Sinister Secrets

by Colleen Gleason

  However, Gilda mentioned she often stayed late to work in the back, so Leslie walked to the end of the block then into the alley that led to the backside of the shops. It was nearly dark by now, but she was able to figure out which was the back door to Gilda’s. A light was on inside, so she knocked—and the door opened under the gentle force.

  “Hello? Gilda? It’s Leslie Nakano,” she called, stepping inside. Everything was quiet and still. The hallway was lit with a dim light, and there was a more vibrant stripe of illumination under the door at the end of the hall.

  But no one seemed to be around.

  For some reason, Leslie’s palms became damp and her pulse kicked up a bit. Maybe it was because of all the talk of murder, and the fact that a man had drugged her last night.

  For whatever reason, Leslie felt that strange eeriness settle over her as she poked her head around the corner, looking down the short hall leading toward Gilda’s storage room. No lights down there. The silence was heavy, which made her skin prickle. But the light was on, the door had been open—maybe Gilda was expecting someone and she’d just stepped into the restroom, or out front in the shop, or—

  “Leslie?”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin and spun around. “Good grief, Regina, you scared the heck out of me. I was looking for Gilda.”

  “She should be back there. I was coming to see her myself.” Regina looked mildly concerned. She was also dressed more casually than Leslie had ever seen her: in jeans and a simple twin sweater set. “Gilda?”

  Just then, a door closed somewhere and there was the sound of rushing footsteps. “Oh, thank God you’re here, Reggie. I’ve got it all figured— Leslie? What are— I mean, hello. Sorry, I—I’m a little distracted.”

  “I think we all are,” Leslie said, suddenly feeling very awkward for a reason she couldn’t quite identify. Her instincts were pinging wildly. “Especially after what happened to Marcus Levin.”

  “I know,” Regina said in a low voice. “It was just awful, wasn’t it? And at the high school too, with his head bashed in.” She shuddered.

  “Well, what can I do for you, Leslie?” asked Gilda in a businesslike tone as she gestured them into her office. “Come on in.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I was just in the area and I thought I’d stop by and see if you had any news on the dinner jacket.” Leslie wanted nothing more than to leave, for she got the distinct impression that she was interrupting something between Gilda and Regina.

  And then, all of a sudden it hit her.

  Could they be lovers? It was… It made sense really, when you looked at all the signs. Gilda had hit on Cherry, so clearly she was a lesbian. And hadn’t Regina said something the other day? No, it was Cherry who’d said it: “You’d have to be a straight man or a gay woman not to be interested in Declan Zyler.”

  She’d been joking, of course, but later…Regina once made a comment about how Declan didn’t “do” anything for her. Not that those facts were conclusive, but once Leslie thought about them and noticed the way Regina and Gilda looked and acted around each other…everything sort of clicked into place.

  Gilda had even called Regina “my politically correct mayor’s wife” last week…but most importantly, it was the sort of awareness or sizzle that flowed between them that sold Leslie on the idea. Their connection was very evident if you were paying attention.

  She started, realizing Gilda had been answering her question and she hadn’t heard a word she said. Something about needing another week—that’s right, because she’d been sick. Agitated and still feeling awkward, Leslie turned sharply, ready to leave, and the roomy handbag over her shoulder knocked over a small pencil cup.

  “Ugh, I’m sorry,” she said, feeling even more foolish now. She scrabbled on the floor as Regina and Gilda spoke in low voices—probably wishing their unwanted visitor would get the hell out of there—and picked up all the pencils to put them back in the jar.

  But just as she reached for the last one, Leslie saw something on the floor, right by the corner of the desk leg.

  It was round and made from brass, about the size of a pea. Confused and shocked, she picked it up and stood slowly, looking at it in the full office light as the dawn of realization rushed over her.

  It was a button…from the long white glove that had belonged to Kristen van Gerste.

  Leslie looked up just in time to realize Regina and Gilda were staring at her…no, they were staring at the button she was holding.

