The Widow

by Anne Stuart

  Duct tape. Someone had wrapped duct tape around her ankles and knees, around her arms and waist, immobilizing her. She knew where they’d gotten it—she’d sent Tomaso a case of the stuff for Christmas last year when he’d expressed his admiration for it. Under any other circumstances she would have laughed at the absurdity of it.

  She still couldn’t believe that they had done this. Madame Antonella was one thing—the old lady had obviously gone over the edge. But why in God’s name would Lauretta and Tomaso help her?

  “Bloody hell.” The moan came from out of the darkness. “I think she broke my goddamned arm.”

  The tears were starting again, damn it. “Maguire?” she asked in a quavering voice.

  “You there, Charlie?” He sounded as relieved as she was. “Where the hell are you—I can’t see a thing in this pit.”

  “I can’t see you, either. Follow the sound of my voice.”

  “I’m in a lot of pain here, Charlie,” he said in a sour voice. “How about you come and find me?”

  “Someone duct-taped me to the bed.”

  The silence was so long that she wondered whether he’d passed out. “Now, that’s worth moving for,” he said finally, and she could hear the rustle of clothing, the sound of him inching his way closer to her, accompanied by muffled curses and the occasional groan of pain.

  She jumped when his hand found her. A moment later there was a flare of light as Maguire lit his lighter. “Forgot I had it,” he said, looking down at her.

  The flickering light illuminated him, as well. “You look like hell,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t notice she’d been crying. He was covered with dust, his shirt was torn, his face was bruised and cut, and he was cradling his left arm. “What happened to you?”

  “The old bitch hit me over the head with a two-by-four and knocked me into the cellar hole. I don’t know how I got in here—I don’t think she’s strong enough to drag me.”

  “Probably Tomaso did the honors. He and Lauretta are helping her.”

  He flicked off the lighter again, plunging them into darkness.

  “Why did you do that?” she demanded.

  “To conserve fuel. It’s just lucky you stopped me from smoking or there’d be no lighter fluid left.” His hand was traveling over her body in a professional manner, checking out the duct-tape bondage. “You know, a man could find this kind of erotic.”

  “Maguire, there’s a crazy old lady trying to kill us, and two not-so-crazy, not-so-old people helping her. This is not the time for sexual innuendo.”

  “It’s always the time for sexual innuendo, sweetheart,” he drawled. “Do you know why they’re helping her?”

  “I don’t have any idea. I don’t even know why she wants to kill me.”

  “I do.”

  She waited, but he said nothing more as he fiddled with something in the darkness.

  “Well?” she demanded finally. “And what the hell are you doing?”

  “Swiss Army knife, love. Never travel without one.”

  “You’re a regular Boy Scout,” she muttered.

  “Be grateful. I rather like the idea of you tied up. I could have forgotten I had it.” She felt him sawing at the tape.

  “Don’t you want to turn on the lighter?” she asked nervously.

  “I’m afraid I’ve only got one usable hand at the moment. Don’t move and I’ll try not to slash your wrists.”

  She held still as he hacked away at the tape. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “You told me you knew why Madame Antonella wants to kill me.”

  “Because she’s not Madame Antonella. She’s Mrs. Aristide Pompasse. Always was, since 1957. You were never legally married to him, because he never got a divorce. She’s the widow, not you.”

  “That son of a bitch,” she said after a moment.

  “Exactly. Hold still and allow me the perverse pleasure of ripping the rest of the tape off you.”

  “Back off, Maguire,” she snapped. “I’m not in the mood.” She was able to sit up, and she quickly unfastened the tape. At least it was attached to her clothing and not her skin, though the bands around her forearms were admittedly painful.

  She took a deep gasp of air, then coughed. “This place smells like a garbage dump,” she said.

  “Er…I hate to tell you this, love, but that’s not garbage you’re smelling.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He flicked the lighter on again, looking down at her. “Let’s not think about it,” he said grimly.

