I made a comment about not wanting to miss my boat back, and he glanced toward the empty spot by the dock. “You have plenty of time. It hasn’t even arrived from the mainland yet.” His gaze rested on my tote bag and purse. “What kind of host am I?” he said, taking both items from my arm before I could stop him. “I’ll put this down below until you’re ready to leave.” He tried to unhook the life jacket and take it as well, but I managed to pull away.
He disappeared down the stairway with my stuff. All my proof was in the tote bag and I wasn’t leaving without it. I considered following him down below and taking my things back, but he was already on his way up with two glasses of wine. He put the glasses on a round filagree doily set in the middle of a small round table.
“I hope you like pinot noir,” he said, picking up the glass closest to him and taking a sip. He went on about how it came from a small winery near Santa Barbara. “I’d like your opinion on it. I’m thinking of ordering a case.” He gestured toward my glass. I stalled, examining the doily. It was perfect except for a tiny loose stitch next to the glass.
Although he was completely pleasant, I was sure he had followed me to the island.
I took a step back from the table and stumbled. He set his glass down quickly and grabbed my arm to steady me. “I’m sure the wine is delicious,” I said. “I just need a minute to get my sea legs.”
He suggested I sit, but instead I walked to the side of the boat. He was like my shadow he stayed so close.
His voice had just a hint of impatience as he suggested we go back to our wine. “I don’t want you to miss your boat,” he said. “Or the chance to try the pinot.”
He again suggested I sit down or at least take off the life jacket. I glanced at the table and told him I was okay.
“I think I have the hang of standing on the boat now.” I went to take one of the glasses, but he reached first and picked up the one on his right. “Cheers,” I said, taking the other. I just held it, though, and he pressed me to taste it, his tone growing more impatient. I had the feeling if I didn’t start drinking, he was going to pour it down my throat.
His eyes were locked on the wine as I lifted the glass and took a swallow. I heard him release his breath as he held up his glass. “Cheers.” He drank a large sip of the deep red liquid.
He watched as I continued tipping the glass to my lips and the amount in the glass diminished. Suddenly, he let down the act.
“You found the photo, didn’t you?” he said. When I nodded, he wanted to know where it had been, and he appeared angry and frustrated when I described the hiding place that he obviously had missed.
“You could have made it so much easier on yourself if you had just listened when I left the messages and the gifts.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What was with Mary Beth? Suddenly after all those years, she wants to turn everybody’s life upside down. The kid was happy with the cactus people. Why couldn’t Mary Beth have left things as they were?” He peered at me. “You didn’t know her, did you?”
I shook my head and he continued. “She married Lance for the package that came with him—he wasn’t the star his father was, but he had control of the estate. They were on the A-list for invitations everywhere. I met Mary Beth at some action actor’s Christmas party in Malibu. Camille and I’d been married for a couple of years.” Hunter ran his finger along the stem of his wineglass. “While I guess Mary Beth liked all the charge accounts, she was getting a little tired of what went with it. Lance had an alcohol problem and an angry disposition. As for me—Mary Beth was hot and I needed some recreation after all the bowing and scraping I had to do for the Rhead family.
“When Mary Beth got pregnant, I think it made her loopy in the brain. Where she got the idea I would leave Camille and go off with her—” He shook his head with disbelief. “I had the beginnings of a glorious future. Why would I give that up to go off and live in poorsville? She figured it out eventually and went into the save-her-marriage mode.” His voice rose in intensity. “And now, just as I was about to take over for Alexander Rhead, Mary Beth wanted to ruin everything.” He glared at me. “Right, suddenly I’m going to claim the love child I had twenty-something years ago. Even if Camille was willing to forgive me, Alexander Rhead never would. He’d insist she divorce me. He certainly wouldn’t turn over the production company. He’s a vindictive man, and I have no doubt that he’d put the word out and make sure my career was in ashes. And for what? So some girl who has been okay with who her parents are suddenly gets her world flipped upside down.”
He glared at me again. “And you. What is any of this to you?” He didn’t wait for answer, but went back to talking about Mary Beth. “When she told me what she was planning to do, I asked her for some time to tell my family first. I gave her every indication I was going along with it completely. It really perturbed me when she left that package with your group.”
When I looked surprised, he explained. “Yes, we were at the rinky-dink charity sale at that park. Part of my wife’s effort to be a regular person.” He made a few disparaging remarks about Camille’s “life coach” and went back to talking about Mary Beth. “We had dinner a few times to discuss how to make the announcement. We met at her place, and I offered to help with the cooking. I tried lacing her food with arsenic, but all it did was make her sick. The last night I brought her the box of marzipan apples laced with cyanide. She loved that stuff, and I knew she wouldn’t be able to turn it down even if her stomach was queasy. There was no way anyone would have linked us if it hadn’t been for you and that stupid crochet group. Every time Camille mentioned that thing with the pictures that Mary Beth made—” His face grew angry. “Mary Beth showed it to me and said it was an expression of the anguish she’d been going through all those years. My mistake was not to have gotten it from her.”
“Then you know what all the motifs mean?” He looked confused by the word motifs so I changed it to images, and then he nodded. “What about the strange circles?”
“She was trying to say not with the split one. You know, like those warning signs showing a picture in a circle with a line across it—no smoking, no swimming, no skating. And the plain circle was supposed to mean yes or is. She was trying to say ‘not Iris, is Mary Beth.’ ” He threw up his hands. “What’s the difference? That piece is never going to see the light of day again.” He drained his glass and put it on the table with a soft thud.
I set my almost-empty glass down and leaned against the table, appearing to lose my footing for a second.
“Don’t worry,” he said, watching me intently. “It’s just the sleeping pills kicking in. They’re quite potent when mixed with alcohol.” His lips curved into a smirk. “We’ll be pushing off in a few minutes. I want to get out into the channel before I dump you overboard. You won’t be needing this.” He leaned forward to unhook the orange life jacket, but his features suddenly seemed to melt and he sagged against the table.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s just the sleeping pills kicking in.” He tried to fight the growing grogginess, but his legs buckled and he collapsed on the deck. I reached in my pocket for my cell phone, but before I could dial, a boat approached and I heard a voice through a bullhorn.
“Put your hands on your head, Mrs. Pink.” Adele and Deputy Daniels were in the front as it pulled alongside the Camille. He looked at me and then saw Hunter crumpled on the deck. Before he even climbed aboard, Deputy Daniels was already taking out his handcuffs.