A Secret in Salem (23 page)

“Shane, I need a connection here in Monaco,” John said into FaceTime on his phone.

Shane was in his office in London and pleased to hear from his friend.

“The Monaco Police Force can’t be beat,” Shane assured him. “It’s new, but they have a link to our fingerprint base here at headquarters.”

“Thanks, my friend,” John said.

“Before you go, how are things?” Shane asked.

“It’s as though we’ve never been apart,” John told him. “When we’re back at the ranch, you and the kids need to visit.”

“Be well,” Shane said, then cautioned, “and don’t push too hard. Though I know saying that to you is like pissing in the wind.”

John hung up and turned to Chance and Jackson. “I’d better go this alone. If you’re at police headquarters, there’ll be all kinds of questions.”

“How long should this take?” Jackson asked.

“The databases are unbelievably quick these days,” John told him. “By the time we get back to the hotel, we may have answers. Then again, maybe not.”

“I need to get back to the house sometime today,” Jackson said. “Starting a full inventory for the Security and Exchange blokes.”

“Abby Deveraux is leaving today,” John said with a glint in his eye.

The attraction between Jackson and her had been palpable.

“I guess I can start it tonight,” Jackson said casually. “It’d be rude not to say goodbye.”

Chance gave him a “what the hell?” look.

Jackson said, “She’s the one with all the pictures.”

Then admitted to himself wryly,
The thing I nearly clocked her for might very well solve this murder.

“D
AD’S ARRAIGNMENT IS NEXT
T
UESDAY
,” C
HANCE TOLD HIS
brother as they were heading up to the Churchill Suite in the private elevator.

“Will he go?” Jackson asked.

“He has no choice,” Chance admitted. “And he initially said he was pleading guilty, but now that he’s in a drunken haze, I have no idea.”

“What if he refuses?” Jackson asked.

“It’ll only prolong the inevitable.”

“Jail time.”

“Look, he only screwed the investors out of a billion or so. He may only get thirty years, and be out in twelve with good behavior.”

“Good behavior?“ Jackson scoffed. “Our father? Right…”

“If he doesn’t pay somehow, he’ll be a pariah forever. And so will we,” Chance said.

“Not that we aren’t now,” Jackson rued, recalling his humiliation at Le Big Ben.

They crossed the hall and rang the doorbell to the suite.

Marlena answered. “Hi,” she said. “Where’s John?”

“He’ll be here soon,” Jackson said as they entered. “Thought I’d get back to say good-bye and thank Abby and Chelsea.”

Marlena looked confused. “Abby got a call, and they left here about twenty minutes ago. She said they were meeting you.”

“We haven’t spoken,” Jackson told her.

“Guess what that means?” Marlena said. “That girl’s up to no good.”

Little did Marlena know, it was actually quite the opposite.

The gangplank to the Kasagians’ überyacht was longer than Abby remembered.

“It’s got to be amazing inside,” Chelsea said to Abby, who was wearing glasses and had her hair pulled into a ponytail.

“Are you here for the job interviews?” an officious gay crew member crooned. “Step it up, girls.”

They hustled up the ramp and inside, where there was another crew member with a clipboard.

“Make sure you include all your references.” The petite blonde smiled. Abby recognized her as one of the bartenders at Dalita’s party, but luckily, the ditz looked right through her.

“Thank you.” Abby smiled as they took job applications.

“French, German, Italian, English, Chinese…” Chelsea said as she looked at the form in multiple translations. “Covering all the bases, I see.”

“Gotta be able to impress all the guests,” chirped the bosomy blonde. “At least one waitress for every language.”

“I worked at the Brady Pub,” Chelsea said under her breath. “Wonder if that qualifies me as Irish?”

“Probably.” The girl smiled and moved on to other no-doubt totally unqualified job hunters.

“There’s Kelsey,” Abby said as she poked Chelsea in the ribs.

“Very pretty,” Chelsea said with a bit of sadness as the stunning young Portuguese woman walked toward them.

“You made it,” Kelsey said.

