Doublecrossed, p.12
Doublecrossed, page 12
I refused to ask, partly because I was afraid to know, and partly because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
Chapter Sixteen
MY BROTHER WAS on his third beer, and I was halfway through my second when Marnie came home. She stored some food in the refrigerator.
“Did everything go okay at the bank?” my brother asked.
“Smooth. No problem. The home equity check is deposited in my checking account, so we’re in great shape.” She giggled. “And I have a wonderful treat!” Marnie went into the garage and returned with two bottles of Dom Pérignon. “One’s cold, the other will be shortly. We have to celebrate!” Without asking, she pulled two glasses from the cabinet and slowly released the cork.
Alex tossed off the last of his beer and accepted a glass. “Give Alex some. She’s paying for it.”
Marnie sighed and clucked at him. “Oh, my. I suppose you’re right. We must be hospitable.” She walked into the kitchen and returned with a third glass.
Alex stood, removed my beer bottle and the rest of the tape, and handed me my drink. Then he sat in my leather chair, nestled the gun next to his thigh, and made a toast. “To Alexandra! May she rest in peace!” He chuckled at his joke.
I hesitated, not wishing to toast my demise, but finally took a swallow.
“So, dear sister, we need to reduce the cash in your brokerage account.”
“I have her checks right here,” Marnie said. “Thought they were hidden in your files, didn’t you?” she asked me. “Well, I found them.”
“Excellent!” my brother told her.
My hopes plummeted. They could access all the cash and the money from the stock sales and, if they were clever enough, tap into the on-margin account. If they ran an overdraft, however, my broker would certainly become alarmed and telephone or, at the least, stop any activity until he spoke with me.
“Remember what we talked about?” Marnie reminded my brother. “Buying something expensive using checks drawn on Alex’s account and then selling it later for cash?”
My brother nodded. “Yeah, as a matter of fact I got in touch with two diamond dealers. We’re all set.” He sipped the Champagne, his face wreathed in appreciation. “Damn, this is fine! I have to give the French credit. None of that sparkling wine garbage. How about some more, Marnie?”
After she refilled their glasses, he continued. “Ah, diamonds. They’re small, easy to transport, and negotiable. I doubt the first dealer will look closely at my ID if the check is good. I have an appointment to buy these diamonds this afternoon and the second batch in a few days. By the way, where does Alex keep her canceled checks?”
“In the desk in the bedroom.”
“Go get one so I can study how she writes the numbers. Alex can put in the dealers’ name and sign the checks. I’ll take the same pen with me and fill in the dollar amounts when I’m closing the deal.”
He gave me a pen, and I did as he said.
*
After Alex studied my writing, he gave Marnie the gun while he went to the bathroom. Upon his return, they escorted me there to freshen up. Unfortunately, Marnie kept guard so I had no opportunity to search for useful tools. Alex then bound me in the chair, adding duct tape around my wrists and rope around my feet. He inserted my driver’s license in his wallet to use at the bank’s drive-through, although they didn’t always ask for identification. Even if they did, there was no photo on the license, and Alex could easily pass a cursory examination. My brother seemed surprisingly sober as he left.
Marnie finished her Champagne and kept the second bottle chilling because Alex had been emphatic that she shouldn’t drink more. She walked outside to the delivery box and brought in several packages, which she carried to the coffee table. Marnie angled the revolver toward the wall, which was a relief, and began opening boxes using a pair of scissors. She moaned with pleasure, stood, and held up an expensive green silk suit.
“I’ll give you a fashion show!” She flung her jeans and blouse on the floor, stepping into the skirt, buttoning the jacket, and twirling around the room like a model. From another package, she removed a pair of chocolate-colored slingbacks that she tried on. “What do you think, Alex? Is this me?”
“Very nice, Marnie.”
“Is that all you can say? What great presents you gave me! I love presents.”
Two small packages were next. A man’s silver Rolex Submariner watch, which she admired and returned to the box, and then a woman’s gold Rolex, which Marnie gleefully slipped on her wrist.
