The Last Mrs Parrish: An addictive psychological thriller with a shocking twist!

As she entered the kitchen, she saw that tea and a plate of fruit sat waiting on the island.

“Mug or cup?” Daphne asked, standing in front of an open cabinet door.

The shelves of the cabinet looked as if they could have been a display for a luxury kitchen showroom. Amber imagined someone using a ruler to measure an exact distance between each cup and glass. Everything lined up perfectly, and everything matched. It was disconcerting in some strange way, and she found herself mutely staring, mesmerized by the symmetry.

“Amber?” Daphne said.

“Oh. Mug, please.” She sat on one of the cushioned stools.

“Do you take milk?”

“Yes, please,” Amber said.

Daphne swung the refrigerator door open, and Amber stared again. The contents were lined up with military precision, the tallest at the rear and all labels facing front. The absolute precision of Daphne’s home was off-putting. It felt to Amber like more than a desire for a neat home and more like an obsession, a compulsion. She remembered Sally’s account of Daphne’s time in a sanitarium after Tallulah’s birth. Perhaps there had been more going on than just postpartum depression, she thought.

Daphne sat opposite Amber and poured their tea. “So, we have just two weeks before the big night. You’ve been amazing. I’ve felt such a wonderful synergy with you. We both have so much of our hearts invested in this.”

“I’ve loved every minute of it. I can’t wait until the fund-raiser. It’s going to be a huge success.”

Daphne took a sip of tea and placed the mug on the counter between her hands. Looking at Amber, she said, “I’d like to do something to show my appreciation for all your hard work.”

Amber tilted her head and gave Daphne a questioning look.

“I hope you’ll let me buy you a dress for the fund-raiser,” Daphne said.

Amber had hoped this was going to happen, but she had to play it carefully. “Oh no,” she said. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Please. I’d really love to. It’s my way of saying thank you.”

“I don’t know. It feels like you’re paying me, and I didn’t work on this to get paid. I wanted to do it.” Amber smiled inwardly at her brilliant show of humility.

“You mustn’t think of it as payment. Think of it as gratitude for your immense help and support,” Daphne said as she pushed back a blond wave, her diamond ring flashing brightly.

“I don’t know. I feel sort of funny having you spend money on me.”

“Well,” Daphne said and paused. “How would you feel about borrowing something of mine, then?”

Amber could have kicked herself for protesting too much, but she guessed borrowing a dress was the next best thing. “Gee, I hadn’t thought of that. I would feel better if you weren’t spending your money.” As if this woman didn’t have millions to burn.

“Great.” Daphne stood up from the stool. “Come upstairs with me, and we’ll look through my closet.”

They climbed the stairs together, and Amber admired the Dutch masters on the wall.

“You have magnificent artwork. I could spend hours looking at it.”

“You’re more than welcome to. Are you interested in art? Jackson is absolutely passionate about it,” Daphne said as they reached the landing.

“Well, I’m no art expert, but I do love museums,” Amber replied.

“Jackson too. He’s a board member of the Bishops Harbor Art Center. Here we are,” Daphne said, leading her into a large room—given its size, it could hardly be called a walk-in closet—filled with racks of clothing lined up in perfect, parallel rows. Every piece of clothing was in a transparent garment bag, and two walls were lined with shelves that held shoes of all styles, arranged by color. Built-in drawers on a third wall held sweaters, one each, with a small see-through panel to identify them. At one end of the room stood a three-way mirror and a pedestal. The lighting was bright but flattering, without the harshness of department-store fitting rooms.

“Wow,” Amber couldn’t help herself from remarking. “This is something.”

Daphne waved her hand dismissively. “We attend a lot of functions. I used to go shopping for each one, and Jackson said I was wasting too much time. He started having things sent to the house for me to look at.” She was leading Amber to a rack near the back when suddenly a young woman came walking into the room.

“Madame,” she said. “Les filles. It is time to pick them up, non?”

“Oh my gosh, you’re right, Sabine,” she exclaimed, looking at her watch again. “I’ve got to go. I promised the girls I would get them today. Why don’t you just look through these dresses till I get back? I won’t be long.” She patted Amber’s arm. “Oh, and, Amber, this is Sabine, our nanny.” She rushed out of the room.

“Nice to meet you, Sabine,” Amber said.

Sabine, reserved, gave a small nod of her head and in thickly accented English responded, “My pleasure, miss.”

“Mrs. Parrish told me you’d been hired to teach French to the girls. Do you enjoying working here?”

Sabine’s eyes softened a moment before she regained her austere composure. “Very much. Now you will please excuse me?”

Amber watched as she walked away. So she was French—big deal. She was still just a nanny. But, Amber thought, Daphne’s friends would all think it was so grand, not the usual Spanish-speaking nanny, but one who would teach her daughters French.

