A Stranger's Wife Page 10

  “It’s a total loss. First of all—no human remains were found in the ruins. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the fire was deliberately set.”

  “Oh, no...Mike, that rented car—”

  “Don’t worry, I removed the gas cans.”

  “How did you get into the trunk?”

  “Picked the lock. Did you handle any of those cans?”

  “Yes, all of them. I picked them up and shook them to see if they were empty—they were.”

  She heard him sigh. “So your fingerprints are all over them. I was careful not to add mine, and probably whoever put them in the car wiped theirs off, too. Okay, Meg, it’s time to ‘fess up to the whole masquerade. We have to turn those cans over to the arson squad. I think Rhea is trying to kill her husband.”

  Meg gasped. “I can’t believe that! You must be wrong. Surely there’s an explanation for all of this.”

  “How do you explain her showing up last night just before the beach house was torched, and leaving the gas cans in a car you were about to use? Come on, Meg, we’ve both been had. Do you want to tell Jake before we go to the cops? I’ll come over to back up your story.”

  “Mike, not so fast. There’s something else you need to know. I found a letter from an adoption agency last night. I think...Rhea and I are twins.”

  When he didn’t respond, she added, “Sisters, Mike. Blood-related. Biological, identical twins.” She told him of the letter’s contents.

  Mike whistled softly. “Well, this puts a whole new slant on things.”

  “I have to talk to her. I have to find out for sure. You know, all of my life I’ve had a sense of something missing, a part of myself that just wasn’t there. I loved my parents but I never felt truly connected to them. To have a sister, a twin, would be a dream come true.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t get too overjoyed yet. She might look like you, but from what I’ve observed, you two don’t share anything beyond your physical attributes. Think about something else—if she knew you were sisters, why didn’t she tell you? That alone smacks of some nefarious scheme.”

  “Please, Mike, at least let me find out for sure.”

  “What’s the name of the agency, and who signed the letter? Maybe I can get some more information.”

  “The Verity Agency of Atlanta, and the letter was signed by a Mona Verity.”

  “A private agency. Good. Look, I think we’d better continue this conversation somewhere other than over the phone. I checked on your location—you’re on a private road about a mile from the highway. Can you walk down there and I’ll pick you up?”

  “Yes, I’ll tell Mason I’m taking Huxley for a walk—What was that? Did you hear a click on the line?”

  “No. But don’t say anything else. Give me about an hour. I want to make a couple of calls.”

  “You DIDN’T MENTION that Huxley is a Doberman,” Mike said with understandable apprehension.

  “Don’t be deceived by appearances—” Meg began.

  Mike raised an eyebrow and ran his eyes over her appraisingly. “I must try to remember that.”

  “Touché.” Meg kept a firm grip on Huxley’s leash as she urged him into the back of Mike’s car. Huxley sniffed Mike’s neck suspiciously.

  Mike looked over his shoulder. “Hi, boy. How’s it goin’? Hux-ley, that’s some ridiculous name—”

  Huxley bared his teeth.

  “Hey, boy, good boy, good dog, I didn’t mean it.”

  “I’d better sit in the back seat with him,” Meg said.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Mike drove through rolling hills where multimillion-dollar homes nestled in walled estates. He said, “I called that adoption agency. I also did a fast check on a couple of databases—which I probably should have done before I took this case.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “Rhea and Sloan were both adopted, eight years apart, by a pair of psychiatrists named Pensby. Rhea’s mother went to the agency while she was pregnant, and the Pensbys paid all her medical and living expenses, plus a lump sum for turning over her newborn. To everyone’s surprise, she delivered identical twins, one of whom was born with a clubfoot. The Pensbys decided they only wanted one of the babies.”

  “The perfect child,” Meg said.

  “That’s a matter of opinion. Perfect is as perfect does. Anyway, seven or eight years later, the Pensbys divorced. Neither of them wanted the kids so they returned them to the agency, who then turned them over to the state.”

  “But I thought once a child was adopted, it was forever.”

