Page 41 of The Perfect Hosts
Lucy pushes open a door that leads to the office that is connected to the stables. The space is small and dim, with only one north-facing window, and she flips on the light switch. On the rough-hewn walls are photos of Lone Tree Ranch’s champion horses and Madeline’s students. There’s also a picture of Madeline in her plum-colored riding jacket, tan breeches, and tall boots, her blond hair in a sleek bun beneath her helmet, standing next to Blackjack after winning the FEI World Cup in dressage. There was a time when Lucy’s heart swelled with pride at her sister’s accomplishments, but she gave it all up for—what?—marriage and motherhood? What a waste of talent. Had Madeline never heard that women can actually do many things at once? She thought about what she herself had given up to take care of their father, but that was different. Lucy gave up her dreams so Madeline didn’t have to, and look how she’d repaid her for it.
Lucy’s heart stutters when she sees the wooden desk tucked into the corner of the room. It’s the desk her father made for them to share when they were kids. Six feet long and made of white pine, it had two drawers, one for each of them. It was long enough for both of them to use at one time, but they would inevitably end up bickering, so they had to use the desk in alternating shifts. When she was younger, Lucy always wondered why he hadn’t built them each a desk of their own; the room she shared with Madeline was certainly large enough. Later she realized it was her father’s way of trying to get them to share, to cooperate.
Lucy runs her hand along the top of the scarred pine top. She pulls on the drawer that was once hers, and it opens easily. Back in the day Lucy kept copies ofYoung Ridermagazine and the Little Debbie snack cakes she liked so much in her drawer. Later, she hid her weed and birth control pills there.Now Madeline uses the drawer to hold dozens of multicolored hanging files, each labeled with a horse’s name in Madeline’s loopy print. Their dad made the drawers extra deep, so Lucy explores the remaining space between the folders at the bottom of the drawer. She pulls out a rectangular box that holds blank checks with the Lone Tree Ranch logo printed in the upper corner, then returns them to their spot.
Lucy moves to the other end of the desk and tugs open Madeline’s drawer. When they were young, Madeline stored her collection ofMisty of Chincoteaguebooks and her plastic horse figurines. Now there are more file folders, these labeled with decidedly human names—most likely Madeline’s clients. Future world-champion equestrians, no doubt. Madeline always knew how to bring the best out of people. Most people.
Lucy snakes her hand between the file folders to explore the space beneath them and is surprised when her fingers hit wood more quickly than she thought they would. Strange, she thinks, because their dad had constructed both drawers exactly the same.
Lucy moves to the window to make sure no one is near the stables. The crime-scene techs are still filtering in and out of the house, and Agent Saldano is speaking with Trent who, as promised, has been keeping a close eye on her. She’d have to figure out a way to keep him busy, out of her way. The young woman, Mellie something, is talking to a deputy. Lucy has only a few minutes.
She returns to the desk and begins to lift the file folders and set them in a pile at her feet until the drawer is empty, revealing the wooden bottom. The wood panel is a darker shade than the rest of the desk and looks to be made from cheap plywood and definitely sits higher than it once did. Damn, Lucy thinks. Madeline went and put a false bottom in the drawer.
She runs her fingers along the perimeter of the plywood but can’t find any kind of mechanism to get to what’s underneath.She scans the desktop for some kind of tool—a pair of scissors, a letter opener—but quickly realizes these will damage the wood. She finally slides a small paper clip from a stack of papers in one of the file folders and stretches it until it resembles a fishhook. Carefully, she works the thin clip in between the wall and the floor of the drawer, twists it, and pulls up gently. The panel lifts just enough so that Lucy can use her fingers to pull it free. In the narrow space is a sealed manila envelope.
Lucy glances over her shoulder. She doesn’t know how much time she has. Someone could walk in at any moment, but curiosity gets the better of her. She lifts the envelope from its hiding spot. It’s sealed and free of any kind of writing, and whatever it holds is unsubstantial. Lucy hesitates only a second before running her finger beneath the seal. She tries to be neat about it, but the envelope tears, making it impossible to cover up what she’s done. Lucy tips the envelope and several photos slide out, and the images stare up at her. Her stomach tilts dangerously, then anger, hot and hard, roils through her chest. It’s all she can do not to tear the photographs into a million bits, but she knows she can use them to her advantage. Dammit, Madeline, Lucy thinks as she returns the photos to their hiding place.
