeoff,” came over the speakers. “And please turn off all electronic devices.”

John buckled his seat belt as a slim, statuesque flight attendant passed through the first-class cabin.

“Are you sure you are all right with this?” the female voice with a Dutch accent in the seat next to him asked, as her slender hand touched John’s.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” he answered.

“I guess we will,” said Tara, patting his hand and turning to look out the window.

J
ENNIFER WAS PROOFING THE GALLEYS FOR THE
S
PECTATOR’S
print edition at her computer when Jack came bounding in, carrying something behind his back.

“Jen!” he called as he leaped to the mezzanine level of the house, where she had her desk.

“Jack!” she wailed as he spun her around to face him. “I’ve told you not to do that!”

“Can’t help it, you hot mama, sexy lady, sensational journalist. Because of you,” he said, kissing her, “and Abby”—he kissed her again—“we have quadrupled sales of the
Spectator
in two days!” He plopped a bottle of Cristal next to her computer, pulled her out of her chair, and planted the biggest, wettest kiss on her that she’d had in ages.

“Honey, that’s fantastic,” she beamed, hugging him.

“We’re not going to lose the house,” he exalted. “Not gonna lose it, never gonna lose it…” He swung her around, and they started dancing around the room Fred-and-Ginger style.

Jennifer couldn’t help but laugh at his joy, but still said, “Jack! Jack, stop it.”

He gave her one last twirl and sank into a chair.

“I know. Isn’t it unbelievable?”

“Yeah…”

“But?” he said.

“Were we really going to lose the house?” she asked weakly.

Jack hadn’t said a word. He was a man with a tremendous sense of pride, and once upon a time, he’d been her unemployed househusband and had not handled it well.

“I didn’t want you to know, Jen,” Jack answered. “We’ve been uprooted so much, and I know how you love it here. But yeah, we moved here at the top of the market, and with the economy and the state of the newspaper business and—well, it was almost a goner.”

Jennifer let out a huge sigh of relief, tinged with annoyance. They had indeed had a rocky path stemming back to their times in Salem, once having to go on the run from police and then living in Africa for a while. The denizens of Salem all had remarkable stories.

“I love you, Jack.” She beamed. “But don’t ever keep something like that from me again!” she added, hitting him lightly.

“Ow!” He feigned injury, rubbing his arm. “You may have to kiss that—and a few other things.”

Jennifer hit him again. “Tonight, that,” she said, indicating toward the champagne. “Then it’s all about you,” she added seductively.

The first time they’d ever made love was after Jack had saved Jennifer’s life. Now she, with their daughter, Abby, had saved his.

“Now all we have to do is keep the scoops coming,” he said ruefully.

“We know what that means,” she said, picking up her cell and dialing. “Abby?” Jennifer said.

“Mom, hi, I was just about to call you,” Abby said. She was sunbathing in an OMG bikini and looking through binoculars as she spoke.

“Shawn and Belle are spending the day with Marlena, so Chels and I are on the boat. She wanted to avoid being hounded, and I had a hunch, so…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

“Your dad’s with me, wait,” Jennifer said as she put Abby on speakerphone.

“We all know the funeral’s the day after tomorrow,” Abby said.

“Just not the final location.”

“St. Nicholas Cathedral,” Abby said with conviction.

“Are you 100 percent positive sure?” Jack asked. “Isn’t Richard Gaines Episcopalian?”

“I’m looking at Jackson Gaines right now, Dad, and he’s in the back of the cathedral with the priest. They’re shaking hands… and…yes, he’s saying it’s at five p.m.” Abby had long ago learned the value of reading lips.

“Abby,” Chelsea interrupted, signaling to Abby’s laptop. “Olivia Gaines was brought up Catholic.”

“It’ll get out faster on Spectator.com, Dad,” Abby reminded him.

“Go for it, baby!” Jack said excitedly.

Jack took the phone from Jennifer’s hand as their daughter hung up. “Where’s J. J.?” he asked.

