by Dawn Brown
She blew out a sigh and went inside. Bigwig trotted down the stairs, meowing a loud greeting. Absently, she tossed her purse and keys onto the table, then poured dried food into one of his bowls and added fresh water to the other. He purred loudly as he gobbled his Kibbles, and she flopped into one of the kitchen chairs.
It didn’t make sense for Anderson to murder his stepdaughter after his release from prison—with or without Shayne’s book. He’d already confessed to the crime, served his time. But if someone else had killed Gwen and her son, the possibility Julia was a witness combined with renewed interest in the case could have left the real murderer threatened.
She stood, grabbed her purse and car keys, and started for the door. The idea that her actions had somehow brought about Julia’s death turned her stomach. She couldn’t sit back and wait to hear from Des. If Des couldn’t forgive her, she’d understand, but in the meantime, she could at least set him free.
Shayne drove up the long driveway to Heddra Grey’s Georgian manor. Surrounded by thick forest on all sides, the house looked out of place, as if it had been accidentally dropped into the middle of the woods. She tried to envision Des living within those austere walls, along with his traumatized sister, and couldn’t.
Shayne parked out front, slid from the car and strode across the flagstone to the door. She still hadn’t worked out how in the hell she was going to convince Mrs. Grey to see her. Hopefully, she’d come up with something in the next few minutes.
She pounded on the heavy oak and waited. After a minute, the door swung open and a short, stocky woman filled the opening.
“What is it?” the woman demanded. A dark blue uniform clung to her stout frame. She must work for the family. A maid or housekeeper, maybe.
Shayne squared her shoulders doing her best to appear both professional and authoritative. She wished she had changed out of her jeans and into something more professional before she’d left. “I’m here to see Heddra Grey.”
Deep grooves creased the woman’s broad forehead. Her thick eyebrows drew together until her tiny mud-brown eyes nearly vanished within the loose folds of her face.
“Mrs. Grey is not entertaining. Good day.”
She started to close the door, but Shayne darted forward and held it open with her forearm. “Where is she?”
“Step back, or I will have you removed.” The woman grunted, leaning hard on the door to close it in Shayne’s face. Hell, Shayne would never be able to convince this horrible little troll to let her in. With a deep breath, she pushed hard and slipped into the foyer.
“You can’t come in here,” the woman screeched, her eyes widening with an almost humorous mix of shock and outrage. “You’re trespassing.”
Shayne ignored her, hurrying down the hall and glancing into each room as she passed. Heddra had to be there somewhere. Instead, of chasing after her, the housekeeper-maid ran ahead of her calling for Hudson. Damn it, she’d have to hurry.
She found the old woman in a solarium at the back of the house. The late afternoon sun poured through the glass walls, casting a golden shimmer over everything in the room. Even the small wrinkled woman, smothered beneath layers of blankets on the chaise. Tiny, black eyes stared out from a heavily-lined face like those dolls made from shriveled apples.
This was Heddra Gray? Shayne stood stunned for a moment. She’d been expecting a veritable dragon woman, not the tiny, wrinkled Muppet before her. Coming face-to-face with the old woman was a little like finding out the monster in the closet was actually just clothes on a hanger. A bit of a letdown, really.
“The writer,” the old woman said, a sly smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “You’ve a lot more nerve than I gave you credit for.”
You have no idea. You’re about to see just how much you underestimated me. “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by unannounced. May I sit down?”
“No.” That smile never wavered, but her eyes glinted like black glass. “I don’t see people without first inviting them, and I don’t entertain in this room.”
Shayne lowered herself into the chair next to the chaise, and shot the old woman a hard smile all her own. “I’m not looking to be entertained.”
Heddra’s lips thinned, she sat stiffly, obviously furious. “What are you looking for?”
Dark pleasure welled inside Shayne. She was getting to the old woman, and she liked it. “I came here to tell you the book is dead. I’m not going to be writing it.” Speaking the words out loud filled Shayne with a sense of relief. “You have no choice now, but to let Des go.”
