“No!” Anna quickly shoved the lid onto the box. “Don’t ever touch these, do you hear me? They’re poison.”
Liz stepped forward. “She means it, Bee.”
“Look, I know a few days in this house can make you crazy, believe me, but you two need to get a handle on things.”
Shaking her head in bewilderment, Bee started for the door, but Anna ran in front of her and blocked her exit.
“Listen to me,” Anna said. “Nilla killed Devin. And she probably killed Lawrence.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
Anna stuck her hands out, pleading. Bee wasn’t safe in the house. “She had to kill him. She thought she and Paxton were going to be forced to share the money they made on the sale of Sparrow House to Ryant. They need that money desperately, and Nilla didn’t want to split it with anyone else.”
“With who?” Liz said, looking as confused as Bee.
Bee groaned as the lights flickered then went out. “Not again.”
When Anna felt Bee reach around for the doorknob, she pressed her body against the door. She had to say something to keep Bee in the library. It was no longer a matter of keeping a promise to Alice, whose vow to shield her daughter from the Birches was in any case ridiculously overprotective, it was a matter of saving lives, of getting them all out of Sparrow House as quickly as possible. Nothing less than Alice’s secret would break through to Bee.
Quickly, giving only the bare bones of what she knew, she told Bee, and Liz, about Alice and her daughter. Matthew’s daughter. And she told them that she believed Eric Browne knew about Alice’s daughter and had told Nilla about her.
“That was five years ago,” Liz said. “Why go nuts now?”
“Nilla never believed anything would come of it,” Anna said, “especially after Eric died. She thought her money was safe. Then Paxton decided to sell the house to Ryant, and Ryant wanted proof that Kurt Ellison was murdered.”
She saw Liz, lit by flashes of lightning, moving toward her. “And we started digging through the records.”
Bee, who had for the moment stopped clawing at the door, said, “Don’t be ridiculous. She wanted someone going through the records. She hired Lawrence to do just that.”
“No, she hired him to find records and give them to her, and later to keep an eye on us,” Anna replied. “Only Lawrence was a historian, and he couldn’t resist poking his nose into things, like the attic rooms and a yellow letter that told the story of Ellison’s death.” She thought back to her first meeting with Nilla, how surprised she had been that Lawrence wasn’t in the library. “When Paxton told her Lawrence would be working in the basement, she was upset, and now I know why.”
“Lawrence Karlson is a professor at DU, not a thief.”
“They why did he take that red box and hide it in the basement?” Anna said.
Silence. Bee’s eyes narrowed as she dug in her heels and stretched for a counterargument. Her view of the world did not allow for either the unlikely or the unpleasant. “You both drink far too much coffee,” she said at last. She shoved Anna out of her way, flung open the library door, and headed into the sitting room. Her heels echoed loudly on the marble floor of the entryway and slowly faded.
A creak on the stairs set Jackson growling. In the lightning flash that followed, Anna saw her dog on his chair, his face pointed toward the entryway. Frozen in place, she stared ahead, her eye probing a darkness broken only by momentary flashes of light through the entryway windows.
“There’s someone out there,” Liz breathed.
There were three other people in the house—or supposed to be. Anna took a deep, ragged breath. Was it Bee, Nilla, or Paxton on the stairs? Or someone else? In a house so large, with so many rooms, it was impossible to tell how many people were in it. Someone could have let himself in—quietly, through a window if not a door—and no one would know.
A terrible thought occurred to her. When she saw Bee at the front door just now, was she latching or unlatching it? Had Bee let someone in? Had she just told a murderer that she and Liz knew the secrets of Sparrow House?
But Bee’s expression and demeanor were evidence that she was appalled by the suggestion that Lawrence and Nilla had been working together to hide a family secret and that Nilla, frivolous Pernilla, was a murderer. She didn’t believe a word of it. She found the whole matter untidy. Murder, for Bee, was messy, and she couldn’t have that.