“Yes, thanks for the call. You said they’re hiring ten girls, so I brought a friend,” Abby said. “I met her at Olivia Gaines’s funeral,” she continued, lying.

“Really? I met Abby there too,” Kelsey said as she studied Chelsea’s face. Chelsea had spiked her hair and changed her makeup drastically at the suite. She looked more punk than proper and was barely recognizable.

“Could we talk privately?” Kelsey asked Abby. “You don’t mind, do you?” she added to Chelsea.

“No, not at all,” Chelsea said. “I need to fill this out anyway,” she continued, indicating toward the form.

Abby and Kelsey moved a short distance away, behind one of the many majestic Mediterranean fan palms that graced the first deck of the ship. Kelsey’s nerves were showing as she quietly asked, “How much will you pay me?”

“That depends on what I get at the party. It’s for Carla Bruni and President Sarkozy, right?” Abby asked.

Kelsey nodded, making sure no one was listening.

“Five-hundred-euro minimum,” Abby said. “Up to five thousand if I get something scandalous.”

Kelsey steeled herself and nodded again. “I’ll make sure they hire you. As for your friend…”

They looked over to Chelsea, who was pretending to be taking in the spectacle of the multimillion-dollar surroundings

“She really needs the job,” Abby said. “She’s been having an affair with that felon Richard Gaines for a year, and now he’s dumped her. They were going to get married.”

Kelsey burst into tears and wailed, “Emilio was right.”

“What?” Abby said, wide-eyed, as the line of other applicants swiveled their heads to stare.

“He’s a bastard!” was all Kelsey could say, and she fled the room, crying.

Abby shrugged and joined Chelsea.

“Bingo,” she chimed, echoing John’s word from earlier.

The bosomy teenager approached. “Done with the forms?” she asked Chelsea and Abby as if she hadn’t seen Kelsey’s meltdown.

Abby put on her most self-deprecatory frown. “After seeing your choices, I don’t think we could cut it.” Abby mourned as they handed back the blank applications.

“But thanks.” Chelsea smiled.

As they’d gotten the info they needed, they sashayed through the crowd and onto the dock.

Chelsea’s phone rang. It was Belle, freshly mani and pedied. “Where are you guys?”

“ISA’ing, why?” Chelsea smiled.

“My dad’s on his way back, and there’s news,” Belle said with urgency. “And what do you mean you were ISA-ing?”

“You did what?” Shawn said, wide-eyed, to Chelsea and Abby as he faced the assembly in the dining room of Command Central.

“Both Dad and my mom were cops, Shawn,” she reminded her brother.

“So was he and Hope,” Shawn said, stunned. “That doesn’t mean I’d go undercover.”

“Well, we did, and did a pretty damned good job, if I say so myself,” Abby added, pretending to polish a badge on her perky breast.

“You look like sluts!” Claire declared, then scampered off, flashing the new Hello Kitty decals on her bright pink fingernails.

“Claire Brady, we’re going to have a little talk,” Shawn scolded as he went after her.

“We may look like sluts, but we know who is one,” Abby said to Chelsea. “Kelsey Silviera.”

“Did you say Silviera?” John said, catching the end of Abby’s statement as he entered.

“Yep,” Abby said. “Why?”

“Shane called on my way back, and the prints matched an Emilio Silviera,” John said as he pulled his iPad from the side table. “He’s emailed all the stats.”

John turned on his iPad and checked his email. There was indeed an email with the subject “Silviera.”

The image of Emilio Silviera popped on the screen with a series of mug shots. There were at least eight different photos with long hair, short, bearded, mustachioed, and on and on… each with a different alias. But one thing was sure: he was Kelsey Silviera’s brother.

“His record’s a long one across the board,” John said, scanning the report.

“Unbelievable,” Chance said, stunned.

“Petty larceny, male prostitution, sales of coke and heroin, and attempted murder,” John continued.

“This time he got it right,” Jackson said flatly.

Abby touched Jackson’s shoulder, and he clasped her hand.