  “It seems one of the best-kept dirty little secrets of the adoption process is the number of children deemed ”difficult“ or ”disruptive” who are returned to even state-licensed agencies, often after years with adoptive parents.”

  Meg shook her head in disbelief. “My parents were wonderful.” She sighed. “But they never told me I was adopted.”

  “You were luckier than Rhea. She was bounced from one foster home to another. Sloan was in his teens and already in trouble with the law at the time of the divorce. He ended up in a juvenile detention camp. I guess he managed to keep track of Rhea, because at the time of his arrest they were both in San Francisco, which incidentally was where Rhea met Jake...after her brother was incarcerated.”

  “And my parents relocated to Los Angeles when I was six,” Meg mused. “What did Sloan do?”

  “Two years, for aggravated assault, drug dealing and sundry other felonies. He also had a record in several southern states before he headed west. He’s one bad dude. Look, Meg, I’ve a good friend on the force. Why don’t I drive us over to talk to him.”

  “I must talk to Rhea first. Perhaps Sloan is the one who rented the car and set the house on fire. Perhaps Rhea knows nothing about it. I have to give her the benefit of the doubt, Mike. She’s my flesh and blood—a sister I longed for all my life. A part of me must have known about her, and I’m sure she feels the same way. Just give us a chance to straighten this out. You know, things aren’t always as they appear on the surface.”

  “Meg, for Pete’s sake. A man was killed in the hotel suite in London where everyone believed Jake was sleeping, but he’d secretly flown to St. Maarten to surprise his wife, only his wife wasn’t there. A look-alike, hired by his wife, was there. What if he’d been killed in London? Rhea would have had an iron-clad alibi. She was in St. Maarten opening a new hotel.”

  “But you and I know that I was there, not Rhea.”

  “And we in turn believed Rhea was in San Francisco with her terminally ill brother. My guess is that Rhea was in London, with murder on her mind. I’m also wondering what might have happened if her plan had succeeded. Since we knew about the switch, would you and I then have had unfortunate accidents?”

  Shocked, Meg said, “That’s pretty wild conjecture.”

  “Yeah, well here’s some more. When the London plan goes wrong and after Jake returns to California with you in tow, a new plan evolves. How about killing Jake and giving the cops a suspect—you, Meg.”

  “What?” Meg asked faintly. “But—”

  “The arson fire at the beach house,” he went on, “was a second attempt on Jake’s life. She got you out of there so there would only be one body, because Mrs. Jake Chastain had to survive in order to inherit his estate.”

  Meg said slowly, “The gasoline cans in the rental car...”

  “I think it occurred to Rhea—or more likely, Sloan—that instead of using you as an alibi, a better plan would be to pin the blame on you. Rich twin, poor twin. Poor twin tries to kill rich twin so she can take her place. Hell, there was even a much-publicized case in Orange County where one twin tried to kill her sister so she could assume her identity. She didn’t succeed, but she was convicted of conspiracy and attempt to commit murder.”

  “But how would they explain Jake’s death if it was Rhea I was supposed to be plotting to kill?”

  “Okay, how’s this for a scenario? Evil twin attempt
s to kill good twin by setting the house on fire, believing she is alone in the house, but she manages to get out in time and Jake dies in the flames instead. Terrified widow Rhea then goes to the police and points a finger at you. Hence the gas cans in the car, which, by the way, was rented in your name.”

  Her mind reeling, Meg asked, “Where is the car now?”

  “I returned it to the agency, which means I’ve already tampered with evidence and probably obstructed justice.”

  “Mike, this is horrible. Why on earth would Rhea do this?”

  “Prenuptial agreement. If there’s a divorce, Rhea gets very little in the way of a settlement. However, as a widow she would control all the Chastain holdings. Or more likely, Sloan would.”

  “But this is all just a theory. We really don’t know anything for certain. I have to meet my sister again, and talk to her. Please don’t turn those gas cans over to the police until I do.”

  Mike pulled over to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. He turned to her, his face a study in exasperation.

  “She’s dangerous, Meg. I’ve never met a more accomplished liar. I’m as cynical as most people in my profession, but I believed every word she told me. And we won’t even discuss Sloan. Besides, we don’t even know where Rhea is.”

  “When she finds out Jake is still alive, I’m sure she’ll surface again. Besides, sooner or later she has to resume her own identity—she must realize the longer I’m in the picture the more likely it is Jake will recognize I’m not his wife. Just give me a few hours to wait for her to contact me. If we go to the police now, we have no evidence to offer, except the fact that I impersonated her. How can we explain those cans of gasoline in a car rented in my name? Please, Mike, before I get arrested as an imposter and an arsonist, at least give me a chance to find out what’s going on.”

  Huxley nuzzled Meg and whined softly.

  “I don’t like it,” Mike muttered at length. “But I’ll take you back to the Chastain place. Are you going to tell Jake?”

  “Not until I talk to Rhea. Mike, I told Carrie—my caterer boss—I’d call her when I got back to L.A., but I’m supposed to be at the theater today. Will you do me a favor and call the manager for me—tell him I can’t make today’s matinee?”

  “Sure. But one way or another, we go to the cops today. Call me as soon as you hear from Rhea. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be at the house to pick you up at six tonight.”

  MASON GREETED HER return with a suspicious sneer. “That was quite a lengthy walk, Mrs. Chastain. You’ve really changed your attitude toward dogs, haven’t you?”

  “Will you give him some water, please,” Meg asked, her request sounding more timorous than she would have preferred. “Were there any calls for me?”

  “Your husband rang. He asked me to tell you he’ll be home for lunch. He asked that you instruct Cook as to what to serve.”

  “Thank you.” Meg looked around uneasily, wondering which of the many doors led to the kitchen. She couldn’t admit to being an imposter to anyone yet, not until she’d confessed to Jake and talked to Rhea.

  She handed Huxley’s leash to the butler and slowly ascended the stairs, watching to see which door they exited. Mason probably would take the Doberman to the kitchen to get him some water.

  In the master bedroom Meg sat down weakly at the Queen Anne desk. A second telephone, an elaborate antique, sat atop the desk, and she stared at it, willing Rhea to call.

  Numb from the revelations of the last twenty-four hours, Meg tried to sort out her thoughts. Remembering her brief encounter on the shadowy beach with her twin, Meg couldn’t believe she had envied her. Meg’s adoptive parents had loved and cared for her until the day they died, and she still missed them and grieved for them, grateful that she had so many happy memories to help assuage her grief. What a contrast to Rhea’s ghastly childhood.

  But unlike Meg, Rhea had married a wonderful man. Meg sighed deeply, knowing she was still in denial about Hal’s defection and death. That was something she would have to deal with soon, but for now, if Mike’s theories about Rhea and Sloan were accurate, there were even more distressing facts to be faced. Not to mention the danger in which she had placed both Jake and herself.

  The phone rang so suddenly that it startled her. She grabbed the receiver. “Hello.”

  “You must have been close to the phone.” Jake’s voice came over the line, sounding tired and tense. “Were you waiting for a call?” The question had an edge to it.

  Meg said, “No... I mean only from you. Is the house a complete loss?”

  “Yes,” Jake answered shortly. “You know, your voice sounds even more different over the phone.”

  Ignoring the comment, Meg asked, “What time will you be home?”

  “Well, that’s what I’m calling about. Jess paged me. She’s being discharged from the hospital today. She bullied her doctors into letting her go, but with Carmelita in Mexico I can’t take Jess home because she absolutely refuses to have anyone else in her house. Rhea, would you mind if my mother came and stayed with us for a few days?”

  “Of course not,” Meg said immediately.

  “Good. We’ll be there in about an hour. Have Mason prepare her room.” He paused. “Thanks, Rhea.”

  Meg put down the phone. The presence of Jake’s mother would be an added complication, especially in view of the disclosures about Rhea that Meg might be forced to make. But she’d worry about that later.

  Huxley had evidently escaped from Mason’s custody; he was sitting outside the bedroom door. He stood up, wagging his tail.

  Meg patted his head and scratched his ear. “I don’t know how Jess is going to react to finding out you aren’t a one-woman dog.”