Anna touched Liz’s arm and whispered, “Grab your laptop.” She heard the fear in her own voice and it unnerved her almost as much as the prospect, now very real, that Nilla was nearby and that in the kitchen, as Nilla talked and ate sandwiches, it had dawned on her that Anna knew about Alice. And that Bee soon would.
Liz’s cell phone rang, jolting them both. Anna flung out her hands and Liz fumbled in the dark, found the phone, and silenced it. She glanced at its face then clicked a button. “My contact at the police department,” she said softly. She read the text message then held the phone for Anna to see: “Devin killed by plant toxin, doing tests. Toxin in very small scratch on back.”
“She scratched him with something,” Anna said. “That’s how the toxin got into his bloodstream.”
“My God, Nilla’s insane.”
“Get your purse.”
Hearing footsteps in the entryway, Anna twisted back, and in a burst of lightning she saw Mitch DeBoer reaching for the front door. In his left hand was a picture frame.
“Mitch,” she called. She ran toward him, Jackson at her side.
Hearing his name, Mitch wheeled about and lunged for the doorknob.
“No, you have to help Bee!” Feet from the front door, she held out both hands, imploring.
He glared at her, then down at the frame in his hand.
“I don’t care about the painting.” She stepped to within a foot of his face and felt Jackson’s head against the back of her knee. “I know about Alice.”
“What the hell’s going on in here? What do you mean help Bee?”
Anna heard Liz come up behind her, and her friend spoke to Mitch with equal urgency. “Nilla killed Devin and probably Lawrence. Bee needs to get out now.”
“Take her to the carriage house and call the police,” Anna added. “We’re leaving.” In the space of a lightning flash she saw Mitch’s face. He didn’t believe them. Two hysterical women were telling him tales, like the stories children told about Sparrow House and its ghost.
A shriek pierced the darkness. They turned toward the stairs.
“My God, that’s Bee.” Mitch dropped the frame and ran for the staircase, mounting the steps two or three at a time. When he hit the second floor, he ran to the left and disappeared from sight.
“Call the police,” Anna said.
Liz dialed, her hands shaking.
Anna looked to the top of the stairs then cast her eyes over the entryway, first to the left, in the direction of the Birches’ bedroom, and then toward the dining room. She reached down and touched Jackson. “Where’s Paxton? Didn’t he hear her scream?”
“I’m leaving the line open,” Liz said, holding up her phone, wielding it as though it could save them. “They can hear us. The dispatcher said we should get out.”
Mitch, his arm around Bee, hobbling with her, started down the stairs. Bee was paralyzed with fear, her body rigid, her steps stiff and halting. “She’s going to pass out,” Mitch said. He half walked, half carried her into the sitting room, where she dropped into the armchair nearest the door.
Her head against the chair back, she tried to speak twice before the words finally came. “Lawrence is dead. I knew he was, I knew it, but I didn’t want to believe it. He’s on the floor, dead.”
“On the third floor,” Anna said. She wasn’t asking. She knew. In some ways she’d known it—and tried to talk herself out of it—since the night she’d looked to the ceiling, expecting the plaster to heave downward.
Liz lowered her head into the huddle the other three had formed. “Can I suggest
we all get out of here?”
“Let’s get in my car,” Anna said. “The police are on their way.”
Jackson gave a deep growl. It grew at the back of his throat and rolled forward through bared teeth. Anna had heard that growl before. She knew what it meant. She straightened slowly and turned her face to the entryway. Nilla stood at the front door.
“What are you doing, Nilla?” Mitch asked. He placed himself in front of Bee in an attempt to shield her from Nilla’s view.
Nilla said nothing. In her hands were sticks of some kind. As Anna strained, in the brief flashes of light, to make sense of the image before her, she saw that Nilla was wearing gloves. Thick gloves—or one pair over another. Double protection. In her hands were several long, bloomless rose stems.
“Don’t anyone go near her,” Anna said. “The stems she’s holding are poison.”
Nilla let go with a shrill, joyless laugh. She was scared, Anna realized. There was no going back now, no way to mend the damage she’d done. “Damn the day Paxton hired you. I told him to let Lawrence work on his ridiculous family tree.” She took one step forward and Jackson issued a warning growl. Anna gripped his collar and held him firm.
