“You as good as got away with murder that night, didn’t you?” The look in Ruth’s eye was disconcerting, a maniacal glint that knocked him off balance. Yet her voice was calm, without inflection. “All because your father is a lawyer.” She turned her gaze back out to the sea. “You get away with a lot like that, don’t you?”
An ominous foreboding raised his skin in goosebumps. “Who does the kid belong to?” he asked for a desperate change of topic.
Her laughter was more terrifying than the look he’d seen in her eye. “You don’t know? She is the product of Charity and Jackson Montgomery’s love fest.”
“And just how do you know that, Miss Knox?”
“I have my ways, Mr. Guthrie. I have my ways.”
Her words sent a chill snaking up his spine.
~~~
Jackson drummed his fingers on his desk. He couldn’t rid himself of the portentous fear surging his blood. Red car. Red car. Red car. He picked up the phone and dialed.
Simon Sr. answered on the first ring. “Junior?” he barked.
“Try again.”
“What the hell do you want, Jackson?”
“A couple of things. We’ll start with the obvious. You had no right interfering between me and Deidre, Simon, but we’ll address that later. Doesn’t Junior drive a red car?”
“A Bugatti. What about it?”
“I’d like to talk to him. I hate to break this to you, but I think he broke into Deidre’s apartment in Queens. A neighborhood kid saw him.”
“Was anything missing?”
“Why do I get the feeling you already know this? Put Junior on the phone.”
“He’s… not here. I arrived home not fifteen minutes ago.”
Jackson’s trepidation shot skyward. “And his car?”
“Is in the garage.”
~~~
Deidre sat in the turret-shaped library of the manor house and sipped at her tea. Mrs. Hayes—Eleanor, as she’d insisted Deidre call her—sat just across. Mrs. Hayes was the Weatherford Sisters’ mother. She was a very nice, very fragile-looking, mild-mannered woman of indeterminate years. The conversation would have been more strained if Jo hadn’t been there too.
“I wonder where Ruth is,” Eleanor said. “She usually joins us for tea.”
Jo frowned. “That is strange. I wonder if she’s not feeling well.”
Mrs. Phillips appeared in the arch, holding Lori’s Raggedy Ann doll—the one that was normally glued to her daughter’s hand.
Deidre’s cup clattered to the table as she came to her feet. She couldn’t pull her eyes from Lori’s constant doll-companion. An eerie unease stole over Deidre. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Phillips?”
“I can’t find Lori.”
Eleanor looked up. “I saw her playing outside with the horse.” She chuckled.
“Mother,” Jo said with a sharp edge. “I’m sure she’s fine, Deidre. Frizzle is quite taken with her and he is very protective.”
That didn’t go far in reassuring Deidre, but she nodded. She went over to Mrs. Phillips and took Lori’s doll. “Are you sure she’s not just hiding? She was very angry when I told her we were going to leave the island.” And now that Deidre thought on it, she hadn’t seen her daughter since the breakfast table. She hadn’t been with Mrs. Phillips when Deidre had informed Mrs. Phillips, yet again, of their latest change of plans, since talking to Jackson.
“There’s a door to the terrace here,” Jo said. “Come on. I’ll help you look for her.”
On the terrace, the wind gusted.
There was no sign of Lori in the gardens and Deidre was seized by panic.
“You don’t think she would take the path to the bluffs, do you?” The concern from Jo almost brought Deidre to her knees.
But her words stirred Deidre’s memory of her earlier conversation with Lori that morning. “She said she wanted to see more fireworks.”
“Oh, heavens.” Jo’s words sent Deidre’s panic full-scale. “All right,” Jo said, sounding calm. “It sounds as if she might have decided on a walk to Serpent’s Point. We need to let Wyn or Jackson know what’s going on. I’ll have Esther call. Go on, I’ll catch up to you. Just follow the path beside the bluffs then aim for the lighthouse.” Jo dashed inside.
Deidre didn’t wait. She ran.
