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Forgiving Paris: A Novel(22)

Author:Karen Kingsbury

She turned to the housemaid. “I… I don’t want to prepare.”

“Your father insists.”

Eliza squeezed her eyes shut. The girls had told her what would happen later. After her time at the beach. There would be bathing and essential oils, primping and makeup. Her father was right. In all ways that mattered, her honeymoon would begin tonight. A honeymoon for the most macabre wedding—a ceremony set to take place at the end of the week. If she lived up to Henry Thomas’s standard.

The events were out of order—like everything about her life.

Eliza went to her room and dressed in her bathing suit and cover-up. Her groom would arrive at the Palace at eight o’clock. Just as the sun went down. Because the most horrible deeds were always done at night, where light couldn’t touch them. Couldn’t expose them. Eliza had read that in one of her books.

And where was God in all of this?

Most of the older girls didn’t believe in God. Or they were angry at Him. All of this is His fault, they would say if the subject came up. Eliza didn’t agree. God may have forgotten her, but He existed because that’s what her mama taught her long ago. The devil was real. Tonight would prove that.

So there had to be a God.

But right now nighttime was still a long way off. The next few hours were the only part of the day when Eliza felt human. The beach was her time alone.

Which meant for the next few hours Eliza could breathe and remember her mama’s face and little Daniel’s voice. She could read. Something she did often. Strangely, the Palace had a library, and Eliza visited it as often as she could. Books let her live in a different world, if only until she read the last page. Anything good in her life happened at the shore. And it was where—if she were lucky—today she might even see God.

Out beyond the waves, there at the back edge of the ocean.

* * *

SOMETHING WAS OFF.

Anders McMillan knew it and for that reason, once Eliza was out of the house he had a meeting with four of his men. He gathered them in the boardroom on the first floor. They sat, but he paced.

The men knew better than to break the silence. This was Anders’s meeting. After three minutes, he stopped and faced them. “What did you think of the men today, the customers?”

This wasn’t the first time Anders had asked them this. His operation here at the Palace was risky. If they got sloppy, the feds from the States or even the Belizean police would shut him down. They would have done it by now if they could have. A long time ago.

None of his team made eye contact with him. As if they weren’t sure what to say.

Anders slammed his fist on the table. “Talk to me! What did you think of today’s customers?”

“Only a few of them were new.” His lead guy looked around. “Right? Maybe six of the men?”

“Seven.” Another of the men nodded. “I took notes.”

“Okay.” Anders rolled his eyes. He needed a Xanax. Or a whiskey. Something to take the edge off. “So there were seven. I’m not asking for a ledger, here.” Maybe he needed a new team. He lowered his voice and stared at the men, one at a time. “I’m asking for your opinion. Did you sense anything? Suspect anyone?”

Asia, his biggest and most violent man, raised his hand. “The young guy, light blue tie.” Asia was six-foot-five, a former heavyweight fighter. He had the scars to prove it. The man squinted. “I didn’t like him.”

“He’s Eliza’s groom.” Now they were getting somewhere. Anders straightened and took a deep breath. “Me, either.” He began pacing again. “Too young. Too… I don’t know, too off.”

“It wasn’t his age.” The first guy shook his head. “We get young guys from the yacht club. The sons of the owners. It wasn’t that.”

Anders thought about smacking the man for disagreeing with Asia. But the guy had a point. Anders looked out the window. “I talked to Henry Thomas’s father last week. He told me his son was young. Which made sense, because Eliza is young.” He faced his men again. “So what is it? Why didn’t you like him?”

“It was his looks.” Asia crossed his arms. “He doesn’t look like his father. I remember Henry Thomas the Third.”

“I think he does look like his father.” Another of the men dared a comment. “I… thought that from the beginning.”

Anders could feel his anger rising. “Asia is right.”

“I don’t need a reason.” Asia crossed his arms. “I didn’t like him.”

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