46
Manhattan, New York
“One more photo, Mr. Mayor.”
Phillip glances at me, and we both smile. “Of course,” he says to the photographer whose job it is to take the official photos tonight.
The celebration of Phillip’s win is very glamorous—over the top, almost. I survey the Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel. Although the crowd is thinning now, everyone who is anyone has been here. Ladies in exquisite evening dresses, gentlemen in distinguished tuxes.
We smile for the camera for the thousandth time, our heads together.
Him in a classy tux and me in a lovely black silk dress with its elegant high cowl neck and pleated back.
The photographer thanks us and hurries away.
The evening truly has been perfect. I’m certain it will be considered one of the most stylish events of the season.
Vanity Fair and Vogue are both here covering the city’s who’s who.
Phillip gives me a peck on the cheek. “Excuse me a moment, darling.”
“I think I’ll retire soon,” I say softly before he slips away. Olivia and Catherine have already retreated to our suite.
His lips press close to my ear as he whispers, “I’ll be right behind you.”
Doubtful, I think as he is ushered to a quiet corner by several of his biggest donors and titans of the business world. I accept another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and take a long swallow in a silent toast to myself.
It isn’t every day one survives the demons from their past and watches their husband elected to such a prominent political position.
I sigh and make my way out of the ballroom and to the private elevator.
During the few moments alone in the rising car, I study my reflection in the historic gold-framed mirrors.
I returned my hair to its natural brown with just a few extra red highlights.
There’s no one to fool anymore. No concerns for who might be watching.
I step out from the elevator and enter our suite. Catherine is curled up on the sofa watching late news coverage of the big win. She is so proud of her son, and she has every right to be.
“Olivia down for the count?” I ask, closing the door behind me. Olivia was so excited to dress up and stay at this beautiful hotel. The perfect “princess” night. A moment she will never forget.
“She is. I’ll be doing the same soon.” Catherine smiles. “I think I’ve had all the celebrating I can take for one evening.”
“No kidding. Well, I’m headed to the balcony to enjoy the view and wait for Phillip.” I lift my glass. “Good night, Catherine.”
“Night,” she calls after me.
The view of Central Park is spectacular.
The air is cool, the night sounds rhythmic and soothing.
There really is no place like this city.
I’m not sure I will be leaving it anytime soon for a trip to the lake house or anywhere else.
Perhaps I’ll sell the lake house. There are no good memories there. Not anymore.
This city is home.
It’s hard to believe the insanity of six months ago is for the most part fully behind us now. The official investigations are closed. For weeks the headlines of all major media outlets covered the terrifying home invasion of such a prominent family.
I saw to it that Julia was properly interred along with that cheap replica necklace her little Machiavellian sidekick left in my room. I doubt Julia would have done anything remotely as kind for me.
As far as the world knows, the woman I buried was Wendy Neely, who leaked that story to the Times in the hope of blackmailing me. When that didn’t work, she and her minions decided on the new plan that resulted in their deaths.
Rick took the file on Casey Duval to the FBI, and the Judge case was finally officially closed.
It was deemed that Casey Duval was the Judge and Wendy Neely (the fake one) was his accomplice.
She killed him during a psychotic episode and ended up in a mental hospital, eventually escaping and coming after her old friend Julia’s money.
Wendy died at the hands of her accomplices, Alicia Hopkins and Brian Miller. End of story.
Scarcely a word of that twisted tale is true, but I have no desire to prove otherwise. I will forevermore be Julia. It’s best for Olivia anyway.
No matter that the FBI got it almost all wrong, particularly about Casey, there is no reason for me to ever worry about him. I know exactly where he is and how long he has been there. I’ve never felt the need to reveal that part of my story, and I never will.
After my marriage to Phillip was announced in the Times—his mother would have it no other way—Casey sought me out.
His mistake was in sending me a message first. He dropped an envelope with a note inside into the mail slot of my Gramercy Park brownstone—the one Phillip bought me for a wedding present.
The note was simple and to the point:
What the hell, Julia? Where have you been? You got your inheritance and split? After all I did for you?
He named a time—after dark, of course—and place—isolated for sure—and threatened to tell the police about how he got rid of Wendy for her.
How he killed her parents for her. How he had waited for her afterward until his clients started dying.
Then he disappeared to protect himself. But her wedding announcement brought him out of hiding.
Imagine his surprise when he pulled me close, his body already hard at the idea that his Julia had finally returned to him for their big reunion.
Casey was dying of an overdose of morphine on the walking path near the Bronx River Parkway before he could demand to know how I was there and not Julia.
I had the syringe ready and in my hand beneath the drapey sleeve of my jacket.
As soon as he finished ranting and hugged me close, I delivered the fatal dose.
He staggered back and stared at me as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
With no ID and no record of any sort to identify him by his prints or DNA, he became just another unidentified and unclaimed body buried on Hart Island.
I knew from that moment that one day I would have to deal with Julia.
I had hoped she was dead when she didn’t emerge from the Monster’s house the day I ended him.
Whatever the case, she had done her time and no matter what Casey said about her wanting him to get rid of me for her, I am not heartless. Perhaps she had learned her lesson.
Turned out that was wrong and mercy was a mistake.
As soon as I was alerted by Eleanor’s death and confirmed my preliminary conclusions about Alicia, I developed a new plan.
I leaked the info to the Times to force the enemy to act.
The cherry on top was hiring the guy who looked like I imagined Casey would twenty years older.
I pointed him out to Alicia before we left Manhattan for the lake house, and then he dropped by Helen’s with that threatening message.
Both Alicia and Julia bought it, lock, stock, and barrel.
A long and sordid story, for sure. One I won’t be telling anytime soon.
I have made a deal with a publisher to do the memoir.
For Olivia primarily. It will shock and touch heartstrings and have readers on the edge of their seats throughout.
It is the story I want to tell with the parts that matter. The rest will never be told.
I savor another sip of my champagne. Footsteps behind me have me turning to greet my husband.
Not Phillip. I resist a frown.
Rick.
Of course he was invited. Phillip sees him as a hero now. A good friend. I, on the other hand, see him for what he is—someone not to be trusted on any level.
“Catherine let me in.” He hitches his thumb toward the French doors that lead back into the suite. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Course not,” I lie with a generous smile. I’m very good at this.
“I saw you leave the party, and I wanted to take a moment to tell you that this is as much your night as it is Phillip’s.”
Uneasiness slides through me. “Me? Not at all. Phillip is the city’s hero tonight. This is his achievement.”
“I’m referring to how you’ve survived all that’s happened.” He leans on the railing that hugs the balcony as he scrutinizes me. “You really are an amazing woman, Julia.”
For a moment, I wonder how difficult it would be to push him over that railing. It is a little low for a man so tall. I don’t believe it would be all that difficult.
I take the final sip of my champagne and study him a moment longer, to make him wonder what I might be thinking. “Thank you, Rick. I’m so glad Phillip and I have a friend like you.”
He gives me one of those quick, succinct man nods. “I don’t want you to ever worry. Your secrets are safe with me.”
Then he walks away.
I watch until he is through the door and it closes behind him.
Then I smile to myself.
It’s always nice when the enemy gives you advance warning that he sees you.
May the best liar win.