Dearly Beloved

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  “Shut up, you idiot!” Stephen shouts and takes a menacing step toward Jasper. “Shut up!”

  “But Stephen, I—”

  “She’s not going to die like the rest. She’s coming with me.”

  “What do you mean?” Feeling a tide of paranoia rising in his gut, Jasper looks at Stephen’s arm, which actually seems protective of the woman whose shoulder it rests upon. “You hate her, Stephen,” Jasper babbles, “remember?”

  “I hate her sister, Laura. This is Jennie, her identical twin.”

  In a flash, Jasper thinks back to the phone call—the woman who’d asked to speak to Jennie Towne. He should have realized then that the woman at the inn was an impostor, he thinks frantically. If he had, he might have been able to prevent this from happening . . .

  He turns his troubled gaze back on Stephen. “But—” he begins.

  Stephen cuts him off. “Let’s go out to the boat,” he says. “I need you to help me drag the others along.”

  “The others?” The woman in the wedding dress speaks for the first time since Jasper arrived. “What others?”

  “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, darling,” Stephen says, looping his elbow around hers. “Come along. Jasper will get them.”

  “Where are they?” Jasper asks, fighting back the urge to burst into frustrated tears.

  “In the closet under the stairs. Now, make it quick,” Stephen says, and leads Jennie Towne toward the back of the house.

  Jasper stands there, watching them go.

  This isn’t how it was supposed to happen!

  It was supposed to be just the two of them, he fumes, shaking his head. Not he and Stephen and some woman.

  Clenching his jaw, Jasper moves toward the closet and opens the door.

  Inside, lying in a heap on the floor, are the three gory corpses, one belonging to the nosy kid Stephen had told him about, and the other two—Sandy Cavelli and Liza Danning—clad in blood-stained wedding gowns.

  With a sigh, Jasper starts lugging the first corpse out of the closet and down the hall toward the back door.

  Stephen glances again at Jennie, who’s sitting on the narrow bed in the hold of his yacht, the Aurelia. The sea is churning from the storm, which causes the boat to rock wildly.

  That, Stephen tells himself, is why Jennie looks pale. She must be getting seasick. He feels a little queasy himself.

  “Don’t worry. . . . We’ll sail right out of this atrocious weather,” he promises, admiring the way she looks wrapped in his overcoat, which he’d insisted on giving her. After all, she can’t go around in this weather wearing only that skimpy dress.

  He had seen the way she’d looked at his clothes when he’d taken off the coat. “It’s a shame I ruined my tuxedo with so much blood,” he had said. “But I won’t need it where we’re going.”

  She had nodded and offered him a smile, and his heart had swelled with love for her.

  She isn’t like the rest. She really does care about me.

  In all his life, no woman had ever looked at him with anything other than repulsion in her eyes.

  Laura.

  Liza.

  Sandy.

  Lorraine.

  And worst of all, his own mother, Aurelia.

  All of them had used him to get what they wanted—even his mother. But for her, the attraction hadn’t been money.

  It had been far more unsettling than that.

  Stephen still shudders every time he thinks of the first time she’d ever called down the hall to him from her bedroom. “Stevie?” she had said as he passed by on his way to his room. “Can you come in here for a moment?”

  He must have been all of ten years old at the time; but even then, he had somehow sensed, by the tone of her voice, the unspeakable thing that was about to happen.

  Aurelia had been propped against her goose-down pillows, wearing a filmy pink negligee that plainly revealed her round, pointed nipples and the dark triangle at the base of her flat torso.

  “Sit down,” she had said in a soft voice she had never used on him before.

  Stephen sat, and tried to keep his eyes averted. “Where’s Father?” he had asked in a small voice.

  “Who cares?” Aurelia dismissed Andrew with a wave of her hand. “I have no use for a man like that. He doesn’t give me the time of day—always has his head buried in that stupid paperwork. And he certainly doesn’t have the first idea how to satisfy a woman. Stevie . . .” she had added. “Do you want to touch me?”

