Wedding Chimes, Assorted Crimes

by Christine Arness

  Never mind, she forgave him. Keely laughed out loud. Tonight she’d forgive that man anything! Their encounter in the hallway had left her with a warming sense of culmination, as if she’d been travelling for years and finally arrived at her destination.

  Keely spotted the silvery limousine and hurried her steps, eager to be with Max once more. Jackson was nowhere in sight but her love, wearing a robe and floppy hat more suited to a wealthy merchant than a servant, stood beside the huge car.

  Her skirt swirling, she stopped in front of him and adjusted the flower wreath which had slipped askew during her dash across the lot. “Is Jackson here, Max?”

  He shook his head without speaking, the floppy beret shadowing his expression.

  Keely felt an unexpected chill at his indifferent reception. She pivoted, glancing around the silent parking area, searching for an explanation. Expensive cars filled the stalls, but otherwise, the place was deserted. The graceful shape of the Pavilion loomed to their right, a glowing string of lights tracing the elegant roof line.

  Seeking reassurance, Keely moved closer. The night breeze nipped at her overheated skin. “I received a note directing me to meet Jackson at the lake pavilion. We’ve got to hurry!”

  Without speaking, Max started toward the path which wound around to the lake.

  Bewildered at his silence, Keely followed. “Max, is something wrong? Have you got the money?”

  Another curt nod, Max seemingly determined to conserve his breath for walking. When he reached the paving stone path, he reached back to grab Keely’s hand in a hard grip and broke into a trot. She stumbled over long skirts as she hurried to keep up, regretting that she hadn’t left the camera and flash pack behind in the kitchen.

  Keely started to say something and Max turned and pressed his free hand against her mouth, warning her to silence. Filled with a growing sense of uneasiness, she obeyed. She much preferred the warm, wisecracking Max to this remote stranger.

  The route wound through the trees; ahead, the lake sparkling like a diamond in the moonlight. Keely glimpsed the octagonal open-sided pavilion set starkly against the water, its pillars carved with doves and trailing vines whitewashed by moonlight. A pier extended from the eerily lovely structure across the lake’s surface like a dead end road.

  At the sight of the pavilion, Keely held back, the wariness and anxiety first felt when she glimpsed Max in his borrowed robes coalescing into fear. When she stopped, he cursed under his breath and gave her arm a vicious yank.

  All of Keely’s inner alarm bells went off and she braced her feet against the stones, struggling to free herself.

  He turned his head sharply, the rakish beret sliding forward; an enormous stone set above his forehead winked at her. Light filtering through the leaves dappled his face. Keely, aghast, looked into eyes flat and dead as pennies.

  She wrenched her arm free and started to back away. “You talk to Jackson, I’m going back.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  The playful moon set the emerald glittering and danced on the barrel of the gun that had appeared in her companion’s right hand. He was not Max. A scream rose in Keely’s throat, only to die on her tongue. She backpedaled frantically until she caught her heel and nearly fell.

  Regaining her balance, Keely looked up to find Damien looming over her. “Let’s join your friend in the pavilion.”

  No coaxing was necessary. The gun pointed at Keely’s heart was the perfect persuader.

  She walked ahead of her captor on rubbery legs, placing each foot with care, the rational part of her mind scoffing at the absurdity of such caution. The danger from the man behind her far outweighed the consequences of a fall. Her mind spun, questions churning. Where was Max? Had Jackson set them both up as clay pigeons for Damien?

  The last question was answered when Keely saw Jackson standing inside the pavilion, one arm twisted behind his back by his companion.

  As she neared the building, Keely recognized the man holding Jackson as the goon who’d masqueraded as a security guard at the Westhaven wedding. Climbing the steps, Damien close behind her, Keely saw that the chauffeur’s face was distorted by fear.

  He cast a pleading look in their direction, all irritating cockiness wiped away by the sponge of fear. “Damien, don’t kill me. I’ll give you the tape—free!”

  “Where is it?”

