A Dagger Cuts Deep

by Kathy L Wheeler

  ~~~

  Jackson was unprepared for the urge to do violence when he and Deidre walked into her bedroom. Her hand flew to her mouth in a pained cry as she dropped to her knees beside the splintered wooden pieces of a miniature baby’s crib. He reached down and picked up a broken doll. He pictured the scene as it must have been before the break-in, with the doll having been carefully placed on its flowered, sheet-covered mattress.

  Deidre didn’t know it yet, but she would not be returning to this hovel. Tears trekked down her cheeks. She moved over to the toy box, knelt down, and reached for the box.

  “Wait. Don’t touch anything. We need to call the police.” He hurried over to her and tugged her to her feet. “I don’t think we’re in any danger of the person returning but the longer we stay here the less comfortable I am.”

  “Something is different, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “You mean besides the obvious destruction?”

  She scowled at him but didn’t answer.

  “Chin up, darling. Let’s check the rest of the place.” He took her face in his hands and, using his thumbs, swiped the tears from her cheeks. “All right?”

  Her lips firmed. Her eyes flashed fire. “Yes.”

  He brushed his lips across hers. “Good.” He followed her to the only other bedroom, and found the same violation, if not to the same degree. Mrs. Phillips’ room had also apparently been searched, but not ransacked with such violence. It seemed as if the perpetrator had cooled his heels then went his about hunt in a more systematic method for whatever he was looking for.

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you what might be missing in here. This is Mrs. Phillips’ domain,” Deidre said. The kitchen was next and was the least disturbed.

  Deirdre stopped, turning in a small circle. She dashed from the kitchen and down the hall again. Jackson stayed on her heels back to hers and Lori’s bedroom.

  His blood ran cold. “What is it?” he asked.

  She went over to the vanity and ran her fingertips over the top. “Charity’s note. It’s missing.”

  21

  With shaking fingers, Junior poured out a shot of brandy and tossed it back. The bitter burn choked him. Once he got control of himself, he grabbed the neck of the bottle and held it up. Plymouth. Gin. God, he hated gin. He didn’t take the time to grab the brandy, instead, and poured another couple of fingers of the gin. The second shot didn’t burn any lighter going down his throat. By the time it hit his stomach, his hand, while not completely steady, was steadier.

  Where had Charity stashed that information? It couldn’t have gone to the grave with her. He couldn’t be so lucky.

  His father charged into the room. “Where the devil have you been all day?”

  Junior’s head jerked up. “Hello, Father.” Junior was tall, but not as tall as his father, a thorn that stuck in his crawl.

  Simon Sr. was frowning. “Well?”

  Jr. poured his father a glass of the Plymouth. They might as well both suffer with the news Junior had to impart. With as much calm as he could muster, Junior strolled over and handed his father the tumbler. “You’d better sit down.”

  Senior’s eyes, narrowed, but he did as Junior asked.

  Junior lowered in the chair across. “Charity Montgomery was blackmailing me.”

  His father sipped. “Go on.”

  “She said she saw me with Penelope fifteen years ago. She said the money she received from Victor was almost gone and that she wanted more.”

  “She saw you kill Penelope?”

  “I didn’t kill Penelope,” Junior bit out, jumping to his feet. “I told you that.”

  “But you raped her.”

  “No! She came on to me.” He sneered. “She was a little slut.”

  “That’s neither here nor there at this point, is it?” His father’s legs were stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles. He was staring into the contents of his glass.

