“Okay,” Travis said, turning onto East Thirty-sixth. “Which one is it?”
“That one ahead on the right.” She pointed to the stately old building that dated back to the late-nineteenth century.
“Nice.”
She nodded. A lot of Manhattan’s once-prestigious neighborhoods had faded from glory, but not Murray Hill. It was the personification of historic charm.
“I’ll just find a place to park, and—”
“No. Wait. That’s Bryce standing out front. That’s his car pulling up.”
Travis quickly stopped the Mustang, and they watched while the valet got out of Bryce’s silver Porsche and he climbed in. He was dressed casually—for him, at least. Tailored pants, deck shoes and a custom-made buttery leather jacket that she recalled had cost a small fortune.
“There’s no sense in just sitting around waiting for him to come home,” Travis said as the car pulled away. “We might as well see where he’s going.”
Bryce drove to Second Avenue and turned south. They followed along, Travis hanging half a block back.
Eventually, they cut over to Broadway and started south again, in Greenwich Village now.
“Any idea where he’s going?” Travis said.
“None.”
A few blocks farther along, Bryce turned onto Bleeker Street. It was a mix of low-rise tenements, storefronts, cafés and clubs. Some of the buildings were renovated; others looked as if the only things keeping them upright were their next-door neighbors.
“Is he the club type?” Travis asked as the Porsche crawled past a line of people waiting for admission to some obviously trendy spot.
“He didn’t used to be.”
“Well, he’s either looking for an address or a place to park.”
A few moments later, Bryce found a space and began maneuvering the Porsche into it.
“Duck down,” Travis ordered.
She ducked.
“Okay, we’re by him.”
When she sat up again they were a hundred yards farther along the street and parking next to a garage-type door with a sign reading:
Deliveries Only
ABSOLUTELY NO PARKING
Offenders Will Be Tagged And Towed
Enforced 24 Hours A Day
“I take it we’re ignoring that?” Celeste said.
He shrugged. “We don’t have time to look for another spot. Come on,” he added, switching off the interior roof light before he opened his door.
By the time she climbed out of the car, Bryce was rapidly walking back the way they’d come. Travis grabbed her hand and they started after him.
When he got to Broadway, he crossed to the other side and headed down a street just north of Bleeker.
It didn’t seem to have a street sign. It also didn’t have any lights. Or if it did they weren’t working.
She couldn’t help thinking they’d probably been shot out, and that made her frightened enough to be very glad she knew Travis was wearing his gun.
Up ahead, between two dilapidated hulks of buildings, was an alley—a faint glow filtering from it. The dark shadow that was Bryce disappeared into it.
Celeste and Travis hurried forward, then stopped a few feet from the opening.
Travis pressed her against the old building and told her to wait right there.
Then, reaching under his jacket, he drew his gun and stepped toward the alley.
* * *
IT SEEMED TO CELESTE that an eternity passed before Travis eased back toward her, reholstered his gun and stepped away from the building to have a look at it.
“What?” she whispered.
“This is the Winslow Lane Theater,” he said. “Ring a bell?”
When nothing came to her, she moved over to where he was standing and gazed at the facade. Sure enough, it was a run-down old theater.
The poster behind the wire mesh on the door advertised a play called Talking Too Loud, running from September 4 through October 9.
October 9th. Yesterday. The day of Steve’s memorial service. The end of the play’s run.
Tonight, the theater was dark and deserted.
She eyed the poster, certain she’d never heard of Talking Too Loud. Yet something was tugging at her memory.
Then she recalled that Carol Schoenberg had mentioned the Winslow Lane Theater.
“This is where Donna Rainfield was acting,” she said.
“You got it. And guess who just let Bryce in the stage door.”
“Donna?”
Travis nodded.
“You’re certain?”
“Uh-huh. There’s a light over the door. It’s not too bright, but it was shining directly on her, and she looks exactly like that picture Hank showed us. Besides, who else would Bryce be coming here to see?”
“Right,” she murmured.
“She must have had a key while she was in the play and kept it.”
“I guess. But what’s going on? Why is Bryce here?”
“I haven’t got a clue,” Travis admitted. “At least now, though, we know he didn’t kill her.”
Yet.
The word formed in the darkness, like a little neon sign before his eyes. Was that why Bryce was here?
Had he come to dispose of the crazy lady who’d trashed his apartment? Who’d then vanished, probably hoping people would wonder if he’d had something to do with her disappearance?
And maybe she’d done more to cause him grief. Things they knew nothing about.
If so, he might well have decided he’d had enough. Especially if he’d murdered Steve Parker and figured he’d gotten away with that. If he could succeed once, why not twice?
Travis uneasily rubbed his jaw. If Bryce was here to kill Donna, he had to prevent it from happening.
“I’d love to know what’s going on in there,” Celeste said.
