The Palm Beach Murders Read online

  The judge said, “Do you feel the absence of a prenuptial agreement would have affected the marriage in any way?”

  I had never even thought about the agreement until Brennan dumped me. So clearly the damn thing had not affected our marriage one bit. At least from my perspective.

  Brennan said, “Looking back, Your Honor, I feel Christy might have been more interested in my lifestyle than me. And the fact that we’re having this hearing confirms that theory.” Then he added, “I can’t say she ever showed any genuine emotion toward me.”

  There was no reason for Brennan’s last remark. He knew it wasn’t true. I’d loved him and thought he loved me.

  He just stood there as if he expected applause.

  I felt a tear well up in one eye. Why was I crying now? Maybe because not only was it over, but I was realizing that nothing had ever actually existed between us. I was just some kind of trophy for him.

  The judge said, “Thank you, Mr. Moore. You may sit down now.”

  My husband, because he was still my husband, in fact and in the eyes of the law, turned in his chair and looked right at me. When he had my full attention, he winked and gave me a smug smile.

  The judge considered everything he’d heard and told the attorneys to hold their questions. Then he looked up and cleared his throat. This was it. He had recognized that I’d signed the agreement under duress, I’d been coerced, and Brennan had presented me with false financial data. I looked at my attorney, who was also smiling. He was optimistic too.

  The judge said, “Gentlemen, I have carefully considered your motions on behalf of your clients, and after hearing from both Mr. and Mrs. Moore, I’ve concluded that Mrs. Moore is a very intelligent, educated woman who signed the agreement willingly, without undue pressure or while under duress; therefore…”

  I didn’t hear the rest, but then again, I didn’t really need to. All I heard was the judge’s final comment. “Mrs. Moore’s motion to dismiss the prenuptial agreement is denied.” He looked up at both tables and said, “Let’s start to move this along now, shall we.” Then it was over. My best shot at recovering part of my old life had been a failure.

  Brennan stood with a broad smile on his face and shook all of his lawyers’ hands like he was O. J. Simpson and had just avoided a double murder rap.

  I spent the next few moments consoling my attorney, who felt like he had let me down. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and hugged him. He sniffled and nodded.

  As Brennan passed me on his way out of the courtroom, he stopped and leaned down. “You look great, babe. Sorry about your little motion.”

  “Why are you doing this? Why humiliate me on top of everything else?”

  Brennan just grinned and said, “Because I can, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”

  Chapter 14

  Outside the courthouse, my lawyer said it was all his fault. As I looked at him and his off-the-rack suit and Supercuts haircut, my thick file tucked under his right arm, I realized he had no idea the hearing had been fixed. He’d followed the rules and assumed everyone else would as well. I’d done the same, and look where that had gotten me.

  My lawyer said, “I’ll keep looking for something we can exploit. But at some point you have to get on with your life. Christy, you’re a beautiful woman, and you shouldn’t let this experience sour your outlook on love.”

  That was an easy thing for a father of three who had been married twenty years to say. I gave him a hug and sent him on his way.

  That evening Marty had to work, so I sat in my quiet room at the Brazilian Court Hotel and did nothing but search the Internet for legal precedents and articles about situations like mine. I wanted to explore every possible option I had.

  That night I barely slept, tossing and turning, my stomach tightening every time I thought about the hearing.

  The next day, Marty came by around lunchtime, when I was only barely starting my day. He talked me into taking one of our usual walks along the beach. I was quiet for a while; then, after we had gone a way in the soft sand, he said, “Sorry I didn’t sleep over, but I had a ton to do. But because I worked during the night, now I have a few hours to spend with you on a beautiful day like this.”

  I said, “It’s all right. I was on my iPad all night doing legal research anyway.” That seemed to catch his attention.

  “I thought your attorney was supposed to do that kind of thing for you. Did you at least find anything interesting?”

