by Alicia Scott
But those days were gone now. Nick had died, her life had moved on and she’d grown up a lot in the past year, she’d gained strength. Enough to stare down the darkest man she’d ever met.
Enough to fall in love.
She rested her chin on her knees, and wondered how long it would be before Richard calmed down enough to talk.
She shivered, and for no good reason at all, felt afraid.
* * *
She must have fallen asleep, but the next thing she knew there was a tentative knock at her door. Opening her eyes groggily, she called for the person to come in. Obediently the door opened, and Andy peered in at her with solemn eyes behind his thick lenses.
“Are you feeling better, yet?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, trying to sit up on the bed and wincing as she discovered new aches and pains. Andrew’s sharp eyes missed nothing.
“Why are you wincing? Do you want some aspirin?” he demanded.
She held up a hand in a silent plea for mercy, offering him a faint smile. “Honest, sweetheart, I’m fine, but thanks for asking. I just had a bit of a riding accident when I was trying to cure my headache, that’s all.”
Andy’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Was it anything like the hunting accident?” he demanded suspiciously. He walked into the room, examining her with careful eyes, as if he needed proof of her well-being.
Once again, she was amazed by his perceptiveness, and a little lost at how to put him back at ease. “I fell off Honeysuckle,” she said briskly. “There’s nothing dangerous about that except my own stupidity. Now, what did you do all day?”
He simply looked at her. “I read,” he said finally. Then abruptly, he frowned petulantly. “I don’t like Mrs. Pram. Don’t leave me with her anymore. You have to stay with me forever. I demand it!”
She managed to raise an eyebrow at his tone of voice. “You demand it, huh?”
He nodded vigorously, and she didn’t know whether to scold him or commiserate with his sudden insecurity. She settled for rumpling his hair. “I like being with you, too, Andy,” she said simply. “Want to read me a story for a change? You can cheer me up.”
“What’s this?” came Richard’s voice from the doorway. “I thought you were resting.”
Andy immediately stood straighter, his tiny face rigid. “I was helping Liz feel better,” he chirped out quickly, looking at his father with big eyes. “She said I could come in.”
Richard looked at the boy, recognizing the tension in the young face and immediately hating himself for having caused it. Why couldn’t he have treated the child better in the beginning? He was just a six-year-old boy, too smart for his own good, lost in a world where he was neither child nor adult, but simply genius.
Unconsciously, Richard’s face relaxed, and Andrew allowed himself a little breath. Richard walked forward and placed a casual hand on Andrew’s shoulder. Immediately, the boy stiffened, but Richard just remained standing there as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It would take time, he reminded himself. Time for both of them to adjust.
“How are you feeling?” he asked Liz, his voice carefully neutral.
“Like I’ve fallen off a horse,” Liz replied. Briefly, her eyes searched his face, but once again, his face was expressionless. At least he appeared less angry than when he’d left.
“I thought the three of us might go out to dinner tonight,” he announced. Both Andrew and Liz looked at him in amazement, but he plunged on, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. “There’s a new restaurant downtown I’ve heard is excellent. I thought we might give it a try. Does six o’clock sound good?”
Blankly, Liz and Andrew nodded, though in fact, six o’clock was early compared to the usual time they had dinner.
“Perhaps we can catch a movie afterward,” Richard continued, filling in the missing pieces. “Andrew, why don’t you and Liz pick something you’d like to see?”
This time, Andrew couldn’t keep the shock off his young face. His blue eyes looked like saucers, and his mouth hung open as he stared from his father to Liz to his father again. Abruptly, he snapped his mouth shut and nodded vigorously. Liz didn’t say anything at all.
“I think it will be a late night,” Richard thought out loud in the silence. “Perhaps you should take a nap, Andrew.” Then he frowned, as if something new had just occurred to him. “Actually, it might be better if you spent time with Liz. Helped her feel better, you know. Why don’t you go down to the library together. Didn’t I hear you were going to read her a story? Yes, you can do it there.”