“I’ve wanted one of these for ages. It’s a little loose, but once we’re out of the country, I’ll visit a jeweler.”
“Pretty flashy to wear in the meantime.” I decided to begin my strategy of dividing Marnie from my brother. “I doubt Alex will let you keep the watch.”
Marnie frowned. “He has nothing to say about it.” She went into the garage and returned with an enormous yellow suitcase with wheels and a pop-up handle. “Bought this a few days ago. I’ll use my old one too, and my overnight bag.”
“Three things to carry?” I shook my head. “Alex won’t go for that.”
“Well, I don’t intend on leaving all my clothes behind.”
“My brother likes to travel light. I imagine now more than ever.”
“Nonsense! He wouldn’t have let me buy this stuff if I couldn’t bring it.”
I could understand Marnie’s logic, but it was unlikely Alex meant for her to be so overloaded with luggage that she couldn’t handle it all at one time.
“It probably doesn’t matter. You won’t get far anyway.”
“Oh, enough already! Alex has everything under control. I’m not worried.”
“You should be. Where are you going?”
“None of your business,” Marnie snapped. “Let’s just say we plan to travel. I can’t wait.”
“You’ll have to wait if you need to sell the house.”
“We might not bother. Nice to have the money, but maybe it will take too long. Actually, I’m not sure what your brother intends to do.”
“He hasn’t shared his plans?” I asked. “Like what’s going to happen to me?”
Marnie snickered in a girlish manner that was annoying. “You’ll see.”
I surmised she didn’t know. “Don’t you realize we’re both in danger? My death has to be arranged, but he’ll get rid of you the second you aren’t useful.”
“Be quiet!” And with that she picked up the bandana from the floor and gagged me. “You can shut up for a while.”
I sat and did just that while Marnie paraded her new outfit down the catwalk of our living room. After she changed into her shorts and blouse, the doorbell rang. Marnie jumped and covered her mouth. The front door was across the living room and foyer from where I was sitting. If she opened the door, I was directly in sight.
There was a forceful knock. “Ms. Wyatt, this is the police.”
Marnie grabbed the Smith & Wesson, bent low, and slipped through the kitchen, probably to peek through the narrow window in the pantry, one that looked out on the entrance. I tried to yell and rock the chair, but the amount of noise I made with the gag was minimal.
The police rang the bell again and thumped on the door. I prayed they would come around to the deck and break in, but after a squawk from the patrol car, they left. Marnie waited a few minutes and then walked into the living room, looking pale but relieved.
“All gone,” she said. “Thank goodness.”
Jim Reilly’s handiwork. He must have reported our suspicious conversation. With a little luck, the police would return, particularly if they saw the black sedan in the drive later. I hoped they would be persistent and that Jim Reilly had impressed them with the gravity of the situation. I also hoped they had noticed the air-conditioning was on, which meant someone was in the house or would be soon.
*
Marnie went upstairs to access my portfolio online. When she entered the kitchen, she called my brother to warn him the stock sales hadn’t cleared and not to exceed the cash in my account. Then she spent several hours in the bedroom, probably cramming clothes into her suitcases. At one point, the matter of the air-conditioning occurred to her and she switched it off, turning on the living room’s ceiling fan instead. Eventually, she made sandwiches and removed the bandana so I could eat. I felt really foolish being fed, though I was glad to have something in my stomach. Despite the police visit, Marnie seemed chipper.
“I think I’ll take some of your mother’s jewelry,” she said brightly.
“Come on, Marnie. Those pieces have special meaning to me, you know that.”
“I don’t think what you want matters, do you? In the overall scheme of things? And, anyway, your brother would probably like the jewelry.”
“I doubt he intends to wear her pearls any time soon.”
Her attention was now on this newest enterprise. Marnie trotted into the bedroom and came out with my rosewood jewelry box, tipping its contents onto the coffee table. With a careless finger, she picked through the costume items and set aside my grandmother’s diamond ring, some gold bracelets and necklaces, my mother’s rings, and her strand of Mikimoto pearls. The most expensive items were scooped into a plastic sandwich bag.