26
“That kid belongs to Charity Montgomery?” Stunned, Junior dropped heavily on the rock beside Ruth. Well, well, well. One couldn’t ignore opportunity knocking at one’s door, could one?
Ruth didn’t answer. In fact, not so much as a finger of her person twitched.
He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry I called you a dried-up prune, Ruth. I’ve been under a lot of strain lately.” He kept an eye on the girl and the dog. It was a fascinating sight to see that monster blocking the girl’s efforts to get to the water at every turn and hearing her high pitched squeals.
“Her name is Lori,” Ruth said, breaking the silence. “She’s four.”
“How did you learn she belonged to Charity?”
“I heard Jackson swearing to his new light o-love he wouldn’t take the kid away from her. It was all very touching.” She snorted. “Besides, the child looks too much like Charity Montgomery to be anyone’s but hers or her identical twin sister’s.”
A long, not uncomfortable, silence stretched between them. The wind was picking up, raising his skin in goose flesh.
He took a deep breath and let it out. “I didn’t kill Penelope that night.”
“I know.” She spoke so softly, he almost didn’t hear her over the crashing waves.
He let out a low chuckle. “Yeah? Funny. My father said the same thing. I wonder how he knew that. He knew what I’d done to Penelope. So it begs the question.”
“So, you’re not denying you raped her?”
“What good would it do? I’m not the most attractive man in the world, am I?” Bitterness coiled through him. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “How else would I get a girl? A man has needs.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her smile. Something wistful. “You could have asked me.”
“You!” He couldn’t very well tell Ruth that she repelled him.
“Why not? My father’s dead. He can’t stop me from living my life. Not anymore. I’ve never felt so free. It’s quite liberating.”
He’d rather become celibate than take Ruth. Wisely, he kept the thought to himself. The conversation felt other-worldly, and not in a good way. Again, her words left him reeling, as if he stood on a precipice, on ground that shifted like quicksand beneath his feet. She was telling him something and he was missing a very important message.
“Ruth.” He kept his eye on the girl, kind of nervous for her, but the dog was proving to be a master caretaker. “How did you know I didn’t kill Penelope? I mean, if you did see me with her all those years ago, then you must know the truth.” He turned his body, facing her. “You know who killed her, don’t you?”
Her eyes flitted from his face to her lap. She picked at stuff on her drab skirt with her left hand; her right hand remained anchored on her other side, keeping her balanced. “Yes. I know who killed her. Did you know that you rendered her unconscious when you covered her mouth that night? She couldn’t breathe.”
A sharp pain twisted in his chest. Penelope had been his first.
“You finished your business with her and ran off. I found her. She was just coming to. I told her Papa was going to be really angry with her this time. All those nights, sneaking out with Charity Spence. I knew it would come to a bad end and I told her just that.” The pulse in Ruth’s neck visibly pumped. “She told me to shut up. You know what else she said?” Her lips curved but there was nothing humorous about it. “She said I would die an old dried up… prune.”
He winced. “Oh, God. Ruth. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t appear to have heard. “I lost my temper. Papa always said it was slow to burn, but when it
blew it would be akin to Mt. Vesuvius. Penelope had just started sitting up. Next to the fencing post that lined the bluffs. She told me I was crazy.” Her voice sounded far away. “She said everyone knew it. She said that I would never have friends. Not like her. I grabbed her by the shoulders and banged her head against the post. She was too weak to fight me off.” Her shoulders hunched up. “In my defense, I thought I’d only knocked her out.”
Another prickle of unease rippled over Simon. “And your father?”
“Ah. Papa. An entirely different situation. Every day I was berated me for Penelope’s actions. He blamed me for her sneaking out every night that summer. He even got a letter from the Bishops’ Council reprimanding him for Penelope’s behavior. Fifteen years I lived under his thumb. Cleaning that cottage to perfection. Doing his laundry, cooking his meals, as if I were his wife or housekeeper and not his only surviving child. His housekeeper.”
“What happened?” He kept his voice low.
“I told Father I wanted to have lunch at the café. I hadn’t been out of the house in… years.” She spoke as if the incident had just happened and she still couldn’t believe it. “He acted as if I had told him I was taking a job in a brothel house.”