That seemed to satisfy him, for he nodded to himself. Liz, however, was narrowing her eyes shrewdly. He was up to something, all right. And whatever it was, he wanted her and Andrew out of the way. Tonight. Once more, a frisson of tension raced along her spine. But for Andrew’s sake, she did her best to appear calm. She would wait until Andrew left, then she would grill Richard.
Richard, however, seemed hell-bent on not giving her the chance. He suddenly pivoted, and his message delivered, marched expediently to the doorway. She was still trying to think of a good excuse to call him back, when Andrew scampered after him. Frowning, she rose to her feet only to have Andrew close the door sharply behind him. Completely taken aback, she sat down hard, and began thinking she might want that aspirin, after all.
* * *
“Sir?” Andrew called from the hallway, having to run to catch up with his father’s longer steps. Richard turned, keeping his face composed as he looked down at Andrew’s serious face.
“Yes?” he asked. Did he sound too intimidating, too harsh? Did he sound like a parent at all? He didn’t know how to tell.
Andrew hesitated, then drew himself up smartly. “I would like to speak to you,” Andy declared loudly. “On a subject very important to both of us.”
Richard arched a surprised eyebrow. Leaning back slightly, he crossed his arms in front of him and adopted the child’s grave tone. “I see. And what would this be?”
“Liz,” Andrew stated immediately. “We must do something to protect Liz.”
For a moment, Richard was almost too shocked to speak. But he then collected himself, looking at the little blue-suited boy in front of him with new respect.
“What do you mean?” he probed carefully.
Andrew gave his father a slightly patronizing stare. “These accidents. They can’t really be accidents. Even I know that.”
Richard pulled himself together quickly, thinking he should dismiss the boy’s allegation, then realized that tactic would never have worked on him when he was six. Unconsciously, he kneeled, becoming eye level with the child. “I see. You’ve been giving this some thought?”
Andy nodded vigorously, and Richard found himself almost smiling.
“The morning of the picnic,” Andrew reported stiffly, “Jillian and Blaine went on a walk. I thought you should know that.”
In spite of himself, Richard looked at Andy with genuine surprise.
“But Blaine returned alone,” Andrew rushed on, his face still somber as he relayed his findings. “He said he was thirsty, and that he never liked to walk as much as Jillian did, anyway. And he went to find Parris and Greg, but they weren’t in. Mrs. Pram said they’d gone out to the stables. Mrs. Pram keeps her eye on everyone.”
Andrew nodded smartly, having concluded his report, and Richard felt his chest tighten. At this moment, he could understand why Liz and Blaine thought Andrew was so much like him. That nod, that rigid stance. It was Richard as a six-year-old. And suddenly, he realized fully that Andrew’s parentage truly didn’t matter anymore. Even if Blaine was the child’s father, Andrew would still be his nephew. Perhaps that was close enough to son, and if Richard ever did have a son, he would like him to be just like this solemn boy here.
That Andy had been this diligent touched him beyond belief. That the boy had asked so many questions, however, filled him with fear. Very carefully, he placed his hand on Andrew’s shoulder, and adopted the child’s
serious tone.
“You did the right thing,” he assured him, “in telling me these things. I’m very glad you did. But I don’t want you to ask any more questions, Andrew, okay? I have something else I need you to do.” Andrew leaned over expectantly, his blue eyes intent. “I want you to keep an eye on Liz. Make sure she’s okay.”
Andrew’s eyes widened, and he nodded vigorously at this new and important charge. Richard found himself smiling, and the feeling in his chest intensified a hundredfold.
Giving in to instinct for the first time, he reached over, and hugged this precious little boy. There was a moment of hesitation, then suddenly, Andrew threw his arms around his father’s neck. And it was then that Richard could smell all the little kid smells from five years ago: the scent of children’s shampoo, the freshness of youth, the tinge of baby powder. And the feeling was the same, the precious burden of a child’s trust weighing upon his shoulders.
