A Secret in Salem (27 page)

D
ESIREE WAS AT THE WHEEL OF THE BLACK
V-8 R
ANGE
R
OVER
that picked up John, Marlena, and the kids from Geneva International Airport.

John and Marlena each only had hand luggage, while Shawn and Belle had backpacks—plus a huge duffel bag with toys, clothes, and snacks for the nearly four-year-old.

“I’m Claire,” she piped up as Desiree helped her into the V-8. “Who’re you?

“A former nurse, who at the moment is very thankful to know your grandparents.”

“Grandparents.” John grinned. “You know, I’m beginning to like that title,” he said as he patted Belle’s tummy.

“Dad!” she said, shoving his hand away.

“I like that title too,” John added as he helped Marlena into the passenger seat. “I’ll drive.”

Desiree climbed into the backseat while Shawn and Belle settled Claire into her car seat.

“You look
splendide
, Monsieur Black,” Desiree said from behind him.

“Did you know he was getting better?” Marlena said, tilting her head and glaring at the girl who’d nursed him for nearly a year.

“They all did, Doc,” John answered for her. “Haven’t you heard of confidentially agreements?”

“Shut up and drive.” Marlena sneered as she kissed him on the cheek, then snapped her seat belt.

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted and gunned the supercharged engine.

“Wow,” Shawn said as the Rover pulled through the winding drive toward Maison du Noir.

“What’re those?” Claire asked as she pointed to the fields.

“Grapes,” Marlena told her. “We sell them to the local wineries and have a very nice wine cellar because of it.”

“Wine.” Belle sighed. “No more for me for a while.”

They pulled into the drive and piled out of the car.

“The guesthouse is by the pool, but we’d love you to stay in the house with us,” Marlena offered.

“There’s a state-of-the-art gym and a game room inside,” John said to Shawn.

“I like games.” Claire giggled as she started her jiggly dance.

“Let’s find the loo.” Belle grimaced, her hand going to her lips.

“Puke time!” Claire laughed as she ran to the front door.

Marlena and John entered behind them, and Marlena stood looking at the home they’d shared for two years.

“I’d forgotten how beautiful it is, John,” she said. “Do I thank you often enough?”

“Save it for later,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Your room’s that way, Shawn,” Marlena said.

Shawn hauled his, Belle’s, and Claire’s gear toward their quarters.

“Thank you for picking us up, Desiree,” John said.

“Thank you for keeping me on.” She sighed.

“I know you were part of that Ponzi rip-off.”

“My friends, my father,” she said and started to choke up. “How that man could ruin so many lives is unconscionable. Especially to people whose lifework is to help others.” She tried to steel herself. “I’m sorry.”

“See you in the morning, Desiree,” Marlena said soothingly. “We’re all fine.”

“Good night,” Desiree said and exited.

“Well,” Marlena said.

“Well,” John answered. “Time to go up?”

“I am exhausted,” she said. “We can clean up and then get dinner for the kids.”

“One question,” he said as they started up the winding staircase. “Where do we sleep?”

Marlena punched him playfully. “Wherever we want.”

John smiled to himself. Little did she know what was in store for her.

At the top of the stairs, Marlena stopped in her tracks and gasped as she’d never gasped before.

The hall that had separated John’s and Marlena’s bedrooms was gone. In front of her, covering the entire second floor, was a huge master suite. It looked right out of the pages of
Architectural
Digest
, with one floor-to-ceiling window the length of the room that overlooked the valley across to Lake Geneva.

“Welcome home.” He smiled.

S
HAWN AND
B
ELLE SPENT A FEW GLORIOUS WEEKS AT
M
AISON
du Noir, savoring their time with John and Marlena before they continued their worldwide journey on the
Fancy Face IV.

The purpose of the trip had been to recement their relationship, and it had done it in spades. They had learned about life with each other in the most intimate setting and given their daughter memories her formulating mind would remember.

Marlena had taken Belle in to see the top ob-gyn in Geneva before they left, and she was right on track with her pregnancy. He’d given Belle referrals in all the cities they planned to dock in, and assured Belle she should be fine for Shawn’s coveted deep sea fishing trip in Trinidad in January.

