“Stop it!” Her case of nerves was getting to her. “Sheesh, Maggie, you’re a head case,” she chastised, opening a program and eyeing Marquise’s address book.
Now Thane had a son, a boy he’d never met, Mary Theresa’s child…why that thought hurt so badly, she didn’t understand. She told herself to get over it. Aside from his on-again/off-again relationship with Mary Theresa, he also had a girlfriend in Wyoming—Carrie Whatever. Even if that was truly over there was the other issue.
And he’s never stopped loving your sister.
Maggie’s throat ached and she refused to think of Thane and the emotions that burned so bright in her heart. She couldn’t love him. Wouldn’t. It served no purpose whatsoever and would only cause her heartache. So she’d kissed him again. So she’d touched him. Made love to him. So what? People did it all the time. There wasn’t anything special or magical about it.
Get over it, she told herself as she began going through Marquise’s files again, although the sense that she was trespassing gave her pause.
She scrolled down the address list, viewed the tax file and financial statement. With a sinking feeling she realized just how horribly in debt her sister was, how desperate her financial situation had become. Back taxes, credit-card bills, overdue lease payments, foreclosure notices on her place in Aspen and this very house.
“No wonder she ran away,” Maggie said, playing with the computer, cross-indexing—trying to find any match for Renee Nielsen. No Nielsens whatsoever. But there was another Renee. Renee Warner. Maggie felt a tingle at the nape of her neck, the sense that she was about to find something, something she didn’t want to see. With deft fingers, she scrolled down, double checked, did a file search and found no checks made payable to Renee Warner. But there were a couple of checks made payable to herself for cash and noted on the computer as RW.
“Could mean anything,” she told herself. “Rear Window, for example, or right wing or anything and Renee’s name is Nielsen…” Her neck ached and she glanced at the clock. It had been an hour and half since the last “message” from her sister. Since then nothing. Maybe she was having a nervous breakdown, just like Dean’s family always insinuated. Fat chance. Connie and Jim were always looking for ways to prove that she, even if capable of being Becca’s guardian, at least was too mentally unbalanced to handle the trust fund Dean’s father had set up for her child. It was all so sick. She’d been crazy to let Becca spend any time with them, but she’d had no choice. And she wasn’t crazy! Mary Theresa had contacted her.
So where is she? Her heart leapt to her throat as she thought of the car accident and the fact that some other vehicle had edged M.T.’s Jeep off the road. Had something happened to her since the message? Could the person responsible for Renee’s death have found her sister?
“Come on, Mary. Come on,” she said nervously. Rubbing the strain from the muscles in her shoulders, she stood.
Thump!
She froze.
Outside, from the direction of the thud, a cat screamed.
Maggie started for the kitchen.
Click.
A lock gave way and Maggie’s heart, fueled by adrenaline, pumped wildly. With a squeak, a door opened. Maggie felt a cool rush of outside air creep into the house.
“Mary Theresa?” she called, praying it was no one else.
Henderson had just turned off the answering machine in his apartment and was sorting through the day’s stack of bills and junk mail while deciding whether to heat up a TV dinner or just roll into the sack and ignore his rumbling stomach. The phone jangled and he snatched up the receiver, answering quickly, by rote. “Henderson.”
“Officer Bates, Colorado State Police.”
Henderson’s mind clicked into gear.
“You put out an APB on a black Chevy Blazer, and I think we found it.”
“Where?”
“Off an old mining road near Crested Butte. It’s a wonder we found it at all. Got a crew on it already.”
“Anyone inside?” he asked, feeling a niggle of anticipation. This might just be the break they were looking for.
“Don’t know yet, but it looks bad.”
“Single car?”
“Far as we can tell.” The officer gave specific directions to the spot; Henderson asked to be kept posted and then he hung up. Walking to the desk in the second bedroom, he opened the top drawer and, cussing himself all the way, opened the cellophane around a three-month-old pack of Camel straights—the pack he’d saved for an emergency such as this.
“Damn you, Marquise. Where the hell are you?” he asked, poking a cigarette between his teeth as he rummaged in the drawer for a match. He found a lighter that refused to spark and thought it a grand irony if tonight, when he was finally going to break down and have a smoke, he couldn’t come up with a damned match.
“Shit,” he grumbled, and opened his briefcase on the off chance that an old book of matches was in one of the pockets. Instead he found the copy of the legal documents for MER, Inc. There was something about the holding company that bothered him, the same way he felt when he woke up on a camping trip in the desert a while back and found a scorpion crawling up his arm—that if he didn’t do something and quick, think fast, he was going to get stung. Something was wrong with the damned corporation.
Sitting in the desk chair, the unlit cigarette wedged between his lips, he started reading, flipping through pages and pages of Articles of Incorporation, lines of legalese that sometimes blurred before his tired eyes. “Hell,” he thought, finding nothing when finally, buried deep in the text, a name came to light—the third name involved in the corporation: Renee Warner.
“I’ll be damned.” How could he have missed this?
Three women linked together.
Marquise.
Eve Lawrence.
And Renee Warner a.k.a. Renee Nielsen, a woman lying dead on a slab in the morgue. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered. “I’ll be god…damned.”
The cigarette fell from his mouth and he shot out of his chair, grabbing his wallet, keys and gun. He was through the door in a heartbeat.
Thane had been edgy from the time he’d left the airport. He’d driven back to the hotel like a madman, trying not to blame himself for leaving Maggie alone, consoling himself with the fact that she was a smart woman, a woman who knew how to handle herself, and yet he was impatient with the traffic and the elevator in the hotel. The closer he got to her, the more nervous he became.
Because you love her, you idiot. You always have. From the first second you saw her walking along the side of the road, her spine stiff, her eyes straight ahead, her cheeks flushed as she headed to Flora’s ranch.
For years he’d denied the depth of his emotions to himself as well as the rest of the world, but the truth of the matter was that he loved her.
“Damn,” he ground out as the doors to the elevator opened and he strode down the hallway to their suite. But the minute Thane unlocked the door and walked into the hotel room, he knew something was wrong. Maggie wasn’t in the room, but it wasn’t empty. Her daughter, Becca, had plopped herself in the middle of the couch and was staring up at him with wide, distrustful eyes.
“I thought you were in L.A.” He glanced around the suite and saw no trace of Maggie, just Becca’s backpack.
“I was.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“At Marquise’s house. I just listened to the messages. She left one for you.”
Thane had a bad feeling about all this. The muscles in his back tightened. “She didn’t say anything about you coming here.”
“She doesn’t know,” Becca said, her eyes, so like Maggie’s, full of challenge. “I came on my own.”
“What happened in California?” he asked, walking to the phone.
“Nothin’ good,” Becca said as he listened to the message that Maggie had left. “I decided I needed to be with my mom.”
“And your aunt and uncle agreed?” he asked skeptically as he
hung up. It was nearly three in the morning and, from the looks of her, Becca hadn’t been here long.
“They didn’t know,” she said. “I just called and talked to Aunt Connie.”
“Holy shit.”
“That’s what she said.”
Thane didn’t have much practice dealing with in-your-face teenagers, but he wasn’t going to take any lip from any kid. Even Maggie’s. “I think you’d better talk this over with your mom.”
“No shit, Sherlock. You drive.”
“And you watch your mouth.”
Becca’s eyes thinned. “I will. Just as soon as you watch yours.”
“We’ll talk about this in the car. I’ll call your mom from the cell phone.”
“I don’t need a lecture.”
“Well, kiddo, you’re gonna get one.” She grabbed her backpack and headed for the door without any sign of a limp. “And I doubt if you’re gonna like it.”
She opened her mouth to smart off again, thought better of it, and snapped her jaw closed. As far as Thane was concerned, that in and of itself was a major victory.
“Maggie?” Mary Theresa, devoid of makeup, wearing dirty jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair tangled and unwashed, stumbled through the back door and into the darkened kitchen.