  “Well, dammit,” said Regina, moving swiftly toward Leslie before she could move. “That’s going to really fuck things up now.”

  Twenty-One

  “What the hell are we going to do with her?” Gilda said. She didn’t sound very nice at all. In fact, the tone of her voice was a lot more threatening than Regina’s.

  Leslie had lunged for the door as soon as she realized what finding the button meant—but the tall, wiry Regina stopped her, giving her a shove that sent her reeling into the side of a tall metal filing cabinet.

  She cut her temple on the sharp edge of the cabinet as she stumbled into the credenza, sending boxes of thread, beads, and other finishings tumbling to the floor.

  “Jesus Christ, sit down before you destroy the whole damned place,” Gilda said, turning back from her desk. She had a gun in her hand.

  Leslie sat down, her heart pounding hard enough to make her ill, and her temple screeching with pain. She could feel the blood pulsing from the cut, dripping down the side of her face.

  “For God’s sake,” Gilda snapped, and handed her a scrap of cloth. “We don’t need blood all over everything.” She pursed her lips and paced the room, then stopped and looked at Regina. “She knows. We’re going to have to take care of this.”

  “But Gilda…” Regina’s voice was taut. “We can’t— I don’t want another—” She shook her head and sank down onto a chair. “But we have no choice, do we?”

  “Not if you don’t want to go to jail, love. And I don’t want that—and Aaron certainly doesn’t either. It’ll just ruin everything you both have worked so hard on.”

  “He’d be more worried about what it would do to his reputation than me anyway,” Regina said in a hard voice. “But you’re right, Gildy.” She looked at Leslie, who suddenly felt very lightheaded—and not from blood loss. “We can’t afford you telling anyone about this.”

  “But wait,” Leslie said desperately. “You don’t want a third murder on your hands, do you?”

  “A third murder?” Gilda said. Her eyes glittered behind the trendy red glasses. “My, you have grasped the situation quite readily, haven’t you, Ms. Nakano?” She looked at Regina. “I have an idea. I know exactly what to do—and no one will be the wiser. It worked before—why recreate the wheel?”

  She held the gun closely on Leslie and said, “You’re going to walk with me like we’re old chums—you get that, right? The three of us—and we’re going to walk to your car, Regina—you’re parked where you usually are, right?”

  “Yes. All right. Of course.” Regina actually smiled. “I think I know what you have in mind. It’s perfect, Gilda. Just perfect.”

  Leslie had no choice but to walk side by side with Gilda, who had the gun pressing directly into the skin of her abdomen beneath the blue cashmere sweater she’d chosen for her dinner with Declan.

  Declan. He’d wonder when she didn’t meet him at Trib’s. But how would he know where to look for her? She didn’t know where these two women were taking her…though, unfortunately, she had a good idea of their ultimate goal. Her knees wobbled at the thought, and she bumped against Gilda, whose arm was around her shoulders in order to keep her flush against her. Regina walked on the opposite side, carrying her car keys.

  I’ll figure something out.

  Gilda climbed into the back seat of Regina’s car, which was, unfortunately, parked in the dark alley just around the corner. No one was around to see Leslie get shoved into the back next to her, and the gun flash ominously i
n the dim light.

  Regina climbed in the front and started the engine. “Where to?” she asked, turning her head to look around.

  “You know,” Gilda replied.

  Regina smiled, and Leslie saw the way the two women’s gazes connected in the rearview mirror. She was definitely the crowd in this two’s company.

  “Look straight ahead and don’t wave to anyone if you happen to see someone you know,” Gilda said, pressing the gun barrel into Leslie’s side as the car pulled out onto the main street.

  Leslie complied, but as they drove down Main, past Cherry’s yoga center and Trib’s, she prayed someone she knew would see her. Maybe even Declan, walking to Trib’s… That would be a really nice thing to happen, God, she thought as the car turned off the main drag and headed out of town.

  And that was when she realized where they were taking her: to Shenstone House.

  Where it all began.