Charley was planning on taking an extended trip to Lausanne as soon as she could. Marlena and John were waiting for the right time to introduce her to the rest of the family.

In the meantime, Charley, Jackson, and Chance were still working on cleaning up Richie’s mess. They were closer than ever to being done with the whole scandal. The investigation had proved
they were indeed innocent, and John promised to help them with referrals for new jobs if they needed them.

And then, an odd thing happened. One afternoon, Desiree flew into the house, absolutely elated.

“Monsieur Black, Docteuer Evans!” she squealed as if she’d learned how from Claire. “You won’t believe this!”

Marlena took an envelope from her hand. Inside was a cashier’s check for thirty-two thousand euros. “Exactly what I lost in that scam!” Desiree proclaimed. “And I called my father. He received a check too!”

Marlena was thrilled for her. “From who?”

“No idea,” Desiree said, snatching the check and fanning herself to keep from fainting. “An angel, it has to be an angel!”

Marlena drank it in and then decided to call Charley with the news. But Charley had heard already.

Not about Desiree, but Dr. Roisten’s family, the nurse at Princess Grace Hospital, and hundreds of the victims on her father’s list whose lives had been ruined. Now, someone, somewhere was coming to their aid.

It was a miracle.

Marlena had a bottle of their finest white wine chilling when she heard the Range Rover in the driveway. John had been out all day, and she hadn’t been able to reach him on his new phone.

She opened the door, beaming.

“Hey, Doc, what gives?” he asked.

“An anonymous donor has sent checks to hundreds of the
victims of Richie’s scheme,” she told him. “I spoke to Charley, and she’s absolutely thrilled.”

“So she’s happy?” he asked, pleased.

“Did you hear me? She’s thrilled! She and the boys feel like they can face the world again,” Marlena said, near tears.

“That’s what money’s really for, isn’t it, Doc? Making people happy?” He took the wine from her hand.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

He stared into her smiling eyes. She knew.

“You don’t mind? It was a lot of money. A lot!”

“What’s money for, if not to make people happy?”

She kissed him and put her arms around him.

He winced. She pulled back.

“What?” he asked.

“Take your shirt off,” she insisted.

“Doc,” he said with a grin.

“I mean it, John. Where were you today?” she asked as he shrugged out of his shirt.

“Seeing a friend of yours,” he answered. “Blake Masters.”

Marlena turned him around, and the phoenix tattoo that had scarred his back and his mind was gone.

“He said it was some mutant cell that’d never go away, and the only way was to cover it,” John said. “So he did. What do you think?”

Over the phoenix tattoo, Blake had designed a gorgeous eagle with soaring wings.

“I love it. And I adore you.”

With a glass in one hand, John scooped her up in his arms.

“Let’s see if he can fly.” John smiled as he carried her up to their bedroom.

I owe a debt of gratitude to those who helped in a variety of ways to make this book possible. To Greg Meng for his passionate support of my work and Ken Corday for allowing me to bring the romance and power of
Days of our Lives
to print and to expand on its canvas. To my editor at Sourcebooks, Peter Lynch, whose overview and excitement about the characters and story made submitting to him a pleasure, and to Andrea McKinnon for her effervescent commitment to promoting the book in the best way possible. I would be remiss without a bow to Pat Falken Smith, who was my mentor and who knew the power of good storytelling.

A big thanks to those who helped me along the way with details and color to make the pages come to life, with a nod to Google for making research not only easy but fascinating; special kudos to Jodi Airhart and Michele Riley, who filled in moments that helped make the characters sing; to the other
Days of our Lives
writers who created a number of the beloved characters I was able to explore; and to my sister, Judy Speas, I cannot say enough. She took over as my unofficial editor from our mother, who passed away last year,
and did an exemplary job. To my business partner, Paul Cohen, for his input and understanding during the writing period, and to Lawrence Zarian for his continued encouragement. To my husband, Paca, without whose love and belief in me the books would not have been possible or as romantic; I adore you. To the fans, old and new, who have made
Days of our Lives
a part of their own, and to the new audience of readers, I hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing.