Chapter Twenty-Four Marni
Chapter Twenty-Four
Marni
Hanna asked us to meet her. If she planned to confess to something, she’d picked the ultimate dramatic place to do it. Xavier’s
house. Maybe it was more correct to say his former house. Now Jeremy’s house, or soon to be. A fact that still rattled around
in my brain, refusing to take hold.
A textile tycoon built the Gilded Age mansion as a summer retreat. He amassed his grand fortune with the help of unrestricted
child labor, then used some of that money to stockpile an expensive art collection and acquire numerous stately houses, including
this three-story monstrosity with a grand staircase reminiscent of the one on the Titanic. That level of opulent living hadn’t turned out so great for the rich industrialists who went down with the ship either.
Patrick grew up here. Victoria coveted the place.
It promised a level of security she craved.
When Xavier plucked her out of the employee pool and gave her more responsibilities, and ultimately introduced her to Patrick, her survival instincts kicked in.
She’d grabbed the opportunity. I didn’t know her at the beginning of her marriage, but I couldn’t blame her.
With the money and the Tanner family name her fears about not having enough or being one paycheck away from financial ruin ended.
Admittedly, the house did have some charm on the outside. It was impressive in an old money sort of way. The ornamental details.
The eight bedrooms. The New England–style shingles covering the outside. But the interior wood paneling and intricately carved
ceilings shadowed the house in gloomy darkness. A darkness that hinted at the pain festering here, hidden in the walls, growing
like mold and infecting everything it touched.
I’d been inside a few times for events back when Patrick and Victoria borrowed the family estate for hosting lavish parties.
Depending on the season, guests would mingle in the drawing room or on the property’s four acres, taking in the lush landscaping
complete with gardens and flowering trees, a pool, a summer house used as an office, and a pond with a shed at the far edge.
Stella texted me about the Xavier-Hanna romance. We’d gone from barely speaking to a tenuous truce. A bond forged by the terrible
secrets of one horrifying day. At heart, an alliance against Aubrey and whatever she planned to unleash.
Despite her flashy I want to help exterior, my read of Stella was that she rarely thought of others without first thinking about what others could do for her.
Being here, making me drive over, could mean she viewed Hanna as a weak link in our insidious adventure or a potential future
problem. It could also mean Stella actually cared, which was an option hard to imagine.
That meeting in the attorney’s office threw all of us off stride.
I wanted to trust these two. In a way, I had to.
At least up to a point. But Hanna birthing a Tanner didn’t mean we needed to rally.
Hanna was perfectly capable of fixing her own mess without dragging us down with her .
. . Or at least that’s what I tried to trick my brain into believing.
Tough talk or not, I was here, as ordered, striding across the lawn toward Stella when I’d rather be home, sitting in a quiet
room, not talking to anyone as I recovered from a long day of kid wrangling.
She stood at the back of the house, maybe twenty feet from the edge of the circular driveway that curled in from the left
without breaking the distinct line of the front of the property. An array of crinkled yellow and orange leaves littered the
ground around her feet. Many still clung to the branches, bathing the wooded outline of the property in a fiery glow.
Sneaking around seemed unnecessary. Coming right from work, I wasn’t exactly dressed for covert activities, so I dove right
in, skipping the usual small talk. “Why are you outside?”
“I’m watching Hanna.” Stella kept doing it. “She doesn’t know I’m here yet.”
Uh-huh. “Is there a reason we don’t go over to say hello?”
“She’s sitting on the bench next to the fountain, reading something.”
“Yeah, that thing.” Victoria once described the fountain as an architecturally significant piece of porn. An overstatement,
sure, but the sculpture did have a certain vibe. A couple, carved in bronze and entwined, half clothed, looming at the center
of spurting water. A fountain that spilled into the long, heated saltwater pool but faced the garden beyond.
Over-the-top. Theatrical. Striking. Just like the Tanner family.
“Is she okay?” I asked even though I could see the paleness of Hanna’s cheeks from this far away. Okay, maybe Stella did care. Maybe she heard or saw something that caused worry.
“Would you be?”
I could barely hold down crackers thanks to the ball of anxiety that had taken up permanent residence in my stomach. For a
second, I debated asking Stella about medication options but showing weakness in front of her wasn’t a great idea. I knew
that from experience.
“I wouldn’t be okay if I’d slept with Xavier Tanner.” No, I’d committed other sins when it came to the Tanner family. Bigger
sins. Those could remain hidden for now.