  As they drove up the dark, winding driveway, Leslie gathered her thoughts. For the first time, she felt somewhat optimistic. If she didn’t show up for dinner, this was the first place Declan would look for her.

  And with a murderer on the loose—and currently in the same vehicle as she—he would be right to do so…

  But… Oh God. Nausea surged violently in her belly as she realized that if he showed up here, he would walk right into a situation for which he was ill-prepared—unlike last night. A gun against an iron rod was not good odds.

  He can’t come here. That was clear. She couldn’t risk it—risk him, risk Stephanie’s father, risk anyone. Or Cherry or Orbra… The nausea swished like a storm and she beat it back. I have to remain clearheaded and calm.

  “I’m supposed to meet people for dinner at Trib’s at seven,” she said as the car came to a stop in the parking area of Shenstone House. “If I don’t show, Declan’s going to be looking for me. He’ll probably come here.”

  The two women exchanged glances, and Leslie could tell they were trying to figure out whether to believe her or not—or whether there was a trick involved.

  “Believe me, I don’t want him in the middle of this,” she said, using her best CEO voice.

  “It’s only six forty-five right now,” said Regina. “We’ve got time. This won’t take long.” Her smile was cold and calculating. “By the time he figures it out—or any of them—it’ll be too late. So don’t dawdle, or maybe we will wait until your boyfriend shows up—and then he can join you in your fate.”

  Leslie couldn’t argue with that, and she also realized she’d set her bag down in Gilda’s shop when she was cleaning up the spilled pencils…so she couldn’t even contact Declan if she wanted to.

  That wasn’t good.

  However…she had one last possible way out. One little trick up her sleeve, so to speak. She looked up at the looming house. Her house. It glowed softly with light—though, strangely, one of the windows near the front seemed to be dimmer than the others. But the building seemed to welcome her, comfort her, by its very stability, familiarity, and age.

  “I told you to stop dawdling.” Gilda rammed the gun barrel into the soft skin above Leslie’s hip, causing her to grunt with pain. “No one will hear a gunshot up here.”

  “But leaving a body with a bullet in it…not really part of your plan, is it?” Leslie said coolly. “And since my purse—and my blood—is all over the back of your office, it won’t be hard for the authorities to put the pieces together. Will it? I’m going to go inside, don’t you worry, but you don’t have to be rough about it. I’ve already told you I have no desire to stall and get anyone else involved.”

  “Smart woman,” said Regina, following Leslie as she led them around to the front door. “No wonder you were so damned successful.” Her voice contained an envious sneer. “I would have been a celebrity CEO myself if all of this hadn’t happened.”

  Exactly the segue Leslie was hoping for. She shoved the door open and walked into the front hall. The dismantled staircase swept in its elegant curve in front of her. The room was lit by two small table lamps. As she stepped in, Leslie swore she felt the house gird itself…sort of take a deep breath, and straighten.

  “So you killed Kristen van Gerste,” Leslie said. “Regina. It was you. Because you”—she looked at Gilda—“didn’t move here until years later. Right?”

  “That’s right.” Gilda was looking around, gun still in hand. The gun was what worried Leslie the most, but at least neither of her captors were physically holding on to her at the moment.

  “But why did you kill Kristen?” she asked Regina. “Wasn’t she your friend?”

  “Yes. But—” Regina’s voice tightened. “Marcus Levin was an asshole, and I couldn’t stand to see her with him. He was such a prick, and so arrogant.”

  Comprehension dawned for a second time that evening. “You were in love with her. With Kristen, weren’t you?”

  Regina’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she glanced at Gilda. Her lover nodded, strange compassion etching her face—even as she held a gun in her hand.

  “I never told her,” Regina confessed. “I never let on. But that night…after she left the prom, I ditched my date right after he dropped me off at home. I slipped back out and found Kristen—she was still walking home, and like a good friend, I was there to comfort her. We—we decided to come here, so we could drink some of my dad’s whiskey in peace.

