Jill sagged against the back of the chair. “I wish I’d known.”
“We all wish that,” Mrs. Ivey said. “For a long time, Dianne blamed herself, and it was heartbreaking to see. Even after the divorce, she was afraid to visit, and she’d lived here for most of her life. Marc took that from her.”
“What about her father?”
“He lives near her, up in Rhode Island,” Mrs. Ivey answered. “But he’s not the same man he was.”
Outside, dusk had turned to darkness. A patter of fall rain tapped on the windowpanes. Chase reached for a blanket and laid it across Mrs. Ivey’s lap. She didn’t seem to notice that she’d shivered.
“That man told us he’d come to help, but he didn’t.” Mrs. Ivey’s voice shook with emotion. “He came to plunder.”
The thought from earlier tugged at her. She needed to ask again, but she chose her words carefully this time. “During our divorce arbitration, Marc said his company hadn’t earned a profit in all the time we were married, but I don’t believe that’s true. To prove it, he submitted a financial packet. Inside was a document from the state. I saw the seal.” At the time, Jill had disagreed with what Marc had said but she hadn’t looked closely at the financials. A mistake she regretted. “Then earlier today Nancy Pellish said ‘after what he did in Mantoloking.’ Do you know what she meant?”
“I don’t,” Chase said. “But Mantoloking’s not far from here.”
“Marc told the judge a property he owned had been declared a total loss. But the only properties I know of are the development in Summit, which he just completed, and the land in the Berkshires, which he just bought. Could the property he mentioned be the same one Nancy Pellish was talking about?”
“It’s possible,” Chase said slowly. “There are parts of Mantoloking that are still underwater, even today. The hurricane carved an inlet through a residential neighborhood over by the bridge. I think that town was hit the hardest.”
Marc had testified that his business hadn’t turned a profit in years, yet they’d both spent money freely. His watch alone had cost almost fifty thousand dollars, her shopping trips had been frequent and pricey. In addition, there had been country club dues, gym memberships, personal trainers, dinner parties, vacations—the list was endless. And that was only personal spending.
Chase interrupted her thoughts. “You said you came for answers. What did you want to ask?”
“I know that Marc arranged for you, specifically, to be at the party in August. Do you know why? Do you know what he wanted to talk to you about?”
“I assumed it was about investing.” Chase shrugged. “Marc always asked me about investing.”
But Chase’s reply only stirred up more questions.
If Marc’s company was losing money, he had nothing to invest. Why bother Chase? But Jill wouldn’t press. Reliving the hurricane had clearly cost them something and Jill couldn’t bring herself to ask for more. It was time to leave. She reached into her bag for her camera and removed the memory card.
“Would you mind giving this to Ryan? He needs it for the website.” Then she rose from the chair. “Thank you for your time.”
Pausing at the front door, she added, “I’m sorry for what Marc did. You can see now that I didn’t have any part in it.”
“I’m not sure that matters,” Chase answered. “The fact remains: if you’re selling that house, then you’re part of it.”
Twenty-Two
Jill hurried back to the beach house.
After leaving the Bennett home, Jill cut down a side street to avoid the festival activity in town, though she didn’t want to. In the few days she’d been here, she’d come to like Dewberry Beach—the people, the town, the shore. Avoiding them now felt wrong, like she was accepting blame for a scheme she’d had no part in. It bothered her that Chase believed that selling the house made complicit. This was Marc’s doing, not hers. Why couldn’t Chase see that? She kicked a stone in her path and it skittered across the street, smacking the opposite curb with a satisfying crack. Marc’s lies had affected her as well; she was a victim too. But the worst part was that Marc was free to live his life while those he’d deceived struggled to find theirs.
Back at her own house and utterly exhausted, Jill let herself inside, locking the door and drawing the shades, hiding from the neighbors. But she already knew they were watching. She kicked off her shoes and settled into an alcove away from the windows, thinking that she should follow up with the real-estate agent, but she didn’t have the energy.
After all she’d heard, several things still nagged at her: one of them was the idea that Marc had built a single house instead of a development. He never did that, ever. How many times had she overheard him tell his associates, at parties or dinners, that profit came from developments, not singles. “Single builds lose money”—she could hear his voice as clearly as if he were standing in this room.
And the other was that Marc’s whole business was losing money. That wasn’t true either.
She’d been ordered to leave the Summit house because it had sold—the last house in a successful development. And if the development wasn’t successful, how could Marc afford to move ahead with the Berkshire development? The money from the mortgage that Cush had stolen was significant, but not nearly enough to pay for the land Marc needed. So where did he get the rest?
It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.
Maybe she should start with the financial packet Marc had submitted to the judge.
Jill closed her eyes and
