If She Only Knew (33 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: If She Only Knew
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She walked back to the suite and closed the door behind her. As she did she heard Tom's footsteps pound down the stairs. She tried Alex's door. Of course, it was locked. Again. Why? She drummed her fingers on the doorknob, then on inspiration, walked outside the suite down the hallway and tried the door to the office that opened to the corridor. It didn't budge. But she'd seen Eugenia open it the other night when she'd been lying on the floor thinking she was going to choke to death.
Someone had taken the trouble to lock it again.
So you'll just have to devise a means to unlock it. By hook or by crook. Whatever it took.
Marla made her way around the railing to the spot where she'd vomited nearly a week earlier. Kneeling, she ran her fingers over the short pile of the carpet. It was bone dry; the stain had been washed away until it had disappeared.
Had someone—the intruder if he existed—poisoned her, caused her to lose the contents of her stomach? She rocked back on her heels. Tom had told her he'd given her triazolam, a drug she'd never heard of. She stood, leaning on the railing and glared at the locked door to Alex's office. Something important was hidden inside. Otherwise the damned thing wouldn't be locked.
So she had to get in.
On quiet footsteps, Marla took the stairs down to the second floor, heard the maid vacuuming in the library, then, cautiously she crept into her mother-in-law's suite. Nervously she closed the door behind her and didn't bother with any lights, letting the sunlight filtering through the curtains be her guide and telling herself that she really wasn't trespassing. This was her home. She had the right to know what went on within these hundred-year-old walls.
The other night Eugenia had extracted the key to Alex's office from her jacket pocket—a navy blue jacket. Maybe it was still there.
Fat chance. It's been five days, remember?
Carefully Marla eased the door to the closet open and stepped inside. She snapped on the light and quickly scanned the cedarlined room. Each of her mother-in-law's outfits was neatly hung on double rails, arranged by color, jackets above, skirts below, matching shoes in cubbyholes near the floor. Marla worked quickly, her fingers damp with sweat as she reached inside the pocket of each jacket—navy blue to flaming orange—and came up with ticket stubs, hankies, a few coins, anything Eugenia had absently left.
But no keys.
“Damn,” Marla grumbled, realizing the key to Alex's office was probably on the woman right now, somewhere down at Cahill House wherever the hell that was. Nonetheless she started searching the handbags. Furiously she unclasped each and every one and again she came up empty. The closet was hot, stuffy and she was about to leave when she heard the door to Eugenia's room open. Her heart froze. How could she explain herself if she was found out? She flipped off the light and slowly backed up, parting the clothes and stepping onto the top of the cubby before forcing the garments back together and pulling a plastic-encased gown in front of her. She nearly jumped when she heard the vacuum roar to life. Slowly, tediously, the maid cleaned Eugenia's room. Marla held her breath. Maybe the maid wouldn't come into the closet, maybe Marla would get lucky, maybe—oh damn.
There was a pause in the hum of the motor and the door opened, spilling in a shaft of light. Marla didn't move a muscle as the girl pushed the vacuum cleaner into the tight little room, the roar of the machine nearly deafening. The overhead light flashed on. Marla pressed back against the wall and realized that her cover, the plastic bag she'd found in the rear of the closet was yellowed, the gauzy, beaded white dress inside probably Eugenia's ancient wedding gown.
Closing her eyes, she waited as the machine bumped against the cubby on which she stood, jarring her bones. She didn't dare breathe. How long could it take to vacuum a damned closet? Suddenly the machine was switched off.
“What?” the maid called loudly.
Through the crack between a long dressing gown and the plastic cover Marla saw the maid turn her head toward the door. She was a small Hispanic girl by the name of Rosa, a tiny thing who didn't say a lot as her English was poor at best. Abandoning her idle machine, Rosa stepped into Eugenia's bedroom.
“Ah, Señora Cahill,
si, si.
”
Then Eugenia's voice. “Please, can't you do this later?”
Oh, God, what now? How could Marla explain what she was doing in her mother-in-law's private quarters? Sweat dotted her forehead and ran down her spine and her heart was thumping wildly.
“I need to lie down,” Eugenia explained.
“
Si, si, I come back luego. Later.
”
“And Rosa, please, have Carmen call me when the guests arrive. The Reverend and Mrs. Favier will be here in a while.”
The Reverend and . . . then Marla remembered. Alex's cousin Cherise and her husband had been scheduled to visit with her but Marla had been bedridden that day. Because of the damned drugs.
She strained to hear the rest of the conversation. When were Cherise and her husband scheduled to show up? Somehow Marla had to escape from the closet without anyone knowing she'd been inside. Before the guests arrived.
Sweat began to run down her arms.
Rosa retrieved the vacuum, then hurried away. Marla didn't move, didn't dare step down and a few seconds later she saw her mother-in-law walk into the closet, remove her navy blue jacket and hang it on a rack on the opposite side from Marla's hiding spot. Eugenia kicked off her high heels and set them directly under the jacket, then shrugged out of her blouse and stepped out of her skirt, leaving her in a lacy slip and panty hose. Wearily Eugenia snapped off the light and closed the door behind her.
Marla let out her breath, hoping beyond hope that no one was looking for her, that she find a means of escape before she was missed.
Slow as death, the minutes ticked by and Marla waited, mentally counting off a quarter of an hour before finally easing her way out of her hiding spot, stepping carefully onto the carpet and edging through the dimness toward the small crack of light filtering under the door.
She reached for the light switch and ever so gently flipped it up. The closet was suddenly awash with bright, intense light. Squinting, she found the jacket Eugenia had recently shed and reached into the right-hand pocket. Her fingers touched cool, notched metal—keys.
Thank God.
Carefully, so that the metal wouldn't chink, she extracted a keyring.
