Missing Marlene

Greenberg walked with Jane to her car. She sensed that he wanted to say something to her. When she put her hand on the door handle, he finally spoke.

“Your nanny, Marlene . . . Did she get along with Gil?”

She frowned slightly. “Until they broke up, you mean. I really don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“He’s a violent man. A violent man with a wild, wicked temper. I wanted you to know exactly what kind of character we’re dealing with here.”

“You mean . . . Oh my God . . .” Jane’s jaw dropped, and a violent shiver shook her. “You don’t mean he might have
killed
Marlene!”

“I didn’t say that. But we owe it to the girl to track her down as quickly as possible. You should follow every lead you’ve got. Keep us posted on anything that might help us. And as I said, we’ll ask some questions, see what we can find out.”

Jane was lost in a terrible mist of fear, as if reality had just been pulled out from under her. She got into her car, started it, and waved to Detective Greenberg as she glided out of the station parking lot, now uniformly dark with rain.

Marlene and Gil had quarreled violently, according to Helen. Whose idea had it been to break up, Marlene’s or Gil’s? If it had been Marlene’s idea, could it have been because she’d been seeing another man? That would have maddened the hot-tempered Gil. Had his fury built until he was driven to punish her for abandoning him?

The branches of the trees looming over Packer Road whipped and swayed in the rising wind, as if trying to convey a terrible message to Jane....

Books by Evan Marshall

 

 

MISSING MARLENE
HANGING HANNAH

 

 

Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

Kensington Books

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents
SEARCHING FOR MARLENE
Also by
Title Page

Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOOK YOUR PLACE ON OUR WEBSITE AND MAKE THE READING CONNECTION!
Copyright Page

Special thanks to my editor, John Scognamiglio,
as insightful and supportive an editor as any
writer could wish for; and to my agent, Maureen
Walters of Curtis Brown, Ltd., an agent’s agent
in every sense.

Everyone sees you as you appear to be,
few realize what you really are.

 

—Niccolò Machiavelli
The Prince

“So get rid of the dog,” Jane said, drumming her pen on the desk. She checked her watch: 3:07. She’d been on the phone with Rosemary Davis for at least forty-five minutes, and the conversation showed no sign of ending soon.

“But he’s an integral part of the book,” Rosemary whined.

Jane’s patience had run out. “Rosemary, look. This is the only offer we have, and they’re only interested in publishing the book if you’ll deep-six the dog. It’s up to you. Do you want the deal or not?”

There was a long silence. Then Jane heard Rosemary slowly draw in her breath. “I’ll have to think about it,” Rosemary said, calmer now. “Can I get back to you?”

“Of course. Sure. Let me know.”

As Jane put the phone down, Daniel appeared in the doorway. He looked concerned. “Line two. It’s the secretary at Nick’s school.”

Nick’s school? Nick and Marlene should have been home by now. Jane picked up the phone. “Jane Stuart.”

“Mrs. Stuart, this is Mrs. Glenn at Hillmont. Are you aware that Nicholas is still here?”

“Still there? Didn’t Marlene come?”

“Well, obviously not.”

“Has she called you?”

“No.”

“All right, I’ll be right there.” Jane hung up, shaking her head.

“Is Nick all right?” Daniel asked.

“He’s fine.” She grabbed her coat, purse, and briefcase. “But Marlene’s not going to be. I don’t know if I’ll be back today.”

She hurried out the back door of the office to her car, drove through the alley to Center Street, and followed it around three sides of the village green, whose towering oaks blazed scarlet and gold against a cloudless October sky. At the far end of the green she turned onto Packer Road, which would ultimately take her to Nick’s school across Shady Hills.

Within a few moments she had reached the railroad crossing. A police car blocked the tracks. She recognized the officer in the car as Jimmy Mooney, whose parents had owned the butcher shop on the green before they retired to Arizona. Jimmy got out of his car and sauntered over to Jane’s car. She rolled down her window.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Stuart. Afraid you can’t cross. Train derailed.”

“When?”

“About six this morning.”

“How did it happen?”

“Kids, probably, putting junk on the rails. Nobody hurt. The repair vehicles are still using the tracks. You’ll need to take the other way around.”

With a weary sigh, Jane nodded and turned the car around.

At three-forty-five, a full hour after dismissal, she walked into the school office. Nick sat at a small table near the door. He wore his puffy blue down coat and was coloring. He looked up, his dark brown eyes bright with anger.

“Mo-o-o-om ...”

