Aquamarine

by Catherine Mulvany

  “Shea?” Teague’s voice sounded strange.

  She turned to face him. “What?”

  “That rock,” he said, lifting it gingerly, “isn’t a rock. It’s a skull.”

  She recoiled violently. “Left over from the massacre?”

  He shook his head slightly. “I don’t think so.”

  “Kirsten?” She shuddered. He nodded.

  “Oh, God. I think I know why Kevin killed the dog. Beelzebub must have disturbed Kirsten’s grave. The other day he dropped a bone under Kirsten’s bed. It never occurred to me until now that it might have been a human bone.”

  “So Kevin killed the dog and tossed his body in a shallow grave.”

  “He must have been in a hurry,” she said, eyeing the skull in horrified fascination. “Maybe he was supposed to be running an errand.” She remembered the day he’d returned from a trip to the post office with his shoes caked with mud, the same black mud she was now so liberally smeared with.

  Shea returned to her digging, praying she wouldn’t hit another bony obstruction. She already felt like a grave robber.

  Fifteen minutes later the flashlight blinked once, flickered, then went out. “Batteries just died,” Teague announced.

  Cold despair squeezed her heart. “The way we will if Kevin has his way.”

  “Don’t give up yet,” Teague said. “I may have a minor miracle at my command. There. That should do it.” The light returned, much brighter than before.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Exchanged the old batteries for the ones from my broken flashlight.”

  “You’re a genius.” She grinned, despite her fatigue. Her muscles burned and hands were a mess. The gloves had helped, but she knew her palms were blistered and possibly bleeding. Only fear kept her digging.

  “Damn,” Teague whispered.

  “What?” She turned to see a grim expression on his face.

  “Kevin’s back,” he said.

  She cocked her head to listen and heard the sound of footsteps crossing the floor above them.

  “What do we do now?” She stared at Teague, her mind blank. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to end. Dammit, she and Teague had come through so much. They deserved a happily-ever-after.

  “Play it by ear,” he said calmly. He dragged himself away from the ladder. “Bring me the shovel. I’ll play possum, shielding it from view with my body. He doesn’t know we have a shovel. And what he doesn’t know might hurt him.” Teague smiled steadily at her. She knew he was trying to bolster her courage and she loved him for it even though it didn’t work.

  The nails made a ripping sound as Kevin pulled them from the wood. “He’s coming,” she said. Right before Teague doused the light, he winked at her, a frivolous gesture that brought tears of love to her eyes.

  Kevin lifted the door and shone his flashlight directly into her face. “Thanks for waiting,” he said with a laugh. “Where’s your boyfriend? Hiding in the corner to ambush me?”

  “Look to your left.” Her voice was thick with loathing.

  He swung his flashlight across to illuminate Teague’s body sprawled lifelessly in the dirt. “Break his back?” he inquired pleasantly.

  “He needs a doctor.”

  “You really don’t expect me to rush him to the hospital, do you?”

  “Why not? Nobody has to know what really happened. We can claim it was an accident. Like with Daddy and the water hemlock.”

  “So you figured that out, did you?”

  “All except why.”

  “He was going to change his will. You were going to be added, cutting into my share, and I was going to be stuck with a lousy trust fund. Not acceptable. I need the cash.”

  “Why? Been gambling again?” she asked. “I thought you’d given up betting on football games.”

  “Wasn’t football this time. Taggart Walsh arranged some private poker games at the club.”

  Shea frowned. “Taggart Walsh? Isn’t he the man who backed into your Fiat?”

  “Right. Subtlety’s not his strong suit. Trashing my car was a warning. I owe him a bundle.” Kevin shrugged. “I’ve been on a losing streak all summer and Walsh is getting impatient for his money.”

  “So why not ask Jack?”

  “Been there, done that. Decided I don’t like the accompanying lectures. Besides, I’m not a beggar.”

  “No,” Shea said. “You’re a murderer.”

  “And a realist. Money’s what matters in this world. People are expendable. I learned that lesson early.”

  “Kirsten,” she said. “Why did you kill her, Kevin? You were only twelve. What drove you to murder her?”