  “A few things.” I wasn’t sure if I was playing coy or worried about trusting Marty completely. It was easier to make him work for the answers so I could decide what I might say.

  Marty said, “A few interesting legal leads? Can you give me a for-instance.”

  I decided to jump in with both feet. “Did you have a will when you were going through your divorce?”

  Marty said, “I had nothing to leave anyone. Teal was getting it all anyway.”

  “Did you know that if you die without a will, it’s called dying intestate and generally the spouse is in line to get everything?”

  That made Marty stop in his tracks. He even glanced around to make sure no one was near us on the beach, but by now we were blocks from the public beach and there wasn’t a soul in sight. He looked right at me and said, “That can’t be right. Even in a divorce.”

  I told him what I had read. “As long as the divorce isn’t final, and there is no will, all of the precedents say the spouse is entitled to the estate.”

  “Aren’t wills filed in court?”

  “No. They can be held by the attorney, but usually they’re just kept right at the home of the deceased. It’s convenient and doesn’t cost anything. And most people really don’t think they’re gonna die anytime soon. It’s just one of those details that floats by in life.”

  Marty started walking again and just said, “Really? Good to know. Next time I’m wealthy, I’ll make sure to give a will to my attorney just in case. One less thing to worry about.” He gave me that adorable smile that made all my troubles melt away. That was a rare quality in a man and something that couldn’t be faked. I started to realize just how lucky I’d been to find Marty at this time in my life.

  Chapter 15

  It took almost a week for me to get back to normal, but Friday afternoon Marty surprised me by showing up at the Brazilian Court, looking like a true Palm Beacher in his linen shirt with a cashmere sweater draped over his shoulders, khakis, and loafers with no socks. His fake Rolex would pass all but the closest of inspections.

  As I assessed him spinning in my doorway and looking a little like a model, all he said to me was “Got any plans?”

  I let the smile spread across my face as I said, “None at all.”

  I almost thought he’d take me for another walk along the beach, but he told me to dress up and not expect to be back at the hotel for quite a while. I had no idea what that meant.

  We hopped into his BMW and drove across the bridge into the center of downtown West Palm. Traffic was much heavier than it was on the island, and I was curious where we were headed.

  He turned onto some side roads, obviously to throw me off and have some fun. The man took his games seriously, and I loved that. Then we found ourselves westbound on Okeechobee once again and crossing over I-95.

  Finally I had to ask, “Where are we going?”

  His goofy smile was infectious as he said, “You’ll see. We’re just going to play a game. Are you up for that?”

  I could’ve said That depends, but I really was in the mood for something different. I needed to get my head out of my troubles, at least for a little while.

  So I grabbed his free hand, which was resting on the gearshift. “Yes.”

  When Marty pulled in to the Bentley dealer off Okeechobee, I became even more curious. This was a fun game, and I had no idea where it was headed. I knew there had to be some connection to seeing Brennan in his own Bentley the other day, but I was happy to watch the whole thing unfold.
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  I was in a dress that was more appropriate for an evening event but could pass for business attire at some of the higher-end jewelry stores or any of the shops on Worth Avenue. The Christian Louboutin pumps on my feet weren’t the easiest things to walk in, but they made my calves pop, so I had thrown a pair of comfortable shoes into the bag Marty had told me to pack.

  I resisted the urge to ask questions and spoil the spontaneity as we walked, hand in hand, through the front door of the dealership and stood next to a dark red Mulsanne. Marty looked through the window of the car and down the hood like he was checking for imperfections. That drew a salesman like chum draws sharks.

  We endured the introductions and a few minutes of small talk until the tall salesman, about forty-five, who could’ve been selling Mazdas as well as Bentleys, said, “So what, exactly, brings you out here today?”

  Marty was very casual as he said, “My wife and I are in the market for a new car, and I thought it was time to seriously consider a Bentley. Brennan Moore recommended you guys.”

  That line shocked me, but it had the desired effect on the salesman.