  “No, Mother.”

  “You can admit it,” she said, sounding breathless. “Go on. You can touch me here . . .” And she had slid her fingers over his, bringing his hand up and resting it against her left breast. “You can touch me everywhere.

  “You’d better do it, Stevie,” she’d added when he’d sat there, frozen, his heart pounding so hard he thought it would burst through his rib cage. “This is your only chance to touch a woman. No one else is going to let someone who looks like you near her.”

  There’s a thumping sound on the boat deck overhead, and Stephen snaps out of his reverie.

  “That’s Jasper again,” he tells Jennie, standing and glancing toward the steps that lead out of the hold. “I’ll be right back. I just want to go see where he’s . . . never mind.” He decides it’s probably best not to say the rest—Where he’s putting the bodies. Just in case Jennie Towne is the squeamish type.

  He bends and plants a light kiss on her dark hair. “I’ll be right back, my darling. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she says.

  Her voice is trembling slightly, and he decides that she must be as overwhelmed with emotion as he is. Dear, sweet Jennie . . . he’ll make her his bride just as soon as they reach their destination.

  Humming the wedding march to himself, Stephen climbs up to the deck and sees that Jasper is just depositing the third body—Sandy Cavelli’s—on the rocking deck.

  He looks up at Stephen. “That’s it,” he calls with a grunt, straightening and wiping the mix of snow and sweat from his brow. “They’re all out.”

  “Good.” Stephen is about to order him to go back to the house and clean up any telltale spots of blood when he catches sight of the distressed look on the man’s face. “What’s wrong, Jasper?”

  “It’s just . . .” The little man pauses, then takes a deep breath and says, over the howling wind, “I must admit, Stephen, that I’m somewhat upset at this most recent turn of events.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Her,” is the shouted one-word reply, accompanied with a gesture toward the hold, where Jennie waits.

  “Do you mean Jennie?”

  “Yes. I thought it was going to be just you and me, Stephen.”

  “You didn’t really,” Stephen calls, amused at the disillusionment on the man’s face.

  Jasper hesitates, knits his brows. “I didn’t really . . . what?”

  “You didn’t really think I was going to take you with me?” Stephen reaches inside his jacket and pulls out the pistol he’d tucked into his pocket earlier. He had been going to save it for later, when they were safely at sea, but . . .

  Suddenly wild-eyed, Jasper looks in disbelief from the gun to Stephen’s face. “What are you going to do with that?” he asks, his voice reduced to a pitiful high-pitched whimper.

  “Sorry, old boy,” Stephen shouts, cocking it and aiming squarely at Jasper’s head. “But I’ve run out of uses for you.”

  With that, he pulls the trigger.

  The shot pierces the violent roar of the storm, and Stephen’s lips curl into a satisfied smile as Jasper Hammel topples backward over the rail into the foaming water.

  Chapter 17

  “The house is right around this next bend . . . there!” Ned says, pointing triumphantly.

  Keegan leans forward, peering at the gothic monster rising in front of them. There are two vehicles parked in front, he realizes—both the police car and the black sedan they�
��d seen leaving the inn.

  Danny Cavelli is out of the truck like a shot the moment Ned stops at the foot of the porch steps.

  “Wait!” Keegan calls, hurrying after him and grabbing his shoulder to pull him back.

  “Let go of me! My sister—”

  “I know, but you can’t go rushing in there!” Keegan says as Ned comes slipping and sliding around the truck on the icy gravel. “You don’t know what’s going on inside. It could be dangerous. I’ll go first, and if it’s all right, I’ll wave you ahead.”

  Danny starts to protest, but Ned interrupts. “Better listen to him, son. He’s right about not rushing in there. But maybe,” he adds, turning to Keegan, “it’s too dangerous for us to fool around here at all. Maybe we should just leave and—”

  “I’m a cop,” Keegan says resolutely. “I’m trained in this kind of thing. But you two need to step back.”

  “Fine,” Ned says, shrugging. “In fact, I’ll wait in the truck.”