  “Whatever Kirsten wanted, Kirsten got—a new dress, a new car, a fancy wedding. But whenever I wanted anything, the answer was no.”

  The trip to the South of France with Jeremy Bancroft’s family. Kirsten’s thought flashed through her brain. “You wanted to spend the month of August in Saint-Tropez, didn’t you? Only Jack said no because if you went, you’d miss Kirsten’s wedding.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “How do you know that?”

  “I know a lot of things.” She eyed him steadily. “You’re the one who broke into Teague’s apartment to plant evidence. And you’re the one who sent me the anonymous warning.”

  “Too bad you didn’t take it to heart.”

  “You won’t get away with this, Kevin.”

  He laughed. “Don’t be so sure. I’m going to be very rich, and money is power.”

  His eyes shone bright blue in the glow of his flashlight. Shea wondered how she could ever have mistaken their soulless emptiness for innocence.

  “Kirsten ruined everything for me. So I ruined everything for her. Simple as that.” Kevin’s smile made her shiver.

  “My God,” she said, swallowing her disgust. “You killed your sister just because you didn’t get to go to the Riviera?”

  “Stepsister,” he said. “And it wasn’t the first time she got in my way.” He chuckled. “Though it was the last.”

  “And tonight? Were you the one who tried to smother Daddy?”

  Kevin’s laughter sounded genuinely amused. “I’m afraid I misled you a bit. There was no attack on Dad tonight. I didn’t rush to his bedside. In fact, I never left the island.”

  “But the calls you made from the hospital …” she protested.

  “I used the Griffins’ phone. Glory let me in. She’d do anything for me.”

  “I see. Very clever.” Obviously his monstrous ego needed some stroking.

  He smiled in self-satisfaction. “So now that we understand each other, let’s get on with this.” Kevin set his big square flashlight at the edge of the opening, then drew a lethal-looking pistol from the waistband of his jeans.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, edging away as he started down the ladder.

  “Tie up some loose ends.”

  “Killing us won’t solve anything,” Shea said, hoping he’d lose his balance on the missing rung.

  He avoided it adroitly, obviously quite familiar with the ladder’s idiosyncrasies. “I’m not going to kill anyone. You and lover boy there are going to have an accident.”

  “What kind of accident?”

  “Fatal.” He grinned wolfishly, grabbing her sore shoulder.

  She winced as much in revulsion as pain. He spun her around and shoved her roughly against the ladder, slamming her into the rough wood facefirst. Stunned by the unexpected attack, Shea felt the warmth of blood trickling down her forehead.

  She turned to face him. “It’s no use, Skeeter. You can’t kill me. It didn’t work the last time, and it won’t work this time, either.”

  “What the hell are you babbling about, Shea McKenzie?” he demanded sharply, but as he stared down at her, a hint of uncertainty clouded his face.

  “Not Shea McKenzie. Kirsten Rainey.” She shoved the aquamarine crystal cluster under his nose. “Remember this? You should. You’re the one who gave it to me. It connects
us, Skeeter. Remember the last time you tried to kill me? When you hit me over the head? I had the crystal in my hand then too, didn’t I? You startled me when you sneaked up from behind. My hand tightened reflexively, and the rock left diagonal slashes across my fingers, didn’t it?”

  “How did you know?” His voice was a strangled whisper.

  Shea smiled, holding his gaze captive as she placed the crystal cluster on the floor. Slowly she removed the glove and blood-soaked bandages to display her wounds. “Remember?”

  Kevin’s eyes rolled wildly. “I don’t believe it. You can’t be Kirsten. Kirsten’s dead. I buried her.”

  “Then how did I know about Saint-Tropez, Skeeter? And the cuts? And the fact that you caved my skull in?”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts.” His voice shook on the last word. Shea sensed rather than saw the movement behind him.

  “Do you believe in possession?”

  “I’ll show you possession.” Kevin jammed the barrel of the pistol against the base of her throat.

  Had she pushed him too far in her efforts to distract him? She tasted the sour flavor of fear but forced herself to speak coolly. “You can keep destroying the bodies, but not the spirit. I’ll come back again and again until you pay for what you did.” Her words ended in a gasp as Kevin ground the gun barrel into the vulnerable flesh of her exposed throat.

