Chapter 43
ALEXA
“That’s Rayna, hundred percent. Where’d the bitch end up?”
Latoya loved gossip every bit as much as Antonella Cranston did. When she finally got over her jet lag and returned our call, she dished all the dirt on Marielle’s breakup with her former fiancé. I listened in while Ari asked the questions.
“On the West Coast.”
“And I’m guessing she did something else unhinged, otherwise why would you be calling me?”
“She accused my client of trying to steal her boyfriend.”
“And Rayna made the whole thing up in her head, amirite?”
“It was the ‘boyfriend’ part she made up. The man in question hired her for a decorating job.”
“Sounds like Rayna. Just you wait—she’ll trick him into bed with her and make sure everyone finds out about it.”
“Is that what she did with Marielle Marten?”
“Mari walked in on them. Didn’t stop crying for a week straight. When she stopped showing up for work, me and Samantha went over to check on her, and there were sixteen empty boxes of Kleenex. Sixteen! I counted. Angelo came over while we were there, and she wouldn’t even answer the door to him.”
“Angelo? He was the fiancé?”
“Uh-huh. He swore Rayna got him drunk and he barely even remembered screwing her. What a mess, right?”
“You think that’s true? That he was drunk?”
“For sure, for sure. Rayna manipulated everyone in the office, so why not at home too?”
“When you say ‘everyone,’ are you including Marielle?”
“She had that poor girl wrapped around her little finger. Pretending to be her friend, taking advantage of her grief.”
One of the few posts on Marielle’s BuzzHub account showed a single candle flickering against a black background, but there had been no accompanying explanation, not even a hint.
Her parents had died in an automobile wreck when she was thirteen, and an aunt raised her before she popped her clogs too, but the candle post was more recent—a year and a half before she disappeared.
“Her grief?” Ari asked.
“Daphne died. Her best friend. Marielle lost her parents when she was young, and when I first met her, she was close to two people—Daphne and Angelo. Daphne got into trouble swimming off the beach, and when they found the body, Mari fell apart. Rayna had just started working at Ivory and Ink, and she seemed nice. Understanding, you know? But it’s all an act.
The first thing she did was sleep with a senior partner so he couldn’t fire her—because then she’d tell his wife—and that really set the tone for her whole employment. ”
“She sounds like a real piece of work.”
“Oh yeah. After the Marielle thing, they fired her anyway, and now Paul’s getting a divorce. Give your client a piece of advice, okay? Tell her to fire Rayna’s ass and then take cover.”
“I would, but she left town.”
“Your client left town?”
“No, Rayna did. The client’s boyfriend already terminated their contract after she kicked his dog, and we’re pretty sure she set fire to the cottage she was renovating because it burned halfway to the ground the day after.
The cops are looking for her. But here’s the thing—while she was here, she was calling herself Marielle Marten. ”
“That low-down dirty liar. Mari’s worth ten of her.”
“I’m beginning to get that impression. Anyhow, we got to wondering, where’s the real Marielle?”
“South America.”
“South America? You know that for sure?”
“That’s where she said she was going. She had some money from her parents—what Rayna didn’t manage to con out of her, at any rate—and she said she needed to get away from New York. She signed up with one of those volunteer programs to work in a school.”
My first reaction? Relief. My second? Suspicion, because her bank account hadn’t been touched, and if a girl took off on the trip of a lifetime, wouldn’t she document at least the highlights online? If for no other reason than to stick it to the people she’d left behind?
Ari was in tune with my thought process. Another thing I liked about her. “Did you hear from Mari since she set off?”
“No, I never did.”
“How about anyone else in the office?”
“Not that they mentioned. You want me to ask around?” A pause. “You think something happened to Marielle?”
“Rayna sounds like an opportunist, but we want to track down Marielle, just to check she’s okay.”
“You should call Angelo. It’s true they split up, but I always thought that once Mari had time to mull things over, she might realise that Rayna was the problem there. She probably drugged him.”
“Do you think Rayna would go that far?”
“If it got her what she wanted.”
“And what does she want?”
Ooh, ooh, I could answer that one. Attention.
A narcissist craved attention, and faced with Rayna, a fragile soul like Marielle Marten stood no chance.
Rayna would have befriended Marielle so her imaginary audience would see her as the hero, the caring individual who so selflessly tried to help out.