  “Good idea.” Keegan looks at Danny. “And you should—”

  “Forget it. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Realizing it’s not worth it to waste time arguing, Keegan gives a curt nod and says, “Fine.”

  With Danny Cavelli right at his heels, he steps carefully up onto the porch and peers through the windows. His instincts tell him that the place is deserted, but the cars parked out front mean that at least two people are around here . . . someplace.

  Reaching for the knob, Keegan is surprised to see that the door isn’t locked. He slowly pushes it open and steps inside just as Ned hollers something from the pickup truck.

  Startled Keegan turns to see what’s going on.

  Danny is already hurrying down the steps.

  “What is it?” Keegan calls above the roaring wind.

  “He says there’s someone out in back of the house by the boat dock!” Danny is already running awkwardly across the icy gravel toward the lawn that sweeps down to the water.

  “Wait!” Keegan hurries after him, hearing Ned’s bellowed “Be careful!” coming from the direction of the truck.

  Running on the snowy grass is far easier than it was to make his way across the driveway, and Keegan quickly overtakes Danny, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to the snow-covered ground in front of a low shrub.

  “Get your hands off of me!” he says, jerking under Keegan’s sturdy grasp.

  “Just wait,” Keegan says, lying on his stomach beside Danny and pointing in the direction of the water. “We’re sitting ducks up here if anyone sees us. I just want to see what’s going on. Stay still and stay down, dammit.”

  The younger man suddenly obeys, and Keegan can hear Danny’s heavy panting mingling with his own and with the roaring wind as he cautiously raises himself to peer over the top of the bush.

  The lawn descends to a short dock that juts out into the water, and moored at the piling is a large luxury yacht. From here, despite the snow and darkness, he can make out the figure of a man standing on the deck. As he watches, whoever it is descends into the hold.

  This whole thing could be entirely innocent, Keegan tells himself.

  But his sharply honed police officer’s instincts tell him that something sinister is going on.

  And he can only pray that, somehow, Jennie is still safe.

  “Is everything all right?” Jennie asks, looking up to see Stephen framed in the doorway of the hold again.

  “Everything’s fine,” he says with a beatific smile. “I just had to take care of something.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  She nods, struggling to remain calm. He just killed Jasper Hammel. She’s certain of it. The sound of gunfire was as vivid as it had been that long-ago day at the Colonial Shopping Mall; and the moment she had heard it, Jennie had found herself on the verge of hysteria.

  Only the thought of Keegan had allowed her to regain control.

  I can’t lose it, because if I do, he’ll kill me. And I’m not ready to die. I have to get back to Keegan. I have to tell him that I really do love him. I have to explain why I left him.

  And if she manages to get out of this and get back to him, she vows, she will never, ever, let him go again.

  Desperation threatens to edge into her voice as she asks Stephen, “Are we going to leave now?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I don’t know. . . . Maybe we should stay here,” she tells him, trying to sound casual, despite the terror building within her. “Just for tonight. Because of the storm.”

  “Well . . .”

  He appears to be considering that, then shakes his head. “Too risky,” he tells her.

  “Oh, Stephen, come on. You’re such a strong, brave man. Don’t tell me you’re afraid to take a risk.”

  Please! she screams at him inside her brain. Please don’t try to take the boat out now.

  He has to be insane to even consider it.

  She doesn’t know which prospect is more chilling—meeting her death at his hands or in the violent storm-tossed sea.

  “All right,” he says after a moment, with a nod. “We can wait—if not until morning, at least until the weather lets up. It can’t stay like this forever. Come on.”

  He reaches out and offers her a hand pulling her to her feet.

  It’s nearly impossible for her to walk in the skintight gown with the boat beneath her feet rocking and rolling over the waves.

  “I’ll carry you,” he says, turning and seeing her moving awkwardly across the floor.

  Before she can protest, he’s lifting her into his arms, holding her in a powerful grip against his blood-spattered clothing. “There . . . isn’t that better?”

