Grace hoped there were other letters from father to daughter that were kinder, but these were the ones Emma had wanted Julia to see. Between 1952 and 1955, there were letters to Emma from her grandmother. Nanny Anders’ tone was loving, her words kind, but the message was the same as her son-in-law’s: Emma was married and her duty was to her husband.
In April 1974, Ingrid Anders wrote of returning all of her daughter’s letters.
You’ve made your decision with no regard for my opinion, as usual. You may as well have these letters. Your father and Nanny are gone now, and I need no reminders of the mistakes we’ve made or the price you and the children are paying. They are all gone. Mother, Robert, your Ford and our Tony.
Emma, I can’t bear it.
I pray daily you’ll forgive me for not listening to you sooner and letting my pride keep me from coming to get you while I could still manage the trip. Read the letters you wrote to us, to your Nanny. Come; bring Stark and Julia home to me. You say you have to stay in that God-forsaken hamlet for the children’s sake. What could have possibly changed in the months since Tony’s accident? Nothing in that house could be worth staying for.
No, not in the house, Grace thought when she finally picked up the last letter with Emma’s cryptic note. An hour later, she pulled herself up off the stairs and dug her cell out of the tote.
Her call to Lee McNamara’s office went to voicemail. She left her name and number and tried his cell, but had no better luck. She pictured him listening to his messages and hearing her say ‘I know who killed Audrey Oxley’. The truth had waited nearly sixty years. Grace decided Audrey deserved more than having her fate revealed in a voice mail. “Please call me as soon as you get this message,” she said instead.
Upstairs in the apartment, she changed out of the suit she’d worn to the funeral and into jeans and a sweatshirt. Now that she knew the secret that had been hidden for so long in the woods, it was time to uncover the scheme Bryce and Winston had planned for the house.
Chapter Fifty-One
Winston had warned her to stay away from the basement. Bryce had said there were dangerous chemicals and snakes. The idea of going into the toxic-smelling sealed room at the street side of the house scared her. Even Benny’s far-flung family had failed to yield a hazardous materials specialist and Grace had refused to let his eager, but untrained workers in the room. A Baltimore company was scheduled for next week, but after her parking lot encounter with Bryce, she knew she didn’t have the luxury of waiting.
She tried McNamara one more time and left a message telling him about the attack at the shopping center and her plan to search the sealed room. With nothing more to delay her, she sandwiched three filter masks from her painting kit and fitted them over her mouth and nose, praying whatever she inhaled in the basement would be no more dangerous than plaster dust or paint remover.
She carried a heavy flashlight and turned on all the overhead lights as she went down the kitchen stairs. It would be full dark soon and the light in the basement windows would draw attention from the outside, but all the doors were locked, the alarm was on and her cell phone was set to call 911 with one touch. If Bryce was watching the house, he’d know she was in the basement, but she was as ready as she could be to deal with him.
She shivered as she passed the spot where she’d lain wrapped in a blanket as Winston had brutalized her and she’d learned who - what - Bryce really was. They’d led the paramedics down here, so whatever they were hiding wouldn’t be in the main area under the kitchen. She briefly checked the rooms which now held the new heating and air conditioning systems and electrical panels. Again reasoning that the areas where plumbers and electricians had installed modern equipment wouldn’t be suitable for Bryce and Winston’s plans, she moved on to the sealed room. Although she was under the front rooms of the first floor, she was as far from the basement entrance as she could go.
The tape was harder to remove than the first time. Her fingers had been fueled by anger then. Tonight they were clumsy, frozen with fear. When she pulled off the last strip and opened the door, her pulse quickened. The last time she’d been here, the room had been clean and nearly empty, a few boxes and a work table. Someone had been in here since then.
Grace found the pull-cord for the room’s single light bulb. After a moment’s hesitation, she gave it a yank and was rewarded with a weak yellow glow. The table was no longer clean. Stacks of small sheets of aluminum foil, plastic bags of varying sizes, and a fine layer of whitish-gray dust covered everything.
She felt the air change an instant before she knew he was there.
“You just had to know, didn’t you?” Bryce sounded tired, but the gun he held was steady.
Grace still held the flashlight. It was the only thing between them.
“Don’t even think about throwing that at me, Gracie. Set it down gently.”
“The alarm!” she said, trying to distract him while praying for intervention, or at least inspiration. Her phone was in her pocket. Could she reach it before he shot her?
“It’s wireless, sweetheart. Signals can be jammed.” He pointed to the flashlight with his free hand. “Drop it. Now!”
The anger in his voice made her jump, and she threw everything she had into a helpless girl reflex. “I’m sorry!” she cried as she dropped the flashlight and crouched down, scrambling further away from him. She had her right hand on the phone in her pocket. Feeling the depression of the ‘On’ button, she pressed it and wailed, “Bryce! What are you doing with a gun?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, shut up!” In two strides, he had her arm and yanked it viciously. The cell phone flew from her grasp and clattered to the stone floor. He released her, his curses bouncing off the brick walls as he crushed the device under his work boot. His tantrum gave her the precious seconds she needed.
She was down the dark hallway and into the light of the main storage room when he caught her and jerked her around to face him.
