Page 62 of The Getaway

“What does this have to do with Coco P.?” Marshall shook his head at Marley, frustrated. “If you can hear me, just get back here as soon as you can,” he said into the phone. Then he threw it on the bed and groaned.

“What did he say? Where is he?” Marley asked.

“I have no idea. I could barely understand anything, the signal was so broken.” Marshall walked around to the side of the bed and sat, his right foot bouncing on the floor. “He said something about being stuck in a flood, and he definitely said, ‘It’s all jammed,’ but I have no idea what that means.”

Marley pulled her hair over one shoulder and sat next to him. “And what about Coco P.?” she asked.

“Oh, that much I got. He said he left with her and her team to make sure they got to their hotel okay. He didn’t say what time that was, but it explains why his car is still here. They had a driver, of course.” He shoved his hands through his hair and left it standing up from his head. “I guess he expected to Uber back or something, but the weather got too nasty.”

“At least you got ahold of him. Wherever he is, he’s all right,” Marley said.

“And he answered his phone, which means . . . ?”

“Maybe he’s not trying to hide from us,” Marley finished. “Maybe he didn’t do it.”

“Maybe he doesn’t even know about it.” Marshall groaned again and flung himself backward on the bed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “How is this even happening?”

“I don’t know.” Marley ran her fingers down her tangled hair over and over. She needed a shower, desperately. “Juliet doesn’t even want to speak to me.”

“I don’t blame her. We were basically putting her on house arrest before Daisy showed up,” Marshall said, letting his arms flop at his sides and turning his palms up. “This is all so wrong. Do we really think one of our friends could . . . could . . . do this?”

They sat in silence. Marley felt an almost primal need to run. They needed the storm to be over. Or at least to subside. She wouldn’t feel safe until she was away from here, away from this house, this situation, these people. Only then would she be able to think.

“We should go tell the others about Josh,” she said finally.

Marshall took in a long, deep breath, held it, then sat up and blew it out. “This should be fun.”

30

Gemma

Gemma startled awake. Had she even been asleep? She hadn’t thought she’d been, but after hours of lying there worrying about the girls and their future and the police and her role in Lincoln’s death—assuming one of the notes had provided the motive—now she couldn’t remember what she’d been thinking two seconds ago. So maybe she had finally dozed off. If she had, then what had woken her? She rolled over, away from a quietly snoozing Grant—she had always marveled at his ability to sleep wherever and whenever, no matter what was going on—and stared at the windows. The blinds and curtains were drawn, but she could still hear the wind roaring outside. What time was it? Were they anywhere close to morning?

She fumbled on the nightstand for her watch and clicked the side button to light it up. It wasn’t even 2:00 a.m. yet. This night was never going to end. This storm was never going to end.

Twenty-four hours ago, Lincoln had been arguing with Daisy downstairs. Now he was dead, and it was her fault. Did Trevor’s death somehow tie back to the notes too? Was she responsible for all of this?

She squeezed her eyes shut so tightly they hurt, trying to press out the thought. She had not come here to hurt anyone. She had come here with only good intentions. To help Grant land a job at Home Team Hotels. To get her family back on secure footing. All Lily had asked her to do was deliver those notes. It had seemed so harmless. What had Lily been thinking? Everything inside of Gemma throbbed with regret, and tears welled up, her nose filling as she tried to hold them back. But how could she have known? Yes, Lily had a mischievous streak—some might even say a mean streak—but the notes had been sealed. And even if they hadn’t been, Gemma was doing her friend a favor. She never would have thought to look inside.

This was supposed to be a new beginning for them. A chance for Grant to get his career back on track. The possibility of a move to New York, a new home, a new school for the girls, a fresh start for everyone. Even Gemma would have been closer to the publishing industry. She could attend parties, make connections, find new avenues for her own work. Now it was all over.

When she’d called Lily to ask her to talk to Lincoln about hiring Grant, she had known she was overstepping in a dozen different ways. Lily and Lincoln weren’t even married anymore. Grant hadn’t asked for her help. But he’d talked to everyone he knew, taken informational meetings all over town, even tried to break into the nonprofit sector, but no one would touch him with a ten-foot pole. She’d been at her wits’ end. And Lily was her best friend. A best friend who knew dozens of influential people, one of whom happened to be her billionaire ex-husband.

Surprisingly, Lily had been open to helping. She’d told Gemma she and Lincoln talked all the time and that she still had a massive stake in his business. Of course Lincoln would want to help. He loved Grant. Gemma had been so relieved. She’d asked Lily to make it seem like it was her idea—to keep this conversation to herself—and Lily had agreed.

“In fact, I’ll work it so Lincoln thinks it was his idea,” she’d said conspiratorially.

A week later, Grant had come to Gemma all smiles. Lincoln had invited them to the annual Hamptons week. An honor they’d never once been granted when Lily and Lincoln were still married. When Gemma had called Lily to thank her, Lily had given her this one task to do for her in return. To keep up the tradition of leaving notes for her friends. Of course Gemma had immediately consented. It was such a small thing to pay Lily back for a huge boon. Thanks to Lily, it was all happening. Everything was going to be okay.

So what would happen now?

Once news of Lincoln’s death got out, someone would have to take charge of the company. Gemma didn’t know enough about the business to know who that would be. There was a board of directors, but basically, Lincoln held all the reins. He was the president and CEO, and—she knew from Lily—the controlling stockholder.

The controlling stockholder.

Gemma’s fists, which had been gripping the sheet in front of her, slowly opened.

Lincoln never changed his will. Hazel had said it herself. Which meant Lily would still get everything.