  “We’ve got to find our way out of here before they come back.”

  “If they come back.”

  “Why are you being so cryptic?”

  His laugh was humorless. “I’m afraid cryptic is a little too apt. This place is a crypt, and what you’re smelling is dead people. I imagine they left us here to die, as well. If we’re lucky.”

  For a moment she couldn’t say anything. “And you’re such an expert?” she said finally.

  “I know what death smells like. I covered battle zones in my misspent youth.” His voice was flat, emotionless, and she remembered those plaques in the bottom of his drawer.

  “All right,” she said after a moment. “So we’re locked up with dead bodies. That doesn’t mean we can’t find a way out. Unless you feel like giving up?”

  “No, love. We’ll find a way out. It’s probably after midnight by now, and maybe they won’t come back and check on us until daylight. Maybe not at all. But be careful. This place is collapsing all around us. I imagine the old bitch hopes we’ll bury ourselves. And the paintings.”

  “The paintings?”

  “Look around you.” He held the lighter up high, sending tiny shards of illumination into the darkness. “We’ve found the missing paintings. There are about a dozen here—more than we realized. Worth a bloody fortune. The journals were probably here as well—there’s a pile of ashes that looks suspicious. She must have burned them.”

  “Why?”

  “Too incriminating, maybe. I don’t know. We’re just lucky she didn’t torch the paintings.”

  “She wouldn’t destroy them. They’re worth too much.”

  “I don’t think Madame Antonella gives a damn about the money. I think she’s pissed as hell, nutty as a fruitcake, and she’s going to cause some major damage to anyone or anything that gets in her way.”

  Charlie tried to sit up, then sank back with a howl of pain.

  Maguire dropped the lighter, plunging the place back into darkness, and swore. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got a headache,” she said between gritted teeth.

  “Tell me about it,” he said. “Now I can’t find the bloody lighter.”

  She sat up again, more slowly this time, and the searing pain in her skull subsided to a quiet agony. “I’ll help you,” she said grumpily, getting on the ground beside him. Unfortunately she couldn’t see him, and she practically landed on top of him.

  “Mind the arm!” he said with a choke of pain.

  “You’re a wuss, Maguire.”

  He’d found the lighter. He flicked it on again, and they were face-to-face, kneeling in the darkness, closer than she’d realized. “Come here and say that,” he taunted her.

  For a moment she didn’t move. She’d thought she was going to die. She hated him with every ounce of her being. And she’d never seen anyone look so good in her entire life.

  “The hell with your arm,” she said, and jumped him.

  He dropped the lighter again, using his good arm to catch her. He met her hungry kiss with one of his own, and within moments there were entwined on the dusty floor, and she was reaching for his zipper with all the brazenness of a streetwalker.

  He stopped her, covering her hand with his. He was fully erect beneath his jeans, and she wanted, needed him.

  “Hold on, girly,” he said with a muffled laugh. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later.”

  “We’re going to die, Maguire,” she wailed
. “And I want to have sex with you.”

  “Yes, love, and we will. For days on end, but not here among the dead bodies with a crazy woman likely to walk in on us. Pull yourself together, Charlie.” He brought her hands to his mouth, kissing her. “I’ve unleashed a terror.”

  “That’s what I was trying to do.” She reached for his zipper again, but he stopped her.

  “Enough of that,” he said sternly. “Give a girl a couple of orgasms and she gets all mouthy.”

  “I was thinking I might like to try that, too,” she murmured, trying to move closer.

  He let out a low, heartfelt groan. “Stop it, Charlie. A man could get distracted. We need to find our way out of this place before the damned thing collapses around us.”

  “And preferably before Madame Antonella comes back to finish us off,” Charlie added.

  “Hush!” he said fiercely. In the sudden silence they could hear someone moving around in the distance, making no effort to cover the noise of their approach.

  “Then again,” Charlie whispered, “it may be too late.”

  “Get back on the bed and pretend to be unconscious. I’m going to look for something I can use as a weapon.”