So far, so good.
She stuffed her prize into the front pocket of her jeans.
Now . . . if she could make it past her mother-in-law without waking her.
If
she's asleep and not sitting on a chair or her bed and flipping through a magazine or knitting.
But there was no sound of pages turning or needles clicking. Marla had to take a chance. Otherwise she was trapped.
After turning off the light, she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob and turned. The lock clicked softly.
It's now or never
she thought and inched the door open. Eugenia's bedroom was semidark, the shades drawn, the soft sound of snoring coming from the bed where thick covers were drawn to the older woman's neck. Sending up a silent prayer that the stupid dog was nowhere about, Marla hurried across the room, reached for the door and quickly, silently opened it.
Her mother-in-law snorted and Marla slipped into the hallway where she closed the door and dashed up the stairs, nearly tripping over Coco in the process. With a yip, Coco scurried down the stairs, tail between her short legs, then darted into the family room. “Good riddance,” Marla whispered. Eugenia's keyring was burning a hold in her pocket and she wanted to try the door to the office immediately, open it if she could, then replace the keys, but as she reached the landing on the next floor, the doorbell chimed loudly.
Damn. She checked her watch and waited as Carmen answered. A woman's voice echoed up the stairs.
“I'm Cherise Favier. I don't think I've met you before. I'm here to see Marla.”
Marla's heart sank. By the time the visit was over, Eugenia would be up and searching for her keys. Her only hope was to get rid of Alex's cousin quickly, before anyone disturbed her mother-in-law, then hurry back upstairs. Turning quickly, Marla made her way down to the foyer where Cherise was unwrapping a leopard-trimmed cape and handing it to Carmen.
“Marla!” Cherise exclaimed, then her expression changed from delight to confusion. “You—you look fabulous!” A lie. Marla had seen her reflection less than an hour earlier. “I've been dying to see you.” The blond woman clasped Marla's hand with both of hers and forced a smile that threatened to crack her perfect makeup. “We . . . Donald and I have been so-o-o worried about you.” She glanced over her shoulder to the front door. “He'll be in shortly,” she said slightly nervous. “He got a call—an emergency of some sort—on his cell phone just as we drove up.”
At that moment a tall, strapping man appeared in the doorway. His brown hair was thick, curly and starting to show a few strands of gray. His shoulders were broad, stretching a black leather jacket that was tossed over a black shirt and at odds with a startling white clerical collar.
“Donald, you remember Marla,” Cherise said.
“Of course I do.” Donald flashed a thousand-watt smile that showed off white, fat teeth and a few gold crowns. His face was tanned, lined and warm. Half-glasses covered the bridge of a nose that had been broken more than once from the looks of it. In one hand he carried a well-worn Bible. With his free hand, he surrounded Marla's shoulders as he gave her a hug. “It's good to see you,” he said, and dropped a kiss familiarly onto her forehead. “Thank the Lord that you're all right. My, that was nasty business that landed you back at the hospital the other night.”
Cherise beamed up at her handsome husband. “Amen.”
“I didn't go to the hospital.”
“Oh, clinic, whatever,” he said waving the hand with his Bible. Marla eased out of his embrace. It was too familiar, too intimate, too forced. “You gave us all quite a scare, you know. Well, a couple of them.”
“The Lord moves in mysterious ways,” Marla quipped back and Cherise's smile froze. The Reverend Donald's eyebrows quirked at her joke, but she didn't really care.
“Why don't you come into the sitting room where we can talk?” Marla began ushering them into the sitting room where they all settled into chairs and Carmen, as if on cue, carried in a tray with a coffee service, tea pot and basket of scones. “Mrs. Eugenia mentioned that you would be having guests,” she explained, pouring three cups. “She'll be down in a few minutes.”
Marla's heart dropped. If her mother-in-law was up, she couldn't very well unlock the office and start going through Alex's computer files and desk.
“You probably heard from Alex and Nick that I've been trying to reach you,” Cherise said. Seated on a small sofa near her husband, she added sugar substitute to her cup, then adjusted the hem of her short black sweater. She was a pretty woman, beginning to age, with blond hair, pale skin and red-tinged lips that matched her fingernails.
“Nick mentioned that you called.”
“I was crazy to know if you were okay and then Alex blocked us from the hospital—” Cherise caught a look from her husband and snapped her mouth shut.
Donald settled back on the cushions, as if he intended to stay. Maybe even read scripture. “How're you feeling?”
“Better.”
“You've had a rough time of it,” Donald said and though he was being kind, Marla felt as if there was a hint of condescension in his words.
“I'm okay,” she said.
“But I've heard you have some kind of amnesia,” Cherise said. “It's temporary, right?”
“I hope so.”
Cherise said solemnly, “We'll pray for you.”
Her husband nodded. “Perhaps we should join hands now and ask for the Father's forgiveness and guidance?”
Cherise set down her cup and reached for Marla's hand. Donald did the same, but before the prayer could get under way Eugenia clipped into the room, Coco at her heels. She'd donned a somber gray suit that matched her expression and suddenly the keyring in Marla's pocket seemed to weigh a ton. The dog growled low in her throat, then took up her position behind Eugenia's favorite chair.
“Cherise. Donald,” Eugenia said without a smile.
“Aunt Genie!” Cherise shot to her feet and flung her arms around the smaller woman.
“How are you?” Eugenia said tonelessly as Cherise stepped back and beamed.
“Better now that I've seen Marla. We—Monty and I—were sick to death with worry. I was frantic to see her. I wish Monty would have come with me, but he was busy today and I didn't know when we'd have another opportunity,” Cherise said, taking a seat again as Eugenia settled into her wingback and dropped one hand to scratch the little dog's ears.

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