Amber looked around the room in wonder. Daphne’s closet, indeed. This was more like having an exclusive department store at your disposal. She sauntered, slowly examining the rack upon rack of clothes, all meticulously sorted by color and type. The shoes were lined up with the same fastidiousness as the china in the kitchen cabinets. Even the spacing between garments was uniform. When she got to the three-way mirror, she noticed two comfortable club chairs on either side—apparently meant for Jackson or whoever was nodding approval as Daphne modeled her choices. On the rack Daphne had indicated, she began to look through the dresses. Dior, Chanel, Wu, McQueen—the names went on and on. This wasn’t some chain department store sending clothes for Daphne to look at; these were couture houses making their designs available to a moneyed client. It boggled her mind.

And Daphne was so casual about all of it––the luxury, the fine art, the “closet” full of designer suits, dresses, and shoes. Amber unzipped one of the bags and brought out a turquoise Versace evening dress. She carried it to the three-way mirror and stepped onto the pedestal, holding the beautiful dress against her body and staring at her reflection. Even Mrs. Lockwood had never brought anything remotely like this to be dry-cleaned.

Amber hung the dress up and, when she turned away, suddenly noticed a door at the far end of the room. She moved toward it and paused with her hand on the knob only a moment before opening it. Before her was a sumptuous space that was a dazzling mix of luxury and comfort. She walked around slowly, her fingers brushing the yellow silk wallpaper. A white velvet chaise longue sat in a corner of the room, and the light from the Palladian window threw dazzling prisms of color on the walls as it pierced the crystals that hung from the large chandelier. She reclined onto the chaise, looking at the picture on the opposite wall, the only piece of art in the room, and felt herself drawn into the peaceful scene of trees and sky. Her shoulders relaxed, and she surrendered to the stillness and calm of this special place.

She closed her eyes and, imagining this was her room, stayed that way for a while. When she finally rose, she examined the space more closely, the delicate table with photographs of a young Daphne and her sister, Julie. She recognized the slight girl with long, dark hair and beautiful almond-shaped eyes from photographs she’d seen throughout the house. She moved to the front of an antique armoire with an abundance of small drawers. Reaching over, she opened one of them. Some lacy underwear. Another with exotic soaps. More of the same in the other drawers, all meticulously folded and placed. She opened the cabinet and found mounds of plush bath towels. She was about to close the door when she noticed a rosewood box toward the back. Amber took it in her hand, undid the catch, and opened it. Inside, nestled on rich green velvet, sat a small pearl-handled pistol. She gently lifted it from the box and saw etched on the barrel the initials YMB. What was this gun doing here? And who was YMB?

Amber wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there when she heard the sound of voices and doors opening and closing. She quickly replaced the gun, took one more glance around the room to make sure she hadn’t disturbed anything, and left. As she reentered the clothing room, the children came bounding in, Daphne close behind them.

“Hi, we’re back. Sorry we were so long. Bella forgot her painting, so we went back to get it,” Daphne said.

“It’s fine,” Amber said. “The dresses are all so beautiful, I can’t decide.”

Bella frowned and whispered to her mother, “What’s she doing here?”

“Sorry,” Daphne said to Amber and then took Bella’s hand. “We’re finding a dress for Amber to borrow for the fund-raiser. Why don’t you and Tallulah help her? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“All right,” Tallulah said with a smile, but Bella looked at Amber with undisguised hostility, turned on her heel, and stalked out of the room.

“Don’t let her upset you. She just doesn’t know you well enough yet. It takes Bella a while to warm up.”

Amber nodded. She better get used to me, she thought. I’m going to be around a long, long time.

FIFTEEN

Amber was pissed. It was December 24, and Rollins was staying open until two o’clock. What kind of idiots looked at houses on Christmas Eve? Why weren’t they at home, wrapping their big-ticket presents and decorating their twelve-foot trees? But they probably didn’t do all those things themselves, she reflected. That’s what people like Amber were for.

Around noon Jenna stood in the doorway of Amber’s office. “Hey, Amber, can I come in?”

“What is it?” Just what I need now, she thought peevishly.

Jenna walked in with a large wrapped package in her hand and placed it on Amber’s desk. “Merry Christmas.”

Amber glanced at the gift and then at Jenna. She hadn’t even thought to buy a present for Jenna, and was discomfited by her gesture.

“Open it!” Jenna said.

Amber picked it up and tore off the paper, then took the lid off the box. Inside was a glorious assortment of Christmas cookies, each one more delicate and delicious-looking than the last. “Did you make these?”

Jenna clapped her hands together. “Yes, me and my mom do it every year. She’s a spectacular baker. Do you like them?”

“I do. Thank you so much, Jenna. It was really nice of you.” Amber paused a moment. “I’m so sorry, but I didn’t get you anything.”