Stella nodded. “Understandable.”
Hanna dropped whatever she was reading on her lap and glanced up. She shaded her eyes against the late afternoon sun. She
didn’t smile or wave us over, but still silently granted permission to approach.
I ignored the voice in my head. That tiny squeak-filled one that told me to run. To change my name. To never slink into Sleepy
Hollow again.
Avoiding even an ounce of self-preservation, I didn’t race to my car like I had that day years ago. Instead, we walked toward
Hanna at the pace and with all the enthusiasm of a death march. The wet grass and soft ground grabbed my sensible block heels,
but I pushed on.
We stopped right in front of Hanna. She looked worn and beaten down. Her shoulders slumped. Her eyes didn’t have their usual
may I help you sparkle she turned on with customers. Life, any sense of lightness, had vanished, leaving dark circles under her eyes. Her disheveled look matched the mood. Dread hung in the air.
I felt a punch of sympathy.
I ignored a second shot of adrenaline, telling me to run.
“You look like hell.” To be fair, I should have been nicer. She didn’t need another kick, but damn. That usual Tanner magic
had sucked the life right out of her.
Hanna’s fingers tightened on the paperwork in her hands. “Always good to see you, too.”
“How’s Jeremy?” Stella asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
Hanna winced at the mention of her son’s name. “He’s cleaning up the café.”
“At least he didn’t run back to school today.” If Stella hoped to sound positive she failed.
“Not yet. I didn’t go into great detail, but I mentioned a trust and this house. After that he wouldn’t listen or let me explain.”
Hanna hesitated for a second before focusing on me. “Stella told you? About me and Xavier.”
There wasn’t a reason to lie or hide the conversation. “Yes.”
I’d always assumed Hanna and Patrick had a thing. That she’d been lured in by Patrick’s considerable charm for a fleeting
relationship that fizzled out long before the Tanners vanished.
Patrick, not Xavier. Patrick, the brilliant writer who could pen a library full of tomes rich in eloquent prose about the
Civil War. He knew about every battle. Every general. Every argument made and strategy undertaken. He wrote nonfiction and
historical fiction. He’d won awards.
The way he spoke, his lecturing style, alive and vibrating with energy, could hook an audience filled with skeptics and reel it in. His enthusiasm and deep, calming voice had the power to make a room catch fire. He wove a spell until people stopped focusing on his words and focused on him.
Victoria described the skill as part of his hot professor vibe. One that he nurtured and used to his advantage, which led
to the accusations of his being a serial cheater. A man who lost his mother, then spent a lifetime searching for the affection
stolen from him. Craving more than his wife and kids could ever provide.
Back then all of Victoria’s diatribes felt like whining. She had so much and demanded even more. The husband. The kids. The
gorgeous wardrobe. The big house. The flashy ring.
In contrast, Patrick came off as misunderstood. He could cry on command. Speak volumes about Victoria’s good qualities, always
supporting her even as she left him alone to rush off to attend her charity luncheons and art auctions.
“Why did you call us here to . . .” I looked at the house and the thatched windows Xavier had updated over a decade ago for
historical accuracy. “This house.”
Hanna didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She crumpled the papers in her hands but didn’t seem to notice until the noise
jolted her back into talking. “I’ve been getting notes.”
Stella nodded at Hanna’s lap. “Those?”
“What?” Hanna frowned, looking lost. Then she seemed to catch up with the conversation. “No. This is the trust paperwork.
The lawyer delivered the information, along with the keys and the alarm codes, earlier. He wasn’t kidding in that room. The
house, all of it, goes to Jeremy. It can’t be sold until he’s twenty-five.”
Stella whistled. “Damn.”
Patrick didn’t bring in piles of cash but Xavier had. Decades ago, he’d set up a transportation company and bought cheap land
and built warehouses up and down the East Coast. Companies signed with him to get their goods where they needed to be. The
business was lucrative and made the family’s lifestyle possible. Allowed Patrick to dabble and write rather than commute to
an office or pursue the business degree Xavier preferred he have.
Patrick had opened the bookstore in town, only a few blocks down from where Hanna’s café now sat, but that really was just
an extension of his writing career. Victoria once told me it made money because people came to see Patrick and his university
colleagues, but it didn’t even need that. Xavier subsidized the whole venture.
Now the major recipient of Xavier’s impressive haggling and hours at work came down to a party of one. Jeremy.
“There’s this odd comment in here . . .” Hanna fixated on something in the distance. “Who’s that?”