  Junior didn’t even rate his father’s undivided attention. “I didn’t kill her.”

  His father looked up with his head cocked to one side as if contemplating an intricate puzzle. It was a ruse that served him well, Junior knew. “Then who did?”

  “How the hell should I know? She started screaming and I took off. Besides, that happened fifteen years ago.” Junior paced the length of the drawing room.

  “There’s no statue of limitations on murder, as you well know,” his father said.

  “Yes, I know. But I still didn’t kill her.”

  “And Charity?”

  Junior went back over to the bar and poured out a third glass. “She contacted me a couple of weeks ago and said she had proof that could, at the least, make things very uncomfortable for the firm. “I, uh, decided to search her sister’s apartment to see if I could find the information Charity claimed she had on me.”

  “So you broke in.” It wasn’t a question.

  Junior didn’t answer. His father knew him too well.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “A note telling her to meet at the Trinity Church cemetery.”

  “Telling who to meet whom, Junior? Clarify yourself. You’re a lawyer, for God’s sake.”

  A simmering rage coiled in his gut. His father’s condescension grated over his skin like rusty nails on slate. He jerked the note from his pocket and thrust it at his father.

  With methodical calm, Senior took the note and glanced it over. “There’s nothing here. Who wrote this?”

  “I have no idea?”

  “Perhaps you should tell me exactly what Charity was holding over you?”

  “She didn’t exactly say what it was, just that she had—” he lifted one hand and curled his fingers in a mock quote— “proof.”

  “Proof of what? If you didn’t kill Penelope, as you claim, and you only ‘took her against her will’ which you claim you didn’t do, the statute of limitations indeed has run out. Of course, regardless if that particular information is true and came to light, it would indeed hurt the reputation of the firm, and I would have to insist you resign.”

  This was exactly what Junior was hoping to avoid. “She just said she had proof of…” Junior swallowed. Hard. “Of others.”

  His father stilled. “But Charity is dead. Did you know that?”

  Junior’s frustration breeched its limit. “I didn’t kill her either,” he ground out.

  “I know that, son,” he spoke through a clenched jaw. “But with Charity dead, there’s not much to worry over, is there?”

  Junior’s erratic pulse slowed. “No. No, there isn’t.”

  22

  “We’re not going to make the ferry.” Deidre’s fret filled the car. “We told Lori we would be back tonight.”

  Jackson pressed his foot on the gas. “We’ll do our best.” The delay had come with the call to the police. The thought of someone breaking into Deidre’s apartment sent cold chills up his spine. He wanted a record of the invasion. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been so much as a fingerprint.

  The bastard had probably worn gloves, the police told them.

  The interview had set them back two hours. The last ferry left Bridgeport at eight in the evening and the drive from Queens to Bridgeport was an hour and a half.

  “Lori worries when I’m not there.”

  He reached across the seat for her hand and squeezed. “If we don’t make it, we’ll call. But we’ll do our damnedest to catch the ferry.”

  By sheer luck, theirs was the last car to drive on. Most of the traffic was outbound from the island after a long day at the fair. The tension in the cab evaporated in a huge sigh of relief. Back on the island, Jackson drove up Montgomery Lane to the circular drive. He’d barely come to a stop before Deidre was out of the car and racing up the steps.

  Jackson followed more slowly. “Hello, Esther. Could you perhaps pull a quick dinner together. I’m afraid we didn’t have the opportunity to eat much today.”
<
br />   “Of course, Jackson. Josephine is in the library with Lori. She’s an adorable little girl. So polite and charming. Mrs. Spence—”

