A Scandal at Eastwick
A Scandal at Eastwick
L. C. Warman
Copyright © 2019 by L.C. Warman
All rights reserved.
To respect the copyright of this work, please do not reproduce any part of this book in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
* * *
Address:
Greenleaf & Plympton
P.O. Box 36621
18640 Mack Ave.
Grosse Pointe Farms, MI 48236-9998
* * *
Greenleaf & Plympton is a publisher of gothic books, both classic and modern. To see our full catalog, visit www.greenleafandplympton.com.
Cover art: Caroline Teagle Johnson
Proofreading: Alexandra Ott
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019944443
ISBN (e-book) 978-1-950103-16-4
ISBN (print) 978-1-950103-17-1
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Acknowledgments
Also by L.C. Warman
About the Author
Chapter 1
Harry McKenzie frowned. “Lia?” he said. “Lia’s in Los Angeles.”
“Apparently not. Apparently she wants another stab at you.” His mother wrinkled her nose and settled into one of the armchairs in Harry’s second-story living room, in the condo she had bought for him as his graduation present. She was dressed in what was, for a woman like Paulette McKenzie, simple garb: a patterned pastel dress, pearls, and kitten heels. She rubbed at the spot on her finger where her wedding ring used to be. Harry had always wondered if she realized she did that. More so, ever since—well.
“I don’t understand,” Harry said.
“What’s to understand? The girl has finagled her way into house-sitting at the Eastwick’s. Poor Elizabeth Eastwick took pity on the girl’s mother and befriended her a few years ago. And now she’s doing the girl a favor, heaven knows why. It was always such a social-climbing family.”
“You think everyone is a social climber.”
“When you’re in my position, dear, most everyone is,” Paulette said with a sigh. “In any event, you’d better warn Alyssa.”
“Why would Alyssa care?”
“Harry,” Paulette said, with a smug smile. “Of course she would. How would she feel if someone else told her that your ex-girlfriend was hosting the New Year’s Eve party?”
“But Lia isn’t hosting it, is she? She’s just house-sitting. The Eastwicks should have canceled this year, if they were traveling—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. It was a late trip. You know what happened to them, those horrendous relatives, that poor secretary. Elizabeth and her son deserve some travel. And why cancel the party and lose all of their deposits?”
Harry did not offer a reply.
“Besides,” Paulette said, snuggling into the armchair. Harry’s mind automatically began to search for excuses to usher her out. “Alyssa will definitely want to know. She’s a sweet girl. You shouldn’t blindside her like that.”
“Maybe we won’t go.”
“Harry!”
“What?” he said. “It’s just a party. If Lia makes you that uncomfortable—”
“I never said she made me uncomfortable,” Paulette all but hissed. “I’m thinking of you. Besides, Arthur and I have been planning for this night for a long time, and your brother will be there, and…”
Right. Arthur. Harry rubbed at his jaw. “You know what, Mom?” he said. “I think you’re right. I think I’d better go tell Alyssa.” He rose and grabbed his coat.
“You can’t call her?”
“I think it’d be better to just go over and see her. Break the news that way.”
“Well, all right,” Paulette said, rising and dusting off her dress. “Would you like me to come with you? It’s been ages since I’ve seen Alyssa—I might give her a tip or two. It’s her first St. Clair party, after all.”
Harry bit his lip to refrain from pointing out that his mother had never shown such an interest before in his new girlfriend. It could only be that Alyssa suddenly had a higher stock in comparison to Lia—Lia, the girl who had left him ten years ago at their high school graduation, who had told him she was going to Hollywood to make it as an actress. He had watched movie trailers and show pilots every year, waiting to see her, waiting for her to make good on her promise. Because Lia was the type of girl who could make such dreams happen. Lia was the type of girl who—though not pretty in a standard way, not entitled, not even well-connected—was determined. Was the type of person who meant everything that she said.
But she had never broken out, not in any tangible way that Harry had ever seen. His memory of her now was distant, the raw pain scabbed over. He felt a dull disappointment for her that he did not know how to place.
Because if Lia was back in St. Clair, even temporarily, something had gone wrong.
Did he care? And what in heaven’s name would he do when he saw her?
Chapter 2
Alyssa’s phone buzzed just as she stepped out of the dressing room.
“Ohh!” Clarissa cooed. “It’s perfect!”
Alyssa looked down at her dress, torn for a moment between reacting to the compliment and picking up the phone. The dress was beautiful—cream-colored and beaded, almost bridal save for the splash of indigo blue at the bottom. It was sleeveless, with a plunging neckline that still managed to look modest, mostly because Alyssa’s figure was trim and almost girlish. A “model figure,” her mother had always said.