“It’s okay, Amber. I didn’t make them so you’d get me a gift. It’s just something my mom and I love doing. I give them to everyone in the office. I hope you enjoy them. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you too.”

Amber slept late on Christmas morning. When she awoke, the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and only an inch of snow had fallen. She took a long, hot shower and, after wrapping her terry-cloth robe around her, made a strong pot of coffee. She took her mug back into the bathroom and began to blow-dry her wet hair into soft waves—plain but classic. She applied a little blush, a dab of very discreet eye shadow, and some mascara. She stepped back from the mirror to examine the finished product. She looked youthful and fresh but without a trace of sexiness.

Daphne had asked her to come over around two o’clock, so after she finished a cup of yogurt, she sat down to read The Odyssey, which she’d borrowed from the library last week. Before she knew it, it was time to dress and gather everything up. Hanging on the closet door was the outfit she’d chosen—gray wool slacks and a white-and-gray turtleneck sweater. Small pearl studs in her ears—not real, of course, but who cared—a simple gold-colored bangle on her left wrist, and only her sapphire ring on her finger. She wanted to look pure and virginal. She took one last look in the full-length mirror, nodded approval at her image, and swept the presents into a large shopping bag.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the open gates and parked her car in the circular driveway. Grabbing the bag of presents, she strode to the door and rang the bell. She saw Daphne coming down the hall, Bella right behind her.

“Welcome! Merry Christmas. I’m so glad you could come,” Daphne said, flinging open the door and embracing her.

“Merry Christmas to you. Thank you so much for letting me share this day with you and your family,” Amber said.

“Oh, it’s our pleasure,” Daphne said as she shut the door.

Bella was dancing around next to Daphne like a jumping bean.

“Hi, Bella. Merry Christmas.” Amber gave her a big fake smile.

“Do you have a present for me?” Bella asked.

“Oh, Bella, you didn’t even say hello. That was very rude,” Daphne scolded.

“Of course I brought you a present. How could I not give one of my favorite girls a present?”

“Goody. Can I have it now?”

“Bella! Amber hasn’t even taken her coat off.” She gave her daughter a little shove. “Let me have your coat, Amber, and let’s all go into the living room.”

Bella looked as if she was going to protest but did as she was told.

Jackson and Tallulah looked up from the dollhouse they were furnishing as Amber, Daphne, and Bella entered the room. “Merry Christmas, Amber. Welcome,” Jackson said with a warmth that indeed made her feel welcome.

“Thank you for inviting me. My whole family is back in Nebraska, and I would have been alone today. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

“No one should be alone on Christmas. We’re glad you’re here.”

Amber thanked him again and then turned to Tallulah. “Hi, Tallulah. Merry Christmas. What a cool dollhouse.”

“Would you like to come see it?” she asked.

These kids were like night and day. She didn’t like children, but at least Tallulah had manners, not like the little animal who thought the sun and the moon revolved around her. Amber went and sat down next to Tallulah in front of the dollhouse. She had never seen anything like it, even in photographs. What she and her sisters would have given for a toy like this, with all the fabulous furnishings and dolls to go with it! It was enormous, with three stories, real wood floors, tile bathrooms, electric chandeliers that actually worked, and beautiful paintings on the walls. As she looked closer, she realized it was a replica of the actual house they lived in. It had to have been custom-made. What must that have cost?

“How about a glass of eggnog, Amber?” Daphne asked.

“I’d love one, thank you.” She continued to watch as Tallulah carefully placed sofas, tables, and chairs in the house. Bella was on the other side of the room, busy with her iPad.

As she sat there, Amber took in all of the presents sitting open under the tree. They were piled high upon one another, tissue and ribbon mingled in the mix and spilled far into the room. She thought back to the miserly Christmases of her youth and felt keenly sad. She and her sisters had always gotten presents that were utilitarian, like underwear or socks, never a gift that was a luxury or even just a fun toy to play with. Even their stockings had been filled with useful or edible things, like the huge orange at the bottom to take up room, pencils and erasers for school, and sometimes a little puzzle that would become tiresome after one day.

The display in the Parrishes’ living room left her speechless. She saw what looked like silk lingerie peeking out from one of the boxes and several smaller boxes that must have contained more jewelry for Daphne. Tallulah’s presents were stacked in a neat pile. Bella’s, on the other hand, were haphazardly spread out over a large part of the room, and once she put down the iPad, she went from one to another in quick order.

The one thing missing from this scene, Amber thought to herself, was Daphne’s mother. Why wouldn’t the girls’ grandmother, a widow living only a car ride away, not be invited to spend Christmas with her only daughter and granddaughters? It seemed to her that the value placed on lavish presents was way above that of family.