*
By early evening, Marnie announced she had almost finished packing, though a trace of uncertainty accompanied this statement. We were in the living room, staring at each other, when we heard Alex return. This time, he drove the car into the windowless garage. With the lights and air-conditioning off and the blinds drawn, the police would assume the house was empty and probably wouldn’t knock again unless Jim Reilly persisted. I wasn’t sure he would.
Alex had a big smile on his face when he entered the room. “Boy, did we strike it rich! They gave me nine cut diamonds and never asked for ID because a friend had vouched for me. I’ll pick up the other stones from the second dealer on Wednesday. Also cashed your check for you, Sis.”
“I want to see the diamonds!” Marnie was excited.
Alex took a small manila packet from his shirt pocket and waved it in the air. “Got them right here.” He poured the gemstones carefully into the palm of his hand and pinched one between his thumb and forefinger. Even in the dull light, it sparkled.
“Wow!” Marnie’s eyes gleamed almost as much as the diamond. “Can I hold them?”
“Nope. They stay right here on me,” Alex replied. “For safekeeping.” He returned the gems to the envelope.
She pouted. “You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone. Besides, you don’t want to get caught with these, do you? And take off that Rolex. It has to be in perfect condition when we sell it.”
Marnie scowled at him, stared lovingly at the watch, and unclasped it from her wrist.
Chapter Seventeen
ALEX OPENED the second bottle of Champagne to celebrate. I could hear Marnie and my brother in the kitchen, discussing the price and quality of the diamonds. He had apparently heeded her advice and only spent some of the cash. Most likely, more money would be available tomorrow, and the bonds and mutual funds remained. I was fairly positive my broker would balk at any additional online orders to liquidate those holdings after the unusual request for money to buy the vacation house—or not without a discussion. Alex was smart enough to realize this and probably wouldn’t press his luck. On the other hand, my broker had already responded to Alex’s previous e-mail directions.
As I stewed over this, Marnie informed Alex about the police visit. He wasn’t pleased and immediately decided to speed up their schedule. He warned Marnie about standing in front of the windows where she could be seen from the road. A few minutes later, when they began to cook pasta, throwing in tomatoes, garlic, olives, celery, and other leftovers, they seemed amused about sneaking around to stay out of sight, or perhaps their mood was because of the Dom Pérignon. They ate dinner in the dining room and then brought a plate in for me, serving the pasta cold, fork by fork.
About 7:45, the phone rang, startling us all. Marnie let the machine pick up, though we could hear the message. It was the police department. For Alexandra Wyatt. They reported their visit to the house and said they wanted to speak to me as soon as possible. A number and the officer’s name were left.
I felt deflated since this meant they were unlikely to make another house call tonight. I was tired of sitting in the chair and tired of being tied. My back ached and I desperately needed to stretch my cramped body. It didn’t help my mood that Alex and Marnie were in the dining room, drinking wine and eating popcorn while discussing the house sale. Marnie wanted to wait and sell it; Alex countered with the obvious: the police were alerted and would be distrustful if anything irregular occurred, especially if I died “accidentally,” which would be necessary so Marnie could inherit the house. But what if Alex was concocting a different scenario wherein Marnie would be blamed for my death, and her plan to rob my estate would be exposed, thus nullifying her claim? He could wait a short time before swooping in as my long-lost brother, who had survived in Africa, unbeknownst to me, and had only recently returned to America and learned of my tragic death. He then could insist the estate was his. He probably possessed identification in his real name, made by his shady contacts, and his appearance would clinch his fraternal assertion.
