Ten #2
“What sort of favor were you seeking?” Simon asked. “Perhaps I can help.”
“Nope. You are useless to me in this. I want him to shut down the Crypto King.” She turned from the sideboard to judge his reaction.
Simon groaned. He ran a hand over his balding pate. “Not that again, Edie.”
Yes, that again. She took a seat on the end of their bed. “That man took terrible advantage of your granddaughter. He’s running a scam, Simon.”
“I find it highly ironic that you, of all people, would be offended by a thief. Have you forgotten yourself?”
Edie bristled, but she said nothing. How could she possibly forget herself when she had him here to hold it over her head?
He’d squirreled away evidence of her crime—the Pahlavi emerald brooch—for years, trotting it out when he thought she needed the reminder that he held all the cards.
“It’s not too late,” he’d say, holding up the brooch and admiring the emeralds and diamonds.
“I suspect there are quite a few people who’d like to solve the mystery of the Ramsbury estate jewel heist.”
“Why are you bothering Steve with this?” Simon asked now. “He’s got better things to do than participate in your revenge for a young woman so stupid she’d give this guy her money.”
“Simon!” Edie exclaimed. “How dare you speak of your granddaughter like that! She’s not stupid; she’s young and na?ve. She believed him.”
Simon snorted. “That was her first mistake. Leave it be, Edie. She’ll get over it.”
He was right—Marcy probably would get over it in time.
But Edie wouldn’t. How many years of her life was she going to allow men to walk all over her and her daughters and granddaughters?
Starting with Jabba the Hutt here, seated right in front of her.
The bourbon was feeding her fury. “She lost a startling amount of money, Simon. Are you okay with that? Are you going to pretend it didn’t happen? ”
Simon pressed a finger to his fat cheek and thought about it a moment.
Then he took another sip of his drink. “I won’t pretend it didn’t happen.
But I’m not concerned about her loss. You know that I’ve set the kids up.
Her father will take care of her, as I have taken care of him.
” He smiled smugly. “That’s what men do, Edie. They take care of their women.”
“Oh my God.” She got up and went to the sideboard.
“Just like I did for you,” he said.
Here we go. Every time he mentioned the past, she wondered if this was the moment he would finally make good on his threat to turn her in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He chuckled. “I took care of the absolute mess you had managed to make. Even after I knew you intended to steal from me.” He glanced up at the Cézanne. Then he casually sipped again. “I saved your lovely ass.”
She had the overwhelming urge to slap that glass from his hand. “You blackmailed me.”
“Blackmail?” He laughed. “Keeping you out of federal prison for the rest of your life?”
“You called the FBI and told them about my friends.”
“They weren’t your friends,” he said calmly. “You four were nothing more than a pack of common thieves. But you, my love, were worth so much more than the scum you surrounded yourself with.”
Why was she worth more to Simon? Because she’d been young and pretty.
That was it, the only thing that elevated her above the others.
She was a trophy, nothing more than arm candy to Simon, and she hadn’t cared, because he was a mark.
At least in the beginning she hadn’t cared.
But Simon was a charming gentleman, and said he was kin to the royals and she …
well, she fell in love with him. Head over heels in love.
She’d broken a cardinal rule and fallen in love with the mark.
Simon suspected nothing at first. He never questioned how Edie had come to be in the bank at the same time he was, how a beautiful young woman could have lost her wallet at the very moment he was there to rescue her. He’d taken her to dinner.
Then to the movies the next day.
To a museum the day after that.
To his bed the day after that.
And then to parties and business trips and shopping sprees and all the while, he never suspected a thing.
Not until the night when he caught Frances taking the Cézanne off the wall of his home during a party Edie had insisted they have and invited her friends.
Frances told him she was just turning it over to see how it had been framed.
But after everyone had gone, Simon asked Edie to explain again how the four of them were friends.
And where did they go the days they disappeared for “girl time”?
Where had they met? What school did they attend?
How long had they been the best of friends?
Then he’d found the brooch. Edie had been so careless, so very, very careless.
The loss had been all over the news, the heist of a famous jewel collection from the Ramsbury estate.
The newscasters reported breathlessly that there were no suspects, but police were looking for three or four women spotted near the estate with a flat tire on the night of the heist.
It had all come together for him then.
So now, Edie didn’t say anything to his veiled threat.
She pressed her lips together to keep from it.
She could have left a long time ago, slipped away in the night.
But she really did love him, and she chose to stay, to marry him, to have the family she wanted, to have all the things that Simon generously provided in exchange for her being treated like one of his possessions.
It was the game they had played with each other all these years, and she had no one to blame but herself.
Simon saw her silence as her acquiescence to his version of events.
“You’d probably be dead by now if it weren’t for me, you know,” he said, sounding rather pleased with himself.
“Stay out of it, Edie. Stephen will make sure Marcy survives. All she has to do is keep up her looks until the next chump comes along.”
Edie could only bite her tongue for so long. “Is that all you think of her? That she’s someone’s piece of meat?”
Simon had the decency to recoil. “Of course not. But let’s not fool ourselves—Marcy isn’t headed down a path that requires any brains.”
Edie found her breathing restricted by the sheer force she required to not say something that would make his conversation any more disgusting than it already was. She tightened the sash of her robe. “I thought you were going out tonight.”
“Nah,” Simon said, and held out his empty glass to her. “I decided to stay in. Maybe take in a game. Switch on the TV, would you?”
She took his glass, imagined hurling it at the wall, and set it carefully on the sideboard. “A game, huh?” she said as she turned on the TV. What time of year was it? Baseball, football, basketball? “This is so unlike you, Simon.”
“Not really,” he said. “I like to mix things up. Keeps you on your toes.” He winked at her.
Edie headed for the door, but she paused there and looked back at him. “Just curious … is Linda busy tonight? Or did she dump you?” She didn’t wait for an answer and sailed out.
“You better remember yourself, Edith Smith!” he shouted after her.
Edie kept walking.
“Edie! Answer me! Are you coming back? Will you bring some snacks?”
She rolled her eyes as she headed downstairs. Simon could get quite ugly when he was cornered, and she didn’t generally push him. She preferred to keep the peace and do as she pleased. But sometimes, he made her so angry she couldn’t help herself.
She was still in something of a blind rage as she sailed into the kitchen and opened the fridge in search of the tequila. But something very small and vague registered and she froze, her senses tingling with warnings of danger. She slowly closed the fridge door and turned her head.
“Hi, Edie.”
The ghost of Frances Delafield was standing in her kitchen. And she’d brought the ghosts of Joan Harris and Irene Kim, too. And somehow, they knew Marcy? Because Marcy was standing with them.
Edie couldn’t make sense of it, and it didn’t matter, because her legs had given away and she was sliding to the ground.