Fatal Identity (32 page)

Everyone congratulated her as they walked through the waiting room and out to the parking lot. Marcie stopped by the only tree in sight, and Rosa took their picture. Then the new bride tossed her bouquet to Trish as she'd promised, and Kurt opened his trunk and took out a bottle of champagne, one of sparkling apple juice, and seven glasses. There were several short toasts, lots of hugs and kisses for the twins, and before Marcie knew it, she was sitting in the back seat of Kurt's car, heading for the airport.

“That wasn't so bad, was it?” Brad turned to smile at her as they hopped on the freeway.

“Not really.” Marcie sighed. “But I don't feel married. Maybe we should have asked for the ceremony in Spanish. Mrs. Chavez might have given it more
oomph
.”

Brad laughed and put his arm around her. That helped a little. She shut her eyes and told herself that the ceremony didn't matter. She was Brad's wife. That was the only thing that really counted.

In less than fifteen minutes, they were at the airport, and Kurt unloaded their luggage at curbside. Marcie felt a jolt of loneliness as they drove away. This wasn't right. There should have been rice, and a reception, and lots of friends to wish them well. She wasn't regretting the fact that she'd married Brad, but she couldn't help feeling as if their actual wedding ceremony had been a giant mistake.

“Stay right here, honey.” Brad smiled at her. “I'm going to get a skycap.”

Marcie watched as he hurried inside the terminal. There must have been a baggage handler waiting just inside, because Brad was back almost immediately.

“Come on, darling. He'll make sure our luggage gets on the plane. Let's go.”

Marcie nodded and took Brad's arm. But they passed the entrance to the terminal, and Brad kept on walking down the sidewalk. Marcie tugged at his arm. “Brad? Where are we going?”

“To the right terminal.” Brad grinned at her. “I didn't want anyone to know where we were going, so I had Kurt drop us off here. That'll throw them off the track.”

“But why?”

“Because I want to be alone with my lovely wife. And if no one knows where we're spending our honeymoon, no one can bother us.”

Marcie laughed. She was beginning to feel a lot better. “That was pretty sneaky. When are you going to tell me where we're going?”

“Not until we board the plane.” Brad glanced at his watch. “And that should be in less than fifteen minutes. We board first, because we're flying first-class.”

“At least I know we're not going overseas.” Marcie glanced at the signs as they walked past. “We just passed the international terminal.”

Brad grinned. “Maybe that's true, and maybe it isn't. International flights leave from other terminals, too. Close your eyes, honey. And hang on tight. I want this to be a total surprise.”

Marcie laughed and closed her eyes obediently. She loved surprises. She heard the
whoosh
of a door opening, and then she felt her stomach drop down to her toes. “An elevator?”

“That's right. Okay. You'll have to open your eyes now. We're going through the security check.”

It only took a moment to walk through the archway metal detector. Then Brad took her arm again, and led her to a door at the end of a long concourse.

“The V.I.P. lounge.” He opened the door and ushered her inside. “I reserved a table by the window.”

The moment they entered, a flight attendant greeted them with a smile. Brad handed her their tickets and she nodded. “Please follow me. They're boarding the first-class passengers now.”

Marcie and Brad followed her out another door and into the tunnel-like boarding ramp. Marcie had never experienced this kind of courtesy before. She'd always waited at a crowded gate, and joined a long line of passengers waiting to board the plane. Flying first class was very different, and she liked it much better.

“Congratulations!” The flight attendant who greeted them at the door to the plane was smiling. “Welcome to Island Air. We're very glad you're flying with us. We've arranged the first-class section for you.”

Marcie was thoroughly mystified. What did that mean? She glanced at Brad, but he just raised his eyebrows and smiled. Then the flight attendant pulled back the first-class curtain, and Marcie gasped. There were only two seats in the whole section, and they weren't like any airline seats she'd ever seen before!

“Come on, darling.” Brad led her into what looked like a small living room. “Which seat would you like?”

“I . . . uh . . . does it really matter?” Marcie giggled. Both seats were identical leather swivel chairs, flanking a round wooden table.

Brad shook his head. “I guess not. Here. Let me buckle you in.”

Marcie sat down and Brad clasped her seat belt. Then he sat down and buckled himself in.

“We're on the plane.” Marcie swiveled around to smile at him. “Can you tell me where we're going for our honeymoon
now?
”

Brad nodded. “Hawaii. You said you'd never been there, and I wanted to be the first to take you. Is it all right? It was the most romantic place I could think of.”

