Fatal Identity (8 page)

“I haven't,” Rosa called out from the kitchen. She'd obviously been listening. “Mr. Sam told me not to, so I didn't.”

Marcie grinned at Sam. “All right then. What do we do first, Sam?”

Sam turned very serious. “First we go to the den, where there's a desk with a telephone. And then you read this letter, and do what it says. Mercedes had everything planned, Marcie. She left instructions with me.”

“But . . . how did she know that . . .” Marcie choked on the words. “I don't understand, Sam!”

Sam put an arm around her shoulders and led her into the den. “It's quite simple, really. Mercedes had a hard time when Mike died. She had no idea what sort of service he'd wanted, and she agonized over what to do. Right after his funeral, she brought me this letter. And she asked me to keep it for you.”

Marcie nodded and sat down at the desk. Her hands trembled as she took the letter and opened it. As she read her sister's words, written so long ago, it was almost as if Mercedes were alive again.

Dear Marcie.
Mercedes's writing was clear and even, much different from her usual hasty scrawl. Marcie knew this letter had been very important to Mercedes. She'd taken the time to write legibly.

When Marcie finished reading the letter, there was a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. She handed it to Sam and cleared her throat. “Read it, Sam. She wanted you to.”

Marcie watched as Sam read the letter. He was blinking back tears, too. When he finished, he folded it carefully and replaced it in the envelope.

“Seventy-six.” Marcie faced him with a smile, even though she felt more like crying. She had to play out her sister's joke.

“Great-Aunt Sarah?”

“Yes.” Marcie nodded. “But that was twenty years ago, when she married her eighth husband. She flew off to his estate in England, and Mom and Dad got Christmas cards every year until they died. Mercedes and I always figured that Great-Aunt Sarah would live forever.”

Sam smiled. He could tell this was hard on Marcie, and Mercedes had asked him to help her. “Why don't you get me some coffee, Marcie? I'll make some calls and take care of the details.”

“Well . . . if you're sure . . .”

Marcie hesitated, but Sam waved her away. As a lawyer, he was used to handling difficult situations like this.

When Marcie had left, Sam squared his shoulders and picked up the phone. Three short calls later, and everything was done. There were advantages to being a lawyer. All he had to do was identify himself by his profession, and he got right through to someone who had the power to cut through the red tape.

Sam made a few notes that he could give to Marcie, and then he leaned back in the chair and relaxed. He was very glad Mercedes had written the letter. It made things easier, knowing exactly what she had wanted. He still remembered the day she'd come to his office and left the letter with him. She'd been wearing a navy blue Chanel suit, and her hair had looked like spun gold against the dark material. That was the moment he'd finally admitted to himself that he loved her.

He'd known that Mercedes had loved him, too. But not in the way he'd hoped. He'd been a fond family friend, and a sort of uncle to the twins. Sam had spent hours trying to think of a way to plead his case, to encourage Mercedes to think of him as more than a friend. In the beginning, after Mike had died, he hadn't wanted to rush her into a new relationship. He'd waited patiently for her to visualize him in a romantic role, but that had never happened. Sam had stayed in the background as her trusted friend and confidant for the past eight years. And then, right when he'd finally decided to ask her to marry him, she'd met Brad, and everything had changed.

When Mercedes had told him she wanted to marry again, Sam had seen red. Hadn't she guessed that he loved her? Or didn't she care? He'd been angry with her for one long, miserable week. And then he'd decided to forgive and forget. Mercedes had hurt him, but he had to believe it wasn't deliberate. It was his own fault for not declaring himself earlier. Perhaps it wasn't too late, even now.

Sam had driven to the house to see her, and urge her to wait with her wedding plans. It hadn't been entirely a selfish request on his part. Mercedes was a wealthy woman, and she'd only known Brad for six short months. But Mercedes had insisted that she wanted to marry Brad as soon as possible.

He'd done his best to dissuade her. She wanted what was best for the twins, didn't she? Was it fair to them to marry someone they barely knew? It was only right to wait a bit and give them a chance to build a good relationship with the man who would be their new father.

Mercedes had handled the rebuttal well. Of course, the twins didn't love Brad now, but she was sure they would in time. They loved her, and they would be delighted that she was happy. And Brad didn't want to be a father to the twins. He was perfectly content to be their friend, the way Sam was. Even though Sam had argued half the night with her, he'd only been able to convince Mercedes of one thing. She'd agreed to establish a trust fund for the children, and keep her inheritance from Mike in a separate account.

So Brad and Mercedes had married, despite Sam's objections. And Sam had to admit that things had gone well at first. Brad was a charming, personable man, and Mercedes had been deliriously happy. The first hint of trouble hadn't reared its ugly head until Mercedes had decided to let Brad handle her money. Perhaps Brad's intentions had been good. Sam was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, even though he'd never really managed to get over his initial dislike, but Brad obviously had no head for investments. Sam was convinced that Mercedes might have ended up bankrupt if she'd allowed things to go on for much longer.

“Here's your coffee, Sam.”

Sam looked up and smiled, as Marcie came in and set a tray down on the desk. Even though Mercedes and Marcie had been identical twins, they'd turned out to be very different people. Mercedes had been like a blazing comet, streaking through life on an erratic course that was dictated by her fiery beauty and her explosive talent. Marcie had never reached for the skies. She was calm and firmly grounded, like a graceful oak on an old family estate. He'd seen her at her weakest point last night, with tears streaming down her face. But this morning she was steady again, ready to do her duty and help her loved ones in any way she could.