  “I sold Brennan his Mulsanne, just like the one sitting right here.” He patted the hood of the car like it was a racehorse. “Brennan is a great guy, and I’m so happy he recommended us.”

  The salesman looked at me for some kind of response, but all I could do was mumble, “Yeah, yeah, he’s the best.”

  Marty said, “We see him over on the island quite a bit, and I like the look of his new car. But we usually don’t go for long drives.”

  The whole time, I marveled at Marty’s inventive deviousness. I still had no idea what this game was.

  Marty said to the salesman, “Although we’ve considered a Flying Spur, we’re seriously looking at a Mercedes across the street at Mercedes-Benz of Palm Beach. I just wanted to show her a couple of Bentleys.” Then he turned toward the door and took a few steps.

  It was genius. I had never seen anything like it. Immediately the salesman lunged for us, saying, “Wait, wait, you don’t want a German car on the island. Bentley is the only way to go.”

  Marty was masterful. The salesman essentially begged us to take a Flying Spur for a test drive.

  Marty remained aloof and said, “I’m not sure driving a few blocks in the car is gonna give me the confidence I need to buy it.”

  The salesman said, “No problem. All I need is a little information, just your cell phone and maybe your driver’s license, and you can take it home overnight and really get a feel for it. We’ll even come by and pick it up if you don’t like it, or we can complete the paperwork right at your house.”

  Even though the salesman was a little aggressive, I felt sorry for him. He was standing in front of us like a puppy waiting for a treat.

  Marty hesitated and then gave him his cell number.

  When the salesman said, “We just need a little bit more information,” Marty countered with “I don’t have time for paperwork.”

  Then he looked at me and said, “Let’s go.” He turned like an impatient Palm Beacher would, and the salesman jumped up with the keys, telling us to just give them a call if we needed anything.

  A few minutes later, after we had retrieved a few things from Marty’s BMW, we pulled out of the parking lot, but instead of turning east toward Palm Beach, Marty turned west on Okeechobee.

  I said, “Where are we going now?”

  A satisfied smile popped onto his face as he said, “You’ll find out.”

  I loved this game. We held hands and chatted as he pulled onto the turnpike headed north. I didn’t ask any questions. I just enjoyed the ride as we took the turnpike farther north until Marty pulled off onto Osceola Parkway and then off again at an exit just south of Orlando. I had to fight the urge to ask questions, but when he pulled into the Four Seasons right outside Disney World, I couldn’t help but show my surprise. Who doesn’t want to visit Disney World? I had just told him how Brennan had promised but had never taken me. I threw my arms around Marty’s neck and planted a big kiss on his lips.

  As we got out of the car I had to tell him, “This game of make-believe is fantastic.”

  Chapter 16

  Disney World was all I had dreamed it would be. At least the attractions were, anyway. Somehow, when I was a kid, I’d never calculated how many people were crammed into the park every day. Especially on a beautiful Saturday like this. We managed to make it onto most of the rides, though the longest waits were at Space Mountain and Pirates of the Caribbean. I might have enjoyed a trip to the Magic Kingdom more when I was eleven, but being here today with Marty was really special too. Maybe the most important thing was that I realized how carefully Marty had listened to me and how badly he wanted to see me happy. This guy would do anything for me, and no one had ever made me feel like that before.

  Walking hand in hand with Marty made me feel like no matter what choices I had made, I had the right man in my life now. He was just what I needed.

  But after lunch my mood started to change. It began with the salesman from the Bentley dealer calling Marty and asking how he liked the car. Marty handled it perfectly, telling the salesman we were still undecided but we’d bring the car back later this afternoon.

  As Marty stuffed the phone back into his front pocket, he smiled at me and said, “I just won’t answer the phone again until we’re about to drop the car off.”

  The call had brought me back to reality, and my problems were no longer a world away. I started thinking about the court hearing and that pompous ass Brennan. While we were floating in our boat through It’s a Small World, I noticed our conversation had turned darker as well.