Lucy picks up the file folders from the floor and begins replacing them in their proper spots, but one file catches her eye. It’s labeled with only one word:Will. Lucy opens the folder and finds a stapled set of papers titled “Last Will and Testament of Madeline Ann Drake.” Stamped in bright red is the wordCopy.She skims the contents. As expected, Wes is named as Madeline’s main beneficiary. What’s written near the bottom of the will, however, is more shocking than the photos in the hidden compartment.I bequeath the entirety of my estate to my husband, Weston John Drake, as the primary beneficiary. If my husband is not alive at the time of my death, then the account shall be distributed to my sister, Lucy Marie Quaid, as contingent beneficiary.
Madeline and Wes are worth millions. To say that Lucy is surprised by this turn of events is an understatement. She was sure that after all of Lucy’s financial woes and their strained relationship, Madeline would have cut her from the will a long time ago. Maybe she needs to start being a little bit nicer to her sister. Nah, Lucy thinks. This is so much more fun.
Chapter 19
Madeline
Madeline sits on the hotel bed staring blankly at the television, waiting for Wes to come out of the shower. The doctors in the emergency room took X-rays and a CT scan of Wes’s head, diagnosed a mild concussion and sent them on their way, advising plenty of rest. It could have been so much worse, the physician said. If Dalton had hit Wes with a fraction more force, he would have shattered his skull, given him a brain bleed, or even killed him.
Waiting in this Jackson hotel room for the last two days is making Madeline want to jump out of her skin. She’s eager to get home, but Wes insists they stay in the hotel until the house is no longer a crime scene so they will be more comfortable. Madeline knows he’s right. The cots in bunkhouses are a far cry from the temperature-controlled, king-size bed and Egyptian cotton sheets they slept in the last two nights.
Madeline still can’t believe that Dalton broke into their house and came after them with a crowbar, accusing Wes of having affair with Johanna. At times, she does wonder if Wes has been faithful to her. Admittedly, he is a notorious flirt. His behavior with Lucy is a perfect example, but she always thought the flirtations were harmless. Madeline is confident Johanna would never have broken her trust. Shemight have been cheating on Dalton, but it wasn’t with her husband.
The bathroom door opens and steam billows out as Wes steps into the room wrapped in a towel. His left shoulder is a nasty shade of purple, and his right eye is swollen shut. Madeline cringes at the sight. Wes is lucky, Madeline thinks for the hundredth time. He could be dead.
“Are you hungry?” she asks. “Do you want to order room service?”
Wes gives a little shake of his head and winces with pain. “No, I’m not hungry, but you order something. You have to eat.”
“Okay,” Madeline says but knows she won’t. She has to get out of this room. Wes is getting short-tempered, and she is getting tired of sitting in this dark, silent space. “I’ll get you more ice,” she says.
“No, thanks,” Wes says. “I’m going to call Trent. Will you grab my phone for me?” He sits on the bed next to Madeline.
“Here, why don’t you lie down,” Madeline says, reaching over him to adjust the pillows.
“Dammit, Madeline, I’m fine,” he says, swatting away her hand.
“Wes,” Madeline says, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.
He expels a long breath. “I’m sorry. I’m going stir-crazy here, and I’m worried about my brother. And those things Dalton said about Johanna and me... You know I would never cheat on you, right?” he says.
“I know,” Madeline says, brushing the hair gently from his eyes, all the while wondering if he is lying to her. “Dalton wasn’t making any sense. Why would he think such a thing?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Wes says, dropping his head into his hands. “And why wasn’t the alarm set? I told you to make sure it’s armed whenever I’m not home, and lookwhat happened. Now we’re the ones who have to clean up Dalton’s brains from our baby’s floor.”
“Wes!” Madeline gasps, shocked.
“What?” Wes says. “It’s true. And why the hell did you invite that waitress to stay with us? Seriously? Of all the times for a houseguest.”
“Her name is Mellie, I told you that after the explosion we rode to the hospital in the same ambulance. She’s scared and all alone. I was just trying to be nice,” Madeline says, pulling a bottle of water from the wet bar. “I’m sure she’ll leave soon. She just needs time to get her bearings.” She unscrews the lid and offers it to Wes, but he waves it away.