Fatal Identity (5 page)

Marcie listened carefully, but nothing he said seemed to make any sense. She felt dizzy and weak, and there were swirling black spots in front of her eyes. She gripped the receiver so tightly, her knuckles were white, but she couldn't seem to stop shaking. Sam Abrams. She remembered meeting him once, a tall man with brown hair thinning on top, and the voice of a nineteenth-century orator. But now his voice sounded faint and tinny, as if it had stretched thinner with each passing mile of telephone wire, until it arrived in St. Cloud, Minnesota, a mere shadow of its former self.

His voice asked a question, the same question over and over. But there was no way she could answer. She looked up at Harriet, who was staring at her, and held out the phone.

Dimly, she heard Harriet's responses. Yes, they'd make all the arrangements. Someone would drive her home and help her pack. They'd personally see to it that she got on the plane. It was the least they could do, under the circumstances.

And then the phone was back in its cradle, even though she hadn't seen Harriet place it there. And Mr. Metcalf was bringing her a cup of coffee, and awkwardly patting her shoulder. It had to be a dream. Principals didn't bring coffee to teachers. It just wasn't done.

Someone helped her into her coat and boots, and guided her across the parking lot. Not her car, and it felt like her boots were on the wrong feet, but none of that mattered. And then she was inside her apartment, sitting on the couch with Shirley Whitford, while Harriet packed her suitcases.

The two-hour drive to the airport seemed to take only seconds, and then the stewardess was buckling her seatbelt. Moments later, she heard the pilot announce that they were flying over the Grand Canyon. There was a dinner tray on the pull-down table with roast beef, a baked potato, and some vegetables she didn't recognize. The clear plastic glass of red wine looked like blood, and she was glad when the stewardess took it away.

And then she was walking down a carpeted ramp, and Sam Abrams was there to hug her tightly. Only then, as the tears poured down her cheeks, did she finally believe that Mercedes was dead.

CHAPTER 3

The restaurant in the center of the airport complex was beautifully decorated in her favorite colors, but Marcie barely noticed. She felt as if someone had wrapped her in a shroud of gauze, dulling every one of her senses. She'd nodded mutely when Sam Abrams had suggested they have a bite to eat while they waited for her luggage to arrive. His voice filtered through her cocoon of gauze, explaining that her bags had been delayed at the airport in Minneapolis, and they were coming in on a later flight. He'd taken her arm to guide her along the path to the restaurant, but she'd barely felt his touch. And when he'd commented on the heady scent of the night-blooming jasmine that bordered the steps, she'd caught only a faint, faraway scent.
Insulation was one of the defense mechanisms.
Marcie remembered that phrase from one of her college psychology classes. Withdrawal was one way of coping with things that were just too painful to accept.

Marcie watched as the waitress poured her coffee, a rich brown stream from a silver pot, filling the bone white cup. She wasn't sure why she'd ordered coffee, since she'd preferred tea, but it was the first thing that had popped into her mind when the waitress had come to take their order. Perhaps it was an unconscious wish to bring Mercedes back.

Mercedes had been a coffee drinker, even in high school. When they'd double-dated, she'd insisted they go to Perkins in the Pines, where the waitresses always left a full carafe on the table, and refilled it whenever it was empty. Mercedes had claimed that coffee was a gift of the gods, since it had no calories and lots of caffeine. And just a year ago, when Marcie had come out to visit, she'd noticed that Mercedes drank at least two pots a day, steaming hot and freshly made. Rosa, her housekeeper, bought a special kind of coffee bean, French roast or espresso, and ground it fresh for each pot she made.

Marcie took a sip of her coffee and sighed. She hadn't liked it when Mercedes was alive, and she wasn't sure she liked it any better now.

“It's terrible, isn't it?”

The smile on Sam's face was sympathetic, and Marcie nodded, even though she wasn't sure whether he was referring to the coffee, or what had happened to Mercedes. It didn't really matter. Everything was terrible, now that Mercedes was dead.

Her hand was shaking, and she set her cup down very carefully in its matching saucer. Then she raised her eyes to look at Sam. The layers of gauze were lifting, and she wasn't sure she wanted that to happen. With the return of reality, would come the pain of loss.

Sam reached out and took her hands, holding them in both of his. Warmth began to come back to her fingertips, and Marcie sighed. Everything was coming back into focus, and she could see him clearly now. He was tall, but not quite as thin as she'd remembered him, and his curly brown hair was beginning to recede. Marcie wasn't certain how she knew, but she was sure that Sam's receding hairline didn't bother him in the slightest. He looked strong and capable, the image of a successful lawyer, a man that most people would immediately trust. And his eyes were the same brown as her coffee, deep and dark, with natural warmth.