“It's perfect!” Marcie gave a happy little sigh as she envisioned white sandy beaches, and romantic nights under the sparkling stars of a tropical sky. “Are we staying in a big hotel?”

Brad shook his head. “I reserved a lovely little condo, where we can be completely alone. I want you all to myself.”

Just then the flight attendant pulled back the curtain and entered their section. She was carrying champagne in a silver bucket. “Would you like me to open it?”

“I'll do it.”

The stewardess left, and Brad took out the bottle of champagne. Just as he was preparing to uncork it, she came in again, carrying a tray with a silver domed cover. “Here's everything you ordered, sir. Will there be anything else?”

“Not right now.” Brad smiled at her. “We'll ring for you if we need you.”

The moment the flight attendant left, Marcie reached out to lift the silver cover. She gasped as she saw the crystal dish of caviar, and the basket of toast tips. “Oh, my! I always wanted to taste caviar.”

“You've never had it before?”

“No. They don't have it in St. Cloud, Minnesota.” Marcie started to grin. “Or if they do, they call it bait.”

Brad threw back his head and laughed. “That's one of the things I love about you, darling. You have a great sense of humor.”

Marcie watched while he poured two flutes of champagne. She recognized the name on the bottle. It was Dom Pérignon. Marcie had come out to visit when the twins were born, and Mike had opened a bottle to toast Mercedes that night in her private hospital room. When Marcie had asked, he'd told her it was the best champagne for a joyous occasion.

Brad poured two glasses and handed her one. Then he raised his glass in a toast. “To my wife. I love you, Marcie.”

“And I love you.” Marcie smiled at him. Her wedding had been disappointing, but her honeymoon was turning out to be wonderful. As she looked up into her husband's handsome face, Marcie was sure that this was the most joyous occasion of her life.

CHAPTER 26

Getting into Jerry's office was easy. The nurse had put his personal effects in the top drawer, and Beau had remembered that all Jerry's keys were color coded. Jerry had used a blue key for his condo, a gold key for his storage locker, and a red key for his office door. It hadn't taken long to drive to Jerry's office. It was only a few blocks from the hospital, and less than twenty minutes later, all three men were sitting around Jerry's desk, going through his client list.

“Sorry, guys. I didn't know there'd be so many clients.” Beau frowned as he paged through the list. “There must be a hundred names here, and I only know a few of them.”

“Tell me about the ones you know.” George took out his notebook again.

“Well . . . here's Robert Erne. He's a screenwriter. But I'm sure he's not Jerry's lover.”

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“He's not gay and he's single. No kids.”

“Put a check by his name.” George instructed him. “And tell us about the others you know.”

Beau put a check mark in front of Robert Erne's name and went down the list. “Harry Workman. He's been in the hospital for the past two months. There's no way he met Jerry in Aspen. Ira Levinson's at least seventy years old, and I know Jerry's lover was approximately his age, so he's out, too.”

One by one they went through the names, eliminating the ones who didn't fit, and copying others on another list of possibles. They were halfway through when Beau started to frown. “Here's Brad. But it couldn't be him. You said he passed that lie detector test. And I don't know any of the rest of these people, except for Leslie Alcan. And she's a woman.”

“Hold it.” George interrupted him. “My cell phone's ringing.”

George took out his phone and stared down at the number on the screen. He frowned, and then he said, “It's the hospital. I told them to page me if there was any change in Jerry's condition.”

Beau's face turned white as George answered the call, and Sam patted him on the shoulder. Both men stared at George's tense face, as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. It was impossible to tell what the message was by his monosyllabic replies. It could be bad news or good news. They had no way of knowing. But they both breathed a sigh of relief as George hung up and turned to them with a smile.

“Let's get over to the hospital.” George stood up and grabbed the list. “The nurse says Jerry's beginning to come out of his coma.”

 

 

Marcie was impressed as she walked through Brad's time-share condo. There was a lovely view of the ocean from the living room window, and the condo had its own stretch of private beach. They'd just finished unpacking their suitcases, and Brad had left to pick up some groceries.

The bedroom was in the rear of the building, and Marcie pulled open the sliding glass doors to the balcony. Their unit was on the ninth floor, and the large bedroom balcony overlooked a beautiful golf course. That gave Marcie an idea, and she hurried to the phone. She wanted to give Brad a wedding present, and she knew he was an avid golfer.

Ten minutes later, it was done. Marcie smiled as she imagined how surprised Brad would be when she gave him her present. Since Brad hadn't brought his golf clubs, she'd ordered a deluxe set for him with the advice of the club pro. She'd also reserved time for him on the course tomorrow, and the golf pro had promised to put together a foursome that he said would be challenging and fun.