Junior stopped and looked at her, disbelief coursing through him. “Knox wouldn’t allow you to have lunch at the café? Why not?” Unease slithered through him.
The wind gusted. She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Penelope.”
The hair at the base of his neck lifted that had nothing to do with the breeze coming off the sea below. “But… that’s been… fifteen years.” He spoke softly.
“I wasn’t allowed to leave the house except for the church. Father even did the shopping.” Her voice had taken on a flatness that raised his flesh in goosepimples.
“What are you saying, Ruth?” Junior’s eyes moved back out to the water. He didn’t see the kid or the dog. “Uh, I think something’s wrong down there.”
Ruth seemed to startle back to the current day. “What?”
“I think I should go check on—”
“Lori,” she whispered. “Her name is Lori.”
“I think I’d better go check on Lori.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Her voice had turned as sharp as etched glass.
Junior tore his eyes from below back to Ruth. “What’s wrong, Ruth?” He realized in an instant the old adage was true about a person’s life flashing before his eyes. In his mind’s eye, he saw the athletic kids from his high school days bullying him, calling him four-eyes because of his black-framed glasses and scholarly notions, of being shoved in his locker and hearing the snickers around him. His first time with Penelope. The other girls, then the many women that followed. Charity. Charity’s damn blackmailing scheme. Nothing had ever gone right for him. Ever. Why him? “Ruth?”
“I killed my father. I stabbed him,” she whispered. The hand bracing her on the rock moved and a glint of metal reflected in the dim cloud-covered sky. In a swift move, Junior shifted to dodge her attack and the blade sank into his rib rather than his heart. Adrenaline pumped through his body. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t felt the sting. But now, now, it burned like red-hot lava. She yanked the knife out. “You’re never keeping me home again,” she said, and stabbed again. And then again. “Never.”
Was that the small sound of help he was hearing over the sea crashing on the rocks? Or a ringing in his ears from the pain? A large plop of rain hit his cheek. The sky seemed to be getting darker. He needed a distraction. The kid. “We’ve got to help the kid, Ruth.” The effort to get the words out stunned him. He felt woozy. Another plop of rain hit his nose.
Ruth’s maniacal laughter was carried away by the wind. “Help Charity Spence’s child? I don’t think so.”
The knife came up again and Junior threw up his arm to block the blade. It sliced his forearm. He jerked away, knocking Ruth to the ground. Through searing pain, he gripped his bloodied side, and limped for the thicket of trees.
~~~
With Lori’s doll tight in Deidre’s grip, she ran. Thankfully, Jo had reached her by the end of the trail along the bluffs and took the lead to Serpent’s Point. Any drivable roads had long since vanished, were overgrown with brush. They raced over the grassy field that just days ago, had been covered in blankets for the celebratory fireworks.
“Race for the lighthouse,” Jo pointed and yelled over the rising gale.
Deidre nodded and picked up her steps. She caught movement from the corner of her eye. Wyn and Jackson dashed past her and Jo. There was no time to slow. Lori was nowhere in sight. Deidre followed Jo around a corner and found Ruth sitting on the ground, clutching a bloodied knife to her chest.
“Where is she?” Deidre screamed. “Where’s my daughter?”
Wyn kneeled in front of Ruth, took the knife away from her tossed it out of reach.
Wild with panic, Deidre’s gaze shot to a copse of brush and saw man lying there she didn’t recognize. Blood saturated the front of his shirt. “What happened?”
“She stabbed me. She… killed… her father.”
“Where are you hurt?”
“My rib, my arm. I-I don’t know,” he said in broken words.
She jerked off her sweater and pressed it to his rib in an effort to staunch the blood flow. “Where’s Lori? Where’s my daughter?”
“By… t-the w-water.”
“Dear God,” she breathed.
“The… d-dog. He’s k-keeping her from t-the water.”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jackson scrambling down a small hill toward a rising tide.
“Stay with him, Deidre,” he yelled out. “I’ll get her. She’ll be all right. I promise.” Jackson disappeared from sight.
