by Sharon Pape
“How awful,” Rory said, trying to imagine how deep Jill’s despair must have been for her to take her own life. Brian had essentially loaded the gun, handed it to her and dared her to pull the trigger. “Did you know who Brian was when he joined the troupe?” Rory asked.
Dorothy shook her head. “I’d never met him before, and when he joined the troupe he was using the name Preston so I had no way to put the two together.”
“Then how did you figure out who he was?”
“My daughter Paula did. She’d met him once when she was in York visiting her sister. Then when she came to see our last play, there he was on stage right smack in front of her.”
“It must have been a terrible shock for you to find out you’d been working so closely with the man who’d brought such tragedy into your life.”
Dorothy sighed again. “You have no idea.”
“How were you able to stay with the troupe after that?” Rory knew she was close to crossing the line between merely nosy and downright obnoxious, but she didn’t have the luxury of time to get at the answers she needed. And so far, Dorothy didn’t appear offended by her questions. In fact, she seemed strangely willing to uncork the story that was bottled up inside her.
“It wasn’t easy being around him every day, but Paula and I had a plan. I’d do my best to draw him out and keep tabs on him until she could gather enough evidence to put him away for the rest of his miserable life.”
“Didn’t she go to the police?” Rory asked, knowing full well that she hadn’t but hoping the answer might clear up the question of where Paula had come by her lock-picking, alarm-thwarting, stunt-driving ways.
“Paula’s with the FBI,” Dorothy said, a note of pride poking through her sadness.
So Zeke was right. And FBI training would account for a lot. It would even explain why someone with a patent disregard for certain laws hadn’t turned up as a frequent flyer when Leah ran her sketch through the police database.
“Even so,” Dorothy went on, “she was having a hard time backtracking on Brian’s trail and getting enough evidence to put him away for more than a few years.” The actress leaned in closer to Rory. “She was getting so frustrated, she even hinted she might take matters into her own hands.”
By “matters,” Rory assumed the actress meant “justice.” She wondered if Paula had ever “taken matters into her own hands” on previous occasions and if that was why Eloise had issued her warning.
“If anything happened to Paula, I don’t know what I’d do.” Dorothy’s voice cracked and tears flooded her eyes again.
Rory pulled out another tissue for her. “When the flash flood came, it must have seemed like perfect timing,” she said, like a friend commiserating with her.
Dorothy was nodding and sniffling, but instead of using the tissue to blot her eyes or blow her nose, she was kneading it between her fingers like worry beads.
“I haven’t known you for very long,” Rory said softly, “but I’ve always been good at reading people.” Okay, with the exception of falling for the man who’d murdered Mac nearly a year ago. But Dorothy didn’t need to know about that. “And I can tell you’re a moral person. You live your life always doing what’s right. Then one day, life deals you an awful blow, a blow that almost does you in. And you start wondering why there’s no justice in this world.” She paused to shake her head. “I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for you.” She’d expected this interview to be difficult, but she’d had no idea just how difficult. A sizeable part of her wanted to stop right there. To move to the couch beside the older woman, draw her into a hug and tell her she understood and that she would keep her secret safe. But Rory had been hired to find out the truth about Brian’s death. She’d spent hours debating how best to approach Dorothy in order to elicit a confession. It came down to two basic options. She could come right out and accuse Dorothy of murder. But such a direct approach often ignited a person’s defenses and resulted in a stubborn refusal to capitulate. Or she could try to slide in under the actress’s radar with understanding and compassion. Rory had opted for the latter. At the time, it had seemed more humane. Now, she wasn’t so sure. In any case, it was too late to start rethinking her strategy.
Dorothy was biting her lower lip; the tissue lay shredded in her lap.
Rory swallowed around a growing lump in her own throat, gave herself a quick pep talk and pushed on. “It’s pretty rare, but sometimes fate offers up an opportunity to right a wrong, you know, square things a bit.”
Dorothy’s head bobbed up and down. Whether she knew where Rory was heading or not, she’d clearly bought a ticket for the ride.
Outside, someone slammed a car door shut. Rory had been on high alert for that very sound. Paula had no reason to proceed by stealth, no reason to suspect that anyone was there with her mother. Mired in emotion, Dorothy didn’t even react to the sound.
“A saint would have had trouble ignoring an opportunity like that,” Rory said with authority, as if she’d recently taken a poll of saints on that very topic. As she talked she slid her hand inside her pocketbook, where her fingers curled around the grip of the.45. Since Dorothy was staring off into space, probably stuck in the memory loop of what had happened during the flood, Rory managed to withdraw the gun and hide it between the bag and her body so that neither Dorothy nor Paula would be able to see it. “I know if I had been in your shoes, I would have looked at the flood as that kind of cosmic opportunity.”
Dorothy stopped nodding, but she didn’t try to deny anything. She looked at Rory a bit bewildered, as if she were surprised to find herself in a place she didn’t remember heading to.
“I imagine the rushing water knocked you off your feet at first, but then you must have found something to hold on to; maybe there was a rock or a ledge?” Rory prompted, to move the story along. Time was almost up for their private chat.
