by Nora Roberts
“No! Not the police. It’s Louis.” She seemed to come to grips with herself as she released Laurel. “I can find him. I know the swamp as well as he does. You don’t have to come with me—I asked too much.”
Laurel dragged both hands through her hair as Marion started across the lawn. He’d put her up on her first pony, she remembered. Played patient games of chess, listened to her rambling stories. Whatever he’d done, how could she walk away without trying to help?
“Marion, wait. I’m coming with you.”
Marion stopped and held out a hand.
They moved quickly toward the swamp. The instant revulsion came as she stood at the edge of it, but she forced it back. It was just a place, she told herself. And Louis was in it.
The shadows were long on the ground now. Daylight was thinning. They’d have an hour, maybe a bit longer, Laurel reassured herself, before it was too dark to see. By then, they’d have found him. She moved into the swamp without hesitation.
“I think he might have gone to the river—to where Anne was found.” How much did Marion know or suspect, Laurel wondered. At the moment, she didn’t think Marion was in any shape for questions or theories. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked, looking at Marion’s flowing pastel skirts and elegant pumps. “It’s hard going through here.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Marion said impatiently. “Louis is my brother.”
“It’s going to work out for the best,” Laurel told her, almost believing it herself.
“I know.” Marion managed a smile.
They moved slowly, side by side, and then with Laurel just ahead as the path narrowed. The place was alive with noise—birds, insects. Once she saw a blue heron rise up gracefully and glide. They were coming to the river.
“Maybe we should call to him, let him know we’re here,” Laurel suggested. “It might frighten him if we’re too quiet.”
“He won’t hear you.”
“Not if he’s gone the other way, but if he’s anywhere near the river, then—” Laurel broke off as she turned around.
Marion held a gleaming old gun in her hand. A sliver of sunlight dashed against the chrome. For a moment, as her gaze rested on it, Laurel’s mind went blank. Then, slowly, she looked up into Marion’s face. Despite the red-rimmed eyes, the tracks of tears and disordered hair, her expression was calm and composed. There was something buzzing in her ears that Laurel didn’t yet recognize as terror. She kept her eyes on Marion’s face.
“Marion.” The name came out calmly enough. Calmly and very soft. “What are you doing?”
“What I have to do,” she said mildly.
Was the gun for Louis? Laurel thought frantically. If it was for Louis, then why was it pointed at her? She wouldn’t look at it—not yet—she’d look only into Marion’s clear gray eyes. “Where’s Louis, Marion? Do you know?”
“Of course, he’s working in his study. He’s been working all afternoon.”
“All afternoon,” Laurel repeated, trying to hold back the trickle of fear that was eating at her wall of control. “Why did you call me?”
“I had to.” Marion smiled. It was a gentle one. “After I spoke to you this morning about Elise’s locket, I knew it had gone too far. You’d gone too far.”
“Spoke to me? But I talked to Binney . . .” She trailed off. “It was you?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t remember that Binney spends her Sundays with her sister. You made it terribly simple, Laurel. You expected Binney, so I was Binney.” The smile faded. Marion’s brows drew together, delicately, as they did when she was annoyed. “I’m very disappointed in you, Laurel. I warned you to stay out of this. Can you imagine the trouble you’d have caused if it had been Binney? Questioning a servant about family matters.” She shook her head as a flicker of irritation darkened her eyes. “You’ve been raised better than that.”
Raised better? Laurel thought giddily. Was she mad? Oh, God, she thought as fear washed over her. Of course she was mad. “Marion, what are you going to do?”
“You’ll have to be punished,” Marion told her calmly. “Just like the others.”
***
Matt’s car skidded to a halt next to Laurel’s. He hadn’t stopped cursing since he’d tossed her note aside. Cursing helped hold off the fear. If he’s hurt her, Matt thought as he sprinted up the steps. By God, if he’s touched her . . . Lifting a fist, he pounded on the door.
“Trulane!” He pounded again, sick with fear. When the door opened, he was through it in seconds, with his hands gripping hard on Louis’s shirt. “Where’s Laurel?”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Louis stood rigid, his eyes burning with fury.
“What have you done with Laurel?” Matt demanded.
“I’ve done nothing with Laurel. I haven’t seen her.” He looked down at the hands gripping his shirt. “Get your hands off me, Bates.” He’d like a fight, Matt realized. He’d like the simple release of a purely physical explosion—fist against flesh. Matt saw it in his eyes.
“We’ll go a few rounds, Trulane,” Matt promised grimly. “There’s nothing I’d like better—after you tell me what you’ve done with Laurel.”
Louis felt something bubbling inside of him. The emotion, for the first time in weeks, had nothing to do with grief. It was pure fury. Somehow it was cleansing. “I told you I haven’t seen her. She isn’t here.”
“You can do better.” Matt flung a hand toward the open door. “Her car’s out front.”
Louis followed the gesture and frowned. Some of the pent-up anger gave way to puzzlement. “She must’ve come to see Marion.”
“Marion called her.” Matt shoved him back against the wall, catching him off-balance. “She told her to come because you were out of control, locked in your room.”