But what she’d actually created was a power imbalance, with Marielle expected to provide a constant supply of gratitude and appreciation.
“Control and adoration,” Latoya said. “Always. You know the strange thing? Rayna didn’t even like Angelo. I think she staged the whole thing so she’d be seen as the victim and Marielle would break up with him.”
“And then it backfired because Marielle dumped both of them?”
“Exactly.” There was a note of triumph in Latoya’s voice, and I sensed she was pleased to finally get this off her chest. “It backfired big time because Rayna’s lease ended, so she was staying in Marielle’s spare bedroom, and Marielle wasn’t even charging her rent. Boom, she was homeless.”
Ari and I looked at each other. Who could afford to be so generous in New York? Even a rent-controlled apartment didn’t come cheap.
“Did Marielle own a house?” she asked.
“Inherited it from her parents. A big place on Long Island.”
Ari scribbled on a piece of paper. What happened to the house?
I shrugged. I didn’t know, but I was going to find out.
“Is anyone living in the property now?”
“Who knows? I haven’t been out there since she left. You should try talking to Angelo—maybe she did call him?”
“Do you have his number?”
“No, ma’am. But his family owns Capelli’s Hardware on East 29th—he used to work there, and he probably still does.”
* * *
“Everything was great between us until she came along.”
“You’re talking about Rayna Bishop?”
An assistant had answered the phone at Capelli’s and put Ari through to Angelo without even asking why she was calling. If anyone did that to me, I’d fire their ass.
“Who else?” He sucked in a breath. Let it out. “That’s in the past now. Why did you say you were asking about Mari again?”
Ari hadn’t said, not yet. “I’m a private investigator working out of California. Rayna’s name came up in connection with another case, and that led us to you.”
“Whatever you’re investigating, she did it, no doubt about that. Case closed. Whose life did she ruin this time?”
“I can’t say too much due to client confidentiality, but the case is still open, and Rayna’s a suspect. The thing is, for a long while, we thought she was Marielle. It’s only recently that we’ve become aware of her true identity.”
“Are you serious? Why would you think that?”
“Because she’s calling herself Marielle Marten. She even has a driver’s licence in that name.”
“That’s bullshit. Mari can’t even drive. She took one lesson years ago and had a panic attack. Did you know her parents died in a car wreck?”
“Someone told us about that.”
“Did they tell you Mari was in the back seat? She gets flashbacks and freaks out.”
“No, they didn’t mention that part.”
“Oh, man. What did Rayna do? Steal Mari’s birth certificate and social security number?”
“That’s possible. We’re not sure.” But it was likely, seeing as Rayna’s photo was in the DMV database.
Creating a fake record wasn’t impossible—I could do it, and there were always employees willing to turn a blind eye for a few bucks—but did Rayna have those kinds of connections? “Do you know where Marielle is now?”
“Peru? Colombia? Brazil? Someplace like that.” Which matched the answer Latoya had given. “She was seeing some quack therapist who told her she needed to cut out the negativity in her life, which she interpreted as ‘go teach kids to speak English in a hut somewhere.’”
Had he even been to South America? I suspected not.
More people lived in urban areas than in the countryside, and although favelas and barrios were a thing, did he have to sound so judgmental?
I reminded myself that just because Rayna was a psycho, it didn’t mean Angelo was a good guy. Mostly, I felt sorry for Marielle.
“Have you spoken with her since she left?”
“She wouldn’t answer my calls, and now her phone is out of service. Never replied to my emails either. I tried going by the house a couple times, and after a year, she rented it out. So I guess that means she isn’t coming back.”
“The house on Long Island?”
“Yeah, used to belong to her parents. Look, I’ve moved on. I’m dating again. I’ll never forgive Rayna for what she did, but I hope Mari’s happy, wherever she is. And now I got a customer to serve.”
“If you remember anything else, could you call me?”
“Gimme your number.”
Ari gave Angelo her number, then hung up.
“He’s not a man I’d swipe right on, but I don’t think he’s lying,” she said.
“Agreed. So we’re back to the house, aren’t we? It must have been listed for rental, so I’ll find out who listed it.”
“Probably an agent.”
“Do you need to go to New York?”
“No, not yet anyway. Didn’t you say you had access to Rayna’s bank accounts?”
“All the ones I know about.”
“She stole Marielle’s life, so why not the rent money too? Ten bucks says there’s a monthly payment going in.”