  Teague sat up, slamming the spade into the backs of Kevin’s knees. Kevin’s mouth formed an O of surprise and he buckled like a broken toy. Shea dove sideways into the darkness, scrambling in the dirt for a weapon. She knew the broken flashlight lay somewhere nearby. But the object her searching fingers located wasn’t a flashlight. It was bigger and lighter. Kirsten’s poor damaged skull, she realized.

  Strangely, as she held the skull in her bloodied hands, her desperate fear began to ease. Warmth and power seemed to flow into her weary body like an electric current. Across the width of the cellar, the crystal glowed with an unearthly radiance.

  Kevin regained his balance, but not before Teague got in another good shot with the spade. Furious, Kevin aimed a savage kick at the side of Teague’s head. The older man was able to avoid the brunt of the blow, but he absorbed enough of the impact to send him sprawling. Recovering himself, Kevin leveled his pistol at Teague’s chest.

  “No!” Shea screamed, diverting Kevin’s attention for a split second.

  Teague, breathing hard, his teeth bared in an expression like that of a cornered animal’s, scrabbled sideways, then swung the spade back for one final blow.

  Kevin saw none of this. All his concentration was trained on Shea. He glared at her, his face a vicious mask of hatred. “Okay, fine. Ladies first.”

  Shea watched numbly as the pistol swung in her direction. She squeezed the skull between her hands. Kirsten, help me!

  Gladly, sister. I’ve been waiting seven years for this moment. The words washed through Shea’s head on a wave of cold fury.

  Then everything seemed to switch to slow motion. One minute Kevin was glowering down the sights at her, and the next his face seemed to crumple in upon itself in an expression of terror. “Kirsten?” His voice rose two octaves in as many syllables.

  “Kirsten?” echoed Teague, his hand going momentarily slack on the spade handle.

  A low humming throbbed in Shea’s ears, drowning out all other sound. A strange, bluish light bathed the cellar.

  “Give it up. You can’t kill me.” Kirsten held the skull aloft. “Exhibit A, Skeeter. I’m already dead, remember?”

  Kevin’s face blanched. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You may be dead, but Harris isn’t. Yet.” He turned the gun on Teague.

  Kirsten’s pent-up fury exploded. With a bloodcurdling yell, she split away from Shea, flinging herself and the skull at Kevin’s face.

  Shea dove for the gun, which flew off into the shadows as Kevin fought to protect himself, clawing madly at the skull.

  Her hands closed over the reassuringly solid grip of the pistol, and she turned to see what was happening.

  “Freeze,” she ordered, unnecessarily as it turned out. Kevin was crumpled against the ladder, his face a frozen mask of horror. The damaged skull rested on his chest. Teague lay slumped nearby. Both men looked dead.

  “Teague?” she whispered.

  Up above, Kevin’s flashlight wobbled as heavy footsteps shook the floor of the cabin. “Harris? Are you all right? Harris? Can you hear me?”

  Teague moved then and she saw his expression. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost. And maybe he had. “Down here, Sheriff,” he called.

  EPILOGUE

  Shea perched on an ugly and wretchedly uncomfortable chair beside Teague’s bed, waiting for him to open his eyes. She’d been there so long, she’d memorized the fire escape plan taped to the inside of the door and counted all the holes in the acoustic tile ceiling. Two thousand seven hundred and ninety-five in case anyone was interested.

  “Come on, Teague. Open your eyes already.” Not a flutter.

  She sighed in resignation. He’d been out of the recovery room for almost forty minutes now. The nurse said he was just sleeping off the residual effects of the anesthetic. Nothing to worry about. But Shea went ahead and worried, anyway. What if Teague’s head injury was more serious than they thought? What if he was in a coma, not sleeping at all? What if he suddenly stopped breathing altogether?

  He groaned in his sleep and burrowed his head into the flat hospital pillow. So okay, he wasn’t dead, and maybe the medical professionals knew what they were talking about. Maybe.

