by Tracy Kiely
I was still holding Peter’s hand. He gave it a squeeze. I glanced at him in surprise. He was lying back with his eyes closed, appearing for all the world unconscious.
“Move it!” Jackie demanded crossly.
I rolled the flashlight to her and reached out and pulled the handcuffs toward me. They were cold and heavy. Sliding away from Peter, I made a show of trying to put them on. While I did so, I palmed the razor. I had to stall her. If she just moved a little closer to me, I might have a chance. “Hurry up!” she barked again.
“I’m trying,” I said, as I continued to fumble with the handcuffs. “But I think I broke my wrist when you pushed me.”
She considered me suspiciously. “Don’t play games with me, Elizabeth. You’ll lose. Again.” Her eyes narrowed as her finger tightened on the trigger of the gun. “I can make your last hours painful or quick—it’s up to you. Now, do as you’re told and put those damn handcuffs on!”
“I’m trying!” I burst out, “but there’s something wrong with the clasp!”
She watched me doubtfully and cautiously crept a few steps toward me. She glanced once at Peter. He lay motionless on the floor. As she moved past him, he opened one eye and slowly raised himself up. Jackie was standing directly in front of me with the gun in closer proximity to my person than I was comfortable with. “Push the handcuffs to me,” she said. I dropped them to the floor and kicked them toward her. Putting the flashlight down, she grabbed them. “Hold your hands out in front of you,” she commanded. I did so, still clutching the razor. She edged closer to me and snapped one of the bracelets around my wrist. I jerked my other hand around and slashed her on the arm that was holding the gun. Blood sprayed and the gun clattered to the ground. “Jesus!” she yelped, stumbling back. I flung myself at the gun while behind her Peter leaped up and pushed her to the ground.
“You bastards!” she screamed.
A voice at the top of the stairs boomed out, “Police! Nobody move!”
Peter and I ignored the command. He threw his body onto Jackie’s while I picked up the gun and trained it on her. I heard the sound of several pairs of heavy boots thudding down the stairs, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off of Jackie. She squirmed and pushed against Peter as he pulled her arms behind her back. He was weak and shaky, but she was no match for his bulk. Detective Stewart’s voice rang in my ears. “You can put down the gun, Elizabeth. It’s all right now. We’ve got her.”
I lowered my arms and dropped the gun. “How did you know to come?”
“I called them,” said Peter, as he surrendered Jackie’s struggling form to one of the uniformed policemen who swarmed the basement.
“You called them?” I sputtered. “But when?”
“Before I broke in, of course. What kind of an idiot do you take me for?”
CHAPTER 29
That would be the greatest misfortune of all!
To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate!
—JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
SO NONE OF this was about Gerald after all?” asked Aunt Winnie, shaking her head in disbelief.
“No,” I said, settling back onto the couch. “Jackie just used the fact that most everyone hated him to her advantage. Remember, no one was really surprised when he was murdered. All Jackie had to do was pretend to know something about his murder and then when ‘Jackie’ was found dead, everyone would assume that the two crimes were related.”
It was almost midnight, but none of us were tired. After the police took Jackie away, they had taken Peter and me to the hospital. I had a twisted knee and a sprained ankle. Peter had a concussion and needed stitches. From the way he carried on about it, it seemed unlikely that he would ever let me forget it. “We are now officially even, do you understand?” he had yelled at me in the hospital. “Nothing I ever pulled on you compares to this!” He had a point, but I wasn’t about to admit that—to him.
“Does it hurt?” I had replied sweetly, actually feeling vast relief at how quickly he was returning to the Peter I knew. “Do you want me to kiss your boo-boo and make it all better?” He responded with a gesture that I interpreted as a no.
Now, sitting next to me on the couch in the inn’s reading room, his mood had improved. We weren’t alone. Aunt Winnie, Randy, Bridget, Colin, and Detective Stewart were with us. We had discussed the details of the past week in more than enough detail, but still no one was ready to call it a day.
“I can’t believe that Linnet was Jackie all along. I truly believed her as Linnet!” said Aunt Winnie.
“That’s not too surprising when you think about it,” I said. “None of us knew either woman very well, and Jackie always wore those enormous hats that covered half of her face. But physically, they were very similar—I think Linnet herself told me that they used to pass for sisters when they were younger. After she killed Linnet, Jackie donned Linnet’s wig and clothes and made up her face the same way Linnet did. What we all thought was a recent weight loss due to grief was really the thinner Jackie wearing Linnet’s clothes. And then there’s Jackie’s talent for mimicry—she probably would have made it had she gone to Hollywood all those years ago.”
