Page 155 of One of Us Is Guilty

Another for the rich.

No law for Patrick and Julian Vanderpool.

But that didn’t matter tonight.

She sat in the driver’s seat of her Mercedes and checked her black Gucci purse.

Cell phone.

Keys.

A perfume bottle.

The bracelet wasn’t in her purse. She had it in a clear plastic baggie, taped to her stomach. This was a dangerous situation, and she didn’t want to have to hand it over right away. Not until she had made sure she could go through with her plan.

The little silver revolver was still in her red Valentino purse, safely secured in the glovebox of the car. She couldn’t risk bringing it inside.

She swung the Gucci purse over her shoulder with the silver chain strap.

She reached for her shoes which were in the passenger side footwell. Black open-toed high heels. Too difficult to wear while driving. She slipped them on, got out of the car and felt those heels sink into the gravel of the driveway. Vanessa would need to be careful in these heels. They suited the little black cocktail dress, though they were uncomfortable and ugly in their own way.

But entirely necessary for tonight.

Just like the perfume bottle.

The cocktail dress was sleeveless. Ordinarily, she would never have worn a piece like this to one of Patrick’s functions. Both he and Vanessa were conscious of her scars.

Now, having revealed them at the trial, Vanessa felt no shame about displaying her bare arms in public. If anything, she was proud.

Most of the guests had their own drivers, and they weren’ttaking up space in the drive of what was, at that time, still her house in the Hamptons. Or at least half of it was hers, but only for the moment.

As she looked at the house, her memory flashed on the murder of the lawyer from Buchanan and Duff, and she shivered.

Two burly men in tuxedos stood outside the entrance.

Security for Julian and the guests.

There was no discreet way of doing this in public, and making the exchange in Julian and Patrick’s lawyer’s office would only raise more questions, or so Vanessa had maintained. She would only agree to this, an exchange at the house in the Hamptons, during the relaunch party for Patrick’s campaign for governor.

His second time running for the office.

Inside were thirty-four high rollers – all of them friends of Julian. Or at least they pretended to be his friend. Like Patrick, his father didn’t really have any friends in the traditional sense. These were powerful, vastly wealthy individuals who would pledge money as long as they knew they would get something in return when they needed it. Preferably something that would increase the stock value of their companies. That was the thing Vanessa had learned about the rich – they were lonely. Every relationship, even with those of their own wealth class, was purely transactional.

They liked it that way.

As arranged with Patrick, Vanessa would enter via the back staircase, which would mean she could meet Julian and Patrick in the second-floor lounge area, away from the guests. No one would see her enter. No one would see her leave. Yet she had the security of knowing there were sixty or seventy people downstairs, moving around freely, and she could scream and draw their attention if she felt threatened.

Vanessa picked her way through the gravel to the front door.

One of the security men in a penguin suit held out a hand with thick fingers.

‘We just need to search your purse, ma’am.’

She opened the Gucci purse, and he looked inside. Then nodded to his colleague.

Were they checking her for weapons, or making sure she had the bracelet on her?

It didn’t matter.