  “I can help…” she began, but he simply shoved her up onto the cot again, cursing as he banged his arm.

  “Be quiet!” he said, rising to his feet and moving away from her, the tiny flame disappearing into the inky blackness.

  He barely made a sound, but she was intensely aware of every muffled curse, every swallowed groan, just as she listened to the footsteps getting closer and closer. No voices, though—if it was only one person, between the two of them they should have at least a fighting chance.

  Maguire appeared out of the gloom once more, an old broomstick in his hand. He saw her doubtful glance and he shrugged. “It was the best I could come up with.”

  “Let me look…” she started to get up but he pushed her back.

  “You don’t want to go back there, Charlie. Trust me,” he said in a gruff voice.

  Charlie swallowed. “I already saw the paintings.”

  “There’s…something else besides.”

  “Whatever’s causing the smell?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I don’t want to know?”

  “You don’t want to know. But they’ve been there a very long time—it’s probably no one you ever knew.”

  “They?” It came out in a whispered shriek.

  “Don’t think about it,” he said.

  They could see the light now, spearing through cracks around a rectangle in the nearby wall. It was some sort of door, though Charlie couldn’t tell if it was stone, wood or metal.

  “What about the Swiss Army knife?” Charlie whispered.

  “I think the broom will be more effective,” he said. “Hush.”

  Someone was trying to open the door. Both of them held their breath, and Maguire had the broomstick raised like a weapon, ready to bring it down on the head of whoever walked through that door.

  It creaked open, slowly, noisily, and the light from beyond was momentarily blinding.

  “Charlie? Are you in there?”

  It was Olivia. Maguire dropped the broomstick and grabbed her flashlight. “Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?” he demanded.

  He’d trained the full power of the light on her, and she glared up at him, affronted. “Looking for my missing daughter, thank you very much. I got back to the villa and the place was deserted. I saw lights up here and I decided to come and see.”

  “You decided to come and see?” Charlie echoed in astonishment. “It’s a steep climb, not a casual stroll.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Olivia said languidly. “I’ve destroyed my Ferragamos, my fingernails are ruined, I’ve lost a contact lens and I’m in a thoroughly bad mood. I prefer being the center of attention, not running around trying to rescue my daughter. What the hell is going on here?”

  “Where’s Henry? Gia?”

  “I left them in Geppi. They’re flying back to the States tomorrow—I figured you were well rid of him. After all, you’ve got Mr. Outback Tabloid Reporter here.”

  “Stuff it,” Maguire growled.

  “So what’s going on? And what is that god-awful smell?”

  “You don’t want to know,” the two of them said in unison.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Maguire added. “We can talk later….”

  It was too late. Lauretta appeared behind Olivia, a stoic expression on her plain face.

  “Lauretta!” Olivia greeted her gladly. “Just the person I was looking for. We need help getting these two idiots back to the villa. Don’t ask me what they’re doing up here—some kind of kinky love play, I suppose. Charlie, let Lauretta take your arm and we’ll get you out of this nasty little pit.”

  Charlie didn’t move. Olivia stared at her. “I’m not in the mood for this, daughter dearest. I come charging up here to rescue you and find you don’t need rescuing at all. Get off your butt and we’ll go back to the villa and Lauretta can fix us something nice to eat.”

  “I don’t think so,” Charlie said.

  Olivia turned back, slowly, to stare at Lauretta. And at the gun in Lauretta’s capable hand.

  23

  She had to admire her mother. Olivia simply blinked, her calm unshaken. “Well,” she said. “And would you like to explain the reason for this, Lauretta?” she demanded sternly. “Give me that gun.” She held out her hand peremptorily.

  Oddly enough, her commanding tones almost worked. Lauretta looked confused for a moment, and she started to hand her the gun. And then she stiffened. “I’m sorry, Madonna,” she said.

  “I am not pleased,” Olivia said in icy tones. “Not pleased at all. Why do you want to hurt my daughter?”

