Beach Thriller(80)
“Wait, what?” Holly said. “The FBI was going after Allen? Why?”
Finn cleared his throat. “We probably shouldn’t tell you all this, because it’s still under investigation.” He glared at Tommy Boy before continuing. “However, it appears Allen Spellman was up to no good. He’s been stealing money from his clients, using it to pay off gambling debts, take vacations, and essentially fund a lifestyle he couldn’t afford. Basically, he’s been running a Ponzi scheme for a long time, and we’ve been working with the FBI to get to the bottom of it. Tom is right. He was probably facing arrest in the next couple of days. I guess someone tipped him off.”
Holly’s world tilted. She clutched the park bench for support. “He’s been managing my family’s money for years.”
Tommy Boy whistled, low and long. “Yeah, that’s probably not going to work out in your favor. Allen would make up stories about properties getting stuck in probate, then he’d hand out loans from his personal account to make it seem like he was a good guy and everything was going to be fixed in no time. He kept moving money around to avoid getting caught. Meanwhile, he was draining client accounts faster than my iPhone runs out of battery.”
Holly went numb. “That’s exactly what happened to me,” she said. She didn’t need Shae’s forensic accounting expertise to tell her that her house fund was probably drained of every nickel.
Chapter 43
Jade
The footsteps echo louder as they ascend the stairwell. Fear surges through me. I don’t have Big Sally from Baby Jail to bail me out this time. I’ve got no place to go, nowhere to run.
Spinning in a circle, I foolishly search for an escape route, thinking one will magically appear. This tower has only one way in and one way out. At least I see something useful: The bed is raised high enough for me to crawl under, and the bedding goes all the way to the floor, so I’ll be well-concealed.
I slither on my belly across the cold stone floor until I’m hidden beneath the bed. It’s like being in a cave. I’m sure no one can see me, but even so, the slightest sound could give me away. The noise of the party preparations helps to conceal me, along with the eerie piano melody.
In the dark, every sound becomes sharper. The footsteps are heavy—it can’t be Maeve. It’s someone bigger, but whoever has arrived isn’t breathing hard, so I doubt it’s Old Sid. It must be Conrad.
“You’ve heard enough of this song for today, Elizabeth,” Conrad says, confirming my suspicion. Above me, Elizabeth groans in displeasure.
“More,” she begs, her voice weak and croaking.
“Let’s try something other than ‘Clair de Lune.’”
Ah, so that’s the song! The dreamy piano piece, which evokes the soft glow of moonlight, suddenly comes to an end. Conrad then switches to a different classical composition, this time with violins.
“Noooo,” Elizabeth moans. “The moon … I want the moon. Please…”
The ache in her voice crimps my heart. Her words come back to me: “I don’t matter anymore.” But this song, for whatever reason, does.
Conrad sighs. A moment later, the music begins again, the first lonely notes calling out like a whisper of solitude.
Outside, it’s anything but quiet. Landscapers are busy mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges before the party. For a moment, the persistent thrum of a loud gas lawn mower almost drowns out the music. I hear Maeve’s sharp voice issuing orders to the rental company responsible for setting up the tent. I’m sure they can’t get out of this crazy place fast enough.
I can relate.
My breath catches when Conrad approaches the bed. His proximity sucks the air right out of my lungs. A sudden rush of panic grips me. My phone might betray me—even a vibration from a text, Holly replying to my inquiry about Elizabeth, could do me in. I want to shut it off, but I hesitate to move a muscle.
The song gets louder, and Elizabeth hums along like she and the melody are one. The bed creaks above me as Conrad likely takes a seat on the mattress. He shushes her tenderly.
“You can’t see well. Your hair is in your eyes,” he says.
I imagine him brushing the strands away from her face. Is he looking at her lovingly, with care in his eyes, like when he wheeled her to the edge of the cliff to watch the sunset? What kind of guy is this? Does her incapacitation turn him on? She might not be tied up, but all those drugs she’s taking could be just as debilitating. All I know is that I’m living a nightmare. I close my eyes, praying that it’ll all be over soon.
“I’m so tired,” says Elizabeth, who indeed sounds world-weary. “I don’t care about my hair. I’ve done terrible things.”
The mattress sags above me as Conrad repositions himself. “We’ve all done terrible things, Elizabeth.”
“But I have blood on my hands,” she says.
“We both have blood on our hands. You need to forgive yourself.”
I bite my knuckles to suppress a gasp. Anna? Has Conrad all but admitted he killed her? Or did he and Elizabeth plan it together? They could have set the house on fire to cover their tracks.
“She’s here,” Elizabeth says.
My body turns cold and clammy. No. Don’t you dare …