“But to fool everyone the way she did just seems amazing,” said Randy.
“I know, but remember before ‘Jackie’ died, Linnet’s special contacts mysteriously disappeared and she had to wear those enormous glasses. I’m sure Jackie threw the contacts out, knowing that Linnet would have to wear the glasses. They were simply part of her disguise. And she constantly seemed unsteady on her feet. We chalked it up to grief, but in reality she was just masking the differences in their gait. With those minor alterations, Jackie was able to offset the differences between the real Linnet and her imitation.”
“And all because Linnet stole Jackie’s boyfriend over half a century ago,” mused Randy. “That’s a long time to nurse a hate.”
“Yes,” said Detective Stewart. “We’ve gotten some medical history on Ms. Tanner and apparently she’s struggled with this anger a long time. She’d seen several psychiatrists over the years, but without success.” He paused. “Obviously.”
“Could she really have gotten away with it?” asked Bridget. “I mean, just taking over someone’s identity like that?”
“She might have,” said Detective Stewart. “Neither woman had other living relatives and there was no reason to doubt who she said she was. You can get away with a great deal if you have enough audacity.”
“So Joan was …” said Randy.
“Polly’s aunt, nothing more, nothing less,” intoned Detective Stewart.
“But what about Daniel?” said Peter. “He lied about being with Polly. Why?”
“Because Polly was actually with Joan. They didn’t want that known because they were afraid that people would start to wonder why they were spending time together. If their relationship as aunt and niece was discovered, they feared that Joan would fall under police suspicion. Daniel gave Polly that cover.”
“And we all know how uncomfortable suspicion is,” said Aunt Winnie to the ceiling.
Detective Stewart shifted awkwardly in his chair. “I am sorry, Ms. Reynolds,” he said, “but …”
Aunt Winnie waved away his apology. “But I look like a crazed killer. I know. Don’t worry about it. I get that all the time.” She leaned forward and winked. “Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m hungry. How about you all come help me in the kitchen?” Next to me, Peter moved to stand up. “I didn’t mean you, Peter,” she said. “You sit here and rest. Keep Elizabeth company.”
Within seconds, the room was empty, the result of Aunt Winnie’s none-too-subtle maneuvering. Peter and I sat close together in silence and watched the rhythmic leaping of the flames of the fire. My heart beat a little faster.
Peter took a deep breath and gently took my hand in his. “Elizabeth? I hope you know that I wasn’t trying to put one over on Aunt Winnie with the inn. I was only trying to help.”
“I know. I’
m sorry. I was just upset about her having to sell it in the first place. It really didn’t matter whom she sold it to.”
“There’s something else you should know,” he said. His face was flushed, but whether from the fire or emotion, I couldn’t tell. “I was going to rename it the Inn at Lambton.”
“Peter, it doesn’t matter what … wait a minute, what were you going to name it?”
His amber eyes glowed in the soft firelight. “From Pride and Prejudice, the Inn at Lambton.”
“But …” The Inn at Lambton was where Elizabeth was staying when she and Mr. Darcy realized they loved each other. Peter leaned toward me and kissed me. I didn’t stop him—for a long time. Then I reluctantly unwrapped myself and eased away. His eyes sought out mine in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, after all I am a girl on the rebound.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I overheard what you said to Aunt Winnie on New Year’s Eve. You told her that you didn’t want to date a girl on the rebound.”
Peter looked embarrassed. “Oh. I just said that to save face. You’d made it pretty clear that you didn’t like me. I knew that if I asked you out, you’d say no.”
“But what about Maggie,” I replied. “I don’t like …”
He laughed. “Maggie is my dog. I made up the rest.”
I reached up and touched his bandaged head. “It’s a lucky thing you have a head injury,” I said, before pulling him back toward me.
Later, as we sat together with everyone again eating crackers and cheese, I thought about my New Year’s resolutions: to have inner poise, not to let Peter McGowan get under my skin, not to allow myself to be locked in a dark basement, and finally to have a calm and relaxing New Year’s.
In a week, I had broken every single one of those resolutions. I grabbed Peter’s hand and smiled. He squeezed my hand and smiled back.
It was going to be a great year.
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