Marcie picked up the notes she'd made, and stuck them into her purse. Brad would be delighted by her little surprise, especially since the golf pro had told her that this was one of the finest golf courses in the world. She was about to put the pencil she'd used into her purse as well, when she noticed that it was personalized.

Naturally, Marcie had assumed the pencil belonged to Brad. She'd picked it up from the floor in the bedroom, near the spot where he'd unpacked his suitcase. But now that she looked at it closely, she saw that this particular pencil was the kind teachers gave to their students in grade school. It was green, and it had a name stamped on the side in gold letters. Obviously, another person who'd used the time-share had dropped it. There was no way to know who that former occupant had been, since all she had was the first name. And a pencil certainly wasn't valuable enough to try to trace it back to its original owner.

Marcie shrugged and slipped it into her purse. You never knew when you might need a pencil. Then she walked back out onto the balcony, watched the golfers play on the lovely course below, and smiled happily as she thought of how delighted Brad would be with his wedding present.

 

 

Rosa frowned, as she told Rick to stop wiggling his foot for the fourth time in less than five minutes. When he was younger, he'd always wiggled his foot when he was nervous, but he hadn't done it for years. She turned to him with concern. “Something's bothering you, Rick. What is it?”

“He's worried about Aunt Marcie,” Trish explained. “I think it's because we don't know where she is.”

“And she hasn't called.” Rick nodded.

“I'm sure she'll call soon.” Rosa gave them a comforting smile. “She's probably gone out to dinner with Brad.”

Rick nodded. “I know, Rosa. But that's what we're worried about. You see, the only person with Aunt Marcie is Brad. What if he tries to hurt her? Sam's not there, and she wouldn't know . . .”

“. . . who to call.” Trish's voice was shaking. “We're scared, Rosa. We don't want anything bad to happen to Aunt Marcie!”

Rosa put her arms around both of them. “Uncle Brad won't hurt your aunt Marcie. He loves her. I think you're both just missing her, and imagining all sorts of bad things that'll never happen. How about some popcorn and some hot chocolate? And then we can watch that movie you wanted to see.”

“
Attack of the Killer Tomatoes?”
Rick looked hopeful. “But I thought you . . .”

“. . . didn't like that movie.” Trish began to grin. “You always said it was . . .”

“. . . totally ridiculous nonsense.” Rick finished the thought for her.

“Well, it is!” Rosa nodded and turned to Rick. “You put the popcorn in the microwave, and I'll make the hot chocolate. Trish can get the movie and put it in the machine. I think that a good dose of
Attack of the Killer Tomatoes
is just what we need to get our minds off our troubles. It's impossible to worry, if we're busy watching all that totally silly nonsense.”

 

 

Sam, Beau, and George were sitting in a booth at Harry's Haven, a twenty-four-hour coffee shop across the street from the hospital. All three of them looked glum as they sipped the coffee the waitress had brought them. Jerry had been so agitated when he'd come out of his coma, the doctor had given him a sedative. By the time they'd arrived at the hospital, Jerry had been sleeping, and the doctor had told them he wouldn't wake up for at least six hours.

“Is anybody hungry?” Sam passed Beau and George the menus that had been stashed behind the ketchup bottle on the table.

George nodded. “Yes, but I don't want to risk it. A coffee shop with coffee this bad can't have any good food.”

“Look on the bright side.” Beau attempted a smile. “If you come down with a case of food poisoning, you're just across the street from the hospital.”

George nodded. “I think that's why Harry built his restaurant here.”

“More coffee?” The waitress, a dyed redhead wearing bright pink lipstick and an orange uniform that was two sizes too small for her, approached their table with a coffeepot.

“No! Please!” Sam grinned at her. “Tell me . . . is there anything here that's safe to eat?”

The waitress shrugged. “Don't ask me. I bring my lunch from home. But the cook just cleaned the grill, and we got in eggs this morning, so I'd recommend the breakfast.”

“Ham and eggs?” Beau looked interested.

“No way.” The waitress shook her head and leaned a little closer. “The ham's awful. Harry buys that processed kind in the can, and the regulars don't order it, so it's been sitting in the cooler for at least three weeks. Don't get the sausage, either. The grease that cooks out of that stuff is orange.”

“How about the steak? You've got steak and eggs on the menu.” George pointed to the number-five breakfast.

“Uh-uh. I don't know what kind of animal they use for the steak, but it's sure not beef.”