So would he. Man, would he ever.
He considered the situation.
He’d noticed the door hadn’t closed tightly after Donna let Bryce in. The thought that they should be more careful had crossed his mind.
However, since they hadn’t been, getting into the theater would be no problem.
But going in and leaving Celeste out here wasn’t an option. There could be a dozen different kinds of human vermin lurking in the dark doorways on this street.
Yet if he took her inside with him and they walked into trouble...
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“Just give me a second.”
The question was, would it be trouble he couldn’t handle?
Bryce and Donna. He could certainly handle them. Even if Bryce was a killer, he was an amateur.
Besides, if they were standing near the door, their conversation should be audible from the alley. And if they were someplace else, with any luck he and Celeste could get inside without them knowing about it.
Deciding, he said, “Want to go in? See if we can get some answers?”
She nervously licked her lips, then nodded.
“Okay, if they’re right at the door we stay outside. Otherwise, the plan’s to keep quiet and not let them see us.”
When she nodded again, he took her hand and they headed down the dead-end alley.
As they neared the door, he put his finger to his lips and stood listening.
Not a sound.
He eased the door open an inch. There was no sign of anyone, so he drew Celeste inside with him.
The door slowly and silently swung closed behind them—but not quite all the way. He reached out to give it a shove, then stopped himself.
It was an old metal door in a frame that looked kind of warped, so it might make a huge racket if he forced it shut. And the r
emote possibility that some street person would wander in was the least of his concerns.
Leaving the door as it was, he turned toward Celeste. When he saw how anxious she seemed he whispered, “You okay?”
She nodded. “I just need to take a couple of deep breaths. While we were outside, I didn’t realize how hard my adrenaline was pumping.”
They started forward, past the battered desk that stood just inside the doorway.
An ancient phone sat on it, and absurd as it seemed considering the circumstances, the thought that she hadn’t seen a rotary dial phone in years flitted through Celeste’s mind. Then she focused all her attention on the moment.
If there was any heat on in the theater, the thermostat was turned down low. The air was almost as cold as the air outside, and had a musty smell. A combination of perspiration, stage makeup, stale perfume, dust and a hundred other scents.
The interior was dim; the only light in this part of the theater came from a single bulb in the hallway stretching ahead of them.
She remembered someone once telling her that a lot of old theaters were haunted by the ghosts of long-dead actors. If that was true, she’d say this one was a prime candidate.
Travis squeezed her hand as they headed quietly down the hall. Faintly, in the distance, was the sound of a radio.
As they passed a row of tiny dressing rooms, she began to hear the murmur of voices up ahead. That sent another rush of adrenaline through her.
They walked on, into the virtual darkness of the stage wing. From there, they could see Bryce and Donna standing center stage. Beyond them sat the radio, tuned to a station playing Shania Twain.
There were also a couple of props on the stage, a dining room table with a lamp sitting at one end of it—providing the only light out there.
Travis drew Celeste farther into the wing’s darkness as Bryce was saying, “I don’t have all night, so would you stop talking about how miserable you’ve been and cut to the chase?”
“Because you don’t care how miserable I’ve been, right?”
“Donna...” he said, switching from apparent annoyance to what Celeste had always thought of as his eminently reasonable tone of voice. “I’m here, aren’t I? You called me. I came. So I obviously care.”
“Really. Do you think I’m an idiot?” Donna flounced across the stage, then wheeled to face him once more—looking every bit the actress.
“The only reason you came is that I threatened to kill myself if you didn’t. No, let me rephrase that, because you’d probably be happy if I killed myself.
“The only reason you came is that I said I’d leave a letter for the managing partner of your firm. With something in it that would ruin you professionally.”
“Please, Donna. Do you think I believed that? You don’t know anything that could ruin me. There isn’t anything.”
“No? Then why did you come? Because you were thinking about how creative I am? Were you afraid I’d leave something for your friends? Maybe make up a juicy story about how you’re the bastard of the century?”
She checked her watch, then focused on him again. “Or were you imagining an article in one of the gossip columns? About a lawyer with the staid law firm of Price, Whitechurch and Hoskins leading a perverted sex life?”
Celeste glanced at Travis. He nodded, telling her he figured that Bryce had come because he was afraid Donna might attack his reputation.
“Look,” he said, “I’m here because I don’t want us to part on bad terms. Oh, I know I said some awful things to you the other night, but if I could take them back I would.”
She gave him a frigid smile. “I notice you didn’t say that if you could take me back you would.”
“Donna, I won’t lie to you. We’re over. There’s just no way—”
“You won’t lie to me? Since when? You’ve been lying to me all along. You’re getting back together with your wife, aren’t you? Just like I always knew you would.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous? Ha! You were in a state of shock when she left you.”