“Did he romance you? Seduce you?” A feral smile split the old woman’s face, and she let out a low cackle. “I admit, I never considered Des would be able to play the role of seducer when he agreed to our arrangement, but I suppose there was little he wouldn’t do to get what he wanted.”
Shayne leaned over and took the woman’s hands in her own. She had to fight not to crush her brittle bones to dust.
“Oh, Heddi,” she said with a slight laugh. “We played you. Des didn’t tell you anything we didn’t want you to know.”
Heddra snatched her hands back. “You little bitch. Do you think you mean anything to me? You’re nothing. Now, leave.”
“Not quite yet.” Shayne flashed the woman a tight smile. “Before I go, I want the truth. I want to know why you murdered your daughter, and how you convinced Robert Anderson to confess.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Heddra leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Her hot breath stunk of sickness, and Shayne’s stomach lurched. “But if you put such slanderous lies in your book, I will destroy you.”
“I already told you, there’s no book, but I’ll be damned if you take this secret to your grave. Your grandson should know the truth about his father, you owe him that much.” And more. Shayne gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles ached, but she had to do something to keep from strangling the old bitch.
“Desmond knows the truth about his father already. Weak. Murdering. Trash.”
“How exactly did it happen? Did Hudson make a mistake while he was terrorizing Gwen and her family? Did he go too far? Or had you had enough of your daughter’s disloyalty and finally put her in her place?”
A mix of rage and pain flashed in those gleaming onyx eyes. “I never hurt my daughter. She was coming home. That bastard couldn’t bear the thought of my winning, so he killed her.”
The naked hate in the woman’s furious outburst gave Shayne pause. Was this what Des saw that made him doubt his grandmother’s involvement? The rage contorting her expression, the undisguised vehemence in her tone—all appeared genuine. Maybe Heddra Grey was telling the truth. Still, Shayne pushed on. She needed to know for certain. “How did you convince Robert to confess? Threaten Gwen’s daughter and his son?”
Heddi settled back in her chaise, her indifferent façade back in place, and let out a creaky chuckle. “You have a very active imagination. Perhaps you should consider transitioning into writing fiction.”
“How could you do it?” Shayne continued to probe, searching for a reaction. “Murder your own daughter, then spend the next twenty-five years mentally torturing Julia and Des?”
At the mention of his name Heddra smiled slowly and predatorily. A chill swept through Shayne like a February wind, despite the woman’s frailty.
“Is that where all of this righteous indignation comes from? I underestimated that boy. Not only did he stop you, but you actually believe giving up the book was your idea. How amusing.”
“I’m not writing this book because I don’t write about open murder cases. As far as I’m concerned, your daughter’s killer was never brought to justice. She sits in her sunroom all alone, waiting for her own death. Did you kill your granddaughter when you discovered she planned to speak to me? Were you worried the only living witness might reveal exactly what she saw that night? Or was stealing the money what finally made you eliminate Julia?”
Heddi let out an impati
ent huff. “What do you mean eliminate Julia? She’s down in the islands, doing God knows what. Though, she should be emerging soon.” Her voice took on wry tone. “That money won’t last forever.”
Shayne blinked. Heddi had no idea about the grisly discovery of her granddaughter. Could she have forgotten? She was old and ill, probably on a lot of painkillers. Maybe her mind was starting to slip.
“The bodies in the cistern of your daughter’s house,” Shayne said. “The police called this morning and told you one of the skeletons was Julia. You sent Ian to the station to find out what’s being done.”
Heddra cocked her head slightly, her nostrils flared. “Does that condescending tone of yours have anything to do with some misplaced belief I’m losing my mind?”
Heat stung Shayne’s cheeks. There was no way to answer the woman’s question without embarrassing them both so Shayne opted to ignore it. “Your son came to Des’s this afternoon. He said you told him Julia was dead.”