  Without taking his gaze from Jackson, Damien motioned for Keely to take a seat on the low bench circling the interior of the pavilion. Still clutching her camera, she obeyed. With horrifying suddenness, the situation had slipped out of control. Even in her worst case scenario, Keely hadn’t expected Damien to show up here tonight.

  Jackson licked his lips, terror filming his eyes. “Just promise you’ll let me go. All I want to do is get out of town, Damien. I won’t go to the cops—I’ll be out of state by morning.”

  “Fair enough. Where’s the tape?” Even when asking a question, Damien’s voice was the drone of a man reading letters off an eye chart.

  Keely was numb with disbelief. Why hadn’t she taken the precaution of contacting Gifford and reporting Jackson’s call? Because you didn’t think the police would take you seriously after the fiasco at Franklin’s service yard, she reminded herself.

  Another thought struck her. How did Damien know about the proposed exchange? And where was Max?

  Watching Damien’s face as he spoke to Jackson, Keely realized that the man’s true menace lay in his lack of emotion.

  “Where’s the tape?” he repeated.

  Jackson’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “In the trunk of the limo, hidden under the spare. Just take it and let me go!”

  Damien jerked his head in the direction of the parking lot. Keely followed his gaze and saw that Franklin’s second gorilla loomed in the doorway of the pavilion.

  “Get the tape and get rid of Summers. We’ll handle things here.” Damien ordered his henchman before turning to Keely. “It’s a lovely evening. Perfect for a stroll on the pier. Ms. O’Brien?”

  Keely rose to her feet, prodded by the impatient flick of the gun muzzle. Wasn’t there a joke about taking a long walk off a short pier? But no one was laughing. Damien’s was a doomsday voice if ever she’d heard one.

  Keely gripped the heavy fabric skirt of her borrowed finery with a white-knuckled hand. She hadn’t missed the reference to Max; fear for him shouldered aside her personal terror.

  “You won’t kill us, Damien. You can’t afford to—”

  “I can afford to do anything I want. Come on, move it.”

  “Extortion is one thing, but murder is an entirely different matter,” Keely said earnestly. “You haven’t crossed that line yet—”

  His voice was faintly amused. “Forgotten Flo already?”

  Her heart sank like a lead weight. Concentrating on talking Damien out of murder, she’d forgotten that his hands were already bloody. “You admit you killed her?”

  “Why not? Jackson saw me do it. Lucky for him, I didn’t see him. But he was greedy. He told me that he was there that night, wanted payment for his silence.”

  Keely shuddered. The casual admission convinced her of her own impending death more than any bloodcurdling threat.

  Keep him talking, she told herself. Stall for time. Inside the huge building behind them at least three hundred people and two off duty policemen talked and ate. Sooner or later, someone was bound to realize she hadn’t returned…And where was Max? What had they done with him?

  Damien grabbed her arm and started down the pier. Keely moved as slowly as she dared, the gun with its menacing black mouth hovering uncomfortably close to her side.

  “Why did you kill her? Because she found out about your extortion racket?”

  “She wanted to humiliate some spoiled society dames, bloody a few bitch noses. Flo had the inside info and the hate. I had the muscle and the brains.”

  Keely winced as Damien’s fingers dug into her upper arm. “You used her.”

  He gave
her a crooked, mirthless smile. She gulped. The smile said that while Damien didn’t owe her any explanations, he had a compulsion to dominate women. Although his eyes were still flat, they were no longer dead. A spark glowed in their depths. If Jackson was a bug to be crushed underfoot, hurting Keely was an experience to be prolonged and savored, as much as this emotional cripple could enjoy any experience.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs. She’d ignored Damien’s threats, thwarted his monstrous ego by escaping with Max from the limo yard. The gun barrel rose until it brushed Keely’s chin, traced a cold path down her throat to the neckline of her gown, stopped between her breasts.

  “I used Flo? Make no mistake, it was mutual.”

  Keely was close enough to see a muscle twitch near Damien’s mouth. She stared at him, fighting to keep the terror rampaging throughout her body from overwhelming her.

  “You’ve got guts, babe. It’s a shame to waste such a nervy broad, but it’s gotta be done.”