“Hello?” Alyssa said, holding one finger up to her friend as she swirled in front of the boutique’s mirror, admiring the movement of the dress. Clarissa clapped her hands in the background. “Harry?”
“Are you at the rental?”
The abruptness of the question caught her off guard. She and Harry McKenzie had been dating for nearly a year now, but they blissfully had not left the honeymoon period of their relationship. They had met while at graduate school—she in international policy, he in business—and had become one of those nauseating couples with the world at their fingertips. Harry came from money, and so did Alyssa, though in very different ways: the McKenzies had made their fortune in business, starting centuries ago, and had extended their oil empire into real estate and hospitality in more recent years. Alyssa’s parents were wealthy because they were the children of immigrants who had worked hard to turn their parents’ sacrifices into comfort—her father was a doctor, her mother a lawyer. A ve
ry successful lawyer.
“Sorry?” Alyssa said into the phone.
“Are you at the rental?”
“No, why? I’m dress shopping.” She spun around, and Clarissa held up her phone, snapping a photo. “With Clarissa. Have you gotten your suit yet?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, distracted. Alyssa slowed a bit, ignoring Clarissa’s directive to spin around once more. She didn’t like Harry’s tone. “Listen, I have to tell you something about the party.”
“What’s that?”
It was entirely possible, of course, that he was planning the proposal for that night. She had been thinking about it ever since Harry invited her to spend the holidays over in his hometown and had oddly insisted that she take her own apartment rental for that weekend (paid for by him, of course). He had wanted her to meet his mother and said something about her being old-fashioned, though Alyssa couldn’t imagine any woman believing two twenty-eight-year-olds were playing by some outdated, repressed rules. And that meeting had gone well enough: Paulette was a jealous woman, possessive of her son, suspicious of any girl who wanted to take him away, but Alyssa knew how to charm people. She would win her over eventually.
“Sorry? Say it again?” Alyssa said.
“Lia. Lia will be there.”
“Who’s Lia?”
She heard him suppress a sigh. It was a bad habit of hers, she knew, tuning someone out when her own thoughts took over. But what did he expect? She was dress shopping, for heaven’s sake—possibly for her engagement!
“Lia was my high school girlfriend,” Harry said. “I just didn’t want you to be surprised. We don’t talk anymore, or anything.”
“Lia,” Alyssa said, and then wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want the taste of any ex of Harry’s in her mouth. She knew he had some, of course, but he had never talked about Lia before—only some dumpy college girlfriend whom he had broken up with after three years, and a second moderately attractive one whom Alyssa had stalked enough in the first few months of their relationship to feel satisfied that she was both more attractive and better-educated than her competition. She’d have to look up this Lia now, too.
“Yeah,” Harry continued. Why did his voice sound so strange? “Just wanted to give you a heads-up, that’s all.”
“Okay,” Alyssa said brightly. “Thanks, hon. I’m sure she’s lovely.”
“Right,” Harry said, suspicious of being let off too easily.
“Do you want me to be jealous?” she teased. “I can be jealous if you’d like.”
“No,” Harry said. “That’s fine. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
They hung up, and Alyssa turned back to her friend, a pit forming in her stomach. Clarissa noticed and rose, frowning. “Everything okay?” Clarissa asked.
Alyssa didn’t answer. Of course Harry would have a high school girlfriend—he had been an athlete in high school, popular. But why was this one important enough that he had to call and warn her?
Alyssa stomped back into the dressing room and pulled off the dress. She sat down on the low bench and began searching through Harry’s friends on social media, looking for this mysterious Lia. The name was unusual enough, but no matches popped open. Good. He wasn’t following her anymore, then. But still she wanted to find her. She searched, came up with a few St. Clair “Lias” who were much too young to have gone to high school with Harry, and tried searching the name and town instead. Nothing. She searched “Harry McKenzie and Lia” finally, and found pictures of Harry, but none of the mysterious other girlfriend. Frustrated, she slipped her phone back into her purse and changed back into her clothes, emerging with the cream dress draped over one arm.
