Page 14 of The Wives of Murder Club
“I’m glad to get you alone.” Marta plucked a fuzzball from her sweatpants. “I need to ask you about what you said last night.”
“About what?” Imogen gave her a confused look.
“Uh, the blackmail? Seeing Derrick the night he went missing? I can’t believe you never told me. I mean, you saw him before he . . . before he disappeared? Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Marta tried to keep her voice even, but incredulity seeped out around the edges of her words. “It’s, like,crazythat you didn’t tell me before now.”
“I know, babe, I know.” Imogen briefly covered her face with her hands, then lifted her head, her hands pulling down at her cheeks. “This must seem so strange, but you have to believe me, I was trying to protect you. This is totally sensitive shit and I didn’t want to bring it up in front of the others . . . Honestly, I shouldn’t have mentioned the blackmail at all. That was the tequila talking.”
“Protect me?” She wanted to shake Imogen. “What are you talking about?”
Imogen sighed. “He wanted to make a big withdrawal from your joint investment in the ITFF, Marty. Alotof money. I have no idea what he needed it for, he wouldn’t say, but the way he tried to go about it was super shady—like, he didn’t want me to tell you about it. Look, I don’t want to speak ill of . . . I don’t want to say anything to hurt you, but I guess it’s too late for that now. I wanted to speak to him in private because I found out that he was having an affair with one of the student teachers at the Academy, and I told him that he needed to come clean to you. But then he disappeared . . . it didn’t seem right to bring it up then. Anyways, bottom line is that there was no way I was going to give himyourmoney—that would have been totally unprofessional and unethical, and you know I always have your back. I met up with him to make my position clear. That’s all it was.”
Marta closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose to centre herself. “Oh god, okay. So, he was definitely cheating? But you . . . I still don’t understand. What is the whole blackmail thing about?” Marta felt as though the plank she’d been walking for weeks had just narrowed to the width of a balance beam.
“I didn’t see anyone around, but someone must have been watching me—or him, I guess—because they took pictures of us. That person sent me photos of us together, implying that I did something to him. Which is bullshit, of course.”
“And you think that someone is one of us.” The wind snatched at Marta’s words, making them almost inaudible.
“Not you, obviously. But yeah, one of the other girls. It’s really messed up, but absolutely not worth wasting police time on. I keep asking myself who is trying to make me suffer.”
Marta nodded, wondering how Imogen could be so dense. If anyone was suffering, it was her, not Imogen. And this blackmail thing—as much as Imogen claimed it was nothing—it definitely cast Derrick’s disappearance in a new light. Marta wondered if she should inform the police about it when they got back, or whether that would be a mistake. “Who do you think it is?”
Imogen tilted her head back to stare at the wispy clouds streaking the blue sky. It was a remarkably clear and beautiful morning. “If I had to guess, I’d say Celeste . . . she definitely needs the money. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’m going to, so don’t repeat it to anyone. Harry left her in a really bad financial situation when he passed. So yeah, I could see her getting creative. The emails I received asked me for thousands of dollars, but of course I haven’t paid a dime.”
“You think she’d be that desperate?” asked Marta. “I guess I don’t know her that well, we’ve never really clicked. I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“Between us, I think I may have to let her go. I take the ITFF very seriously, and if I have these kinds of doubts about her, there’s no way I should be letting her anywhere near my clients.”
“Let her go?” Marta grimaced. “Wow, she’d be furious. I can’t even imagine.”
“Did you not hear what I just said? She might be the one blackmailing me! And honestly, she’s not all that good at her job—a job that I am overpaying her to do. I can’t have my employee compromising my reputation or putting my integrity into question. She’s a friend, but, since we’re being candid, I’m only this close to her because of our daughters.”
