A Secret in Salem (8 page)

She passed the elite partygoers who had pasted-on smiles and chattered endlessly one-on-one, group-on-group as they scoured the room for more important guests to talk to. Dalita, the gnome, was in the midst of it all.

The ship was indeed mind-blowing, and the largest Abby had ever been on. Three decks, a ballroom, two massive dining rooms large enough to feed hundreds, a cinema, a disco, and who-knew-how-many cabins.

She headed up a winding Plexiglas staircase and noticed Serge Kasagian was not happy. She floated past him inconspicuously and heard him growl, “Emilio was not to leave this ship, in case Gemma needed him.”

“I saw him on the lower deck, sir,” answered one of the crew, who was nearly shaking in his boots. “Just before I came up.”

Kasagian turned without seeing Abby and went a few feet to a wall panel that slid open in front of him. It was a private elevator, and in a second, he was gone.

Just after he disappeared, a furious Dalita came running up the stairs screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!!” Gemma, decked out in all her ostentatious jewels, appeared from the ballroom, a trail of sycophants behind her.

“Precious girl, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“That bitch just ruined my party!”

“Who?” Gemma sneered.

“Charley Gaines, that’s who,” Dalita wailed. “She and her fucking mother just had an accident, and no one’s left outside to cover my party!”

Abby was in shock. So that’s where they all went.

“I’m sorry, Dali,” Gemma cooed. “So Olivia won’t be here?” she added, more of a statement than a question.

“Any word on their condition?” Abby asked, out of true concern. Although she had only had that brief encounter with her earlier, she truly liked Charley.

“No. The police just came and took Mr. Gaines to the hospital.” Dalita scowled. “Why do you care, anyway?”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Dalita’s bitch of a mother said, taking her
chin and disavowing Abby’s existence. “All the fabulous people are still here.”

Abby was dumbstruck by Gemma’s monumental insensitivity. Her reporter instincts kicked in; she knew she was at the epicenter of one damn good story.

She flew down the stairs and made her way through the jabbering guests. In the corridor, she saw Dalita’s father reading the riot act to another male employee in front of the partyer, the employee hastily buttoning his crew jacket.

Abby shuddered at the guy’s humiliation. “Ah, the lives of the rich and famous…”

T
HE PAPARAZZI WERE SWARMING LIKE FLIES AROUND THE
entrance to Princess Grace Hospital Centre. Considered the best hospital in Monaco, it was also the hospital where Princess Grace had died after her crash in the early ’80s. They were falling all over each other to get shots of Richard Gaines’s arrival.

This was one time he couldn’t escape the cameras.

Monaco has the largest police force per capita in the world, and they flanked Richie as he entered the hospital. A dozen other officers remained outside to control the crowd.

Once inside the vestibule, Chief of Staff Roisten met Richie in the lobby. The moment Richie saw him, he knew it was bad news— horrible news. He learned that Olivia had died on impact from a crushed skull and internal injuries and that Charley was in surgery.

Uncharacteristically, Richie broke down in tears.

Shawn and Chelsea were just inside the door of the hospital, as they had been detained by the police. They were being questioned about the accident. They gave details about the sound of the crash and their rushing to the mangled Aston Martin.

Chelsea was shakily recalling how she had checked Olivia’s vital signs and given CPR.

“You are sure there was no pulse,” she was asked.

“Definitely,” she said.

“Then why administer CPR?”

Chelsea knew that in the States a lot of medical professionals no longer administered lifesaving techniques at the scene of an accident, for fear of a lawsuit.

“If there was a breath of a chance, I wanted to give it to her,” was Chelsea’s shaky answer. She held back tears. This experience was bringing up memories of a disastrous time in her life when she’d been involved in a hit-and-run. The child she had hit—her own half brother—had died.

There was the sound of a text alert on her phone.

“May I?” she asked. The officer nodded.

The text was from Abby: “All hell broke loose. Where r u?”

“My best friend,” she told the officer. “I need to let her know where I am.”

The officer looked at the text and again nodded in agreement.

Chelsea texted: “Pr Grace Hsptl.”

Abby’s response: “U OK?! I’m outside.”

Chelsea showed the officer the text. Her hands were starting to shake badly.

“Could they let her in, please?” Chelsea said, nearly pleading. “I really need her,” she added.

“Of course,” the officer answered. “Show me who she is.”

The two of them headed to the door, passing Shawn, who was just completing his report to another officer.

“That pressure on her neck probably saved Charley Gaines’s life,” the officer said. “Somebody find this guy a shirt.”

In the middle of the madness swirling around them, a nurse rushed in from the surgical ward.

“Mr. Gaines,” she blurted, “your daughter’s blood type is rare, and we’re low. Do you know if you’re a match?”

“Is she going to die?” was his first thought.

“Only if she loses too much blood,” she answered.

“I think I’m type O,” he said. “Would that make sense?”

“She’s B negative,” she answered. “One of the rarest. You’re not a match. Neither was your wife.”

“I’m B negative.” It was Shawn. “I used to donate at University Hospital. Let’s go.”