“What’s going on?” Clarissa asked. She looked nervous. Alyssa found herself annoyed by this; she had asked Clarissa to come with her on a whim, because Clarissa was from the area and could possibly help Alyssa navigate the social dynamics of such a private, ritzy town as St. Clair. But besides the embarrassing closeness of their names, which made all introductions awkward, Clarissa had also been uncharacteristically moody, sometimes so chipper that Alyssa made excuses to get away from her, sometimes so quiet and listless that Alyssa wondered if, perhaps, her friend was a little jealous of her new relationship, and if she had had a crush on Harry herself all along.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Alyssa said, a little too testily. She moved up to the front counter of the boutique, a white marble slab surrounded by two vases of pink roses and two giant glass apothecary jars filled with Jordan almonds. A sales girl rang the dress up, and Alyssa handed over the credit card Harry had lent her.
“You were talking with Harry?” Clarissa said, hesitating.
“Yes. Are you going to buy something, too?” Alyssa asked. She knew she was being harsh, but how could she bring up Lia to her friend? What if she saw her biggest fear reflected back at her? What if Clarissa saw through Alyssa’s bluffing? She didn’t want that, not now. Not when she was about to—well, when she might be about to—get engaged. Nothing would ruin this weekend for her. She just needed to calm down. Not get so worked up about things.
“Yes, I’m going to grab something, too,” Clarissa said, in a near squeak. She disappeared and returned seconds later with an emerald-green dress that suited her pale complexion. Alyssa was just as pale, but her dark locks and eyes meant that she could pull off an ivory dress without becoming completely washed out—which meant that she would look just as good in white, on a soon-to-be day.
“Did Harry tell you something?” Clarissa asked as they emerged from the shop and began the short walk back to the rented apartment, bundling themselves up in their feather down jackets as they reentered the unforgiving cold. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course,” Alyssa said. She hesitated, then plunged on. “He was just telling me that an ex-girlfriend will be there—just a heads-up, of course. He wouldn’t want me talking to someone who had dated him without me knowing!” And then she laughed, though she regretted it, for it came out high-pitched and forced.
Clarissa, meanwhile, laughed too. And she looked—yes, she looked relieved. Alyssa frowned, filing the information away. Why?
Chapter 3
Arthur wiped his brow with the bright white towel, freshly pressed, that one of the country club boys had delivered to him. He hated squash, but he had long ago determined that he would not waste away in his old age like every other sad soul who had given up on life. And when Arthur McKenzie made a decision, he stuck to it.
He packed his phone back into his bag, grunting an acknowledgment to his squash partner, a too-cheerful man twenty years his junior. He showered and changed into a pair of khakis and a polo shirt, and the loafers that Paulette had bought him for his birthday last month.
He had two missed calls and a few texts by the time he picked his phone up again. This annoyed Arthur—he deleted the phone calls and decided to respond to the texts later. Women just loved to gossip. Talk, talk, talk, that’s all they ever did. Spread information around like their lives depended on it. Sometimes he felt sure that he could whisper a secret in any woman’s ear—so long as he mentioned it was a secret—and within two hours, every female in the world would know. They’d spread it through their underground network of slander and spying and whispers. Never in his life had he met a woman capable of keeping a secret.
That, he thought, was what worried him the most.
At least this was harmless gossip. Useless information, really. So what if Harry’s ex was hosting the party? Or house-sitting when the owners should have been hosting? It didn’t make a difference to Arthur. But oh, he’d heard of it twice now, and Paulette seemed to think there was something salacious in it. Seemed convinced the girl was trying to get old Harry back. Harry was a fine fellow—Arthur had nothing against his nephew—but he couldn’t imagine that someone would travel back for the Christmas holidays just to win over an old flame. Then again, he wouldn’t put it past a woman. He’d seen them scheme on much less.
He shoved his gym bag back i
nto his locker, taking out his phone and wallet. The thought of scheming had sent Arthur’s heart beating faster again. But why should he be so nervous? He had done nothing wrong. Really, it wasn’t his fault, not if one considered all of the circumstances.
And yet, he thought, it might not be a bad idea to just make a call…keep things under control.
The problem, of course, was that women were just so damn unpredictable.
Chapter 4
Julia climbed into the front seat of the SUV, grinning at Atul’s pinstriped suit. “You look dapper.”
“Funny, that’s exactly what I was going for.”
Julia tugged her seatbelt over her sequined party dress and leaned back. Only Atul could convince her to do something like this. One last party, for old time’s sake, or something. She liked that he worried about her, that he cared. He had been one of the few people who had, years ago, at the time when Julia had really needed her friends.
“Namita’s still planning on coming, right?” Julia asked as they pulled onto the road and began driving through the yawning winter dusk, casting the town in purples and grays.
“Yup—later, with some of her friends. And your mysterious fiancé?”
Julia snorted. “As if.”
“Will I ever get to meet him?”