  HE HAD DISABLED the smoke alarms during his visit the previous afternoon while the woman was there alone. That evening, he’d doused the entire house with gasoline, yet incredibly, Chastain had escaped the fire. He must sleep like a cat. Twice now their plans had gone awry. Third time had to be the charm. They couldn’t afford another fiasco.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jessica Chastain’s perfectly arched eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  Amused by his mother’s astonishment, Jake leaned back in his chair and studied his wife’s reaction to the butler’s comment.

  Mason stood, ramrod straight, at Rhea’s elbow. Jake noted that she flushed as she stammered, “I really... didn’t...”

  Mason said stiffly, “I’m sorry, madam, I felt Cook would have wanted you to take credit for the luncheon. It was not my intention to cause you embarrassment.”

  Jess, her arm in a cast, had insisted upon having lunch with them downstairs, rather than in the bedroom prepared for her, despite Jake’s protest that she should be resting in bed. They were in the sunny breakfast room where a wall of windows overlooked velvet lawns, banks of flowers and a decorative pond framed by willows. Rhea kept glancing at the view, almost as if she were seeing it for the first time.

  Jessica said, “You’ve been hiding your light under a bushel, Rhea. Even if you only suggested that grilled vegetable pizza and incredible salad, rather than having a hand in preparing them as Mason indicated, then I’m wondering why you waited eighteen months before displaying your culinary skills.”

  Rhea looked from Jessica to Jake, her blush deepening and her eyes pleading. Seeing her discomfort and grateful she hadn’t responded to his mother with some caustic remark, Jake said, “Jess, you’re pale as a ghost. It’s time for you to rest. Come on, I’ll take you up to your room.”

  “Darling, you have a lot of work to do,” his mother said, a sly gleam in her eye. “Rhea will take me, won’t you, dear?”

  “Yes, of course.” His wife jumped to her feet, as Jake helped his mother from her chair. His suspicions deepened. The old Rhea would have ignored the request. In fact the old Rhea probably would have had other plans for lunch and certainly wouldn’t have prepared it. Convinced now that she had an ulterior motive for her sudden change of heart, Jake deci
ded he’d better monitor her activities closely, and watch his own back.

  He took his mother’s arm firmly and slid it through his. “We’ll both go with you. You’re not too steady on your feet yet.”

  The butler faded into the background. Meg was certain Mason was suspicious of her, and had deliberately announced that she had prepared the meal in an attempt to expose her.

  Falling into place at Jessica’s other side, Meg walked with them through the entry hall toward the staircase. Halfway across, Mason reappeared, carrying a cordless phone. “There’s a call for you, madam. It’s Mrs. Wells. Are you home?”

  Uncertain what to do, Meg looked at Jake. He said, “Go ahead and talk to her. I’ll take care of Jess.”

  They continued on their way, as Meg stood holding the phone. She heard Jessica whisper, “She’s up to something, Jake. This is not natural, it’s all an act.”

  “I’ll attribute that remark to your present state of health, Jess, and pretend you didn’t make it,” Jake shot back, sotto voce.

  At Meg’s side, Mason murmured, “Perhaps madam would like to take her call in the study?”

  Meg turned to look at him. He knows I have no idea where the study is, she thought. Why doesn’t he say something to Jake?

  Ignoring the suggestion, she flicked on the phone’s talk button and strolled toward the front doors, sure at least if she went outside she would avoid wandering into a closet. “Hello?”

  “Rhea? I just heard about the beach house,” a strange female voice said. “I didn’t know you were back from St. Maarten and I was really surprised that you and Jake were even using the house—what is going on?”

  “Jake’s mother had an accident. We flew back to take care of her,” Meg said. “The beach house is closer to the hospital.”

  Mrs. Wells, evidently a friend of Rhea, gasped audibly.

  Meg added, “She’s going to be all right. In fact she’s out of the hospital and here with us.”

  “Good grief! Are you going out of your mind?”

  Not knowing how to respond, Meg asked, “How did you hear about the beach house?”