Without a second thought, Shawn headed toward the lab.

Abby was let in by the officers at the front door, and Chelsea went into her arms. They were given a moment alone.

“You’re a wreck,” Abby said. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Charley, the girl we met this afternoon,” she stammered. “She and her mother were in a horrible accident. Shawn and I were the first ones there.”

“You witnessed it all?” Abby said incredulously.

“It happened right behind us…” Her voice trailed off. “This nice guy was taking our picture, and…”

“Picture?” Abby gasped.

Chelsea could only nod, wrapping her arms around herself.

Sympathetic as Abby was, the journalist in her kicked in. “With your camera?”

Chelsea immediately understood the implication and gave Abby a withering look.

“This is international news, Chels,” Abby reminded her.

Chelsea started to reach into her purse, but Abby stopped her.

“Is it all right if we go to the ladies’ room?” Abby asked the policeman, who was going over his notes.

“Just don’t leave the building,” he answered.

“Not a problem,” Abby said.

There was a woman in the handicap stall who was grunting and groaning. Chelsea asked if she needed help, but the woman said no.

Abby was on pins and needles until the woman opened the door with her foot and wheeled herself out to the sink and washed her hands slowly. She stared at the two girls, who’d done nothing since they entered ten minutes earlier.

“Let me help,” Abby said, opening the exit door.

The woman exited without a word.

“Thank you too” Chelsea said, shaking her head.

“The camera?” Abby demanded. “In here.”

The girls ducked into the handicap stall, and Chelsea retrieved her camera. She handed it over a bit reluctantly.

Abby clicked through the digital shots and nearly fainted.

“Take that TMZ,” she squealed. “World exclusive.”

Charley’s surgery had been going on for two hours.

Shawn and Chelsea were in the waiting room. He’d been given a lavender shirt by one of the interns, who had it in his locker. The sleeves were rolled up, and his arm bandaged from where the nurse had drawn his blood.

Abby was with them, taking notes as she clicked through the images of the accident, one by one. She would have to get to her computer to upload them.

The door opened, and one of the OR nurses entered.

“Mr. Gaines would like to see you,” she said. “He’s on the VIP floor and asked if I’d find you.”

“His daughter?” Shawn asked.

“Still in ICU,” she told him. “The transfusion should take a few hours. Your boyfriend’s a hero,” the nurse said addressing Chelsea.

“He’s my brother, and yes, he is,” Chelsea responded proudly.

The elevator to the VIP floor was large and less practical than those in the rest of the hospital. There were actual mirrors and wainscoting and rich wood floors.

Richie had sequestered himself in the private area to avoid heading out into the melee outside the hospital. There were reporters and police and tourists all wanting to see his grief.

He was alone on his mobile when the door opened. Shawn, Chelsea, and Abby were escorted in by one of the volunteers, a striking woman in her seventies with better jewelry than most of the female doctors.

“Shawn and Chelsea Brady?” he said, already knowing.

“Half brother and sister,” Chelsea said immediately, to avoid the confusion.

“And you?” he asked Abby.

“Abigail,” she said, omitting her last name. If he heard “Deveraux,” he might have connected her to the press.

“Have we met?”

“No, sir,” Abby answered, though she hoped he wouldn’t remember seeing her at the party. “We’re all family,” she added, hoping to divert him from any more questions. “I’m actually Shawn’s cousin…It’s, um, complicated.”

“We can all use family,” he said. “Can’t believe my own sons aren’t here.” Then, shaking it off, he asked, “Did Olivia suffer?”

He looked directly at Chelsea. “I hear you were the last…”

“No, Mr. Gaines. I’m sure she didn’t.” Chelsea expressed what she believed to be true.

“I owe you my daughter’s life,” he said to Shawn. “I must find some way to repay you.”

“Not necessary, Mr. Gaines,” he said.

“Necessary,” Richie insisted. “Did you see the fireworks tonight? I saw them out this window,” he said, looking out to the harbor. “Austria won last year, and France was determined to take home the prize this year.”

Spectacular fireworks displays happened every night at nine thirty in August. The International Fireworks Festival was fierce and made every day even more of a party. Shawn realized they were making small talk to avoid the realities of a desperate and grim situation. Abby was taking notes in her head. Such personal insights would be fascinating to her readers.

They suddenly were distracted by the sounds of arguing in the hallway.

The door opened, and Richie was alarmed to see the chief of staff once more.

“So sorry about this, Richard,” he apologized. “It’s not Charley; she’s actually doing fine.”

“Then what?” Richie asked.

Four men in dark suits entered. Their expressions were serious and delighted at the same time. The oldest, a balding man with steel gray eyes pulled out handcuffs.

“Richard Gaines,” he said, “Securities Division of the ISA. You’re under arrest for securities fraud, investment fraud, and money laundering.”

Richie’s shoulders drooped, and he had nothing to say. Not one word. He extended his arms, and the cuffs were snapped on his wrists.

Click.

Click.

And the third
click
was from Chelsea’s camera. Abby had just won the megamillion-dollar jackpot.