“The police are on their way,” she tried.
“I doubt it.” He seemed to consider his options for a moment, and then his features softened. “Now Gracie, don’t be afraid of me. I didn’t lie to you. All this, what you saw, what you think you heard the day you fell, it’s all Winnie’s doing. When I realized he was using the house for his heroin sales, I put a stop to it. He is, well he was, a good kid. I gave him another chance and look what it got me. Between cleaning up his mess and dealing with the rumors you started, my business is tanking.”
She knew she should play him, go along until she could escape. “Then why are you here?” Her teeth were chattering and she could barely understand her own words.
Bryce chuckled and loosened his grip on her arm a little. “I stopped by to check on things, like I told you I would, remember? The alarm is insulting, and I wanted to show you how easily anyone could get in. And what do I find? Winnie’s at it again. You need to move on, Grace. Let me handle Winnie and get our lives back to normal. Can you go along with that?”
“Maybe. If you put the gun away.”
“Am I scaring you, Gracie? I just want you to hear me out and then you can go. Sound fair?”
She wanted to scream that he sounded crazy, but she nodded.
“I over-reacted, okay? The gun and breaking your phone. But you’ve caused such a mess and you’ve got it all wrong. I’ve never hurt you, never wanted to hurt you. It’s Winnie with the drugs; I wanted to help him get straight. If Mosley was here, he could tell you. He asked me to keep an eye on the kid; keep him out of trouble. I did try. I kept him around and gave him work when no one else would.” He paused, watching her. “And I left you alone, you have to admit that, right?”
She nodded slowly. He had left her alone, and it didn’t make any sense.
Bryce smiled and said, “That’s right. You’re getting it. I thought Winnie had cleaned up. He told me he had, you know? What he didn’t tell me was he had one last shipment. He sampled the merchandise and then went home to mommy who slap
ped him back in rehab before he could blink. One of his customers called me today. Winnie told them I could get into his stash.”
“You still have the gun pointed at me,” she said.
With a theatrical sigh, he tucked the pistol into the waistband at the back of his jeans. “There,” he held both hands up. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. But I can make it up to you. Winnie told me he’d left a few other things here that I needed to clean up for him.” He shook his head in a ‘can you believe that crazy kid’ gesture. “He said he had some jewelry that belonged to your grandmother. Said he’d put it in a box and buried it in the grave out there in the woods. The dirt was already loose - a bonus for that lazy jackass - and he thought it would be a great hiding place until he could sell it.”
“Why would he tell you that?”
“Because he owes me money, and he thought I wouldn’t tell the police about his heroin operation if he paid me off. The jewelry is all he has. I can prove it to you. Let’s go dig it up. It’s yours, anyway, right?”
She saw no value in telling him the jewelry belonged to Niki. “Oh-okay,” she stammered, playing into the nerves that locked her jaws. Her mind raced ahead to possible avenues of escape.
“Good girl. I’ll grab that shovel by the basement door and we’ll make you a rich woman. A richer woman.” He made shooing motions with his hands. “Let’s go. We can call Chief McNamara as soon as we’ve gotten the jewelry.”
Now she knew he was lying. He would never lead the police to the heroin; she could see it in his face, his body language. The hands on his hips, so close to the gun. She prayed he couldn’t read her as easily.
“So let’s go.” Again, he waved her toward the steps.
She would have to turn her back to him and walk ahead of him out of the basement. But then she could run for the street and help. She tried to look as if she believed him. Like she wanted to go into the woods with a man with a gun.
“That works for me,” she managed and turned for the stairs. She could feel him behind her, but he didn’t touch her.
It was darker outside than she’d expected. The basement lights only created shadows beyond the window wells. She stopped a few feet into the yard to let her eyes adjust. A mistake.
Bryce grabbed her hand. “Come on!”
The tree line was closer than she remembered.
“Come on, Gracie. Let’s go get the jewelry.” His breath was warm against her face. No sweet candy smell tonight. He smelled of musk and adrenalin. He smelled like fear.
She tried to pull away from him but his grip tightened. He pulled her forward.
“Let go! Stop!” she yelled as loudly as she could.
He dropped the shovel. The gun was back before she could make another sound.
“Pick up the shovel, Gracie. Don’t make me hurt you. Nobody heard you and no one knows I’m here.”
Grace saw something move in the shadows behind Bryce. A shape, lighter than the surrounding bushes and coming soundlessly toward them. She had to keep his attention.
“So now you need a gun again?” she said, hoping her voice was low enough not to alarm him but clear enough to warn whoever was coming to her aid.
“You aren’t stupid, are you?” he said. There was a note of admiration in his voice. “Did you buy any of it?”
It was hard not to stare over his shoulder. She fought to keep her focus on him. “I don’t believe anything you said.” She risked raising her voice. “You’re lying about Winston selling heroin. I think it was all your doing and so will everyone else.” She’d recognized the person who hid in the shadows behind Bryce.
He laughed. “Everyone will believe he acted alone when you aren’t here to contradict me.”
The shadow moved. Grace dropped to the ground as a shot rang out.
“Liar!” Two more shots spit from the end of Connie’s gun.