  “Miss.”

  She patted him on the hand as if he were still a child. “Yes, of course. Miss Spence is also in the library.”

  Jackson nodded and entered the turret room just as Lori jumped up from a pallet on the floor next to Frizzle. The dog was a monster, as big as a small pony. Jackson strolled over to the makeshift bar and poured himself a brandy then took a seat in one of the empty winged chairs.

  “Oh, Mama, I was so worried you wouldn’t come back.” Lori’s arms were tightly entwined about Deidre’s neck. She acted as if Deidre had been gone a week, not a day.

  “It was a near thing,” Deidre said, smiling. “But why aren’t you in bed?”

  “I told Mrs. Phillips that Frizzle and I would look after her,” Jo explained. She glanced at Jackson. “She insisted on waiting up. It’s good you made it back.” She lowered her voice. “She seemed quite anxious.”

  Jackson caught Lori’s eye and inclined his head at Frizzle. “Did you ride him as a horse, Lori?”

  She giggled. “Of course not. He’s a dog. You can’t ride a dog.”

  Jackson eyed the hound stretched out on the floor in front of the empty fireplace, considering. “I’m not so sure,” he murmured.

  Lori let loose a gale of laughter that doubled his heart in size. This was his flesh and blood. This was his daughter. He suddenly couldn’t swallow and set his brandy aside.

  Esther entered, holding a tray with enough sandwiches and tea to feed half the island inhabitants. No sooner had she walked in than Wyn followed. She set the tray on the center table.

  Wyn snatched up a sandwich. “Excellent. I’m starving. The special at the Cobblestone tonight was meatloaf and I just couldn’t do it.”

  Deidre let out a small laugh, but didn’t explain. “Lori, don’t you think it’s time you went to bed? I’ll be up soon.”

  Her head went down on Deidre’s shoulder. “Not without you, Mama. Please? I’m scared.”

  Jackson could see right away that Deidre was no match for Lori’s soft plea.

  “Oh. Yes, of course you are. It’s our first night here after all. Shift over then, so I can eat something. I haven’t had a bite all day.”

  Jackson hid a grin behind his tumbler.

  “Did you find out anything in the city?” Wyn asked.

  The tension in the room grew thick as Jackson met Deidre’s desperate look. “We did. But that’s a conversation for later,” he said calmly.

  Wyn’s eyes darted to Lori; Jackson acknowledged his silent understanding.

  Deidre didn’t dawdle. She finished what amounted to three quarters of a sandwich and stood, taking Lori by the hand. “Come along, dear. We must say our goodnights.” She turned to Jo. “Thank you for looking after Lori.” She addressed Lori. “You’d best thank Frizzle for his attention.”

  Lori grinned and went over to the dog and hugged his neck so tightly, Deidre winced.

  “He’s a tough boy,” Jo said.

  Frizzle lumbered to his massive paws.

  “It appears as if you are to have an escort to your room.” Jo grinned.

  Jackson’s eyes didn’t leave the trio until the door closed softly behind them.

  “I’m being usurped by an adorable child,” Jo said.

  “Poor darling.” Wyn said.

  “What do you suppose Lori is scared of?” Jackson didn’t like the thought of her being frightened in his home.

  Jo shrugged. “Exactly what Deidre said, I imagine. This is their first night in a new place. She’s a shy child for the most part, and for the record, I was with Lori and Mrs. Phillips all day. I didn’t notice anything amiss. Except, of course, that Deidre wasn’t here. That probably plays heavily into Lori’s feelings.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Jackson said slowly. He looked at Wyn. “Deidre’s home in Queens was broken into.”

  Jo gasped.

  Though Wyn hadn’t moved, Jackson sensed the man’s entire body go on alert. “Anything taken?”

  “Nothing but a single sheet of paper that Deidre could tell.”