“Better?”

Marcie nodded. Then she cleared her throat. She didn't want to know, but she had to ask. “How did . . . I mean, who was the one to . . . to . . .”

“Find her?”

Mercedes nodded gratefully as he finished the sentence for her. The question that had been hovering ominously in the back of her mind was out in the open now, where it could be answered. Not the twins! Anyone but the twins. It was horrifying to think of Trish and Rick finding their mother dead.

Sam seemed to read her mind, because he quickly set her fears to rest. “It's all right, Marcie. The twins didn't find her. When Rosa brought them home, she assumed that Mercedes was still at the studio. She put Trish and Rick to bed, and then she went out on the patio to sweep it. She did that every night. That's when she found Mercedes.”

Marcie nodded, greatly relieved, and asked the other question. “How did it . . . uh . . . happen?”

“It was an accidental drowning. Mercedes was swimming laps in the pool.”

“I know.” Marcie nodded, blinking back tears. “She always said that swimming was the only thing that kept her in shape.”

Sam squeezed her hands again. It was clear he didn't want to go on, but Marcie was looking at him expectantly. “Mercedes had been . . . drinking quite heavily. The police found an empty bottle of white wine on the cabana table. They think Mercedes got a cramp, and she wasn't alert enough to pull herself out of the water.”

“But . . .” Marcie struggled to find the words. “I know Mercy didn't drink very much. She said liquor had too many calories. And she was a very good swimmer. How could she just . . . drown?”

“Mercedes had been dieting for a scene in
Summer Heat
. And she drank the wine on an empty stomach. Add a cramp to the mix, and even a strong swimmer might panic and go under.”

Marcie nodded reluctantly. “I . . . I suppose you're right. Then, no one else was there?”

“No.” Sam squeezed her hands again. He knew she was thinking about her sister, alone in the water, crying out for someone to help her. Ever since Brad had called him, he'd been imagining the same thing. And several times, during his uneasy sleep, he'd had nightmares about Mercedes's beautiful face, distorted by terror, when she realized she was helpless and drowning. “Don't think about it, Marcie. It won't do any good. Just think about how we can help the twins.”

Marcie nodded and squared her shoulders. Dwelling on the terrible details of her sister's death wouldn't help to bring her back. The twins needed Marcie. She had to be strong for them. “You're right, Sam. I'm sorry. I just needed to know. How is Brad taking it?”

“Not very well.” Sam shook his head. “I think he's blaming himself.”

“But . . . why?”

“Because he wasn't home. He had a meeting with their horse trainer, and then he went to the racetrack. He told me he'd given Rosa some money to take the twins to a movie.”

Marcie nodded. “I see. But he couldn't have known. I mean . . . it's not his fault no one was there.”

“Of course not, but to top things off, he'd recommended the wine that Mercedes was drinking. He feels guilty about all those things. And I'm feeling guilty, too.”

“You?” Marcie looked up at him in surprise. “Why do
you
feel guilty?”

“Because Mercedes called me earlier. And I didn't realize that she'd been drinking. If I had, I could have gone up to the house and taken care of her until Brad or Rosa got home.”

“But that doesn't make any sense at all!” Marcie shook her head. “Mercedes was an actress. And I know she could act cold sober even when she wasn't. I remember one time in high school when we had warm gin at the lake and . . . but I shouldn't really talk about that.”

Sam smiled. “Don't worry, Marcie. You're not telling tales out of school. Mercedes loved to tell me stories about when she was growing up with you in Minnesota. She remembered it as the happiest time in her life.”

“Yes . . . it was.” Marcie smiled through her tears. “I'm so sorry we drifted apart. She was out here with her career and everything, and I was back there. And then she got married and had the babies, and I only saw her once or twice a year. We talked on the phone every week or so, but that's not the same as actually seeing each other.”

“You weren't close then?”

“That's just it.” Marcie sighed deeply. “We
were
close. But we lived in different worlds. She was a glamorous star and I . . . I was just a high school art teacher.”

Sam nodded. “I know exactly what you mean, Marcie. I used to be very close to my older brother, but we drifted apart, too. Now I only see him at the occasional family reunion.”

There was a long moment of silence. Sam knew Marcie was feeling bad, so he deliberately broke into her reverie. “You were about to tell me about the warm gin at the lake?”

“Yes.” Marcie smiled as she remembered that night so long ago. “Did Mercedes tell you we drank that gin with beer chasers?”

“Beer chasers?!”

Marcie actually laughed at the incredulous expression on Sam's face, but then she turned solemn. “Do you think it's right, talking about Mercedes like this? It feels almost disrespectful.”