Sam laughed. “Maybe we should take a tip from the regulars. What do they eat?”

“Cheese omelets with toast, and a side of hash browns. I've got a couple of guys that come in every morning, so I guess it must be okay.”

“That's what we'll have.” George decided for all three of them. “Do you have any strawberry jam?”

“Nope. All we got is berry. And it doesn't say what kind of berry it is. You want to try it?”

“Sure.” George nodded. “They can't mess up jam, can they?”

The waitress laughed. “I think they can. The regulars won't touch it. They order honey because it comes in those little packets, and it doesn't spoil.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded. “Honey for all of us. I don't suppose you have any decent coffee?”

“I can make a fresh pot and use two packets, but you'll have to pay double price. Harry figured it out one day. A packet of coffee with one refill for each cup serves five.”

“Harry counts the cups of coffee on the ticket?” Sam looked surprised. He'd heard of cutting costs, but that was going a bit too far.

“You bet.” The waitress nodded. “And if that doesn't match with the packets left, he docks us.”

“Don't worry. We'll pay double.” George nodded. “We wouldn't want you to get docked on our account.”

The waitress smiled. “Thanks. I wouldn't want to get fired over something like that. This is a real good job.”

“A real good job?” Beau looked at her in utter amazement.

“You bet! Harry's only hung up on the coffee. The last boss I had counted the french fries, too.”

As soon as the waitress left, Beau turned to Sam. “What time is it?”

“Ten-thirty. We've still got five and a half hours to go.”

“After we eat, maybe we should all go home and try to get some sleep.” George suggested.

Beau shook his head. “I couldn't sleep anyway. I'll stay at the hospital in Jerry's room. And I'll stop them if they try to give him another sedative. A brother's got that right, doesn't he?”

Sam shook his head. “Not unless you have his medical power of attorney. But I'll sack out in the waiting room, and you can call me. I'll snow them with some legalese.”

“I guess I might as well stay in the waiting room, too.” George sighed. “I have a feeling Jerry knows who murdered Mercedes, and I'm going to be right there when he wakes up.”

 

 

“Oh, I couldn't!” Marcie turned to Brad with a smile. They'd just finished dinner at a marvelous restaurant overlooking the ocean, and the waitress had wheeled the dessert cart to their table.

“Not even the cheesecake?”

“Well . . .” Marcie looked longingly at the chocolate cheesecake, dribbled with raspberry sauce. “Could we split a piece?”

Brad nodded. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

The cheesecake was just as delicious as it looked, and they ended up ordering another piece with two cups of espresso. Brad had a brandy, while Marcie sipped the last of her wine. Then Brad called for the check.

“What time is it?” Marcie asked. She hadn't worn her watch.

“It's early. Only nine o'clock. Are you tired?”

“Not exactly.” Marcie began to blush. “But I thought you might want to get back to the condo.”

Brad began to grin as he opened the folder the waitress had brought with his credit card slip. “That's the best idea I've heard all day. We'll open a bottle of champagne, toast each other and . . . damn!”

“What's the matter?”

“Our waitress forgot to bring a pen. And I didn't bring one with me.”

“I've got a pencil,” Marcie offered. She opened her purse, pulled out the personalized pencil, and held it up for him to see.

“Where did you get
that!?
”

“I found it. Someone named Jimmy must have stayed in the condo, because his name is stamped on the side in gold letters. At first I thought I'd call the time-share company and offer to return it, but I figured that since it's just a . . .” Marcie's voice trailed off. Brad looked very strange. His face had turned white, his hands were trembling, and his eyes were cold as he stared at her. “What's the matter, darling?”

“It's mine!” Brad grabbed the pencil and stuck it in his pocket. “Where did you find it?”

Marcie felt a twinge of alarm. Brad looked very upset. “On the floor by the dresser. I'm sorry, Brad. I would have asked you, but I had no idea it was yours.”

Marcie watched as Brad struggled for control. Some of the color came back to his face, and he gave an apologetic smile.

“I'm sorry, Marcie. It's just that . . . uh . . . this is my good luck pencil. I use it to sign all my big deals, and I never go anywhere without it. I know it's silly, but I panicked when I saw that you had it.”

Marcie was still confused, and more than a little frightened. Brad had seemed like a different person when he'd grabbed for the pencil. She knew that some people were very attached to their good luck charms. Shirley Whitford carried a rabbit's foot on her key ring, and Harriet Scharf had once admitted she burned green candles for luck. But she'd had no idea that Brad was so superstitious.