  Feeling trapped Jennie can only nod as he starts up the steep steps. The rancid smell of drying blood, mingled with the overpowering scent of dying roses that had filled the house, assaults her nostrils, and it’s all she can do to keep from vomiting. A blast of wind and snow hits her as soon as they step out onto the deck, mercifully eradicating the scent of blood and roses.

  Jennie squints against the driving snow, turning her head down toward the deck to see if there’s any sign of Jasper.

  The sight that greets her there causes her to gasp in utter shock and horror.

  “What is it?” Stephen asks, stopping and looking down at her.

  Speechless, she can only stare at the heap of corpses on the deck.

  Oh, Sandy . . . She shakes her head, gazing at the unmistakable chubby figure encased in white satin that’s streaked with rust-colored blotches.

  And Liza . . . She sees the matted, blood-soaked blond hair and shakes her head in despair.

  And . . .

  The third body is face up, unlike the others, the face coated with snow, the eyes open and staring at the stormy night sky. It takes a moment for Jennie to realize where she’s seen him before . . .

  Patrick Gerkin.

  “Jennie?”

  It’s Stephen, his blue eyes probing her face.

  “You . . . you killed them! Oh, God! You’re a murderer!” The words spill out of her before she can stop them, a harsh, unforgiving accusation.

  For a moment, he merely looks surprised, and Jennie tells herself that it’s okay . . . she can take it back, convince him that she didn’t mean to react that way . . .

  But then, before she can open her mouth again, his eyes harden into icy daggers and his grip on her tightens so that she can barely breathe.

  He says nothing, only stalks across the deck toward the ladder leading to the dock.

  Jennie’s heart sinks as she realizes what he’s going to do.

  Take her into the house . . . and kill her there.

  Like the others.

  “Please,” she says on a sob. “Please don’t hurt me. I love—”

  “Shut up!” he hollers at her. “You don’t love me. You never did. It was a lie. You’re like the others, just as I thought. But I almost believed you! How could I believe you
? How could I think you were different?”

  He’s talking more to himself than to her, shaking her, ranting, and squeezing her tighter with every sentence so that she feels as though her ribs are going to shatter. She can no longer speak, can’t inhale . . .

  She’s going to die like this, she realizes in horror, gasping for air . . .

  He’s going to squeeze the life right out of her.

  Oh, God, Keegan . . . I’ll never—

  “Let her go!”

  The words reach her ears on a gale, and Jennie thinks that it’s only the wind. It can’t be . . .

  But that voice . . .

  No, it can’t be. It’s just your imagination again. It’s because he’s on your mind, because you’re so terrified, because you know that you’re about to . . .

  “I mean it. . . . Put her down!”

  This time, Jennie realizes that the voice is real—and familiar.

  It’s coming from the dock above the boat, and Jennie looks up just in time to see a dark figure leaping through the air, landing on the deck a few feet away.

  Stephen is so startled that he drops her as Keegan McCullough scrambles to his feet and faces him.

  “You son of a bitch!” he bellows above the roaring wind and sea, as Jennie stares in disbelief.

  Keegan . . .

  But how . . .

  Why . . .

  “You son of a bitch!” Keegan repeats, advancing on Stephen.

  But Stephen has regained his control and is standing his ground before Keegan, a bemused smile on his face.

  “And who are you?” he asks, his hand slipping into his jacket pocket.

  “Keegan, no!” Jennie finds her voice and screams as he makes a move to tackle Stephen. “He’s got a gun! No!”

  But Keegan is already upon Stephen, hurtling at him with a guttural cry of fury. The two men topple onto the pitching deck.

  Horrified, Jennie struggles to get up. Her right leg is seared by an agonizing pain. It had twisted beneath her when she landed, and now she can only claw at the deck helplessly with her hands, unable to put any weight on her leg.

  She hears another shout from the dock above. In despair, she looks up to see a second man, a stranger, standing there. He’s poised as though he’s about to jump onto the boat and help Keegan when, suddenly, his gaze drops to the battered corpses on the deck.