by Leslie Nagel
“Actually,” Charley said slowly, “it might be. I think it’s real proof that Regan had a secret lover.” She read the lines aloud. “We all agreed that ‘Ned’ is Carter. I have this feeling that, if I could figure out who ‘Bess’ and ‘George’ are, it could lead us to the killer.”
“That young woman certainly enjoyed playing with fire,” Heddy said reprovingly. “First she’s involved with ‘Ned.’ Then she has an affair with ‘George,’ and also, it seems, at least a flirtation with this ‘Bess’ person. What a tangled triangle. Or should I say, rectangle?”
Charley frowned as those words conjured a recent memory. It’s not the triangle you think. “Heddy, remember when you said—” She glanced in her rearview mirror as a car pulled up behind hers. Her heart leaped as she recognized the midnight blue paint job and bright chrome horse with its flying mane and tail. “I’ve got to go. We can talk about it later.”
“Stay safe,” Heddy murmured, just before the connection was broken.
They both leaped from their cars. She managed only two steps before strong arms enveloped her in a tight embrace. Charley held on for dear life, breathing in Marc’s unique scent of sandalwood soap and coffee, as he buried his face in her hair.
After a long moment, he released her. “I can see you’ve got a story to tell,” he said as he took in her disheveled appearance.
“You first,” she said firmly. “Did you find PJ?”
His brows drew together. “We searched the school buildings, and there’s no sign.”
Charley’s heart sank. “What about Merritt? Did you find him?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Before she could ask what he meant, he continued, “Vance managed to give us the slip. However, Paul found proof that he’s the school thief. Vance has a hidey-hole full of items reported as stolen. I’m guessing he hangs on to stuff until the heat dies down or until he can arrange a fence.”
“Good to know my instincts about that jerk were on target.” Charley considered. “These thefts go back ten years, didn’t you say? Our not-so-friendly janitor is a crook, but his crime spree isn’t old enough to connect to Regan’s case.”
“Perhaps not,” Marc conceded, “but this might.” He brought up an image on his cellphone. “Found in his workshop.”
Charley peered at the photo. “A ball of twine? Why—” Her head snapped up as she made the connection. “Oh, my holy rolling grandmother. Is that the same twine used to tie the newspaper bundle in the hollow tree? Marc, this proves Merritt is the murderer!”
“Not so fast.” Marc held up a hand. “We don’t know if the ties on that bundle came from this exact ball. It’s pretty common twine.”
Charley folded her arms. “Oh, so this is merely class evidence, not individuating evidence?”
Marc gaped at her. “Since when do you know about individuating evidence?”
“I am well versed in crime stuff,” she said loftily. “Seriously, do you think Merritt’s our man?”
He hesitated. “I know I said earlier that he was my prime suspect. But if he’s the kidnapper, where is PJ? Why lurk around the school instead of sweating the boy for information about the journal? If you’d just committed a murder and a kidnapping in a desperate play to cover up a previous murder, would you drive back to the one place where we’d be sure to look for you? Sorry, but it just doesn’t play, unless Vance is a bigger idiot than I think he is.” Marc dragged a hand through his hair in evident frustration. “Which leaves us back at square one.”
“Maybe not all the way back.” Charley quickly filled him in on her visit to the Magellan property, skipping the part about her narrow escape from two vicious dogs. “Carter admitted Regan might have had a secret lover on the side, and I think he’s right.” She handed him her cellphone.
Marc read the email from PJ and the translated lines from Regan’s journal. “ ‘It was amazing’? Sounds like sex to me.”
“I have a theory about ‘George.’ ” Charley began pacing back and forth beside both cars. “What if Regan’s blackmail of Sawyer turned into something else? Something sexual? She was seventeen and, as Carter said, not afraid to take what she wanted.”
Marc’s eyes widened. “You think ‘George’ is Sawyer Magellan? Regan was sleeping with her boyfriend’s father?” He blew out a breath. “Well, it makes more sense than your theory about Kendall having the hots for Carter. What about the part where she says they’re at school?”