Marta nodded, wondering why she didn’t feel vindicated. She’d wanted to hear Imogen admit it for so long, but this was not the friendship victory she’d imagined it would be. “You have to do what’s right for your business. But . . . do you really think she’s the one blackmailing you? If I had to guess, I would have thought it was Bernie.” A small part of Marta wondered if Imogen had made up the story to inject drama into their weekend; she loved being the centre of attention, after all.
“You think?” Imogen puffed out her cheeks and gazed at the lake. “I hate thinking like this about our friends. But about what you said earlier—why don’t you like Celeste?”
“No, I like her fine,” Marta lied. “We just don’t really gel. I thinkshedoesn’t likeme. I don’t have anything against her, but she’s always been more your friend than mine.”
Imogen narrowed her eyes at Marta. “So Bernie, eh? Hard to imagine her creeping around snapping pics at night, not in those heels she loves to wear . . .” Imogen looked momentarily uncomfortable as she toyed with an extension that was starting to look a little ratty. “I don’t think I’d want to cross her. Did I ever tell you about the time she was over at my place and I found her going through my medicine cabinet? She said she was looking for the Advil. Anyways, it was the look she gave me when I caught her. She was totally composed, but her eyes went dark for a split second, like she would totally shiv me with a toothbrush or something.” Imogen let out a strained laugh. “Why do you think it could be her? Did she say something?”
“No, no, not at all. I think it is majorly messed up that someone is doing this to you, but let’s leave it alone. I bet it will stop. Can we please just have a good time this weekend? I really need this. I feel like I’m losing my mind waiting for the police to find a lead.” Imogen’s maybe-real-maybe-fake blackmail story had added an upsetting element to their getaway, one that Marta could do without. “I’m looking forward to discussing the book, and I hope I’m not the only one who read it. If I can do it with a missing husband, no one else has any excuse.”
“Babe, of course I read it,” said Imogen. Marta was pretty sure she was lying. “The other girls did too. We know this weekend is important to you. I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you since Derrick . . . You’re holding up remarkably well, and I’m proud of you.” Imogen reached over and trilled her fingers against Marta’s shoulder—a particular gesture of comfort they’d done to each other for almost as long as they’d been friends.
But Marta took no comfort from it now. She sighed and shook her head, increasingly convinced that coming to the lake had been a mistake. Despite the warm sun on her face, the little hairs on her arms stood on end.
15
BERNIE
Bernie did a few restorative yoga poses in bed while enjoying the morning sun over the water. After stretching, she relocated to an easy chair, sipped an electrolyte drink, and rifled through her recollections of the previous night. Bernie had been enjoying her profitable little game immensely, and was looking forward to the next play. She decided she’d send the next email the day they got home from the trip; there was no doubt in her mind that Imogen would pay a lot more money to make those images of her and Derrick go away for good.
It was times like this that Bernie was very satisfied that she’d allowed herself to be adopted into this group of friends, a happenstance occasioned by nothing more meaningful than buying the house next door to Imogen’s. It was a good thing to be seen to have friends—very socially acceptable, very normal. It also provided Bernie with a private pool of victims upon whom to inflict tiny (and not so tiny) torments. As fun as it was to play with strangers (most recently, Bernie had eavesdropped on a couple in a bar, learned their names, and then approached the woman in the washroom. “Melinda? It’s Melinda, right? Trey keeps promising me he’ll leave you for me, but I guess that’s just another one of his lies”), it was much better to have a front-row seat to the fallout.
Bernie went downstairs, where she found Celeste sitting at the kitchen island, sipping a glass of water and staring vacantly out at the lake. When Bernie appeared, Celeste physically started.
“Good morning, didn’t mean to scare you,” said Bernie. “Anyone else up?”
“You didn’t scare me,” Celeste said unconvincingly. She looked haunted. There were dark-purple circles under her eyes and her hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, which was somehow greasy and dry at the same time. A far cry from her usual effortless elegance. “Marta and Immy are out by the lake.” She didn’t look at Bernie as she spoke; instead, her gaze darted around the room like she was watching a fly.
