Let's Play Make-Believe (8 page)

I had to stop
at the Brazilian Court and left Marty in the car. I stopped and spoke with Allie at the front desk, then rushed to my room. One advantage of living in such a tiny space is that nothing ever takes long to find. I was back in the car in a few minutes and found Marty listening to the Moody Blues on the radio.

As I drove through Palm Beach with Marty in the passenger seat, he surprised me by showing some nerves. It wasn't about a confrontation, either.

Marty said, “Do I look all right to meet Brennan?”

I laughed and said, “You're not going to date him. You look fine.”

“I mean, will I impress him the way you want me to?” He blew into his hand and smelled his breath. “God, I need a mint at least.” He dug in the glove compartment, then turned to the console. That was where he found the pistol I'd stuck in there the day before.

He reached down, pulled out the gun, and examined it for a second, then said, “We'll take this, too. I hate to admit it, but somehow it makes me feel more confident.”

If Marty was hesitant to play this game, it didn't show as he slipped the gun into his pants and pulled his shirt out over it.

By the time we were in front of my old house, Marty was looking around to make sure no one was on the street. This was Palm Beach and it was after nine o'clock, so that wasn't even a worry.

Both the Bentley and the Jaguar were in the driveway, and I could see the downstairs den lights on. That meant Brennan was home. He was the only one who used the den; he'd sit in there when he was working late to keep up with the foreign stock exchanges. We sat in the car and watched the house for a few minutes. Then I saw Brennan's silhouette as he stood up from the desk and walked to one of the file cabinets that were built into the wall.

There was no traffic this time of night, but I kept twisting my head from side to side just to make sure. I was nervous, and there was no hiding it. Not only was my heart still pounding, but I felt a thin sheen of sweat across my forehead. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

I turned to Marty and said, “Okay, when we get out, don't slam the door, just close it quietly.” He nodded obediently.

I said, “You sure you're still up for this, babe?”

“Anything for you.”

“Brennan can be a lot to deal with. For all his bluster, he does have a mean streak, and he's not afraid to show it.”

“I can handle myself.” Marty sounded confident.

“I just want to say what I have to say and get out of here. Okay?”

“Okay, okay. I'll behave.”

I looked up at my grand house and thought about how much my life had changed in the past six months. It made me angry.

Before I had time to dwell on my emotions, a splash of light fell across us. A car had just turned and was coming down the street slowly. We were parked awkwardly on the curb where there wasn't supposed to be any parking. We stuck out like a sore thumb. Then I realized that at this time of night, it was likely a police car on patrol. I didn't feel like answering questions in front of my estranged husband's house.

Then I thought of the real problem. What if they pulled us out of the car and found the gun on Marty? That would not go over well here in Palm Beach.

I looked at Marty and saw the same concerns on his face.

We both stared at the car as it came toward us at a steady pace like a shark moving methodically through the water. Neither of us could find the will to move.

Marty was about to say something when I held up my hand to keep him quiet. I needed to think.

Then, as the car was almost on top of us, I noticed it was a bright red. Not the blue and white of a Palm Beach police car. And it was a Cadillac. A big one. As the car passed us, I could see the tiny white head that barely reached over the dash, and I realized it was a local, someone who probably always drove slowly after dark.

The elderly woman never even looked in our direction.

I let out a long breath and grabbed my purse from the backseat, and we slipped out of the car.

We made it up
the driveway to the front door without making a sound. For some reason, when we stood in front of the door I found myself out of breath. I pressed the doorbell and could hear the chimes inside the house. Chimes I'd picked out and had installed to replace the stupid
ding-dong
sound that was attached to the doorbell when we got married. I looked around, making sure no one was watching us. Marty tapped his foot as he stood next to me.

It was a typical humid Florida night, and the breeze off the Atlantic felt like heaven. The excitement of facing Brennan built inside me. I turned to Marty, and in a low voice I said, “I can't wait to see the look on Brennan's face.”

Then the door opened, and Brennan didn't disappoint me. He was utterly shocked and couldn't hide it. Dressed in a polo shirt and golf slacks, he looked good. Almost like a model. His hair was perfect, and he had a few lines on his face, like a man who spent much of his time outdoors. For a change, he was speechless, and his blue eyes were wide with surprise. He looked from me to Marty slowly, then settled back on me. This was exactly what I wanted. He was shaken.

After a long silence, Brennan said, “Christy, what are you doing here at this hour? I thought we were speaking only through our attorneys.”

I took a moment to gather myself, looking Brennan straight in the eyes as I said, “I need to say something. Not in court, where I can be censored.”

“I'm listening,” he said slowly, still looking back and forth between me and Marty.

Somehow with just those two words he managed to be condescending.

“Do you realize what a pretentious, pompous ass you are? Is it intentional?”

Brennan made no comment.