  “It was just the two of us…just how I’d always imagined it. I brought my boom box for music. We went upstairs—she was just curious about what was up there, but I was…I was hopeful. Maybe tonight would be the night. Maybe now would be the time…to tell her. How I really felt.”

  Leslie was entranced by the story, by the raw emotion in Regina’s face and words…but even so, she felt the house responding. The air shifting, a slight movement…almost sad.

  Sad. Sorrowful.

  A chill filtered delicately through the room, hardly enough to notice if you weren’t hoping for it.

  “We were upstairs and went into one of the bedrooms. There was still furniture here. I was playing ‘Waiting for a Girl Like You’ on the boom box. I was a little drunk, and we were sitting there on the bed, just talking, and I…well, I did it. I grabbed her and—and I kissed her.”

  The air kicked up in the room a little more sharply, causing Gilda to look around, startled. “What’s going on? Who’s there?”

  But neither Regina nor Leslie responded.

  “Kristen rejected you?”

  “It wasn’t just a rejection,” Regina said, her voice tightening. “It was…it was horrible. She pulled away, and started calling me the most filthy, horrible, ugly names you can imagine. It was like she turned into a harpy, a monster. She was going to tell everyone. She would ruin me, tell everyone what a disgusting creature I was.” Her voice was thready with tears. “She turned and stormed out of the bedroom, and I—I went after her. I couldn’t let her tell them. I couldn’t let her leave me. I loved her, and I wanted her to understand that there was nothing wrong with that sort of love.”

  The room was ice cold now. The draperies were fluttering. Gilda was staring with wide eyes, spinning in a slow circle, still with her gun. “What is going on here?” she whispered. “Who’s there?”

  But Leslie paid her no attention, and neither did Regina, who clearly had to finish her story. “I caught her by the arm, but she pulled away and then started hitting me, calling me those terrible names again…all the while that song was playing in the background…‘Waiting for a Girl Like You’…and then I shoved her. Hard. I was so—so filled with anger and shame and revulsion—for myself, for what I felt. I lashed out. I pushed her. And she fell.”

  The air whipped up into a sudden, biting frenzy. It roared, the sound filling Leslie’s ears. Her hair was being buffeted about, and she felt the icy breeze scoring her face. Gilda was stumbling along the wall, trying to get away from the melee of wind, dust, and noise. She was making quiet, panting cries as she edged toward the front door.

&
nbsp; “Is that you, Kristen?” shouted Regina over the blast. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Is that you?”

  Then she stilled and looked up. Leslie didn’t have to turn to know what caught her attention, but she did anyway.

  It was Kristen, glowing more sharply and in more detail than ever before. Her eyes were angry pits of fire, and as she lifted her arm to point at Regina, the wind screamed through the room and the sounds of the old song filled the air. This time, it was so loud and violent that Leslie had to cover her ears and duck.

  But she could see Regina—who hadn’t moved. Who just stood there, staring up at the furious spirit. Tears poured down her cheeks as her hair whipped and danced in the midst of the storm. “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m sorry, Kristen. I never…meant…to…hurt…you…”

  “The door’s locked!” screamed Gilda. “I can’t get out!” Leslie spared a glance at the terrified woman, then turned her attention back to the scene happening before her.

  Kristen spiraled up into a tall, glowing image of herself—slender and beautiful and furious. The now-familiar music was ear-splitting, dark and ugly and low.

  Then, as Leslie watched with terrified eyes of her own, the ghost roared down the stairs, bringing more icy, biting winds with her, shuffling the half-moored carpet, shaking the old sconces on the walls, the crystal of the unlit chandelier. Debris flew, the walls shook, and Gilda screamed as the glowing specter swept down into the room and shot right through Regina.

  At the impact, Regina cried out, shuddered…and then suddenly, she stilled. Softened, then collapsed. Slid slowly to the ground, landing in an unmoving heap there.

  And then…everything went utterly silent and still.

  “Reggie!” screamed Gilda, moving from the safety of the door for the first time.

  Leslie noticed she’d dropped her gun, but it didn’t even matter—she knew she was safe.