“A ledge,” Dorothy said, picking up the narrative in a weak monotone. “And a second later the water swept Brian right to me. He was floundering, trying to find something to hold on to. That’s when I kicked him. Not hard. I didn’t think it was hard enough to do much damage, but his head must have hit the canyon wall.” Her shoulders heaved with a quiet sob, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I’m not even sorry he’s dead.” She made a few halfhearted attempts to wipe the tears away with her hands, but when they kept coming, she gave up, leaving them to run down her face and puddle on her shirt.
Rory was glad the recorder was taking down the actress’s confession, because she’d had to shift most of her attention to listening for footsteps or any sound that would tell her if Paula was coming in the front door, which was close to where they were sitting, or the back door, through the kitchen. Although Rory had no intentions of using the recording against the actress, she thought it might come in handy when she was negotiating with Paula. Of course, that was based on the premise that words, not bullets, would be flying.
She finally heard the sound of the back door lock being engaged and opened, followed by the creaking of the old hinges. She trained her eyes on the doorway where the hall led from the kitchen into the living room. Paula would be appearing there any moment. Rory tightened her hand around the gun thinking, not for the first time, that waiting in a highly charged situation deserved its very own ring in Dante’s version of Hell.
Chapter 33
Dorothy had stopped talking, although she didn’t appear to have heard her daughter enter the house. She was once again staring off into space.
“You probably didn’t even care if you drowned in the flood,” Rory said without taking her eyes off the doorway. She needed to keep Dorothy talking so she could record as much of the confession as possible before they were interrupted.
“I didn’t care,” Dorothy echoed her words. “And it would have been easier that way…so much easier.” She’d started rocking back and forth like a small child trying to comfort herself. “So much easier.”
“Don’t say another w
ord,” Paula commanded. She was framed in the doorway holding a forty-caliber Glock, standard issue for an FBI agent. Her dramatic entrance had roused Dorothy out of her nearly hypnotic stupor. She jumped at the sound of her daughter’s voice. “Paula!” She admonished her, clutching at the tear-drenched shirt over her heart, “You scared me half to death.”
“I was trying to stop you from confessing to a crime you didn’t commit,” Paula snapped in a “you’ve got to be kidding me” tone of voice. “You should be thanking me instead of complaining.”
“Oh no, I didn’t mean to complain, dear, but…” Dorothy was squirming in her seat as she looked from her daughter to Rory and back again. She seemed distressed to be having a family argument in front of company.
Paula advanced into the room. “McCain’s not a cop,” she said ignoring her mother’s discomfort. “She’s just a busybody for hire. You don’t have to talk to her. Hell, you didn’t even have to let her in the house.”
While Paula went on trying to set her mother’s priorities straight, Rory was working on some priorities of her own. Her most pressing concern was the question of how far Paula would go to keep her mother out of prison. She’d clearly been okay with breaking and entering and trying to run Rory off the road. And even though murder was a very different sort of offense, she’d indicated that she might resort to it with Brian. So Rory had to assume it was still an option in the agent’s arsenal.
“Hi, Paula. I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Rory said in a polite, conversational tone. “But I guess your mother must have mentioned my name.” When a situation started off with guns drawn, it was generally a good idea to try to defuse things.
Paula’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not here on a social visit, so cut the crap right now.” Apparently she’d played hooky during “Defusing 101.” “You should be ashamed of yourself for trying to entrap a helpless old lady.”
“Old?” Dorothy sounded hurt. Maybe she did need help prioritizing.
“Entrap?” Rory repeated. Neither of them was going to win any awards for originality.
“I heard you, McCain. You were leading her, putting words in her mouth. If I hadn’t arrived when I did, you would have wheedled a phony confession out of her.”
“Are you sure it would have been phony?” Rory asked, still trying to be civil. “I don’t know how much your mother told you, but it’s pretty obvious she’s been carrying a heavy burden since the flood. That doesn’t happen without good reason.”
“The trauma of the flood left her memory muddled. She’s confused wishing for Brian’s death with the ridiculous notion that she was responsible for it.”
Rory wondered if Paula believed her version of the story or was just good at thinking on her feet. Thinking on her feet won by a landslide. Functioning in crisis mode was surely an important requisite for an FBI agent.
“The Navajo medical examiner determined Brian’s death was an accident,” Paula went on. “The case is closed, and there isn’t one decent reason to reopen it.”
“A confession might be one,” Rory suggested, fully aware that she was now the one ratcheting up the rhetoric. Although Clarissa had made it clear she had no intentions of prosecuting anyone, Paula didn’t know that.
“In spite of how clever you obviously think you are, there is no confession,” she said, “and there’s never going to be one. I’ll see to that.”
“Then you must be planning to kill your mother along with me, because it’s pretty obvious that she wants to unburden her soul. Sooner or later she’s going to find someone who’s willing to listen and take her seriously.”
“Girls, girls,” Dorothy said, finding her voice again. “There’s no need for all this nastiness.” She sounded like a parent trying to make peace between siblings.
Paula looked at her mother as if she’d suddenly grown a second head. Although Rory found the remark equally bizarre, she kept her eyes on Paula and the Glock.