“I did no such thing.” Heddra tapped the rattan arm of her chaise, her bony finger thudding against the hollow wood. “Ian said that?”
Shayne nodded, her stomach sliding to her feet. Unease washed through her like an icy wave. Why would the man lie about his niece? Had he hoped to stop Des from helping with Shayne’s book? Or had his motives been far more sinister?
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Grey,” the little woman in the uniform said, panting in the doorway. “I can’t find Hudson anywhere. Shall I call the police and have her removed?”
“Did you page him, Deirdre?” the old woman snapped.
“Yes. Three times. He’s not answering.”
Shayne barely listened to the exchange between the two women. Something was wrong. She didn’t know what exactly, but she had to speak to Des. Either his sister was still alive, or Ian was the one who’d left her body in the cistern to rot.
The world could shift on a dime.
Des stared out the passenger window. The wall of trees sped past in a blur of green speckled with red and gold. The numbness encasing his brain was starting to dissolve like thin ice under a spring sun as his mind desperately tried to wrap around the idea his sister was dead. Sorrow, regret and relief swirled in his gut leaving him nauseous.
Relief? What the hell kind of person was he? Julia was his sister, for God’s sake. All he had left of his family. Still, he couldn’t shake the odd sense of peace washing over him. He didn’t have to wait for the other shoe to drop, because it already had. Julia was dead.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to the cool glass. He’d failed her. All his efforts to protect her, to help her, didn’t matter. In the end, he’d lost the battle.
“I’m sorry, Des,” Ian said, his quiet voice thick with compassion. “For everything.”
Ian was sorry? If Des’s stomach hadn’t been churning sickly, if his chest didn’t ache the way it did, he might have laughed. Why the hell should Ian be sorry? What had happened to Julia hadn’t been his fault. He forced his eyes open, sat up and frowned. “I thought we were going into town?”
“We are,” Ian said, steering up the narrow drive between the thick mass of trees. “I need to make a quick stop. There’s a buyer interested in the Matheson place, and I’ll be showing it later this afternoon. I want to check if it’s clean and ready to be seen.”
The tiny cabin Shayne had rented appeared as the car emerged from the forest. Less than a week had passed since showing her this place. He’d been furious, and determined to protect Julia from her, when he’d found out who she really was. But Julia had been already dead, rotting in the same house she’d watched her mother and brother die in.
Christ, had that house merely been a convenient place to dump her body, or had she been alive when she’d been taken there? He couldn’t even begin to imagine the fear, the horror she’d felt being dragged into that place. Dying within those walls.
Why would Anderson have killed her? He’d already served his time.
Des swallowed the bile creeping up the back of his throat. That man’s blood flowed through his veins. The genes of a sick, deranged killer made up his own. No wonder Shayne wanted nothing to do with him after all this was over.
Ian stopped the car, and Des sank lower in his seat. He hoped his uncle would hurry and finish whatever he needed to do. He wanted to get to the police. After all, he had about a million questions for them.
“Come on,” Ian said, opening the car door. “I need your help. The sooner we finish up here, the sooner we can go.”
Des rolled his eyes. He popped open the door and started for the cabin. As he climbed the short flight of steps to the deck, his phone started to buzz inside his jacket. He shouldered the screen door open, reached for his cell with one hand and unlocked the door with the other.
As he slid the phone from his pocket, he pushed wide the heavy oak door. Shayne’s number flashed on the screen, and a tiny bolt of panic punctured the fog encasing his mind. Was she okay?
“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this, you little shit.”
The deep voice dragged Des’s attention from the cell. He looked up, and barely had time to register Warren standing just inside the cabin, arm cocked, before the man’s fist plowed into his face.
His head snapped back, his phone went flying. Brilliant agony exploded as his nose crunched. Blood flooded his nasal passages, dripped down the back of his throat, filling his mouth with the meaty, iron flavor. He stumbled on the top step before free-falling and landing flat on his back.