Charley had her answer ready. “Sawyer was on the school board. If anyone challenged him, I’m sure he could’ve fabricated any number of reasons to be in the building. And before you ask me who ‘Bess’ is, I have no idea, beyond the fact that it was probably another student, someone Regan spent time with.”
“What about Harding?” Marc suggested. “That crack about ‘stupid jealousy’ sounds like him.”
Charley nodded, liking the idea. “We know he spied on Regan every chance he could, so he’s a good candidate for catching a glimpse of something he shouldn’t have. Setting aside the obvious fact that ‘Bess’ was a female character, she was overweight, just like Harding.”
“We’ll ask him,” Marc promised. “Later. Let’s get back to Sawyer.”
“Carter described his father as ‘very upset’ when Carter arrived home unexpectedly on Friday afternoon. What if that was because Regan had just told Sawyer it was over?”
“And when Carter arrived,” Marc took up the thread, “Sawyer guessed the reason why.”
“Jealousy,” Charley pronounced. “A classic motive. We know Regan told Harding about her escape plan. What if she told someone else, like her older, married lover? He’d have been furious and humiliated that his pretty young lover was tossing him aside. Then Carter showed up, pushing Sawyer over the edge into murder.”
“But how could an elderly man grab a teenage boy? And where would he take him?” Marc asked.
“If he was armed, PJ might not have a choice. According to Carter, Sawyer still drives. I think it would be a mistake to underestimate—” She stopped pacing as the sound of bells came faintly on the breeze.
Marc glanced at his watch. “Seven o’clock already. We’ve got to…” He trailed off as Charley went rigid. “Sweetheart? What is it?”
But she didn’t answer, frozen in place as the carillon at St. Paul’s Church began tolling the hour, the deep ringing both mournful and joyous, measuring the time, marking a deliberate count to seven. For some reason, the familiar sound caused her to feel again that niggle of discord, the nudge against her brain of a detail that didn’t match up, the knowledge of a lie told or a truth withheld. She squeezed her eyes shut. What was it? And why did church bells remind her of—
Bells. All at once she had it. “He had to call in a foundry specialist!” she exclaimed. And with that realization came another, shattering truth.
“Who did? What are you talking about?” Marc asked.
“I was wrong. We were all wrong,” Charley breathed. She pulled out her cellphone and began tapping. “How could I have missed it?”
“Missed what? Who are you calling?” he demanded.
She held up a finger. “Afiya?”
“Charley! Marc has been frantic!”
Charley raised her brows as Marc mock-scowled. “I’m with him now, and we have you on speaker. I need you to go back into Berkeley’s files for me, please.”
“Of course. What am I looking for this time?” Afiya asked.
Charley described what she wanted to know and where Afiya would find the information. While they waited, she explained what she suspected, and as she connected the dots for him, Marc’s mouth slowly fell open.
“I’ll say it again. That is some slick deduction, babe.”
She blushed. “Only if I’m right.”
“I have found the newspaper article.” Afiya sounded breathless and triumphant. �
��It is just as you say, Charley. On the night of the Homecoming game, vandals broke into Oakwood High School and damaged the victory bell. They actually stole the bronze clapper. The article states the district is seeking a foundry specialist capable of fabricating a replacement.”
“Thanks, Fee! Tell my father I’ll be home soon.” Charley ended the call. “And thanks to Berkeley for his obsessive collecting of every scrap of news even remotely pertaining to Regan’s case.” Her shoulders drooped as her brief surge of elation ebbed away. “Now we know who the killer is—but where is PJ?”
As if conjured by her words, Marc’s cellphone rang. “Trenault.” He listened, his eyes on hers, his jaw going taut. “I know it’s not official yet, Coop, but Charley says the threat to the boy is real, and I believe her. We’ve got a probable hostage situation and no idea if the suspect is armed.” When Charley gasped and started to speak, it was his turn to hold up a finger. “We’re heading there now. Can you ask the Chief if…Thanks, Detective. I knew I could count on you.” He pocketed his cellphone and yanked open the driver’s door. “Get in. I’m driving.”