Across the office, laconic Mrs. Glenn sat at her desk, coat buttoned, purse before her. As soon as she saw Jane, she rose to leave.

“I’m so sorry,” Jane said. “I don’t know what happened to Marlene.”

“It’s okay,” Mrs. Glenn said dryly, and trotted out.

Jane and Nick followed her.

“Mom, what the hell happened?”

“Watch your mouth, please.”

“Where’s Marlene?”

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

They drove home in silence along roads that twisted through the wooded hills for which the northern New Jersey village had been named. Finally they started up their street, Lilac Way, the car’s tires crunching through a thick carpet of fallen leaves. As they crested the hill just before their house, Nick sat up straight. “Mom, look.”

Through the break in the six-foot holly hedge that surrounded the house, Jane could see the old dark blue Corolla that Marlene used sitting in the driveway.

Jane parked behind the Corolla, and she and Nick walked up the flagstone path to the front door of the chocolate brown chalet-style house. As soon as she unlocked it, Nick burst past her to the family room. The TV roared to life. This was what she had been keeping him from.

“Marlene!” Jane called from the foyer.

No answer.

She hurried upstairs and along the narrow hall to Marlene’s room at the end. The door was closed. She knocked, opened the door, and drew in her breath sharply.

The room was empty. The bed was made, the lamp and the H
mmel figurines on the dresser were neatly arranged, and Marlene’s belongings were gone—the jumble of makeup and jewelry on the night table, the ever-present heap of dirty clothes on the floor. Jane opened the closet. It was bare of all but the hangers.

She hurried downstairs to the kitchen. If Marlene had written a note, she would have left it there. But the counters were bare.

Jane sat on one of the counter stools, trying to control her rage. To leave without a word! Not that Jane wasn’t secretly relieved. Marlene was a terrible nanny.

Trouble was, she was also the daughter of Jane’s oldest friend.

Jane had known Ivy Benson, Marlene’s mother, since Jane and Ivy were roommates at the University of Detroit eighteen years before. It was Ivy who had proposed Marlene as Nick’s nanny. That was two months ago, in August. Tina, who’d taken care of Nick for three years, since he was six, had left suddenly to care for her dying mother.

When Jane told Ivy of her predicament, Ivy suggested Marlene. Marlene had graduated from high school the year before. She had been offered a scholarship by a college to study acting, but at the last minute she had changed her mind and refused to go. Instead she was hanging out with a tough crowd in Detroit, where she and Ivy lived.

Jane questioned the wisdom of hiring friends. Moreover, she hadn’t seen Marlene in twelve years. On the two occasions that Jane had visited Ivy in Detroit, Marlene had been in Fort Lauderdale visiting her father, Ira, whom Ivy had divorced when Marlene was two.

But Ivy begged Jane. Marlene needed this opportunity. Who better to care for Nick than the daughter of his mother’s oldest friend?

Reluctantly Jane agreed, and from the day Marlene arrived in New Jersey, Jane knew she’d made a mistake. Marlene was far too self-involved to be charged with the welfare of another person—though it occurred to Jane that if she looked like Marlene, she might be self-involved, too. Marlene had grown into an exquisite beauty, with a petite yet voluptuous figure; silky, waist-length silver-blond hair; and a delicate patrician face set with startling indigo eyes and a pouting, sensuously dow-ntumed mouth.

Marlene performed her duties, but without interest or enthusiasm, apparently living for the evenings, when she would go out and return long after Jane and Nick had gone to bed.

Jane had decided that Nick deserved better. She would give Marlene a decent trial period—say, three months—then tell Ivy it just wasn’t working out.

But now Marlene had solved the problem herself—though to leave without notice was inexcusable.

Ivy would have to know. She would still be at the insurance agency where she worked as a secretary. Jane punched out the number, full of self-righteous outrage.

Ivy answered on the first ring. “Basford Insurance. Ivy Benson speaking. How may I help you?”

“Ivy, it’s Jane.”

“Jane, hi.” Ivy’s tone was guarded. “Is everything all right?”

“Marlene’s gone.”

“
Gone
? What do you mean?” Ivy lowered her voice, undoubtedly to avoid being overhead by her cubicle neighbors.

“She never picked Nick up at school today. When we got home she was gone. Took all her stuff. I’m damn disgusted.”

“Jane, there’s got to be some mistake. Marlene wouldn’t just leave. She loved it there.”

“Obviously she didn’t. Did she say anything to you about leaving?”

“No.”