  ~~~

  Deirdre lay on her back, looking up at the canopy with an arm folded behind her head. Lori had fallen asleep the instant her head had hit the pillow; her back was snuggled up against Deidre’s side, right where she belonged. It was a comfort to be back on the island. It felt… safer.

  Jackson’s anger, after learning Lori was his own child, had not lasted long. All sorts of sentiments flitted through her at his lack of anger. From confusion, to relief, to surprise, to joy. It was almost as if he understood Charity’s feelings regarding Victor Montgomery’s exact train of thought, which shouldn’t be so shocking, as he probably knew his father better than anyone.

  She turned her thoughts back to the destruction of her little apartment in Queens. Why would someone break in? Break her daughter’s toys? Clearly, the act hadn’t been random, just as her sister’s death wasn’t an instance of happenstance. Something niggled at Deidre about the apartment but refused to surface.

  Swallowing her growl of frustration, she breathed in deeply and did her best to still her mind, as stewing about things was not helping.

  She turned her mind to another, more pressing matter: she needed to find another place to live. She could not bring herself to take Lori and Mrs. Phillips back to that apartment—she would never feel safe there again. Lori’s security was more important to Deidre than her own safety. At four years old, Lori had already experienced more tragedy than someone three times her age. Sadly, however, that apartment was in the perfect location for her position at the school. But that didn’t matter anymore.

  A picture of her dwindling bank account flitted through her mind and she grimaced, sending all her calm thoughts running amok. There wasn’t likely enough of Victor Montgomery’s money left for them to move but Deidre would find a way. She imagined the career possibilities on Montgomery Island were probably nil.

  What a ninny she was. Did she really believe she could live near Jackson once he took a wife? No. For her own peace of mind, it would be much easier to find a new dwelling.

  23

  “Mama.” The whisper feathered Deidre’s cheek.

  She fought through visions of red inundating her dreaming state. A garnet sky, a wine-colored sea, a candied-apple-colored dress, brick-red blood soaking Charity’s sable coat.

  Deidre’s eyes snapped open.

  Lori lay on her chest, her palms pressing Deidre’s cheeks. “Mama.”

  “Good heavens, Lori. You gave me a start.” Deidre’s heart pounded. “What is it?”

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Darling, you don’t have to ask me if you can go to the bathroom.”

  “I heard something outside the door.” She still whispered as if she feared waking the dead.

  “All right. But I can’t very well get up with you on top of me.”

  Lori scrambled off the bed.

  Deidre followed, grabbing her robe. She cinched it at the waist and went to the door. She grabbed the knob and looked over her shoulder, meeting Lori’s widened eyes. Slowly, she turned and cracked the door and peered out. The sight just outside surprised her. She widened the door and stepped back.

  Frizzle, who stood almost taller than Lori, ambled in. He was quite an imposing presence.

  Deidre splayed her hands at her waist. She smirked at Lori. “You think you can manage the bathroom now, darling?”

  Grinning, Lori nodded, and with the massive hound at her heels, made her way to the lavatory at the end of the hall.

  Stifling an urge to laugh, Deidre was engulfed by another emotion: contentment. That dog would keep her daughter safe.

  As she watched Lori scrambling down the hall, Ruth came out of her room fully dressed and glanced up, startled. “Oh, good morning,” she said sof
tly.

  Deidre smiled at her then glanced down at her own attire. “Good morning. I’m afraid I overslept.”

  “How was your trip into the city?”

  “Fast. By the time we arrived back last night, it was after nine.”

  Ruth’s shyness was even more stiff than Lori’s. She seemed to have nothing to add and the silence grew uncomfortable.

  “Well, I won’t keep you from breakfast. I was waiting on Lori to finish in the lavatory.” Deidre looked down the hall at the closed door, comforted again by vision of Frizzle’s big body lying down in front of the door, patiently waiting. Grinning, she faced Ruth.

  The poor woman shuddered. “That dog makes me nervous.”

  “He’s a bit of a monster, isn’t he? He seems to have taken a liking to my daughter.”

  “Yes. Yes, he has. Well, if you’ll excuse me…” Ruth gave a sharp nod and disappeared at a turn in the hall.

  A couple of minutes later, Lori emerged and Frizzle got to his feet and accompanied her back to the bedroom.

  Deidre dressed Lori and went down the hall to take her own shower and dress, leaving Lori in the bedroom happily reading her new Madeline book to Frizzle.

  ~~~

  Thirty minutes later Deidre and Lori made their way down the spectacular staircase with Frizzle following. “I think it might be fun to slide the rail, Mama.”

  Deidre shuddered at the image. “I trust you would not do something like that. Especially as a visitor. It would be very impolite.”

  “Oh. Yes, I guess so.”

  They reached the bottom step and Esther came out from the hallway where Jackson had brought Deidre in a few days before. “Oh, there you are, Deidre. I was just coming to find you. Mr. Guthrie is here and has asked to speak to you. He’s waiting in Victor’s office.” She pointed to an open door, shaking her head. “I sometimes forget Victor is really gone.”