  As they advanced along the pier, the weathered boards creaked faintly under Damien’s heavy tread. Behind them, Keely could hear Jackson’s agonized whimper. Guts? Another minute of this tension and she’d be wailing right along with Jackson.

  Her stomach roiling, she said, “You impersonated Max at the Postwaite reception.”

  “Flo’s idea.” Damien shrugged powerful shoulders. “She thought the resemblance might add confusion if I was spotted inside the house. Now, shut up.”

  Damien Franklin, man of few words and all of them unpleasant.

  To Keely’s surprise, he continued. “Flo totally lost her cool when I told her at your studio about my money-making operation so I let her have it. She was getting to be a nuisance.”

  Keely’s already queasy stomach cramped with fear when Damien released her arm and turned to face her.

  “Give me the hush-a-bye, Nix.” He held out his hand and his cohort promptly handed over a bulky tube which Damien screwed over the gun muzzle. Noting the direction of Keely’s petrified gaze, he said, “I want to keep this as quiet as possible.”

  Jackson yipped in terror, but his cry was cut short when the thug holding his arm rapped him on the side of the head. The chauffeur sagged to his knees, babbling with fear, and raised petitioning hands.

  “This car jockey tried to blackmail me.” Damien spat into Jackson’s upturned face.

  “No, Damien! Not blackmail!”

  “He’s greedy and stupid.” Damien gestured with the gun, never raising his voice. “Made me an offer only an idiot would accept—exchange a certain videotape for cash because it placed me at the scene of the second robbery. Doesn’t that sound like blackmail? After I gave him a job, rewarded him for putting me and the band on the admittance list to the reception.”

  The toe of Damien’s boot thudded into Jackson’s ribs. With a gasp, the driver collapsed, curling on his side.

  “I made him a counter-offer. All he had to do was get you alone, where I could get at you. And here you are. The offer of the tape did the trick.”

  “I did what you wanted, Damien. You’ve got the girl—”

  “Shut up!” Damien turned to the goon. “Set this sack of gutless jelly up at the edge of the pier.”

  Keely spared an agonized thought for Max, now at the mercy of Damien’s other hired gun. The realization that she was about to witness a cold-blooded murder, the precursor to her own, sent her scrambling for a topic to capture Damien’s interest.

  “Why did Flo steal Rose’s necklace?”

  “It fell on the floor during the scramble after the band marched in. The Postwaite woman told her earlier that she was going to give the necklace to her daughter after the dinner.”

  Damien stared into space. His hired muscle gaped at him and Keely realized these revelations were unusual. Damien’s relationship with Flo must have run on a deeper level than even Damien acknowledged.

  Keep him talking, Keely told herself. Keep feeding that overdeveloped sense of superiority!

  When Damien spoke again, his voice was reflective. “Flo wasn’t what you’d call a tender hearted gal. She couldn’t resist depriving mother and daughter of a Kodak moment. After grabbing the diamonds, she knew enough to unload them, so she looked for me. If you hadn’t been nosy enough to follow her, you probably wouldn’t be here now.”

  “The brass band was a nice touch.” Keely cast a desperate look toward the lights of the Pavilion glimmering enticingly through the trees. The dinner, with its innumerable courses, would keep everyone inside for at least another hour. The odds that another couple would decide to take a romantic stroll out to the pavilion on a darkened path were slim to none.

  “Again, Flo’s idea. I’m really gonna miss the lady, but she made the fatal mistake of misjudging me. Enough chit chat. Here’s the plan: You’re going to kill this sniveling coward. He was your partner in the Sterling Ring and you’ve decided he’s a risk.”

  Keely glanced at Jackson who was still curled in the fetal position. No use looking for help in that direction.

  Damien continued. “Then you’re going to feel real bad. Two murders, Flo and this loser.” He shook his head in mock sorrow. “You throw yourself into the lake in remorse. With that heavy gown tangling your legs…”

  Keely understood. She would drown. Either with her head held forcibly beneath the surface or else after being made to tread water until exhaustion dragged her under.

  The moon trailed glowing, luminous banners across the ruffled surface of the lake. Water lapped against the pilings. In the distance, a dog barked.