“Oh, God!” Relief flooded through Maggie at the sight of her twin. Hot tears filled her eyes. “Mary Theresa!” She dashed across the room, stumbling slightly as she bumped into a bar stool, knocked against the knife rack, ignored the jab of pain in her shin and flung herself at her sister. “I was so worried, so damned worried,” she choked up as Mary Theresa crumpled in her arms. “I thought…oh, you don’t want to know what I thought.” She held her as if she couldn’t let go and all the bad feelings she’d harbored over the years—the jealousy, envy and distrust—melted away. This was her sister, her twin. And she looked like hell.
Mary Theresa was crying, her slender body wracked with sobs, her fingers digging into Maggie’s shoulders. “Oh, God, Maggie, I—I’ve been such a fool. Such a damned selfish fool.” She sniffed and pulled back long enough to wipe her nose with the back of her hand. Tears tracked from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked out, hardly able to speak.
“You’re sorry?” Maggie said, fighting the urge to break down altogether. “Oh, God, I’m just glad you’re alive. I thought you were dead. I—I’ve been so worried. I got your message, but I couldn’t understand what happened.”
“No one would believe it,” Mary Theresa said as she disentangled herself and sagged against the counter. She wiped a hand over her forehead and Maggie noticed that she’d lost weight, was barely more than skin and bones.
“What happened?”
“This was all a mistake. A horrible mistake. I—I read the papers today, saw that Renee is dead.” Even in the dark room, she paled and Maggie flipped a switch. The kitchen was suddenly awash in light. Mary Theresa, as if she’d been shot, looked wildly around the room. “Don’t!” She turned off the lights and then, with Maggie on her heels, walked quickly through the rooms and snapped off light after light. “Does anyone know you’re here?” she asked, fear strangling her words.
“No, but…well, I left a message for Thane.”
“Shit.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing good. We’ve got to get out of here. I just need a minute to clean up and grab some clothes and money and…”
“What’re you talking about?” Maggie followed Mary Theresa upstairs. For a woman who was so weak she’d practically fallen into the kitchen, Mary Theresa had found a reserve of strength. She dashed up the final steps and walked unerringly into her bedroom. Pulling the shades and the drapes, she said, “Close the door behind you.”
“Mary Theresa, what the hell’s going on?” Maggie asked, but did as she was told. The door shut with a click.
Mary Theresa turned on a small lamp near the bed. “Is it true? Is Renee Nielsen dead?” she asked, but from the haunted look in her eyes, she already knew the answer.
“We thought it was you.”
“Oh, God.” Mary Theresa ran two sets of stiff fingers through her hair and her face was chalk-white beneath smudges of dirt. “I didn’t mean…I had no idea…” Her voice squeaked and she placed a hand over her mouth. “It was a single-car accident, right?” she asked, obviously skeptical.
Maggie shook her head as she stood near a table laden with framed photographs of Mary Theresa. “Hit-and-run according to the police. The press just doesn’t know about it yet.”
Holding a fistful of hair and squeezing, M.T. asked, “Why would anyone want to kill her?”
“An accident…no one intended to…”
Mary Theresa wasn’t listening. “No, no, no! Don’t you get it?” She was on her feet in an instant and inside the cedar lined closet. “It had to be Eve.”
“Eve?” Maggie repeated. “Hey, what’re you talking about?” But she was starting to feel a needle of understanding pierce her brain.
“This was all her idea to begin with.” Inside the closet Mary Theresa was throwing clothes into an open designer bag. Jeans, slacks, shirts, blouses, all flung in with abandon. Maggie was reminded of a person on speed. M.T. was so thin and yet jazzed up, her movements quick and jerky.
“What was Eve’s idea?” she asked as M.T., stripping off her dirty clothes, hurried into the bathroom.
