Marcie had agreed. Brad shouldnât worry. She would take care of everything. But in the cold light of morning, Marcie wondered exactly what she should do. How did one arrange a funeral in a city as large as Los Angeles? Thank goodness Sam was coming over this morning to help her. But he could be on his way right now, and she wasnât even dressed!
Marcie walked to the connecting door to Bradâs room, and knocked. Perhaps he hadnât left yet. She needed to ask him if she could borrow some of Mercedesâs clothes until the airline delivered hers. But there was no answer.
Marcie opened the door and peeked in. There were several crumpled towels on the floor, and she could smell the faint hint of his cologne in the air. She was too late. Brad was gone.
Even though sheâd urged Brad to go to the golf tournament, Marcie still felt a bit deserted. But that was why sheâd come, wasnât it? She was there to deal with the tragic details and spare Brad and the children. She just wished that Brad had knocked on her door to say something before heâd left.
Marcie hesitated in the doorway for a moment, and then she stepped in. Bradâs room was done in dark green, with green and gold plaid on the overstuffed chairs on either side of the fireplace. Mercedes had mentioned that Bradâs favorite color was green, and the room was obviously decorated to please him. There was a heavy mahogany bed with dark green sheets and a matching bedspread. It was flanked by two mahogany bed tables, with identical brass lamps on their tops. On the far wall was a huge mahogany dresser, six drawers high and four drawers wide. There was a life-size portrait of Mercedes in a brass frame hanging over the fireplace, and several Remington prints on the walls.
Even though she knew she shouldnât intrude on Bradâs private quarters, Marcie couldnât resist walking over to examine the prints. She reached up to touch one, and gasped as she realized that they werenât prints. Four Remington originals! Marcieâs mind boggled at what they must be worth. Then she saw the sculpture on the table between the two overstuffed chairs, and she gasped again. Another original Remington. It must have cost a fortune!
Marcie took a quick turn around the room, noticing the large walk-in closet filled with expensive clothing on wooden hangers, and the bathroom with its private sauna. This was a totally masculine room, the direct opposite of Mercedesâs feminine boudoir.
Marcie had been shocked when sheâd first learned about her sisterâs living arrangements. Wasnât there something wrong when a married couple chose to sleep in separate bedrooms? But then Mercedes had explained it, and it all made perfect sense. She often had early calls when she was working on a movie, and Brad was normally a late sleeper. Mercedes preferred to go to bed early, and Brad stayed up past midnight almost every night . Itâs just that we have conflicting schedules, Mercedes had said with a laugh. It doesnât mean that we donât love each other. After all, we have a connecting door.
Marcie walked back to Mercedesâs room and shut the connecting door. She felt slightly guilty for examining Bradâs room, but she couldnât help being interested in the handsome man her twin sister had married.
She still hadnât solved the problem of what to wear, but perhaps Rosa was here by now. Marcie picked up the telephone on her sisterâs night table, and pressed the intercom button. She really didnât want to wear the same clothes sheâd worn yesterday. They were wrinkled from her long airplane flight. But she wasnât sure it was right to wear her sisterâs clothes. Sheâd ask Rosa what to do.
âMiss Marcie!â Rosa answered on the first ring. âIâll bring your tea right up.â
Marcie frowned. For some strange reason, she didnât feel like tea this morning.