“Are you crazy?” Louis pushed him away, and they stood eyeing each other, both tall men, both ready, anxious, for blood. “Marion would hardly call Laurel if I were locked in my room. As it happens, I’ve been working all afternoon.”
Matt stood, breathing fast, trying to hold on. If he hit Trulane, even once, he might never stop. He could feel the violence bubbling up inside him. Not until he saw Laurel, he promised himself. And after that . . .
“Laurel left me a note that she was coming here after a phone call from Marion concerning your unstable condition.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Laurel’s car’s out front,” Matt said between his teeth. “And you’re here.”
Louis gave him a cold stare. “Perhaps you’d care to search the house.”
“I’ll do just that,” Matt tossed back. “While I’m at it,” he continued as he reached in his pocket, “why don’t you take a look at this and see what explanation you can come up with?”
Opening his palm, he held out the piece of locket. Louis gripped his wrist, fingers biting into flesh. “Elise—where did you get that?” His eyes whipped up to Matt’s, dark, tormented. “Where in hell did you get that?”
“In the swamp.” Matt closed his hand over it. “Laurel recognized it, too, then confirmed it with your housekeeper on the phone this morning.”
“Binney?” Louis stared down at Matt’s closed hand. “No, Binney isn’t here. The swamp? In the swamp?” Again Louis lifted his head. His face was white. “Elise never went in there without me. She always wore that, always. She had it on the day I left for New York, before she—” He shook his head, color rushing back to his face. “What the hell are you trying to do?”
Matt tried to take it step by step. A new fear was crawling in. “Laurel told me she called here—around noon—and spoke with your housekeeper.”
“I tell you Binney isn’t here, hasn’t been here all day! She goes to her sister’s. All the servants are free on Sundays. There’s only Marion and I.”
“Only Marion?” Matt murmured. Marion who had called—Marion who had, by her nervous distress, sent them after Brewster. And Marion, Matt remem
bered all at once, who had said Anne had told Susan that Brewster made her nervous. How would she have known that unless—unless she’d seen the letters. “Where is she?” Matt demanded, already halfway down the hall. “Where’s your sister?”
“You just wait a damned minute.” Louis grabbed Matt by the arm. “What are you getting at? Where did you get that locket?”
“In the swamp!” Matt exploded. “Damn you, don’t you understand Marion’s got her!” His face became very still and very pale. “In the swamp,” he repeated. “She has her in the swamp, just like the others.”
“What others?” Louis was on him before Matt could move. “What others?”
“Your sister’s a murderer,” Matt flung back at him. “She’s killed three times, and now she has Laurel.”
“You’re crazy!”
“I’m not crazy.” He opened his fist again so that the locket sat dully in the center of his palm. “We were in the swamp the other night—someone attacked her. The same person who sent her the dead snake, and the one who threatened her over the phone yesterday. The same person,” he said evenly, “who called her here now. Laurel came here for you,” Matt told Louis, watching his eyes. “Are you going to help me?”
Louis stared down at the locket, his breath unsteady. “We’ll go in. Wait here.”
Turning, he walked into a room across from the parlor. Seconds later, he came back with a small pistol. The color had drained from his face again. In silence, he handed it to Matt. “She’s taken the gun.” His eyes met Matt’s. “The antique we’ve kept under glass.”
***
Don’t panic, don’t try to run. Laurel ran the words over and over in her mind as she watched Marion. She looks so calm now, as if any minute she’d smile and offer me tea and cakes. How long has she been mad? Laurel swallowed slowly, careful to make no movement at all. Talk—she wants to talk about it.
“Punish,” Laurel repeated. “You punished the others, Marion?”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“You were always a clever child, Laurel, but not clever enough.” She smiled again, old friend to old friend. “After all, look how easily I threw your attention onto Brewster, just by telling the truth. Anne would never have left Louis. She adored him.”
“Then why did you punish her, Marion?”
“She shouldn’t have come back.” Marion let out a little, shuddering sigh. “She should never have come back.”
“Come back?” Laurel repeated, allowing herself a quick glimpse over Marion’s head. If she could distract her, get just a few seconds’ head start, could she lose herself in the brush?
“She didn’t fool me,” Marion said, smiling again. “Oh, she fooled the rest of them—especially Louis—but I knew. Of course, I pretended I didn’t. I’m very good at pretending. She was afraid of the swamp,” Marion said absently. “I knew why, of course I knew why. She died here before, she had to die here again.”
Laurel stared as the horror of what was in Marion’s mind washed over her. Keep talking, keep talking, keep talking, she told herself as a thrush began to sing in the cypress behind her. “Why did you kill Elise the first time?”
“She had no right!” Marion exploded so that Laurel gave a quick, involuntary jerk back. “She had no right to the house. It was mine, always it’s been mine. Louis was going to will it to her. To her! She didn’t have Trulane blood, wasn’t one of us. I’m the oldest,” she raged. “By rights, the house was mine. Father was wrong to leave it to Louis.”
Her chest began to shudder, but when Laurel looked down, she saw the gun was still steady. “It’s always been mine. I love it. All of this.” Her eyes skimmed the swamp and softened. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever loved.”