“I certainly was not! I—”
“You’re lying right now! You didn’t even take her photograph off your desk for the first month I was living with you. Every time I went into your office, I’d see her stupid face and—”
“You had no business in my office! I told you that was the one room in the apartment I—”
“Oh, I had plenty of business in your office. You keep enough files at home that it took me weeks to go through them. But my point is you’re a liar. After all the times you told me you and Celeste were finished, now you’re getting back with her.”
Bryce shook his head. “I don’t know what gave you that idea, but—”
“Gave me that idea? How about I saw what’s happening with my own eyes? How about I followed you today? Saw you go into that restaurant with a big smile plastered on your face. Saw you give her a superfriendly kiss hello.”
“You followed me?” Bryce snapped. “You know, you’re stark raving mad!”
“Am I,” she said coldly. “Well, guess what. You’re just plain stupid.”
She glanced at her watch a second time, then added, “If you’d stuck with me, you’d be getting Adele Langley’s estate.”
Celeste stopped breathing.
Travis’s hand tightened around hers.
Bryce slowly said, “What?”
“Your ‘Langley’ files were the very first ones I went through,” Donna told him.
“You’ve got a copy of Adele Langley’s will. Celeste’s too. And after her mother’s accident, I went back and reread them carefully.
“And I started thinking that if Celeste’s brother died, then Celeste died, you’d benefit a whole bunch of ways. Not only would you get the estate, you wouldn’t have to go through the bother of divorcing Celeste.
“Plus, if she was dead, you’d be free to marry me right away. And we’d never have to pay her a penny in alimony.”
“Are you saying you killed Steve Parker?” Bryce said, his voice so low that Celeste barely heard the words.
Donna shrugged. “Piece of cake.”
Blinking back tears, Celeste turned toward Travis.
He was clearly as surprised as she was. But at least now they knew who’d killed her brother. And at least it hadn’t been Bryce.
Why was Donna telling him she was a murderer, though? After he’d dumped her? Was she intending to kill him, too?
When no other explanation came to mind, she looked at Travis again.
He obviously knew what was concerning her, because he touched his jacket beneath his shoulder, reminding her he was wearing his gun.
Assured that he wouldn’t let things get out of hand, she turned toward the stage once more, thinking it didn’t seem possible that Donna had a gun concealed anywhere. She had on spandex tights and a top that was hugging every inch it covered.
“You killed him,” Bryce said numbly. “But how could you? You were here that night. In the play.”
“In the first act of the play. I only had one scene, remember? And I didn’t hang around through the second act, waiting to go out and unwind with everyone like usual.
“I took off as soon as my scene was finished. Didn’t even bother getting out of makeup. Figured wearing the blond wig wouldn’t be a bad idea. In case someone saw me around Steve’s place.”
“But...you mean...”
“Man, you can be dense, Bryce. Do I have to spell it out word by word? I snuck into his building, arrived at his door and told him I was the woman living with you. Said I had to talk to him because Celeste had come to see us and there’d been a big scene. So he let me in to talk. And I popped him.
“I’d have done the same with Celeste, except I figured we’d both better have
an alibi for when she got killed. So I hired a hit man.”
“You what?”
“You heard me.”
“Yes, but I don’t believe you. Aside from anything else, you never have any money.”
Donna shrugged. “I sold a few things. That diamond tennis bracelet you gave me, for one. At any rate, I was going to convince you to take me out of town for a weekend and have him kill her then.
“Of course, now that you’ve dumped me, there’s no point in having him kill her. In fact, that’s the last thing I want. It would only benefit you, and for some strange reason I’ve lost interest in doing that.”
Bryce slowly shook his head. “Donna, why on earth have you told me all this? Do you think I’m going to keep quiet about it?”
She checked her watch yet again, then said, “I told you because you’ve always thought you’re so much smarter than me. And I wanted you to know you’re not.”
“I’ve had it. I’m getting out of here.”
“Uh-uh,” she said as Bryce turned away. “Too late to escape.”
He turned back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
As he spoke, Celeste felt Travis tense beside her. When she glanced at him, he pressed his fingers to her lips, then nodded, ever so slightly, in the direction of the dressing rooms.
She looked toward them and cold, raw terror seized her.
A man was there, moving silently forward—aiming an enormous gun in the direction of center stage.
She stood frozen next to Travis, certain that if they made the slightest move the man would glance over and spot them.
But he continued to stare straight ahead, his gaze not wavering while he walked closer and closer to the stage.
As he passed them, barely fifteen feet from where they were standing in the darkness, Travis slowly slid his hand under his jacket.
“What’s too late supposed to mean?” Donna was saying. “It’s supposed to mean you’re a dead man. I’ve already paid for the contract. And since killing Celeste isn’t going to do me any good, I told my man I’d changed my mind. That I wanted him to kill you, instead. He’s right here, just waiting for his cue.”
The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming) Page 20