“Well, I guess there’s nothing to be done about it. I’ll have to find someone new right away, which I don’t appreciate, I can tell you. She could have at least given me some notice. I’d have expected
that
from a stranger.”

“Jane, listen. I’m sure Marlene will call one of us and clear this all up. Have you talked to any of her friends?”

“Ivy, Marlene never mentioned any of her friends. She kept her social life completely separate.”

“What about Zena? She’ll know where Marlene is. Maybe Marlene is even with her.”

“Who the hell is Zena?”

“Zena Harmon, Marlene’s best friend from here in Detroit. Marlene must have mentioned
her.”

“No.”

“Zena grew up around the corner from us. She and Marlene have been friends since they were little girls. They both went east at the same time.”

“And where is this Zena?”

“New York City. She’s studying fashion design at FIT. That’s the Fashion Institute of Technology.”

“I know what it is, Ivy. Have you got Zena’s number?”

“No, I’ll get it from her parents. Don’t worry, Jane. We’ll find Marlene and make her go back to you.”

“I don’t want her back, Ivy.”

“What do you mean, you don’t want her back? It’s her
job
. It’s her
responsibility
.”

“Tell me about it. But she’s no good at it. I . . . didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Well, you haven’t given her much of a chance, have you? She’s only been there two months.”

“I knew it the day she arrived. She’s got an attitude. She’s . . . sullen. Sometimes I’d call her, and she wouldn’t even answer.”

“That doesn’t sound like her. She must not have been happy. Though she certainly said she was.”

“Because that’s what you wanted to hear.”

There was a brief silence. “I’ll get Zena’s number. You’re right—Marlene owed you at least some notice. I’m sorry.” There was muffled speaking; Ivy must have had the phone pressed to her chest. She came back on. “I have to go. I’ll call you.” She hung up.

Jane checked her watch. Four-thirty. Better think about dinner.

She called Giorgio’s, the Italian place down in the village that delivered, and ordered a sausage pizza, Nick’s favorite. Then she called Nannies Unlimited, the agency through which she’d found Tina. Pia Graven, the owner, remembered Jane and said she had several excellent candidates. She promised to set up some interviews immediately.

Nick wandered into the kitchen and stopped at the dishes of food and water he’d set out that morning for Winky, the five-year-old cat that was the light of his life. He stared down at the dishes on their garish red-and-blue vinyl Spider Man place mat, a puzzled frown on his face. Jane noticed that the dishes were nearly full.

“Mom, have you seen Winky?”

“No, honey, I haven’t. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.”

“She isn’t. I looked.”

That was all Jane needed—for Nick to lose his nanny
and
his cat on the same day.

“Do you think she’s outside?” he asked.

“No, of course not. You know she’s not allowed outside.” Too many neighborhood pets had vanished in the dark woods or been found mauled by wild animals to let Winky venture out of her pampered abode. “She’ll turn up.”

Nick thought for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod. “I’m hungry.”

“Pizza’s coming.”

“Yes! Mom, is Marlene coming back?”

“No, honey, she’s not.”
Not even if she wants to
.

“That’s good. I hate her.”

“You hate her! You never told me that.”

“Why would I? What would you have done about it?”

She stared at him, feeling a rush of guilt at having ignored his needs for Ivy and Marlene’s sake. Nick mattered more than anyone. He was all she had now. She grabbed him and hugged him tight.

“Ouch! Mom, cut it out!” He squirmed, scrunching up his face. He looked so much like Kenneth when he did that. She felt the lonely shiver that had become so familiar since Kenneth’s death two years ago. Would the feeling ever go away?

Reluctantly, she let Nick go. “Come on,” she said, “let’s go watch for the pizza man.”

At that moment they heard a scratching sound and stopped. It was coming from the back hall. Nick ran ahead of Jane through the kitchen. When they reached the hall, a loud plaintive meow came from behind the door to the garage. Nick threw open the door.

“Winky!”

The small tortoiseshell cat bounded into the house, glared at them, and let out an angry yowl.

Nick scooped her into his arms. “Winky, you bad, bad girl, what were you doing out there?” He slid a suspicious glance at Jane. “Mom, did you let her out when you went to work this morning? She must have been out there all day!”

Jane was always careful not to let Winky out when she opened the door to the garage, though she supposed it was possible the cat had slipped past her.

“If I did,” Jane said solemnly, “I’m terribly sorry.” She patted Winky’s mottled orange-and-black head. “Sorry, Wink.”

Suddenly Winky leaped from Nick’s arms, raced across the kitchen, and disappeared down the stairs to the basement, where her litter box resided.