“But why Elise?” Laurel interrupted. A house, she thought frantically. Did someone kill for a house, a plot of grass and dirt? It had been done before, she reminded herself. Over and over again, since the caves. “Why didn’t you kill Louis, Marion? Then you’d have inherited.”
“Laurel.” Her voice was soft. “Louis is my brother.”
“But—but Charles,” she began.
“I never wanted to hurt Charles.” Tears sprang and swam in her eyes. “I loved him. But he saw us, he interfered.” A single tear drifted down her cheek. “I didn’t have a choice. Elise and I went for a walk—she was lonely without Louis. When we were far enough away from the house, I took out the gun. This gun,” she said, lifting it higher. “Do you recognize it, Laurel?”
She did. She’d seen it under glass in the library. The same gun another Trulane had used to kill—to punish. “Yes.”
“I knew I had to use this.” She ran a fingertip down the barrel. “It was as if it was waiting for me, as if someone was telling me that it was right that I punish Elise with this. Do you understand?”
“I’m trying to.”
“Poor Laurel,” Marion murmured. “Always so understanding, so caring. That’s how I knew you’d come today when I called.”
Laurel felt her knees start to shake. “You were telling me about Charles.”
“Yes, yes. He saw us, you see. Saw me leading Elise into the swamp at gunpoint. At least, he must have—I didn’t have time to ask, everything happened so quickly. We were here when he found us. Just here.”
She glanced around as if they might not be alone after all. Laurel took a very slow, very small step to the right. “Don’t, Laurel,” Marion murmured, lifting the gun a fraction higher. Laurel stood still. “Elise went wild—that must have been when her locket was broken. I should’ve been more careful. I had to shoot her. Then Charles was pushing me down. My own brother—shouting at me. The gun seemed to go off again, all by itself. Then he was dead.”
Her tears were dry now, her eyes clear. “I didn’t know what to do at first, and then, it just came. They’d been lovers, like the other two who’d died here. I’d have to forge another note. This time Elise would tell Louis she’d left him for Charles. It was better,” she muttered. “Really, it was better that way. I had to drag them to the quicksand.”
“Oh, God.” Laurel closed her eyes, but Marion didn’t notice.
“I packed some of their clothes. All the servants were gone because it was Sunday. Charles’s paints, too—I nearly forgot them. Of course, he’d never have left without his paints. They went in the quicksand, too. Then it was done. It was simple. Of course, Louis was hurt. He suffered.” Her eyes clouded for a moment. “I know he blamed himself, but I could hardly tell him it was all for the best. The house was mine again, he was busy with his work. But sometimes,” she whispered. “Sometimes I’d hear them in here. At night.”
Laurel swallowed the metallic taste of horror. “Charles and Elise?”
“I’d hear them—it would wake me up and I’d have to come out, come look. I never saw them—” Again, she looked around as if expecting someone. “But I heard.”
It’s driven her mad, Laurel thought. How is it no one saw, no one suspected? She remembered Marion at a charity function only months before—delicate, elegant, with a spray of violets pinned to her lapel. She looked down at the gun again.
“Then she came back,” Marion said flatly. “She said her name was Anne, and Louis believed her. I knew. She’d look at me with those soft, shy eyes, and she was laughing! I let her think she’d fooled me.”
“And you brought her in here again.”
“I had to be more careful this time. Louis hardly let her out of his sight, and she’d never, never go near the swamp. That night, he was working late. I heard her in the study with him. He told her he’d probably be a couple hours more, to go up to bed without him. I knew it was time. I went into her room, put a pillow over her face. Oh, I had to be careful, I couldn’t kill her then. It had to look like an accident this time. She was very small, and not strong. It only took a minute until she was unconscious. Then I carried her out here.”
Marion smiled, remembering. “I had the gun, but she didn’t know I couldn’t afford to use i
t. When she came to, she was terrified. Elise knew she was going to die again. She begged me to let her go, but I made her get up. I thought it best if she drowned in the river. When she started to run, I let her. It would be simpler if she exhausted herself first and I kept close. Then I heard her scream. The snake, a young one, Elise had walked right over the nest. You see, it was meant,” Marion told her. “It was right. All I needed then was enough time for the poison to work—and a night, a whole night out in that damp air. I waited until she stopped running, until she was unconscious, here, right here where she’d died before. Then I went home.” Marion smiled, but now her eyes were blank. “She won’t come back this time.”
“No,” Laurel said quietly. “She won’t come back.”
“I’ve always been fond of you, Laurel. If you’d only listened, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Laurel moistened her lips and prayed her voice would be steady. “If you shoot me, Marion, they’ll take you away from Heritage Oak.”
“No!” Her hand tightened on the gun, then relaxed. “No, I’m not going to shoot you, unless I have to. If I do, I’ll have to place the blame on Louis. I’ll have to, you’ll be responsible for that.”
It was so hard to breathe, Laurel discovered. So hard to make the air come in and go out. If she concentrated on it, she’d keep herself from screaming until Marion made her stop. “I won’t walk into the river, or the quicksand for you.”
“No,” Marion agreed. “You’re not like the others, not so easily