Charley scooted around the Mustang and scrambled into the passenger seat. “They found PJ? What’s happened? Where are we going?”
Marc revved the engine, executed a U-turn, and accelerated down the brick road. “A neighbor spotted a dark-colored van parked with a rear door standing open. It’s been there for over an hour.”
“Is it a school SUV? Is it Merritt?” she asked.
“Unclear, but between the open door and the location, it seemed odd enough that she called it in. Since PJ still isn’t an official missing person, Coop called me. And by extension, you.”
“The location?” Charley fastened her seat belt. “Why? Where is it?”
He gripped the wheel as he took the turn onto Oakwood Avenue. “It’s parked by the maintenance gate into Smith Gardens.”
Chapter 24
Marc coasted to the curb and killed the engine. When Charley stepped out of the car, she stared across the street toward Walnut Lane, the dead-end residential street that formed the southern perimeter of Smith Gardens. Through the early-evening twilight she could just make out a van, dark blue or black. It was parked at an odd angle, the back end slewed out into the street, the right rear passenger door standing open.
Mitch Cooper appeared out of the gloom, silent as smoke. “We’ve held off approaching the vehicle or entering the Gardens in case you’re right about the boy.” He pointed toward Walnut Lane. “I’ve got two uniforms on foot. They haven’t seen or heard anyone.”
“From inside the Gardens, you can’t hear anything happening out here,” Charley said. “Maybe that works both ways.”
Marc met her gaze. “Any chance you’ll wait here?”
“None.”
He smiled faintly, then turned to Mitch. “Move inside but keep out of sight. If we have a situation, deploy in an arc, just like I taught you.” Marc pulled his Glock from his waistband. “Give us three minutes.”
As Mitch sprinted toward Walnut Lane, Charley and Marc moved swiftly toward the entrance gate. He flipped the latch. The metal gate swung in silently on well-oiled hinges. They slipped inside, hidden by foliage from the main garden beyond. As they crept forward and reached the end of the brick path, Charley could hear the sound of muffled voices. One rose in anger; a man’s voice, she thought, but not one she recognized.
When they stepped onto the lawn, they halted at the sight that greeted them.
A tall man with long white hair stood beside the pond, his back to the entrance. His thin shoulders were stooped with age. The trousers and white dress shirt he wore hung on his bony frame. He held out his hands as if in supplication, but his voice was harsh.
“You need to stop this scandalous display. Christ almighty, you’re as bad as your mother. All this melodrama is most unbecoming. What will people think?”
An unnatural laugh, a chilling sound that started high and shrill and descended into a wail, cut through the evening air. Charley took another step forward, and then she halted with a gasp of horrified shock.
Kendall Magellan stood in the center of the pond, water up to her waist. She wore a long white dress with flowing sleeves and a drawstring neckline that exposed her collarbone and most of her pale breasts. The full skirt floated on the water, billowing outward as she swayed slightly. Charley wondered if she was drunk. As she drew closer, she could see that the lily pads which blanketed half the surface had been dotted with artificial flowers. Kendall wore a garland of the same yellow plastic flowers on her head, pink and yellow ribbons twisted around the crown and mingling with her white hair. Several strands of flowers hung around her neck.
Marc’s brows rose as he took in the spectacle. “What the hell is going on?”
Sawyer jerked around, deep-set black eyes blazing with fury. “Get out of here! Both of you!”
“Not going to happen,” Marc promised, stepping forward. “Ma’am? You need to get out of the water.”
Kendall laughed again and extended her arms out to either side, her head thrown back, face upturned to the overcast sky. A dark object in her right hand glinted dully.
Charley’s heart lurched. “She has a gun!”
“I see it,” Marc said evenly. “Ms. Magellan? My name is Marc. Can you tell me what you need? I’m here to help you.”
Then, as Kendall shifted toward this new voice, Charley saw something that made her blood freeze.