“Why don’t I put up some water?” Dorothy went on, starting to rise from the couch. “We can talk about this in a civilized manner over a cup of tea. I made some lovely carrot muffins—”
“Sit down,” Paula commanded. “And shut up.”
Dorothy looked stricken. She opened her mouth as if to protest, then thought better of it and remained silent.
“I can manage my mother,” Paula said, turning back to Rory. “You’re the only problem I have to resolve.”
If there was ever a time for negotiating, this was it. “I may have a solution to your dilemma,” Rory said a lot more calmly than she felt. Now that push had actually come to shove and possibly murder, her idea didn’t seem quite as foolproof as it had minutes earlier when she’d learned Paula was with the FBI. But it was all she had.
“I’ll walk away from the case claiming I found no evidence that Brian’s death was anything more than an accident.”
Paula was eyeing her warily. “And the quid pro quo?”
“You immediately tender your resignation to the FBI. Use whatever excuse you like—family issues, medical problems. I don’t care.”
The agent gave a derisive laugh. “And why would I do that?”
Rory decided she needed to put herself on an equal footing with her adversary. She pushed her handbag away so that Paula could see the.45 she was holding and slowly rose to her feet. It was easy to see by Paula’s expression that she hadn’t expected this turn of events. Her emotional involvement in the situation had obviously taken a toll on her FBI cool.
“I thought you might prefer resigning to being fired,” Rory replied. “The bureau isn’t going to look favorably on an agent who’s used her position and training to commit crimes against an innocent citizen. Can you imagine the field day the media would have with the story?”
“That’s quite an accusation,” Paula said, managing to sound as if she still had the upper hand, “but you don’t have a shred of proof.”
“I saw you leaving my house after your second visit, and I gave the police a sketch of you.” Technically, Rory hadn’t seen her exiting the premises, but Paula didn’t know that. “To my way of thinking, you belong in prison more than your mother does. But hey, I’m trying to be generous here. I’m giving you a chance to save her and yourself.”
For the first time in their encounter Paula was at a loss for words. Rory could almost see the wheels spinning in her head as she tried to decide on her next move. From Rory’s perspective, the agent had two options: the one Rory had proposed or the one she herself had alluded to—eliminating the problem by eliminating Rory.
Holding the gun in firing position, Rory’s arm was beginning to tire. Another minute or two and it would start to visibly shake. Paula’s arm still looked rock steady. She had a lot more practice in situations of this kind.
“If I agree to resign,” Paula said finally, “you leave my mother alone and you don’t bring any charges against either of us, now or in the future.”
Rory stifled a sigh of relief. “As long as you leave me and mine alone as well,” she said.
“If you renege on any part of this agreement, I’ll bring you down, McCain. I will haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Rory felt like saying, Bring it on, girl—I’ve been haunted by the best. But given the circumstances she said simply, “We’re agreed then.”
Paula lowered her gun. “Get the hell out of here.”
The muscles in her right arm screaming in distress, Rory gratefully lowered her weapon too. But she kept a close eye on the agent as she picked up her handbag and withdrew to the front door. “The irony in all of this,” Rory said as she opened the door, “is that I might never have discovered your mother was the killer if you hadn’t been trying to scare me off the case. You might want to consider that when you’re busy blaming me for forcing you out of a job.” She walked out, closing the door behind her. If Paula had anything to say in reply, she wasn’t interested in hearing it.
With the confrontation over and the danger past, a triumphant high
started pumping through Rory’s veins like fine wine, exhilarating and heady. She had to restrain herself from skipping down the street like Eloise. Way to go, McCain, she congratulated herself, since there was no one else there to do it. Too bad the marshal hadn’t been there to witness her victory. The thought put an immediate damper on her spirits. She still couldn’t believe the ingrate had left without so much as a good-bye. Well, she wasn’t going to let his lack of courtesy ruin a great day. She opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. What she needed was an upbeat tune to restore her good mood. She turned the key in the ignition and was hunting for the right song when a familiar voice said, “Well done, Aurora. Well done.”
Chapter 34
When Zeke popped into the passenger seat a second later, Rory didn’t know whether to welcome him back or tell him to take a permanent hike. She was leaning toward the hike.
“How long were you there watching?” she asked.
Zeke’s cheeks hitched up in a broad grin. “Darn near the whole time.”
His response bothered Rory on a couple of levels. “What happened to letting me know you were nearby?” she demanded.
“Well, darlin’, I didn’t want to interrupt. You appeared to have Dorothy under your spell, and you were doin’ just grand.”
Rory was finding it hard to stay angry when he was praising her. Compliments were not his forte. But she wasn’t ready to be sweet-talked out of her irritation. “As I recall, interrupting never bothered you before.”
“I’m tryin’ to be more thoughtful.” His eyes twinkled, challenging her to find fault with that argument.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to be surreptitiously observed?” she asked, neatly sidestepping the trap.
Zeke chewed on the question for a minute. “Can’t say it did,” he admitted. “But it’s not like you were doin’ somethin’ private.”