  Jack had flown in a team of hotshot orthopedic surgeons from Boise to patch Teague’s shattered legs back together with steel pins. The healing process would be slow and painful, and his right knee was going to require further surgery. But at least he was alive.

  As was Kevin. In a manner of speaking.

  Kevin. She shuddered. How could anyone be so blinded by greed? If he’d managed to eliminate her and Teague, who’d have been next on his hit list? His mother? Mikey?

  Teague’s eyes flickered open. “My legs?” he asked in a surprisingly strong voice.

  She smiled reassurance. “Good as new or they soon will be.”

  He shut his eyes for a second, then opened them again, suddenly alert. “And Kevin?”

  “In Missoula for psychiatric evaluation, though I doubt they’ll learn much. He’s catatonic.”

  Teague grunted. “It’s a wonder I’m not. That was quite a show you and Kirsten put on. What did you tell Sheriff Carlton?”

  “The truth. Or as much of it as I thought he’d believe—that Kevin freaked out when I tossed the skull at him.”

  Teague nodded. “I was there. I saw what happened, and I’m still not sure I believe it.” He grinned. “Maybe they ought to ship me off to Missoula to have my head examined.” He fell silent for a moment, then asked, “How’re Jack and Cynthia holding up?”

  “Better than I would under the circumstances. Jack was understandably surprised to discover he had another daughter. But pleased, I think. Cynthia’s pretty upset about Kevin’s part in all of this, but she’s hanging in there for Mikey’s sake.”

  “Jack’s handling Kirsten’s death all right?”

  “As well as could be expected.” Shea swallowed hard. “He’s arranged to have her remains moved to the family plot.”

  Teague stared at the ceiling, silent for so long that Shea started to worry.

  “I talked to my mother this morning,” she said. “She’d called my godmother, found out where I was.”

  “And?”

  “She confirmed everything Sheriff Carlton said.” Shea dug the postcard from her purse and handed it to Teague. “This is what brought me to Liberty in the first place.”

  Teague read the card. “Jack and Elizabeth didn’t know about you, did they?”

  “Mom never told them. She was afraid of losing me. She still is, I think.”

  Teague’s expression was remote. “When are you leaving?”

  “
Leaving?”

  “For Ohio.” He wouldn’t even look at her.

  “Since I’m between jobs at the moment, I thought I’d stick around. Permanently, if you’d like.” She kept her tone deliberately light.

  “What about your mother?”

  “She’ll come around eventually.” She smiled.

  He didn’t smile back.

  Don’t upset him, the doctors had warned, but they hadn’t said a word about him upsetting her, and dammit, he had that Shea-I’m-sorry look on his face.

  “Shea, I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t think things are going to work out between us.”

  She examined her lacerated palm in silence. Already the cuts were beginning to heal. The damage to her heart would take a lot longer to mend.

  Her first instinct was to run, to hightail it back to Ohio, where she could hole up and lick her wounds in private, the way she’d done when she’d lost her job. But that was the old Shea’s solution. Not hers.

  She squared her shoulders. “Why not?” she demanded. “Because you don’t love me? Baloney! Because I’m Kirsten’s twin? So what? Because I have more money in the bank than you do? Who cares? Because you’re temporarily on the injured list? Big deal. I’d love you even if you didn’t have legs.”

  Teague glanced up at her, hot color staining his cheekbones. “Did you just say you loved me?”

  “What? Are you deaf? Of course I love you.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed. Hard.

  “Even after I practically got you killed?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure who almost got whom killed. You appear to be in worse shape than I am.” She slid off her chair and, still clinging to his hand, dropped to her knees beside the bed.

  He frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “Your job.” She grinned. “Since going down on bended knee is not an option for you at the moment, I’m taking the initiative. My darling, sweet idiot, Teague, will you marry me?”

  The harsh planes of his face quivered. “Marry you? Shea, are you sure that’s what you want?”

  She stood up slowly. Still cradling his big hand between her two smaller ones, she remembered the way his eyes changed right before he kissed her, the way she felt inside when he smiled one of his all-too-rare smiles, the way he’d fought to protect her from Kevin. Oh, yes. She was sure. “Positive,” she said.