  Damien stared across the lake. This time, Keely followed the direction of his gaze and saw what had postponed the moment of her death. The tiny silhouette of a canoe with two occupants glided across the water, away from them.

  “Sound carries over water.” Damien spoke to the goon standing over Jackson. “I didn’t want either of these two yelling for help until the tourists in the canoe got out of earshot.”

  Keely groaned inwardly. While she’d been desperately trying to keep Damien talking, he’d been running a stalling maneuver of his own.

  Damien raised the gun and Keely felt the cold breath of Death on the back of her neck. The perfect night for a stroll—or a suicide.

  Chapter 29

  “Is Jackson here, Max?”

  Keely’s voice sounded breathless. Max stiffened involuntarily, bumping his knee on an unyielding object.

  “I received a note directing me to meet Jackson at the lake pavilion. We’ve got to hurry! Max, is something wrong? Have you got the money?”

  Who was Keely talking to? Max forced his heavy eyelids open as the sound of footsteps died away.

  No good—blackness cocooned him. He moved his head slightly and yelped, but the pain helped orient him. He was curled on his side on a carpeted surface in the dark. Either that, or he’d gone blind. Max experimented by holding a hand in front of his face. If it wasn’t as black as pitch in here, he was going to be shopping for a dog and a white cane tomorrow.

  Think positive, he admonished himself. You’re in the dark. He began a cautious exploration of his surroundings. The ceiling was too low to allow him to sit up, but felt smooth and cool to the touch.

  His knee ached. Puzzled, Max touched the sore spot and flinched. Bare flesh. He was clad only in a pair of boxer shorts!

  A vague memory returned, of rough hands fumbling at his clothing. The robe! He’d been wearing that merchant’s robe as a disguise to catch Jackson off guard, but he himself had ended up being the recipient of the bombshell.

  Rolling onto his back, Max concentrated on his hazy recollections until he could visualize the driver emerging from the shadows under the hood. When he turned around, he’d had Max’s face. Then boom! The lights went out.

  He bumped a sore spot behind his ear that he didn’t know existed. The pain cleared his head like a whiff of ammonia. The man who sucker punched him must have been Damien Franklin. Max carried the revelation a step further: Jackson worked for Damien,
which meant the chauffeur had probably cooperated in setting up a trap to catch—

  Keely! Max lurched upright, this time banging his shoulder on the ceiling of his prison. He feverishly replayed the words he’d overheard, belatedly realizing that Keely must have thought she was talking to him.

  Damien had appropriated Max’s costume to trick Keely into accompanying him. Max tensed, visualizing her terror when she became aware of her companion’s true identity. Recalling his vow to protect her, Max groaned.

  “Trust me, Keely,” he muttered. “Famous last words. As a bodyguard, I should stick to making soufflés.”

  Adrenaline sent its warm rush of determination throughout his body; Max began a methodical search for a way out of his cell.

  Keely gave her camera a squeeze. So much for the insulating qualities of the lens! Photographing the scene as Damien and his bully boy discussed where to shoot Jackson wouldn’t alter the current dangerous reality.

  “She’s shorter than you, boss. Hold the gun lower, bring the angle up.”

  “I suppose I should just make it a head shot.” Damien scratched his jaw. “If they’re supposed to be partners, Nix, he’d let her get close enough to blow him away, right?”

  Keely shuffled backwards but a board creaked, betraying the movement, and Damien pivoted. “Try something cute, and I’ll rewrite this scenario to include a bullet in your gut.”

  Keely obediently froze, but her mind kept churning. She had to do something, somehow leave behind proof that she wasn’t guilty of killing Jackson—

  The obscenely bright moonlight suddenly became her ally. Keely’s fingers moved with silent deliberation to disconnect the flash unit from the camera. Thankfully, she was familiar with the technique she was about to employ, having used similar angles for unobtrusive grab shots in the past.

  Holding the camera at waist level, Keely coughed to cover the click of three shots taken of Damien measuring his line of fire against the head of Jackson.

  “One to the heart. Okay, come over here and hold the gun.” Damien turned. “Put that camera down and get over here.”