“You're rich, so what? You've never had any hardships, so basically you're spoiled, and I enabled you for four years. You didn't need a wife, you needed a caretaker. I didn't complain when you left me at home alone on Christmas two years in a row so you could windsurf with your buddies in Aruba. You basically ignored my parents and to this day don't know my mom's first name. And you had no reason to try in our marriage, so you just threw me out like the trash. I've got news for you, Brennan. I'm not who you thought I was.” I took a breath, then said, “I gave you four years and you gave me nothing in return.”

“Except a phenomenal lifestyle.”

“And the privilege of being Mrs. Brennan Moore.”

“Glad you finally get it.”

That arrogant smile cut into my soul.

I kept going. “You spent more on a massage table built into the bathroom than on my engagement ring. That should've given me an idea of what to expect when I married you. You told the judge you didn't think I had ever shown any real emotion toward you. Well, be careful what you wish for. Now you'll see all my emotions at once. All my well-earned anger and frustration, followed by relief and joy. Now you get to know what it feels like to be powerless.”

I think Marty could sense my anger, but he shocked me when, without any warning, he yanked the pistol from under his shirt, fumbled with it for a second, and then pointed it at Brennan's groin. He held it steady in his hand as he brought his face up to look at my reaction.

I was at a loss. He'd moved so quickly I hadn't expected it.

Marty was smiling.

Brennan staggered back half a step and said, “Jesus Christ, that's my gun.”

I felt like singing.
Why not? I was back inside my house. For the moment I could forget the awkward fact that Marty was holding a gun on Brennan. We shuffled in through the foyer, then turned into Brennan's den, where it was clear he'd been working. His computer screen was still showing active trades on the foreign stock exchanges, and he had papers laid out across his giant oak desk. The one I had found for him in a furniture shop in North Carolina. It was magnificent, with hardwood inlays and drawers that felt like they moved on air.

Brennan had been remarkably quiet up to this point, but he still had that self-assured, superior look on his face, even with Marty standing a few feet away pointing the gun at him. It was clear Brennan didn't think we were going to hurt him. Obviously, we'd been drinking, and I'm sure Brennan just viewed it as another immature prank by a dull wife he thought he'd gotten rid of. But after a minute or so, he was tired of the game and anxious to get back to work.

He had his hands up slightly, like he was being robbed. It must have been human instinct. He kept his voice low as he said, “Could you point that somewhere else, please.”

Marty just said, “Nope.”

It was the best possible response to unnerve Brennan. It also shut him up. He stared at Marty but wisely remained silent.

Marty cut his eyes to me in an effort to get a clear idea of what we had planned. He was visibly more agitated than when we'd started this little prank and was hopping from one foot to the other like a nervous kid who needed to go to the bathroom. He was probably wondering if I expected him to gun down Brennan like he had Teal the day before. I stepped over to him, patted him on the back, gently wrapped my hand around the gun, and eased it from his tight grip, quietly saying, “It's going to be okay.” He visibly relaxed as he relinquished the pistol and took a pace backward.

Now I held the gun. I took a breath to calm down. Marty was about to snap, and I was sure I'd taken the pistol just in time. As I stepped away from him, closer to Brennan, I told Marty, “Just wait right there, sweetheart, and keep calm.”

Brennan picked up on the fact that I was trying to keep Marty from doing anything crazy, and he thought we were looking for a way out. He waited while I made sure the pistol was pointed down, away from anyone's vital organs.

Marty appeared a little hurt that I had taken the gun from him. If I had acted a little faster the day before, maybe poor Teal would still have been alive. The gun was heavy in my hand. Heavier than I remembered it from the range. I carefully slipped it into the pocket of my jeans. It fit snugly.

Brennan was visibly relieved and regained some of his swagger. He raised his voice and said, “You found some moron you can order around and you think it's love? Christy, what in the hell are you guys doing here? This doesn't help anyone. You guys need to get out of my house and sober up.”

That's when I straightened up and looked him right in the eye and said, “I'm not drunk. In fact, I've barely had a drink all night.” I realized that surprised Marty, too, as he looked at me with a puzzled expression.

Then I reached into my purse, the one large purse I owned, and easily drew out another pistol. The second one of the matched set. It looked identical and rendered both men absolutely mute. I liked that.

I gave my full attention to Marty. “I'm afraid there's a lot you don't understand, sweetheart. And I don't think you'll ever realize how much this bothers me.” He still had that look like a puppy as I stepped closer to Brennan, standing just behind him and facing Marty. “I mean it, Marty, I am really, really sorry.” Then I aimed the pistol and squeezed the trigger. Just like I had been taught. By Brennan. The pistol bucked in my hand and the noise inside the house, with all the marble and tile, sounded like a nuclear blast.

But I still managed to hit my target and shot Marty once, almost dead center in his chest.