“Mama!” Lori’s voice came from far off to the right.
Frizzle was blocking her from the water. Deidre vowed to purchase the dog a side a beef.
“She’s safe,” Jackson called up. Deidre didn’t dare release the pressure on the man’s rib to staunch the bleeding.
Wyn appeared at her side and knelt beside her. “What happened, Junior?”
“Ruth… s-stabbed her father. God, that hurts.”
“I can take over from here, Deidre,” Wyn said.
Lori was safe. Deidre’s shoulder’s collapsed and she snagged up Lori’s doll and hugged it to her chest. Its red yarn hair tickled her nose in the upswept wind. She stood frozen, and waited impatiently for Jackson to bring her daughter up the incline and to safety.
“Did you break into Deidre’s home in Queen’s?” Wyn asked him.
Deidre’s gaze snapped back to the man’s chalky face.
“Yes. Charity was b-blackmailing”—He gasped for air—“me. I was—”
Wyn hissed. “Damn. He’s passed out.”
She glanced up and saw Mr. Guthrie jogging across the grass in their direction. There was too much…too much happening. Too much to keep up with. Where was Lori? She turned her head back to the ledge. No sign of her daughter. Her stomach dropped. She would die if something happened to Lori. The very thought had Deidre wanting to curl up in a dark hole somewhere, or fling herself off the cliffs. Lori just had to be safe.
“Mama!” Lori clamored over the edge with a nudge in her backside from Frizzle.
“Lori. Oh my God, Lori.” Deidre didn’t have time to get to her feet as Lori dashed over and threw herself in Deidre’s arms. She tightened her hold, buried her nose in her daughter’s frothy curls. “Don’t ever frighten me like again, young lady. I told you to stay away from the water. You promised.”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I slide-ed down the hill.” She mumbled against Deidre’s shoulder. “I don’t want to leave. I like it here.”
“I know, darling. But you left before I could tell you we were staying after all.” Deidre set her back. “Promise me you will never do anything like this again.”
“I promise. But look!” She pointed to her feet. �
�I’m not even wet. Frizzle wouldn’t let me in.”
“What’s going on?” Mr. Guthrie had arrived. “Where’s Junior? Where’s my son?”
“Ruth?” Jo was sitting on the ground with an arm wrapped around Ruth’s shoulders. “What happened? What happened to Junior?”
“Junior?” Her voice took on that of a child. She looked around, frowning, as if unsure of where she was.
“He’s bleeding, Ruth.” Jo said gently. “Can you tell us what happened?”
“I stabbed him. I didn’t want him saving Charity’s little girl. I hated Charity.”
Hated? Past tense. “Did you…” Deidre swallowed hard. “Did you do something to Charity, Ruth?”
“Oh, yes,” she said in that same childlike innocence.
Deidre took Lori by the hand and led her a short distance away. “Stay here, darling.” She handed Lori her ragged doll. “Don’t move. Frizzle, keep her here.” Diedre went back to the edge of the circle, but maneuvered around so she could keep an eye on Lori.
“What did you do to Charity?” Jo asked.
“I stabbed her.”
Deidre bit back the bile. “Why?” she whispered.
“She said she saw me kill Penelope. She wanted money from me.” She lifted her wild-eyed gaze. “I have no money. Papa never gave me money. I couldn’t pay her. I couldn’t.”
“It seems Charity was a busy woman, Miss Knox. She was blackmailing my son.” Mr. Guthrie’s accusing stare landed on Diedre and she flinched under the malevolence she saw there. His gaze scanned the small group and stopped on Wyn still on the ground with Guthrie’s son. He hurried over, fell to his knees.
What would drive Charity to such depths? Deidre was at a loss.
She watched as Jackson appeared over the edge, and Mr. Guthrie help Wyn hoist Mr. Guthrie’s son over his shoulder. Wyn and Jackson were the only two who could bear the bloodied man’s weight.
Deirdre glanced at Mr. Guthrie. His skin was drained of all color.
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