“At Theatreland with his friend Reggie from Notting Hill Prep,” she reminded him. “Then Reggie’s parents are taking them to dinner.” Noticing the gleam in his eye, she added, “Why?”

“Press time’s not for three hours,” he said, gallantly scooping Jen up in his arms.

“Jack Deveraux!” she scolded, knowing exactly where this was headed.

“Get that, woman,” he added wryly, nodding to the champagne before burying his head in her neck.

Caught up in the moment, Jennifer grabbed for the icy bottle. “What the heck?” She laughed as Jack whisked her up to their bedroom.

T
HE NIGHT WAS SUPERB AND THE VIEW YET AGAIN BEAUTIFUL AS
Marlena sat alone having room service on her terrace , which overlooked the Mediterranean. While she truly loved Maison du Noir, with its views of Lake Geneva, there was nothing like the sound of the ocean waves in the distance and the freshness of salt air.

She understood the unmatched appeal of the city carved out of the rocky hillsides of Italy and France. The host to royalty and the brightest stars of painting, music, film, and dance, Monte Carlo was like a fairy tale. It was Disneyland for fabulously wealthy adults.

Shawn and Belle had taken Claire back to the boat. Marlena had wanted them to spend the night, but they hadn’t brought extra clothes, so she understood. Besides, she could get a good night’s sleep, which she hadn’t truly experienced for years, when there was always a chance that John would need her in the middle of the night.

The city was coming alive, and Marlena was antsy.

She opened the leather-bound folder on the desk and perused the city guide that listed, in several languages, all the festivities Monte Carlo had in August.

She had missed Elton John’s summer concert performance at the Prince’s Palace, which she would have loved. She was a huge fan of the fabulous work he’d done for over forty years with his writing partner, Bernie Taupin. OMG’s styles were a bit tame for the flamboyant performer, but she wondered if he’d return for the funeral.

There was a jazz concert at Square Théodore Gastaud, which was less than a ten-minute walk from the hotel. With the security cameras scouring the city, plus the size of the police force, she felt safe walking there alone.

After slipping on her linen jacket and throwing the cashmere sweater over her shoulders, Marlena headed out of her room.

In the lobby, there he was again. Blake Masters.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” He smiled.

It was a good smile, a warm smile, and the lines around his eyes crinkled just a bit. So many plastic surgeons Marlena knew were victims of their own profession, but not Blake.

“How old are you?”

“Forty-five,” he said.

“Did I say that out loud?” She grimaced, embarrassed.

“No, I read your mind,” he joked.

“I’m sorry I never called you back,” she apologized.

“That’s okay, I assumed you made other plans for dinner,” he added casually.

“I, um, I did,” Marlena stammered. “I had room service.”

“Well, you missed a terrific dinner,” he said. “Le Grill? Don’t miss it.”

“You didn’t try Le Louis XV?”

“Not the place for a meal solo,” he admitted. “You want to share that kind of experience with someone.”

“Well, nice to see you again,” she said in a tone she hoped he could only interpret as friendly.

“You too,” he said.

After an awkward moment, they each headed for the hotel exit. They stopped. Shared a look.

“The jazz concert?” Blake said.

Marlena could only nod, chuckling.

The doorman stepped forward. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping, but there are no more tickets for tonight’s concert.”

So much for that.

“You up for a walk?” Blake asked.

Marlena hesitated a moment, then answered, “Sure.”

The night air was more invigorating outside than in. The mood was festive and glamorous in Casino Square. Vacationers and summer residents filled the streets, and the yachts were party central.

They chatted about nothing terribly important—the yachts, the weather, and the extravagance surrounding them, which was mind-boggling.

On their way back to the hotel, they strolled past the designer boutiques, including Chanel, Cartier, and OMG. The OMG shop, unlike the others, was closed, and there were flowers and candles, mostly in yellow, in front of the door.