“The rosary pea kills animals as well as humans,” Nilla said. “The toxin,” she said, holding the stems higher for everyone to see, “is one hundred times more deadly than ricin, and one tiny pinprick is all that’s needed. It can take two days for you to die, but you will die.”
Whistling and holding something small in one hand, Paxton strolled aimlessly into the entryway and came to a stop when he saw Nilla. He looked from her to Mitch, then to Anna and Liz standing near the armchair. “Nilla? What’s going on? What are you doing there?”
“What do you think, dear?”
“I don’t know, I can hardly see you. I just came out for a sandwich.” He turned back to Mitch. “Why are you standing there like a statue?”
He took a step toward Nilla and Anna shouted for him to stop. Mitch dug into his pants pocket, pulled out a dark object, and hit a switch as he pointed the object at Nilla. The beam from his flashlight lit her face.
“My God, Nilla,” Paxton said.
Her mascara had run, leaving tracks on her cheeks down to her chin. In her humiliation, she covered all but her eyes with her free hand until she regained composure. “Paxton,” she said, her voice tiny, “this damn house.”
“Those rose thorns are covered in poison,” Anna said. “Don’t let her get near you.”
“You think I would hurt Paxton?” Suddenly filled with rage, Nilla shook, the rose stems twitching in her hand, as she turned to face Anna.
“You killed Devin,” Anna said. “You’re capable of anything.”
“Did you?” Bee called out. Her voice had recovered.
Anna peeked over her shoulder as Bee rose. Mitch steadied her as she stepped closer to the sitting-room door. “What did Devin ever do to you?”
“It was his own fault!” Nilla shouted. “Nosing around my house, bringing flowers everywhere.”
“It was his job to bring the vases in,” Mitch said.
“Paxton,” Nilla pleaded. The little girl had returned. “Devin heard me tell Lawrence to bring all the conclave papers to me. He would have talked.”
“What did you do to him?” Paxton asked.
“These.” She tilted her head at the stems. “I walked past him holding rose stems, the poisoned stem in front. I turned to point at some flowers I wanted cut and I scratched his back, like I’d forgotten I was holding the stems. Thank goodness he wasn’t wearing a jacket. It looked like an accident, and he didn’t think anything of it. It was two days before he died. I was hoping he’d call in sick and die at home.”
The lights switched on, and as if they’d felt, in their own bones, the electrical current circle back to the sconces and lamps, everyone froze, their eyes darting, their minds racing.
Paxton, his mouth open, uncomprehending, was staring at Nilla.
“She hired Lawrence to destroy any papers related to the conclave,” Anna said. “He could walk out the door with them and no one would notice.”
Paxton looked from Anna to Nilla. It was making no sense to him. “Why? Those papers are what we needed.”
Nilla’s eyes went wild. “This horror house! The paintings move, Paxton.”
“They don’t,” he said. “I’ve never seen it. Not once.”
“All its murders, and you, you fool, you wanted proof of more.”
“There’s been one murder in this house—maybe.” He held up an index finger and wagged it at Nilla.
“Your grandfather murdered your grandmother,” Nilla said.
“No.” Paxton shook his head.
“Your father told me Charles put vodka in Jean’s orange juice. Matthew saw him do it and didn’t stop him. They both hated Jean’s anxiety, her weakness.”
“It’s not true.”
“And your father murdered Kurt Ellison.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“He placed a trip wire at the top of the attic steps. Those damn steps.”
“No.”
“I’m not done, Paxton. Your father murdered your mother.” Nilla smiled. She’d enjoyed saying that.
The entryway fell quiet. Anna could hear the rain drip outside the door. Then Paxton screamed, his voice raw with anguish. “Shut up, you liar!”
Anna took a backward step into the sitting room, pulling Jackson with her. She saw Mitch step sideways, lean for the fireplace poker, then stand erect again, hiding it behind his back.
“I saw him do it,” Nilla said. “I saw him. I was six years old. That’s when he told me he killed Ellison and saw his father put vodka in Jean’s orange juice. To scare me so I’d be quiet.”