“But cyanide, John?” Marlena asked. “How would he get that?”

“He worked on the Kasagians’ yacht, right?” John asked.

“He’s actually Gemma’s driver,” Abby said. “But all the permanent help live on the yacht.”

“Cyanide is commonly used for fumigating ships,” John said. “And I’ll bet they have a boatload.”

“W
HERE DID YOU COME FROM
?” J
ACK BEAMED AS HE VIDEO
-chatted with Abby. Abby sat on the dock amid a sea of policemen, as Emilio and Kelsey were led down the gangplank in handcuffs. Kelsey was in tears, but her brother was stone-faced.

“I didn’t do anything,” Kelsey pleaded to Abby as she was taken to a waiting police car. “I didn’t know.”

Chelsea was at Abby’s side and watched as the door shut on the girl who’d trusted too many people.

“I don’t know why, but I believe her,” Chelsea said as the car drove off, sirens blaring.

“I don’t know why, but I believe her too,” Abby admitted. “But she gave Olivia Gaines those pills laced with cyanide.”

“What, Abs?” Jack said, bringing Abby back to his image on the mobile.

“We need to talk to John, Dad,” Abby said. “Tell Mom I’ll get back to you later.”

“Will do, but you’re just spectacul—”

Jack was flummoxed as Abby hung up the call.

Tourists and locals went back to lounging on their yachts, drinking rosé, and soaking up the sun. The sounds of music and laughter filled the harbor, but Chelsea and Abby didn’t feel like partying.

“Thank God this happened before the president got here,” one of the Kasagian crew members muttered as he headed back onto the yacht.

“Yep, hate to spoil a good party.” Chelsea sighed.

Jackson, Chance, and Charley stood on the terrace of the Churchill Suite, watching the arrest of their mother’s killer in the distance. From their vantage point, they could see the police on the deck of the
K
, slapping the cuffs on Kelsey and Emilio, and Gemma stomping around as if they’d spilled red wine on her Persian carpets. They watched the police cars as they caravanned to the station, only several blocks away.

“I always hated supplements,” Charley said sadly as they saw the cars pull into the station. “But if I’d taken those, Mum might still be here.”

“And you’d be gone, Little Sis,” Jackson said.

“I know you miss having a mummy,” Chance said as he kissed her on top of her shining brown mane. “But we’ll fill in.”

Charley stared at her brothers. “Did you both know I’m adopted?”

Both Jackson and Chance looked at her as if she were crazy. But before they could question it, John appeared from the living room.

“In case you’re interested, there’s a CNN crew at the police station, and Emilio’s asked to make a statement.”

Not sure they wanted to hear him, the siblings still were drawn to the television like magnets.

Shawn cradled Belle, and John wrapped Marlena in his arms as Claire sat fiddling with her newly painted toenails, oblivious to the drama unfolding on international television.

Emilio, unemotional but strong, faced the cameras and pleaded for his sister’s release.

“My sister had nothing to do with the murder of Olivia Gaines, except for being my motivation for doing it.” He continued as nearby Kelsey choked on her tears, “I will plead guilty to all charges and take lie-detector tests, if necessary, to prove her innocence. Her crime is loving an evil man who didn’t love her but lied and said he’d marry her if he was free. I had to prove what a monster he was to save her. And I did. God bless you all.”

John clicked off the television, and they all stared in silence.

In the darkened screening room at the villa, Richie sat with a bottle of tequila in his hand, watching Emilio and Kelsey being escorted into the station. He took a swig directly from the bottle, then used the remote to turn off the widescreen television.

Click
, and the movie screen rolled into place.

Click
, and the movie started.

Wall Street.

Again.

By the time Abby and Chelsea had returned to the suite, the
Gaines siblings had gone. Although Olivia Gaines’s murder had been solved, the mood was somber instead of celebratory.

“You’ve heard, we’re sure,” John said to them both.

“We didn’t think Kelsey was guilty,” Chelsea said. “Something in our guts just told us.”