Bryce screamed and writhed on the ground.
“Connie, no! No more.” Grace tried to push herself up, but sharp pains crippled her right foot.
Move!
She crawled across the grass until her fingers closed over the shovel handle. She used it as a crutch and finally got upright only to see Connie swing toward her, arms still outstretched, but shaking badly. Clods of dirt peppered Grace as a bullet hit the ground a few feet from her.
Connie’s gun wobbled like a live thing as she yelled, “He hurt Winnie!” The barrel swung down to Bryce, who was in a fetal position. More dirt exploded near his head.
Grace tried desperately to count the number of times Connie had fired. Did she have any more bullets?
“God, Grace!” Bryce screamed. “Do something! She’s crazy -” another bullet and another scream. If he had stayed still, it might have ended differently, but he tried to crawl toward Grace.
“You’re not going anywhere!” Connie screamed and four loud, impotent clicks sounded in quick succession.
With a roar, Bryce rolled over and Grace saw he had his gun again. “Run!” she screamed at Connie and swung the shovel with every ounce of frustrated, terrified strength she had.
For a moment there was a perfect silence, then the wail of a siren split the cold night air.
Chapter Fifty-Two
“One murder, two attempted murders, a heroin distribution ring, and God-knows how many assaults. That’s before we get into attempted assault, breaking and entering, and theft. You Delaneys like a little variety in your crimes, don’t you?”
“Don’t forget arson,” Grace said. She thought she’d like to talk to Lee McNamara somewhere other than a hospital, about something other than her poor judgment. He didn’t seem angry, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Surely he wouldn’t arrest her while the plaster was still wet on her cast.
“It wasn’t my fault,” she tried.
“I’m not charging you, yet,” he countered in a reasonable tone. “Who knows what I might find before this is all over?”
She tried hard to think what she could be guilty of, but her ankle was on fire. She’d refused painkillers. It didn’t seem smart to ease the agony of her broken ankle at the expense of saying the wrong thing to the police. And she had to remember Chief McNamara wasn’t her friend, even if he had kind brown eyes and seemed to be genuinely concerned about her.
“Where’s Connie?” she asked.
“In a holding cell, but she’s fine. She’s with Niki and they’re waiting on her attorney.”
“A holding cell! She saved my life.”
“She shot you. You should take some of those painkillers and rest a while.”
“She shot at Bryce. I was hit by a ricochet — a freak accident. You can’t charge her! I want to see her. I’ll represent her.” Grace tried to stand but quickly decided that was a bad idea. “Maybe a wheelchair would be good,” she said through clenched teeth.
McNamara touched her hand briefly. “Sit still. Connie’s in a holding cell because she said she was going to kill Stark.”
“What?” Grace gave up and tore the top off of the small envelope of Percocet the doctor had given her. She couldn’t handle this mess sober or pain-free, so there was no point in continued sacrifice.
McNamara stepped out of the emergency room cubicle and returned with a bottle of water.
“I’m only holding her until the lawyer Niki got her arrives. She’ll calm down, and if Stark has any sense at all, he’ll stay away from her a while. Connie learned that he’s has been paying off Winston’s dealer. Or, rather, he thought he was. He didn’t know Winston was the dealer and needed the money to buy his next shipment. Stark has gone through most of his and Connie’s assets thinking he was helping Winston, when what he was actually doing was financing a drug ring. When Connie found out what Stark had done, it wasn’t pretty.”
Grace closed her eyes. The Percocet wasn’t working fast enough. “We are a pathetic lot, aren’t we?” She tried to find a more comfortable position for her ankle, but there wasn’t one. So much for avoidance. She asked the question she’d wanted to
voice since he’d arrived.
“What happens if Bryce dies?”
“Your story and Connie’s match, and the evidence bears you out. I’d say it was self-defense, whether or not he dies.”
“Is there any proof that he was in the heroin operation with Winston? I mean, other than what I heard?”
“No. And as you know, what you heard isn’t conclusive.”
“It’s the only way it all makes sense! That’s why Bryce insisted on keeping Winston around, sent him on all those errands.”
“Maybe. I’ll give you a probably. We’ll have to see if a grand jury agrees. I’m hoping Winnie’ll testify against him, for what that’ll be worth.” He rose and patted her shoulder. “Try not to worry.”
When McNamara left, Grace said a prayer for Bryce to be well and whole. She wanted him to be able to pay for his crimes.
Bryce didn’t die and was able to make bail. Connie’s lawyer got her out of jail, and Stark talked her out of killing him. Winston was transferred from the comfortable and discreet rehab center in Annapolis to the Talbot County Department of Corrections. The Delaney family’s resources finally ran out for the last Winston. The jewelry he’d buried in the grave was only valuable in Niki’s eyes.
While Winnie and Bryce waited for their respective trials, the Mallard Bay grapevine destroyed what was left of their reputations and elevated Grace to near sainthood. Between the enthusiastic Pannel family and everyone in town who’d ‘always known’ she was an upstanding attorney victimized by the perpetually bad Winston and his surprising partner, Grace was overrun with friendly neighbors and helpful tradespeople.
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