The flash from the muzzle blinded me temporarily. I didn't even see any bloodstain on his shirt before he dropped straight to the floor, and thankfully, he didn't make any sounds like Teal had. He rolled onto his back, and then everything stopped. He was absolutely still. My ears rang from the gunshot, and the air had the acrid odor of gunpowder. Marty was dead. It had been quick, and he was now flat on a hard wooden floor that would be easy to clean up.

I'd noticed how much Brennan had jumped when I pulled the trigger. I couldn't see his face, but I could imagine what he was thinking right now. His legs were already trembling.

Good God, this was what I had been waiting for.

I was still standing
behind Brennan, who dared not turn his head. He had a perfect view of Marty's crumpled body about fifteen feet in front of him. My ears still throbbed from the noise of the gunshot. Now I knew why we always wore earplugs when we went to the range. My guess was that right about now, Brennan was regretting our days shooting together and his detailed lessons. At the time, he'd just enjoyed being able to tell me things. It had been a power trip for him.

Brennan's voice cracked as he said, “Christy, Jesus Christ, what have you done?” He choked up on whatever he was going to say next as he tried not to vomit.

“How's it feel, Brennan? Knowing you're helpless. Is it a new sensation?” I let a brief silence fall over the room so I could enjoy seeing Brennan squirm. Now he was shaking as he tried to maintain his composure. The air was still filled with the odor of the gunshot. This old house had never seen anything like this, and Brennan had never experienced anything like it either. He deserved it. Not just for the way he'd treated me, but for the way he treated the rest of the world. It was time he learned he wasn't better than anyone else.

I said, “I doubt the sound of the shot even penetrated the walls. No one outside this room has any idea what just happened. No one is coming to help.” I let that sink in, then said, “Stand there perfectly still, looking straight ahead. Got it?”

He nodded frantically. Sweat stains were now visible on the back of his shirt near his underarms. I don't think I'd ever seen Brennan sweat.

I said, “I'd like to savor your reaction to this, but I have a lot to do.”

“What—what are you talking about? What do you have to do?” He started to whimper and added, “What's going on? I don't understand what you're doing.”

“I think experts call it ‘arranging the crime scene.'” I stayed behind him as I snapped on a pair of gloves. I'd figured out the right trajectories and what the residue tests would show. “You see, Brennan, it took a lot of research to learn that the cops might connect the gun to Teal's murder. I had to take all that into account and come up with the right story.”

“Story? What story? You're going to try to make the police believe
I
shot your boyfriend?”

I chuckled. “I have no doubt I could sell any story to the cops at this point. It's all the other details that take concentration.” There was a long silence as Brennan thought things over.

He finally said with a cry, “What are you doing? I don't understand.”

“Well, Brennan, dear. This was my backup plan. I admit I had another one in the works for quite some time, almost from the day I met Marty, who I recognized as being very nice and extremely easy to manipulate. I knew if my legal challenges to your ridiculous prenuptial agreement failed, I'd need an alternative. This is it.

“I knew I wanted to go through with the plan the day you crushed me in court just because you could.” I let him think about that and how he had abused me. “Yesterday, Marty shot his ex-wife. You might've seen it on the news. He got away with it, too. At least he thought he'd gotten away with it. I told him I had backed up his alibi”—I leaned in close to Brennan and whispered in his ear—“but I didn't.”

Now I pulled the gun from my pocket and held it in my right hand. The other was loose in my left, hanging by my side. I slowly strolled around in front of Brennan until I was standing near Marty's body. “Marty was crazy for Teal and everyone knew it. She even got a restraining order on him. I told the cops we left the racetrack early and I didn't know where Marty was most of the afternoon until I met him at the Palm Beach Grill.” Now I could enjoy Brennan's expression as I laid out my story.

“That's why I'll say I broke up with him earlier tonight at the Palm Beach Grill and why I told my friend Allie, at the Brazilian Court, that I had already broken up with him and I was a little scared. I also told her Marty went crazy when he heard you were interested in reconciling with me. It's also why I'm sure the police are at Marty's apartment waiting for him right now.”

I held the gun steady in front of me. “The best part, the one thing that just fell into place, was when Marty found your pistol. I may have moved it so he'd notice it, but he thought it was all his idea.” I saw that Brennan was confused. “That's right, he found it in your closet one day when we came to visit. I didn't say a word when he stole the pistol. Because I knew the cops could tie the gun that killed Teal to the gun used here tonight, I had to switch them on poor, simple Marty. Wild, huh? He used
my
gun to shoot Teal and I used
your
gun to shoot him. All I have to say is that Marty stole my gun from the nightstand in my hotel room. It will work out perfectly. Brilliant, right?”

Brennan was trying to keep from sobbing. “What are you talking about? Why are you doing this?”

I grinned. “Because I can. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it.”