I thought about this and decided there was no guarantee a judge would honor his request because Cope was a legitimate second beneficiary on my original will and, of course, first beneficiary on my revised will. Even if Reilly had ripped up the newer one, Marnie knew about Cope months ago when we created our legal documents. She would have informed Alex of every detail, so regardless if Alex deleted Marnie from the equation, Cope was still blocking his path. However, if my brother murdered Marnie and then me, Cope would have no inkling of Alex’s connection to Marnie, and, being an honorable woman, she might agree to give him some of the estate. Or—even more horrible to imagine—Alex could fly to San Francisco and dispatch Cope, leaving three dead women, and no one who could incriminate him. Marnie’s death would need to precede mine by a few days and be properly documented by the authorities so her estate would legally revert to me prior to my death. With no legal beneficiaries in my will still alive, the state would decide whether my brother was my legitimate heir. It would take a lot of time and expense, but he might prevail. Or he could abscond with the money he already had—probably the safest solution.
About ten, Alex came in to see whether I needed to use the toilet, which I did. He untied me and, with Marnie in tow, pushed me into the semi-dark bathroom. I brushed my teeth and washed my face. Even in the low light, I was startled at how drawn and weary I looked. For the hundredth time, I cursed myself for returning into the house instead of escaping. Had I been stupider then or in February when I fell for Marnie?
Alex seemed worse for the drink, as did Marnie, who stumbled as she led me to the chair. The gag, duct tape, and ropes were replaced, but not the binding at my feet. As fatigued as I was, this gave me hope. Since they couldn’t risk turning on the television, the two of them were soon bored and went to bed. I gave them an hour, as best as I could judge, and tried to do my turtle act again. Whether due to the way I was tied or my fatigue, I could only sidle the chair a few feet. I looked for something sharp on the adjacent bookcase, but everything useful had been moved.
I must have dozed for several hours. From my new position, I could make out the time on the kitchen wall clock: 3:10 a.m. My energy slightly renewed from my nap, I began inching the chair forward, hoping to find a tool in the dining room. Frustrated with my slow progress, I tried to stand with the chair balanced on my back. After a few steps, I staggered and pitched sideways, crashing onto the floor, and narrowly missed banging my head on the coffee table.
Alex rushed into the room with the gun. When he saw my predicament, he laughed, put the revolver on the table, and came over to right the chair with me in it. He removed the gag.
“Pretty dumb, Alex,” he whispered. “I didn’t think you were so clumsy.”
“I had a bad dream,” I replied with irritation. “Someone was tying me to a chair and robbing me.”
He shook his head. “No one is robbing you. I’m just getting back what you owe me.”
“Let’s not go through that again.”
Alex sat down, looked at me, and stroked his chin. I couldn’t see his expression well, even with the ambient glow from the skylights, but I sensed a subtle change. The night was very still, except for the whir of the fan overhead, yet his silence had a loudness that palpitated in the air between us. Then, in a wistful voice, he whispered, “It’s been a long time.”
I didn’t know how to respond because I wasn’t sure where he was going with the conversation. Alex had always been like that, ideas or statements coming out of the blue. When we were young, sometimes I intuitively understood him; as he grew older, I understood far less.
“Fourteen years. A lot has happened.”
He was quiet, with his eyes closed, so I thought he might be asleep. Suddenly, he stared at me. “So, tell me about Mother.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did she try to learn what happened to me?”
“Yes, of course. She called the ambassador and all sorts of people. She was told you were missing and presumed dead from a lion attack.”
“Missing and presumed dead? That’s a laugh.” But he wasn’t laughing. He seemed downcast, almost morose. “How did she die?”
“She had a small stroke first. That changed everything immediately.”
“When?”
“A month after I returned from Africa. I don’t know what brought it on, but Mom was really upset about you and about our father’s death. The stroke forced her to use a walker and impaired her speech, but we managed with the help of an aide and some of her friends. I came home from college on weekends. Then, as I was packing to leave school at the end of my junior year, she had another stroke. After the hospital, she went into rehabilitation for a month. When she was released, she was a little better. Mom could use her left hand to feed herself and to scrawl a few words, but her right side was paralyzed. I spent the summer at home, and in August, she had a third stroke and needed full-time care. I wanted to stay with her, but she had already made me promise to finish at Bard. I moved her into a nursing facility near campus and sold her house.”