  Out of nowhere Marty said, “Disney makes a fortune separating people from the real world and the ugliness around them.”

  “Whoa, what brought that on?” The little girl in front of us had been peeking behind the seat since the ride had started. She might not have understood what he was saying, but she picked up on Marty’s attitude and quickly twisted around to sit low in her seat, out of sight.

  Our conversation drifted back to normal, Magic Kingdom–related topics as we shuffled our way through the Haunted Mansion and Frontierland. Once we landed in comfortable seats and under air-conditioning at the PhilharMagic 3-D, with no one sitting close to us, I acted on the urge to kiss him.

  Marty said, “I’m glad you’re having a good time. I’m sorry you missed out on Disney for so long, but I’m glad your ex-husband didn’t hurt your sense of joy.”

  “First of all, he’s not my ex-husband yet. And he didn’t hurt my sense of joy, but he did come close to ruining it. He was never the man I thought he was. It turns out you are the man I thought he was.”

  We kissed again, deeply and passionately. I felt Marty’s hand around the back of my neck, and I wanted to hold him tight. As the show began and objects came flying at us in 3-D, we continued making out, grabbing at the visual effects before us. I’d never thought I’d enjoy the PhilharMagic 3-D so much.

  Somehow I knew Marty was a guy I could depend on. He would protect me, and since he had taken me to Disney World, I knew he just wanted to make me happy. Who could ask for anything more?

  Chapter 17

  I thought the salesman was going to kiss Marty when we dropped off the Bentley. He darted out of the showroom and met us in the parking lot.

  The salesman blurted out, “I thought you’d—”

  Marty was back in character as the annoyed rich guy and said in a sharp tone, “What? You thought we’d what?”

  The salesman stammered and said, “F-forgotten us. You just surprised me by keeping the car a little extra. You must have really loved it.” He was standing in front of us, almost hopping in place with excitement, like a kid about to open a Christmas present. “What do you think? Will you pull the trigger on it? I can have everything ready for you to sign in just a few minutes.”

  He was following along in the parking lot as Marty walked toward the back where his car was parked
. The salesman didn’t even seem to realize he was being led away from his office.

  Marty waited until we were right next to his car so we could enjoy the look on the salesman’s face when he opened the door of his beat-up BMW. The salesman’s expression said it all.

  As Marty and I slipped into the car, Marty said, “Think I’ll stay with my Beemer for now.”

  We giggled about it all the way back to Palm Beach.

  The night ahead of us ended up being one of the best endings to one of the best weekends of my life. I tried another one of Marty’s crazy little pills, and this time we didn’t wait for Allie to show up. I called her. And she brought a friend. A tall, very young, and really hot Czech bartender from Café Boulud, the restaurant right in the hotel. He had blond hair and blue eyes, and he eagerly accepted one of Marty’s homemade Ecstasy tabs. I couldn’t even pronounce his name, which didn’t sound like it had any vowels in it, and his accent was thicker than Allie’s. But he wasn’t here to talk.

  Before I knew it, we had our own disco going, with my speakers blaring out dance songs from the eighties on Pandora. We left the music on as each couple started to get more intimate and clothes started to fly onto the floor.

  The young bartender looked like he belonged in a Tommy Hilfiger ad, with his flat stomach and ripple of muscles that popped perfectly against his tightie-whities.

  Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door. It wasn’t like when Allie would tap and then rap a little harder. This was an immediate pounding.

  Allie scooted from the couch and said, “I’ll get fired if I’m caught in here.”

  “Me too,” added the bartender.

  I shut off the music and called out, “Who is it?” Trying to keep my best homemaker’s voice.

  From outside the door I heard, “Palm Beach Police, Mrs. Moore.”

  That had an effect on Marty, who sprang up and started toward the bedroom. I said, “You need to stay out here with me this time. These two have to go into the bedroom. They can’t be caught in here or they’ll lose their jobs.”