It was the way it had been so long ago, when he’d rocked the crying baby to sleep at night, feeling his love like an overwhelming swell in his chest. It was the way it had been until that one night, when Alycia had stolen it all from him with her scathing words.
Except that it wasn’t gone anymore. It was here in the hallway, five years later but just as precious. Baby Andy had grown up into a six-year-old boy who could talk dielectrics and compute algorithms, and Richard thought he’d never met anyone so perfect in his entire life.
Slowly, he untangled himself from Andy’s grasp.
“Go take care of Liz,” he whispered, and Andrew nodded once more, then abruptly scurried back to Liz’s room to promptly begin his new duties. Richard watched the boy’s hasty departure with another smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
He had no doubt Liz wouldn’t be able to sneeze by herself for the rest of the day. He straightened and nodded to himself. That was just as well. He couldn’t keep his eye on them both for the afternoon, and he didn’t know of anyone he could send them to. So he would let them keep each other safe, while he disappeared briefly back into his lab.
He patted the diary in his chest pocket. He had some bait to doctor, and a trap to set. Tonight it would all come together.
If he could just keep Andy and Liz safe until then.
Chapter 14
Liz woke to the sound of a creaking floorboard. Instantly, she was on the alert, bolting upright as her heart thundered in her chest. Her head winced at the sudden movement, the pain clearing the last of her fog. She became aware of the fact that she was fully dressed and sprawled out on the library sofa. Yawning deeply, she stretched out her muscles and glanced at the grandfather clock. One-thirty.
Richard had left twenty minutes ago to put Andy to bed after their big night out. She’d been surprised by his offer to do so, but it only fit the tone of an all-round strange night. The dinner had been a reserved affair, with Richard in a polite if distant mood.
On the one hand, he seemed more relaxed around Andrew, and the two chatted a bit between themselves. On the other hand, his gaze was unreadable each time it swept over to her. He’d seemed restrained, and there were times when she’d thought his mind wandered away completely. As the hour had grown later, the movie approaching, then ending, his preoccupation had only increased. By the time they’d returned to the house, she could feel the restlessness hovering in the air around him. His eyes were darker, his face impatient. And still, when he looked at her, she knew nothing of what went on in his mind.
She sighed heavily, wanting to bridge the distance and not yet knowing how. She spared another glance for the grandfather clock. One-forty. Apparently, Andy was making him read all of A Brief History of Time.
The small creaking sound came again, this time farther down the hall. She froze, then told herself it was only Richard finally coming to join her. Except, of course, the man usually walked like a cat. She found herself straining her ears even as a deep tremor rippled up the back of her neck.
A log popped in the fire, and she jumped.
With a shake of her head at her own nerves, she got off the couch and went to attend to the flames.
“You.” The word was a low angry whisper coming sharply from her right.
Immediately, Liz turned, fire poker in hand and her muscles tense—only to find a gun leveled at her chest. Her face paled, and the fear that gripped her stomach was complete. Slowly, surely, she dropped the heavy iron poker to the floor.
* * *
Richard scowled as he pounded down the hall toward Liz’s room. He hadn’t thought it would take so long to get Andy into bed, and he couldn’t shake the feeling something had gone wrong. He’d already checked in with Blaine for an evening update. Blaine didn’t look happy, but he’d succeeded in his mission to keep at least Greg and Parris under watch. Both men were currently drunk as skunks in Blaine’s room. Jillian had retired to her bedroom earlier, Blaine had said, his look plainly stating he couldn’t watch two rooms at one time.
Richard understood that, which was why he wanted to double-check the diary before he went down to the library. The time, however, made him nervous. He didn’t like leaving Liz alone for so long, especially when so many things could go wrong.
