“Haven’t hooked anybody yet, eh? Probably never will.”
It was at a charity ball that Kendall met Marc Renaud. He worked at the international desk of a New York brokerage house, where he dealt with foreign currencies. Five years younger than Kendall, he was an attractive Frenchman, tall and lean. He was charming and attentive, and Kendall was immediately attracted to him. He asked her to dine the next evening, and that night, Kendall went to bed with him. They were together every night after that.
One evening, Marc said, “Kendall, I’m madly in love with you, you know.”
She said softly, “I’ve been looking for you all my life, Marc.”
“There is a serious problem. You are a big success. I don’t make anywhere near as much money as you. Perhaps one day-”
Kendall had put her finger to his lips. “Stop it. You’ve given me more than I could ever have hoped for.”
On Christmas Day, Kendall took Marc to Rose Hill to meet her father.
“You’re going to marry him?” Harry Stanford exploded. “He’s a nobody! He’s marrying you for the money he thinks you’re going to get.”
If Kendall had needed any further reason to marry Marc, that would have been it. They got married in Connecticut the following day. And Kendall’s marriage to Marc gave her happiness she had never known before.
“You mustn’t let your father bully you,” he had told Kendall. “All his life, he has used his money as a weapon. We don’t need his money.”
And Kendall had loved him for that.
Marc was a wonderful husband—kind, considerate, and caring. I have everything, Kendall thought happily. The past is dead. She had succeeded in spite of her father. In a few hours, the fashion world was going to be focused on her talent.
The rain had stopped. It was a good omen.
The show was stunning. At its end, with music playing and flash bulbs popping, Kendall walked out onto the runway, took a bow, and received an ovation. Kendall wished that Marc could have been in Paris with her to share her triumph, but his brokerage house had refused to give him the time off.
When the crowd had left, Kendall went back to her office, feeling euphoric. Her assistant said, “A letter came for you. It was hand-delivered.”
Kendall looked at the brown envelope her assistant handed her, and she felt a sudden chill. She knew what it was about before she opened it. The letter read:
Dear Mrs. Renaud,
I regret to inform you that the Wild Animal Protection Association is short of funds again. We will need $100,000 immediately to cover our expenses. The money should be wired to account number 804072-A at the Crédit Suisse bank in Zurich.
There was no signature.
Kendall sat there, staring at it, numb. It’s never going to stop. The blackmail is never going to stop.
Another assistant came hurrying into the office. “Kendall! I’m so sorry. I just heard some terrible news.”
I can’t bear any more terrible news, Kendall thought. “What…what is it?”
“There was an announcement on Radio-Télé Luxembourg. Your father is…dead. He drowned.”
It took Kendall a moment for it to sink in. Her first thought was, I wonder what would have made him prouder? My success or the fact that I’m a murderer?
Chapter Ten
Peggy Malkovich had been married to Woodrow “Woody” Stanford for two years, but to the residents of Hobe Sound, she was still referred to as “that waitress.”
Peggy had been waiting on tables at the Rain Forest Grille when Woody first met her. Woody Stanford was the golden boy of Hobe Sound. He lived in the family villa, had classical good looks, was charming and gregarious, and a target for all the eager debutantes in Hobe Sound, Philadelphia, and Long Island. It was therefore a seismic shock when he suddenly eloped with a twenty-five-year-old waitress who was plain-looking, a high-school dropout, and the daughter of a day laborer and a housewife.
It was even more of a shock because everyone had been expecting Woody to marry Mimi Carson, a beautiful, intelligent young heiress to a timber fortune who was madly in love with Woody.