  “You don’t understand, Contessa,” Lauretta said, using her mother’s one-time title. “I have my own family to protect. I made a solemn vow to the master. I promised I would protect his widow, see that she’s taken care of. I have no choice but to do what she asks.”

  “Who the hell are you talking about?” Olivia demanded. “You’re holding a gun on his widow.”

  “No, Mama. He was married to Antonella all this time. Never to me,” Charlie said.

  “That son of a bitch,” Olivia said bitterly.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Charlie agreed.

  “On top of that, Antonella happens to be Lauretta’s mother,” Maguire broke in. “But Pompasse wasn’t her father, thank God.”

  “Why thank God?” Charlie questioned, momentarily distracted.

  “This whole scene is sick enough, but I’m afraid incest might be just a bit over the top,” Maguire said.

  “Enough!” Lauretta said in a firm voice that sounded like Madame Antonella’s when she was being dictatorial. Strange, but now that Charlie knew the facts she couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed the resemblance before. “I was hoping I could make it easier for you, Charlie,” Lauretta added plaintively. “I helped you leave five years ago, I tried to get you to go this time, but you wouldn’t listen. My mother is determined, and I couldn’t change her mind. I thought I could at least make it quick for you.” She gestured with the gun.

  “Kind of you,” Maguire drawled, “but I think we’d rather take our chances with the old lady.”

  “You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” Lauretta murmured. “She killed Pompasse, you know. She found out he was going to divorce her, put her in a home, so he could come after Charlie again. He thought Charlie suspected that they’d never been properly married and that’s why she left him. He could never believe that anyone would really leave him.”

  “Other women left him,” Charlie said. “There were models, mistresses who just disappeared…”

  “No, they didn’t. Even my own daughter didn’t leave him,” Lauretta said sadly.

  “Your own daughter?” Charlie echoed.

  “They’re all here. Madame Antonella brought them here. Even my poor ba
by Luisa.” Her voice broke. “They’re all in the back of this tomb. As you will be. It grieves me, but there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Nothing you can do?” Olivia repeated in horror. “She killed your daughter and you’re helping her?”

  “She’s my mother,” Lauretta said simply. “And I promised Pompasse I would always watch over her and keep her safe. Especially when we knew what she had done. That was the only reason she never hurt you, Charlie. Pompasse insisted I keep her drugged so she wouldn’t realize what was going on. He couldn’t bring himself to punish her, but he had to stop her from hurting anyone else. He used to like to set her off against his models. He called it putting the cat among the pigeons. Until she started killing them.”

  “But why didn’t he turn her in?”

  “The master would never do that!” Lauretta protested, shocked. “And he knew I would never let him. He told her she had a choice. She could take pills that would calm her, or she would be put away. She chose to take the pills, and she never came near you. But when we took her to sign the papers even the pills didn’t work. She got away from us. And we found her in Pompasse’s apartment, crooning over his dead body.”

  “This is too macabre for words,” Olivia said sharply. “I’m going for help.” She started past Lauretta, only to have the woman backhand her across the face, knocking her against the crumbling wall.

  There was an ominous rumbling, as rocks and plaster spilled down into the dimly lit tomb. “You’re not going anywhere, Contessa,” Lauretta said firmly. “Tomaso is bringing madame, and there will be an end to this. I’m sorry for your sake that you came back. It is sad to lose a child. I have borne the pain myself, but at least I didn’t know until it was too late.”

  “You sick bitch,” Olivia hissed.

  “Olivia,” Maguire said in a warning voice. “She’s got a G-U-N. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “They’re coming,” Lauretta said sharply. “Show some respect for the widow.”

  They made a stately procession into the mouth of the old crypt. The mad old lady was dressed in her finest, though she had food dribbled on her black satin. She was wearing diamonds, the diamonds that Pompasse had given Charlie, the ones she’d left behind when she’d run. They were far better suited to the old lady than to a young girl.