“I’m here for her, you know,” Blake said simply.

“Olivia Gaines?” Marlena was surprised.

“She was a client for years, having the most minuscule tweaks you could imagine.”

“You are good.”

“So they tell me,” he said. “The family knew how important it would be for her to look perfect in her casket. Not like Princess Grace’s fiasco.”

Princess Grace, the actress turned royalty, had been buried in a bad blonde wig to cover the scars from her fatal accident. Olivia had often joked that she would never let that happen to her. Now it didn’t seem quite so funny.

“Her face, yes,” Marlena remembered.

“They’re also performing an autopsy,” he added.

“They are?” Marlena asked, puzzled.

“That’s all highly confidential, of course,” he said, adding, “I really shouldn’t have even told you.”

“Of course,” Marlena assured him.

“She was really a piece of work, that one,” Blake said.

“Tragic really,” she said gently. “Makes you realize you have to live every day as if it’s your last.”

Pheromones were flying. He wanted to kiss her. She knew it. She also knew she couldn’t let him.

“Time to par-tay!” they heard, breaking the moment as two young women came flying past them.

“Par-tay on,” Marlena called to them, relieved for the interruption.

They stopped in their tracks.

“Marlena?” Abby said.

“Hi,” Chelsea added, thrown to see Marlena.

“What are you doing here?” Abby said. She was intrigued that Marlena was with a very handsome younger man. “I thought Belle and Shawn were going up to see you.”

“Plans changed, so here I am.” Marlena smiled, not wanting to betray any patient-doctor confidentiality. She felt guilty and hated herself for it.

“Dr. Masters, these are friends of my daughter Belle,” she said. “Chelsea and Abby.” Going into all the connections would be too much. “Girls, Dr. Masters is a colleague.”

Why she was explaining to them, she had no idea. Overexplaining anything was always a bad sign.

“Nice to meet you both.” He nodded. “Going to the casino?”

“It’s been a long couple of days,” Abby said. “Girls gotta have some fun.”

“Why don’t you join them, Blake?” Marlena asked, her voice cracking. She realized she suddenly sounded too familiar.

“Not my thing, and I have an early day tomorrow,” he answered. “I’ll just walk you back to the elevator,” he said, more as a question than a statement, “and we’ll catch up tomorrow.”

Now he’s overexplaining,
Marlena thought.
This isn’t good.

They headed to the hotel entrance as Abby and Chelsea exchanged glances.

“You don’t think…” Chelsea said, leaving the question in the air.

“Nah…” Abby said, adding, “but he sure is hot.”

Chelsea hit her on the shoulder.

“Let’s go have some fun,” Abby said brightly, heading toward the gleaming Lamborghinis, Maseratis, and Bentleys lined up outside the most famous casino in the world.

Blake’s room looked over the courtyard and was much smaller
than Marlena’s. In deep red tones, with fabric wall coverings and white-leaded furniture, it was more masculine, but still beautiful and featured a luxurious king-size bed.

The bathroom had exquisite faience tiles, rich enamels, and the same plush towels and robes as in Marlena’s junior suite.

Ten minutes after Blake left Marlena at the elevators, he was in a much-needed cold, cold shower.

Marlena slipped into her bed. Settling against the down pillows, she felt good about herself.

She opened a novel she’d been reading off and on for several months. It was Dominick Dunne’s
Justice
. Crime novels were a guilty pleasure of hers, and she loved his writing.

After a few moments, something dawned on her.

Autopsy? Why would Olivia Gaines be having an autopsy?

She pondered that for a long moment.

Blake said it was strictly confidential. Why?

Marlena was drawn back to thoughts of him. She knew what he wanted and still wants, and the Hôtel de Paris could surely lure even the most loyal spouse into an indiscretion.

But she wouldn’t.

She couldn’t.

John Black was the only man she wanted.

And if she knew he was at a hotel in London at that moment, with another woman, it would have broken her heart.