“It’s the breeding,” John said. “Reporter and cop blood flowing through your veins and your’s,” he added, pointing to each of them.

“I never wanted to be a cop,” Chelsea said. “So much of it in the family, and I’ve seen the heartache it can cause.”

“You’ve also seen the good,” Shawn offered from the sofa, where Belle still sat wrapped in his arms.

“I haven’t had real focus since I moved to England,” Chelsea admitted. “All the craziness with Max has had me at loose ends.”

“Maybe now you’ll get it together,” Abby said. “You were pretty damned good in there.”

“We’ll see,” Chelsea said.

A loud
crack
that sounded like a sonic boom filled the air.

“Fireworkings!” Claire said, bolting upright from her fascination with her toes.

Through the window they could see bursts of light as fireworks illuminated the sky. They were accompanied by glorious Spanish music that was punctuated by the crackling spectacle in the harbor.

“The International Fireworks competition,” Marlena exclaimed. “Tonight’s entry is from Spain.”

She had read about the annual festival that remained one of Monaco’s most popular summer events and had drawn thousands to the principality every August for the last forty years. The winner
of the dazzling show over Port Hercule garnered not only bragging rights, but also one hundred thousand euros.

“Our terrace is one of the best viewing sites,” she told them, encouraging them to join her as she moved outside.

Shawn swept Claire up in his arms, and he and Belle joined Marlena and John, with Abby and Chelsea following.

They oohed and aahed as the lights in the city dimmed, and a profusion of color filled the starry sky.

Next to two of the most romantic couples they knew, Chelsea and Abby linked arms. “You like him, don’t you?” Chelsea asked.

“I do not,” Abby protested.

“You don’t even know who I meant,” Chelsea said accusatorily.

“We both do,” Abby admitted. “And yes, I do, dammit.”

A blaze of color crossed the sky.

Jackson drove their Range Rover slowly up into the rocky hillside as the fireworks exploded over the city. It was one of the most romantic nights of the year along the Côte d’Azur, and he was thinking of Abby.

Charley was in the passenger’s seat, and she was lost in the beauty of the pageantry. Her mother’s killer had been found, and all was right with the world, aside from a few small things—if one considered a drunken international felon for a father and a total loss of identity small.

The gates automatically opened as they pulled into the front courtyard and parked next to the Bentley, Maserati, and Ferrari that would all be confiscated soon. They all silently got out of the car.

Richie was now in the living room, waiting for them. Drunk, sad, and filled with remorse.

When they entered, he rose to greet them. The man who they had always seen as their hero, their father, their support was gone. In his place was a shell of his former self. In less than a week, everything had collapsed around him.

“I know sorry isn’t enough,” he choked.

“I’m sorry, Dad, but it isn’t,” Jackson said. “Hey, we’re not stupid. We always knew you had your faults, but didn’t realize they ran as deep as the Mediterranean Sea.”

“Charley, baby?” Richie smiled sadly. He tried to reach out to her, but she stood frozen.

“Mummy really loved you.” She sighed. “We all did. You gave us everything we ever wanted, when all we really needed was someone to be proud of us and to love us more than himself. Good night…Richie.”

His hand went to his chest as her dismissal stabbed him like a knife.

Charley went into Jackson’s arms for a tight hug. Then she took Chance’s hand and kissed him on the cheek.

“Let me go up with you,” Chance said and walked out with her without another word.

“I’ll be inventorying everything in the villa, then the offices and the London flat,” Jackson said. He was cold and businesslike. “Can’t imagine who’ll be coming out of the woodwork next,” he added. “Unfortunately for them, there’s nothing left to blackmail you for.”

Jackson turned to go, then stopped. “One more thing…I pray
to God I can forget everything you ever taught me.” He turned and walked away.

Richie was alone again.

A bright flash of light illuminated the sky as they walked out of the elegantly casual room that reflected Olivia so thoroughly. The finale of the fireworks competition was a grand finish to a fateful day.

Richie caught sight of Olivia’s portrait, and it was as if she were watching him and smiling.

He began sobbing uncontrollably.