Just beyond the spot where his English teacher stood, PJ Konduru sat on a high-backed wooden chair. Water lapped at his chest. His hair and T-shirt were both dripping, suggesting he’d been submerged completely at some point. PJ’s eyes were bulging with terror; a piece of silver tape covered his mouth. Charley couldn’t see below the water’s surface, but she assumed he was bound to the chair in some way.
When he spotted Charley, PJ began struggling and screaming behind the tape.
“Be quiet!” Sawyer commanded. “This is all your fault, you filthy Indian brat.”
Kendall snapped upright. “No. You’re the one at fault. But no more. You’re not ruining any more lives.” She began speaking in a singsong voice. “ ‘And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, That suck’d the honey of his music vows,’ ” she chanted, “ ‘Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.’ ”
“That’s from Hamlet,” Charley whispered. “She’s acting out Ophelia.”
“Doesn’t Ophelia kill herself over unrequited love? In the freaking water?” Marc’s gun was in his hand, but with six feet of water surrounding Kendall and PJ on all sides, he remained where he was, powerless to intervene.
“ ‘Oh, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown,’ ” Kendall began again. PJ whimpered, his eyes locked on Charley in an anguished plea.
“Shut up! Everybody shut up!” Sawyer shouted.
“That’s not helping,” Charley snapped. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. Marc bit back a curse and reached for her, but she dodged his grip. “Kendall? It’s Charley. I know about Regan, and I understand.”
“That cursed girl,” Sawyer growled. “Regan Fletcher ruined all our lives. She drove my ailing wife into an early grave, sent my son, my perfect, brilliant son, to rot in prison. She ruined my career. And you!” Kendall had fallen silent, her head cocked as if listening. “You never married, never managed to get out of your own dizzy head and grow the hell up. Look at you.” His voice dripped with disgust. “With your costumes and your make-believe. What a waste.”
“How?” The single syllable was soft but clear. “How did Regan ruin your career?” Sawyer flushed darkly and clamped his mouth shut. “Father?” Kendall lifted the gun and pointed it at him. “What did you do? Tell me now.”
“Regan was blackmailing him,” Charley said quickly.
Kendall shook he
r head. “No. She was an angel.”
“She was a viper!” Sawyer snarled.
“Will you shut your yap!” Charley hissed. She turned back to the woman in the water. “It’s true, Kendall. I’ve read her journal.”
“No!” Kendall shrieked. She gripped the gun in both hands. “Daddy dearest hated Regan because Carter loved her more than his own father. The day the Fletchers ended their romance was the happiest day of Sawyer Magellan’s life, wasn’t it, Daddy? But you suspected your perfect boy still preferred her company to yours. And who wouldn’t? I’ll bet that really stuck in your egotistical craw.”
“I didn’t suspect. I knew.” Sawyer’s hands clenched into bony fists. “She cast a spell over my son. She was going to take him away from us. From me! Regan Fletcher was a ruthless, social-climbing bitch, just like her mother.” The words spilled out, faster and faster. From the corner of her eye Charley saw three dark-clad figures slipping into the garden, taking up concealed positions on the far side of the pond.
“She came to see me at my office. I was treasurer of the school board. Somehow she’d laid her hands on the budget and expenditure statements I’d submitted. It seems she was a member of the Junior Achievement Club. Would you believe their project that year was pricing and bidding out new band uniforms?” He snorted. “Just my luck, the girl knew what the actual purchase figure was supposed to be. And that my reported figure was several thousand dollars too high.”
“You needed the money for your senate campaign,” Marc guessed. “That’s why you embezzled funds, and also why you stole the Fletcher necklace. You wanted to finance your rise to greatness on the back of your worst enemy.”
“I never saw that cursed necklace, if it even existed, which I doubt. Another of Douglas Fletcher’s self-aggrandizing fantasies.” Sawyer spat on the ground. “That evil wench threatened to go public about the embezzlement. But destroying me wasn’t enough. She was also going to destroy my son!”
Marc exchanged a glance with Charley before asking, “Is that why you killed her, Sawyer?”