Maggie followed, stepping over sweatshirt, jeans and bra as Mary Theresa turned on the shower. “I shouldn’t take the time, but I want to wash off all this…this filth.” In the shadowy mirror, Maggie saw her reflection—dressed in slacks, blouse, and vest; M.T. stark naked, her breasts firm, her ribs evident. So much the same. So different.
Mary walked through the shower, taking less than three minutes to clean up. She was toweling off, her hair wet as she stepped into a clean warm-up outfit. “We’ve got to get out of here,” she said, not bothering with makeup and yanking on her running shoes.
“What was all Eve’s idea?” Maggie asked again as M.T. leaned over to tie her laces.
“The disappearing act, of course.”
Maggie’s heart sank. This was all a publicity stunt that had taken a bad turn? And a woman was dead.
“Slow down.” She reached forward and took hold of her sister’s arm. “You planned this?”
“What’d you think?”
“But—”
“As I said it was Eve’s idea. We were short of cash and I’m borrowed to the hilt.” She zipped up her bag and wide, haunted eyes, so much like Maggie’s, stared straight into hers.
“It was all just a setup, for publicity to hike up the ratings. The show was in trouble and we needed to do something, anything to boost the market share. The dullards calling the shots at the station weren’t listening and I knew we were either gonna be canceled or I would be replaced. Trust me, Maggie, the writing was on the wall.”
She said it without too much emotion, as if she’d had no choice but to deceive everyone.
“Eve knew of a cabin owned by one of her clients that hadn’t been used for years, so I went there and hid out. The only people who knew where I was were Eve and Renee.”
“Renee?” Oh, God, this was beginning to sound bad. Really bad.
“That’s what I was talking about. Douse the light, will ya?”
Maggie switched off all the lamps as Mary Theresa hiked the strap of her bag to her shoulder.
“So Renee was in on this, too,” Maggie guessed, sick inside. As relieved as she was that her sister was alive and seemingly healthy, she couldn’t stand the callous way she spoke of their plot of deception.
“Because Eve had to stay here in town and make sure everything went according to plan, Renee did the running back and forth because no one knew she lived here or who she was. She even changed her name back to Warner to try and keep a lower profile. Anyway, the plan was that after there was a big stir and my name was a household word again then I…I was supposed to escape from my ‘captors’ and there would be this m
assive manhunt and no one would ever find out that Eve was behind it.”
“The police aren’t that stupid.”
“Sure they are.” Mary Theresa was heading down the stairs, her feet tripping rapidly over the familiar steps. “I’m an actress, for God’s sake, I could have convinced them that some mountain men had grabbed me and since I would be fine, the manhunt would slowly disintegrate.”
“But people would believe that there were men who…”
“So what? As I said, no one was supposed to be hurt.” She was walking toward the kitchen again. “I need a drink.”
“Why would Eve agree to do anything of the sort?” Maggie asked as they reentered the kitchen.
“Because I owed her money.” Mary Theresa reached into a darkened cupboard and pulled out a glass which she filled with water from the sink. “I’m in bad shape, Mag,” she confessed. “I owe everyone money and things were falling apart by the minute. Do you know what would have happened if the station changed the format of the program and I lost my job? Holy Christ, I’d be ruined! That would have been a disaster.”
“But—” Maggie’s head was swimming. “Renee’s dead, Mary Theresa. Dead.”
“I know.” She took a gulp of water. “Like I’m supposed to be. No wonder she insisted I write that suicide note and leave it in the trash to throw the police off. Can you believe it? Eve just left me up there. No phone. No electricity. A million miles from civilization. And I’m sure I was drugged. Eve was probably going to give me enough to kill me once she’d done away with Renee,” Mary Theresa said before taking a long swallow from her glass, then reaching into another cupboard and retrieving what, in the poor light, Maggie assumed was a vial of pills. “Christ, I’ve got a headache. The drugs weren’t part of the deal, you know. I was so damned tired all the time. I should have been suspicious, but I wasn’t. I think Eve had Renee give them to me so I wouldn’t get smart and try to escape. She even got rid of my car, the car that Renee and I took up and hid there.”