“It's not.” Sam looked very serious. “I think talking about Mercedes is the very best thing we can do. It'll keep her alive in our hearts.”

Marcie smiled through her tears. “Oh, Sam! That was beautiful! And I . . . I think you're right. It would certainly make me feel better to tell you all the old stories about her.”

“So . . . ?” Sam smiled back. “Tell me about the gin with beer chasers. Mercedes didn't mention the beer.”

“I think I can understand why she left that part out. It was pretty dreadful. But we were just kids back then, and we were experimenting. Mercedes had just finished reading a book about Denmark, and it mentioned that the Danes toasted with Akavit, followed by beer chasers. We didn't know what Akavit was but there was a picture, and we thought it looked like gin.”

“And where did you get the gin?”

Marcie looked very guilty. “We found it in the back of our parents' liquor cabinet. To be perfectly honest, I was the one who suggested we pour out half, and fill the bottle up with water. We knew Mom and Dad never drank gin, and we figured their friends would never embarrass them by asking if it was watered.”

“Ah ha!” Sam grinned at her. “Premeditated deception. How did you get the beer?”

“That was easy.” Marcie smiled, lost in her memory of happier times. “Our neighbors used to have a barbecue every Wednesday night, and they kept the beer in a big tub of ice by the hedge. Mercy and I reached through the branches and pulled out bottles until we'd collected a six-pack.”

“All the same brand?”

“Oh, no.” Marcie looked shocked. “We were afraid they'd be missed if we took a whole six-pack of the same brand. We got two bottles of Hamms, two of Grain Belt, one North Star, and a Cold Spring Dark.”

“Ver y smart. How did you get it out to the lake?”

“We hid the beer and gin in an old suitcase, and then we waited until we went out to our lake cabin. We stashed the bottles in an old bait bucket, and that night we sat out on the end of the dock and toasted everybody we could think of.”

“How much did you drink?” Sam winced a little.

“I was a lightweight. I had two sips of gin and a bottle of beer. Then I stopped, because my head was spinning. But Mercedes kept right on drinking until the beer ran out.”

“And your parents were waiting up for you?”

“That's right.” Marcie smiled fondly. “Mercedes saved me. She told them I had to go straight to our room to put lotion on my mosquito bites.”

“They believed it?”

“Of course. We have billions of mosquitos in Minnesota. The mosquito is practically the state bird.”

Sam choked on his coffee, and Marcie glanced at him in surprise. She hadn't thought she was being funny. “Anyway, Mercedes talked to our parents for a good fifteen minutes. Then she came to bed and passed out cold in all her clothes.”

“She must have been sick the next morning.”

Marcie laughed. “Not a bit, but she couldn't remember anything after the second bottle of beer. Our parents never asked us whether we'd been drinking so I guess she pulled it off.”

“She was remarkable, wasn't she?”

“She certainly was!” Marcie nodded. “What was she like when you met her, Sam? I was in college back then.”

Sam told her about the first time he'd met Mercedes, right before she'd married Mike. Then Marcie told him about their senior play, and how Mercedes had stolen the show. They talked about Mercedes all through dinner, trading stories and actually laughing at the funny things they remembered. Marcie had just finished telling him about the time Mercedes had accepted two dates for the same night, and conned Marcie into pretending to be her so she could be two places at once, when she realized that Sam was staring at her in surprise. “What's the matter, Sam? Don't you believe me?”

“Of course, I believe you.” Sam looked dubious as he stared at her. “Was it a blind date?”

Marcie laughed. “No, it wasn't a blind date. And he wasn't blind either, if that's what you mean. Mercedes and I are identical twins. We used to switch places and fool people all the time, even people who knew us well.”

Marcie could tell that Sam still wasn't convinced, but she let it pass. She knew she didn't look like her twin now, not in the simply tailored blouse and skirt she'd worn to school. Mercedes had dressed in glamorous clothes, and her hair and makeup were always perfect. A high school teacher in St. Cloud, Minnesota, couldn't look like a fashion plate. If she did, she'd be accused of putting on airs.

“I'm glad you enjoyed your dinner.”

Sam was grinning, and Marcie looked down at her empty plate in surprise. She'd eaten every bite of her dinner, and she'd told Sam she wasn't hungry!

“I guess I was hungry, after all.” Marcie gave a little shrug of apology. “Thank you, Sam. I'm so glad you met me at the airport.”

They shared a smile as Marcie reached for another crusty French roll. She felt much better. Sam had been right. Talking about Mercedes had helped. She was very grateful to him for helping her through these first difficult hours.

They shared a sinfully rich chocolate dessert, which Marcie claimed she didn't need and Sam insisted she did. And then they went to pick up her suitcases at the baggage carousel. But Marcie's suitcases weren't there.