The impact thrust the air from his lungs. His head struck something hard, then there was nothing at all.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Investigators considered many motives for the murders of Gwendolyn Grey-Anderson and her son. Jealousy, betrayal, rage—unfortunately no one took into account old-fashioned greed, and a murderer went unpunished for more than two decades.”
—excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds
“What are you doing? Whom are you phoning? I asked you a question.” Heddra Grey’s sharp words pricked at Shayne’s last nerve like stinging bees. She stood and pressed a finger to her free ear in an effort to drown out the older woman’s voice while holding her phone to the other. The ringing stopped with a click, and Des’s voice instructed her to leave a message.
Crap.
“Hi, it’s me,” she said, after the beep. “I need to speak to you about your sister. Please phone me back. It’s important.”
She hit End and looked down at the phone, willing it to ring. Icy knots twisted her belly. There could be a number of reasons Des wasn’t answering his phone. He might be busy, or maybe he left his cell in the car, or maybe he believed she was responsible for his sister dying and he didn’t want to talk to her.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling something was very wrong. She whirled around to face the old woman. “Why would your son lie to us about something like that?”
Heddra’s lips thinned until they all but disappeared. “I couldn’t say. Was that Desmond you were calling?”
Shayne nodded only half-listening. What could Ian gain by telling Des that his sister was dead? Had he wanted Des to go somewhere with him? Maybe get him out of the house and leave her vulnerable to Tic? That was a distinct possibility.
“He didn’t answer?” Heddra asked.
“What?” Shayne asked, her tone sharp. Why couldn’t the woman stop pestering her with stupid questions? “No, I left a message on his voice mail. Did you send Ian to get Des out of the apartment to give Tic another shot at me?”
The old woman blew out a sigh and reached for the cup and saucer on the table beside her. “This is the second time you’ve insulted my intelligence. I don’t appreciate it.”
Shayne rolled her eyes. Like she cared if she offended the old harridan or not.
“Mrs. Grey, shall I call the police?” Deirdre asked, still standing in the doorway and wringing her stubby fingers.
“Not just yet, I thin
k,” Heddra said, lifting the cup to her lips and sipping noisily. When she lowered it, the china clinked on the matched saucer. “I’m curious about my son’s behavior as well. Call him and tell him I wish to see him immediately.”
Could Ian have killed Gwen? Why?
Because she was coming home, giving up her husband and returning to her mother’s side. Returning to take charge of her mother’s empire…or at least that’s what he believed. He had no idea Gwen and Robert had planned to leave Dark Water.
“Of course, madam,” Deirdre said.
“Wait, don’t.” Shayne lifted her hand. “Des is with him. We don’t want to let on we know something is wrong.”
“She may have a point,” Heddra agreed. “But keep paging Hudson. We may need his help.”
The digital pulse of her phone cut through the quiet. Shayne jumped. She glanced at the screen where Des’s number flashed, and let out a slow breath, her muscles turning soft.
She pressed the phone to her ear. “Thank God. I was worried about you. Listen, I’m—”
“No, you listen,” a deep, muffled voice cut in. Definitely male, but beyond that unrecognizable. “I’m going to give you a series of instructions and you’re going to follow them to the letter. If you don’t, we’ll kill him.”
“Des?” she asked, stupidly still processing what he was saying. We. He’d used the word we—whoever was calling wasn’t working alone.
“You have twenty minutes to bring us every piece of information you have about Gwendolyn Grey.” He rattled off an address she didn’t recognize. “If you do as you’re told, I’ll let you both live. If you don’t, or if you do something stupid like call the police, I’ll kill him. Twenty minutes. Or his blood will be on your hands too.”
The line clicked and the dial tone buzzed in her ear. Shayne pressed End. Her heart hammered in her chest. She couldn’t lose Des, not like this. God help her, what if he was already dead? Her knees trembled, threatening to buckle. She grabbed the back of the nearest chair to steady herself.