“Is everything all right, Sam?”

Sam nodded. “The Neptune Society will handle all the arrangements. And the studio agreed to hold a memorial service on Friday afternoon at the Academy Theater.”

“I want to be there. And I'll ask Rosa if she thinks the twins should go. Will you come with us, Sam?”

“Of course.” Sam picked up his coffee cup and took a swallow. He'd slipped into the lawyer's trap for a moment, yearning to play God and set everything to rights. He'd caught himself wishing that Mercedes had inherited some of Marcie's qualities. She could have used a little of Marcie's patience and sweet humility. It would have added some tranquility to her life. And Marcie could have benefited from a dose of her twin sister's extreme self-confidence. From the things Mercedes had told him, Sam knew that Marcie was a loving, talented woman, who was sorely lacking in what his father had called
chutzpah
. Roughly translated, it meant guts, or courage, or belief in one's abilities. Marcie doubted she had anything worth offering, so she gratefully accepted the crumbs that other people put on her table. She wasn't aware that she could have the whole loaf if she just stood up and claimed it.

And now Marcie was here, and Mercedes had asked him to help her. Sam liked Marcie, and he was prepared to do his best, but he knew it wouldn't be easy. Marcie was very naive, and Sam suspected she'd let Brad and the Hollywood crowd walk all over her. It was a damn good thing he was around to protect her interests. And there was no time like the present to start.

“Marcie?” Sam put down his coffee cup and leaned forward. “Do you think of me as a friend?”

Marcie looked slightly startled. “Of course. I know you were Mercedes's friend, and I was . . . well . . . I was hoping you'd be mine, too.”

“Good. Then I'd like you to hire me as your lawyer.”

“My lawyer?” Marcie frowned slightly. “I'd certainly hire you if I needed a lawyer. But why would I need a lawyer?”

Sam sighed. There was an issue of confidentiality at stake, and he knew he couldn't say too much. “There are a lot of details to be settled with your sister's estate. Take it from me. You're going to need some expert advice.”

“Oh, dear.” Marcie looked nervous. “Of course, I'd like you to represent me, Sam . . . but are you terribly expensive?”

Sam laughed. “Some say yes, some say no. But don't worry, Marcie. You'll be able to afford me. I personally guarantee it.”

“All right then.”

When Marcie walked over to the desk and held out her hand, Sam shook it. He held it a little longer than was necessary. Marcie was a sweet person, but she was much too trusting.

“Do you want me to sign a paper or something?” Marcie looked slightly worried.

“That's not necessary. A handshake is binding. Now, I want you to promise me not to sign
anything
unless I read it first. As your lawyer, it's my duty to protect you.”

“It's a promise.” Marcie nodded solemnly. “I won't even move unless you tell me it's all right.”

“You don't have to go quite that far . . . especially since you're standing on my toe.”

Marcie jumped back, and Sam laughed. “Just kidding, Marcie. You weren't anywhere close to my toe.”

“That was rotten, Sam!” Marcie glared at him, and then she giggled. “I'm glad you're my friend, Sam. I know Mercedes trusted you, and I do, too. You can be my lawyer until the day I go back to my teaching job in Minnesota.”

Sam smiled. He was almost certain that Marcie wouldn't be going back to Minnesota. Ever. But it would be premature of him to tell her that.

 

 

When she heard the gates open, Marcie jumped up from the couch. She rushed to the door and watched as the car rounded the bend, tires crunching on the crushed rock driveway. Rosa was back with the twins.

Even though she was nervous, Marcie put a smile on her face. The twins would be sad, perhaps even morose. It was her duty to comfort them, and help them get over their mother's death.

“Aunt Marcie!” Rick was the first to jump out of the car. He'd grown taller since the last time she'd seen him, and his hair, the same blond as his mother's, was bleached almost white with the California sun. Marcie noticed that there were tears in his eyes, but he blinked them back quickly as he ran to meet her. “We're so glad you came, Aunt Marcie!”

“I'm glad I came, too.” Marcie blinked back her own tears as she reached out to hug him. Then Trish raced up to join in their embrace.

“Aunt Marcie! Rosa said you were here, and we could hardly wait to get home!”

“And I could hardly wait to see you.” Marcie gave Trish another hug. “I like your hair, honey. Did Rosa braid it for you?”

Trish nodded, and her long, blond braids bounced. Rosa had mentioned that Trish was letting her hair grow, and Marcie was glad she'd picked up some barrettes and ponytail holders for her at the mall.

“They're hungry.” Rosa shook her head as she herded the twins toward the house. “Trish says they had beef stew for lunch at school, and she couldn't find any beef.”

Trish nodded. “It's true. Rick had one piece, but I didn't get any. It was awful, Aunt Marcie. Not like Rosa's at all. She's going to make us all grilled cheese sandwiches without any crusts.”

Marcie smiled as she followed the twins inside. They were coping much better than she'd thought. And they'd certainly seemed glad to see her! Except for the tears that Rick had blinked back, they showed no outward signs of their grief.

“Miss Marcie?” Rosa gestured toward the kitchen table. “You're going to have a grilled cheese, aren't you?”

“Well . . .” Marcie frowned slightly. Sam had introduced her to Hungarian food at lunch, and she'd eaten a massive helping of something called Farmer's Goulash.