“No.” Paxton’s voice was small and fragile.
“You’re blind, Paxton. Your father hated your mother. Charlene kept trying to throw out his spiritualist books. She kept writing priests, and they threatened to investigate him. He tried to kill her with the seeds on her rosary, and when that didn’t work fast enough, when she didn’t break enough seeds with her teeth to die fast enough, he pushed her down the stairs. He was such a monster he didn’t care that she was pregnant with your brother. As long as Charlene died.”
Paxton covered his mouth with his hands. Tears filled his eyes and fell to his cheeks, but Nilla kept talking.
“What do you think scared you when you were a child? More than the séances or those horrid books? I told you then what I saw. I never told anyone else but you. You knew.”
“I did not.”
“Those damn stairs.”
Paxton’s hands fell limp to his sides. “Did you kill Devin?”
She nodded yes. “And Lawrence. I had to.”
“God almighty.”
“Lawrence read a letter in the library. He found out what happened the night your father killed Ellison. I asked him to write the note he left on his bed, so everyone would think he left. He was already feeling sick from the scratch. He didn’t suspect a thing—and I thought the blue paper was a nice touch.”
“Jesus, Nilla.”
“I told him he could search the attic if he stayed there, out of sight. And he did.”
“God.”
“Paxton,” she pleaded, extending her hands in supplication, “our money is in this house and the land. It’s all we have. We can’t split it four ways.”
“But it’s just you and me, Nilla.” He stepped toward her, his arms outstretched, and Anna thought he might take hold of her, but when he was within a few feet, she brandished the rose stems and he stopped abruptly.
She looked at him with pity. “You have a half-sister. By a woman your father knew before your mother.”
A frown creased Paxton’s brow.
“Alice Ryder,” Anna said.
Headlight beams slashed through the entryway windows. One car or two? The police? Nilla held the stems like a sword. “Whoever it is, I’ll kill them. Make them go away.”
> “It’s the police,” Liz said. She held up her phone. “They’ve heard everything.”
Her eyes wide, Nilla kept watch on Paxton, hoping, it seemed to Anna, that a word and a smile from him would sweep away the nightmare. Then, in the space of a few seconds, her face hardened. She had decided what to do, how far to take it. She had already killed and the police knew it. What did it matter if she killed again? It would buy her time and give her satisfaction.
The doorbell ring was followed by a loud knocking—fists pummeling the door. “Anna? It’s Gene. Are you there?”
Anna froze.
Nilla smiled. “Someone’s husband, is it? Shhh,” she said, putting a finger to her lips. She slowly lifted her hand to the doorknob, resting it there.
Anna stepped forward, bringing Jackson with her. “I’ll tell him to attack,” she said. “He’ll go for your throat first, for your jugular. He’ll rip it out.” She filled her words with all the venom and violence she could muster. Nilla had to believe she was crazy, and that Jackson would tear her to pieces.
“I’ll kill him,” Nilla said, holding the stems higher.
The pounding at the door stopped. Anna saw Gene’s face in the window to the right of the door. A moment later his elbow came crashing through one of the panes.
Anna released her hold on Jackson and moved closer. A small signal from her was all that remained. “He’ll tear you apart and I’ll let him.” She couldn’t stand by while Gene put his hand through the broken pane. Nilla would drive the thorns into his skin before he had time to react. Please Father, make her back down.
Gene’s hand reached through the shattered window for the doorknob. As Anna screamed for him to stop, she flung her hand forward and sent Jackson toward Nilla.
Instantly Paxton threw himself between Jackson and his wife, sending her crashing to the floor. Jackson dug his teeth into Nilla’s ankle and Nilla cried out in pain. With both hands, Paxton pressed his wife’s arm to the floor, his shoulders and neck bent away from her as he tried to avoid the thorns that Nilla now insanely pushed toward his face.
In a blur, Anna saw Gene rushing through the door and Mitch grabbing hold of his arm. She lunged for Jackson, pulling him swiftly back.
Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3 Page 50