He’d done his best, in the few hours he’d had this afternoon, to create something at once discreet and efficient. He wanted a trap he could spring without the person’s realizing it had been sprung. Given all the people staying in the house, Richard didn’t want to risk a panicked confrontation. So, he’d settled on rigging the diary with an ink pouch, a classic trick often used in ransom payments to pollute the money and thus render it valueless. Basically, he’d concocted a normal-looking mixture of blue ink, except it was unwashable. When the diary cover opened, the ink spurted out not only over the pages, but over the perpetrator, as well.
He had hid the diary, and made sure everyone knew he was taking Andy and Liz out for the evening. He just had to trust the killer to take advantage of the situation. Richard had even moved the armoire back a bit to aid the culprit’s search. In an ideal scenario, the killer would find the diary, open it and become stained with ink. Thinking Alycia had booby-trapped the book and it was now unreadable—and thus of no possible danger—the killer would return the book discreetly. The next morning, one person would appear with the story of a pen leaking on them. At his convenience, Richard would take the person aside to a safe, controlled environment. He would announce that he’d actually rigged the diary, having, of course, read its contents beforehand, which clearly revealed the perpetrator’s role in Alycia’s death. The person would be rattled, and Richard could trick him into a testimony for the sake of the hidden tape recorder.
Everything would be wrapped up neat and clean by afternoon. Except, of course, for the fact that the situation rested heavily on assumptions about people and their behavior. And human behavior was the hardest factor to control for.
Richard made it to Liz’s room. A quick check revealed that the diary was gone. Frowning even more heavily, Richard stood. Jillian, or Mrs. Pram? He went to check on Jillian first. She wasn’t in her room, however, and he was just about to leave for Mrs. Pram, when his eyes fell on a towel on the floor, now covered with blue ink.
He turned, swearing low under his breath. Without questioning the instinct, he flew down to the library.
* * *
“You will do exactly as I say,” Jillian stated in clipped tones. Her blue eyes were no longer distant, but burned with a manic rage that worried Liz far more. That, and the pistol held with calm competence in the woman’s hand. “You read the damn diary, didn’t you?”
Numbly, Liz nodded, only realizing her mistake too late. Judging by the look of relief on Jillian’s face, the fact had clearly been in doubt until Liz had confirmed it. She wanted to swear, but her brain was still reeling from the sight of the gun and the impact that all along it had been Jillian. Jillian had killed Alycia.
Jillian abruptly held up her left hand to show it was covered with blue ink. “I suppose I have you to
thank for this little souvenir, then. Very clever of you. Of course, I realized then that someone else must have found the diary first. After all, Alycia had never been quite that clever.”
Liz honestly had no idea what the woman was talking about, but her silence was taken for acquiescence as Jillian kept talking.
“How ironic that you should find it after I’ve spent five years looking for the damn thing. I always thought the renovations would make it easier to find. If only I could have dragged Blaine back to the house more often. No matter, though,” Jillian said briskly, using the gun to motion Liz toward the door. “Since you destroyed the diary, you’ll just have to serve in its place. I want that money, damn it. And you’re going to tell me where it is, or you won’t have enough teeth left to be identified even by dental records.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Liz said mechanically, her eyes never leaving the gun.
Jillian’s gaze darkened, and for just one minute, her hand clenched on the pistol. “Don’t try that ignorance routine with me, you little slut. I’ve seen the way you’ve been wrapping Richard and Blaine around your finger. You think you can take Alycia’s place, but I was here way before you. Blaine is mine. That money is mine. So start moving. I’ve always heard that compared to the first murder, the second is easy.”
Liz swallowed heavily, and felt the faint drumming of her own pulse in her ears. Where was Richard? But she didn’t know, and the gun in Jillian’s hand didn’t seem keen on waiting. Slowly, she turned and forced her feet into motion even as she commanded her terrified mind to think. Money. Jillian wanted money. Liz couldn’t think of hints from the diary, so she just kept walking.
And unconsciously, her feet took them to the one room she most associated with Alycia and that dark night five years ago. The one room farthest from Andy, and the room where she might hope to buy time before anyone else got hurt.