Onyx Webb 9

by Diandra Archer

  “Good evening. My name is Alec Yost,” the rocker said quietly into the microphone to the applause of the forty or so guests who were still there. “This is one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy it.”

  Then Alec began to play.

  Noah sat in the back of the room and watched in amazement as Alec Yost performed a low-key acoustic set he didn’t know Alec was capable of. Gone was the outrageous rocker Noah had grown up idolizing, replaced by a somber, thoughtful person no one had ever seen before. The audience was mesmerized.

  “He’s good, isn’t he?” the Southern Gentleman drawled from the seat to Noah’s left.

  “Yes, he is,” Noah said as Alec shifted from a cover version of “Wild Horses” by the Rolling Stones to a song Noah knew all too well.

  “What’s this one called?” Stan Lee asked.

  “‘Noah’s Gone,’” Noah said.

  “Isn’t that your name?”

  Noah nodded.

  “So, the song is about you?” Stan Lee asked.

  Noah did not answer him, listening as Alec sang the lyrics:

  Noah made his promises and pretended like he cared.

  Noah sold himself as brave, then ran like he was scared.

  Noah made commitments, then quit when it got tough.

  Noah was the captain but bailed when seas got rough.

  So where is Noah now, since he quit and went away?

  He’s cooking for posh hipsters with cash to throw away.

  Noah tossed his band mates into the proverbial ditch—

  But none of us care at all, cause now we’re f’ing rich.

  “Ouch,” the Southern Gentleman said. “That’s got to fry your bacon, doesn’t it, sport?”

  Sport.

  It had been bugging Noah all night—the feeling that he knew the Southern Gentleman from somewhere. Now he remembered. “Lieutenant Dan,” Noah said.

  “Say what?” Stan Lee asked.

  “That’s where we met before—at the Onyx Webb Film Festival,” Noah said. “You were in a wheelchair dressed like Lieutenant Dan from Forrest Gump.”

  Stan Lee froze.

  “Yep, that was you,” Noah said.

  “I’ve got no earthly idea what you’re talking about, sport,” Stan Lee said.

  “There, you did it again.”

  “Did what?”

  “You called me sport,” Noah said. “That’s how I remembered you. We went out for drinks after the show. Remember?”

  “I’m afraid you’re suffering from a bad case of mistaken identity,” Stan Lee said as he pulled himself to his feet. “You have a good night now.”

  Noah watched as the Southern Gentleman stood up and walked away.

  No, he wasn’t mistaken. It was the same guy.

  1:33 A.M. EST

  OUTSIDE, BEHIND THE MULVANEY MANSION

  WE CAN GO BACK IN if you’re cold,” Juniper said as she and Quinn walked across the frosty grass behind the mansion.

  “No, I’m fine,” Quinn said.

  “How did you know it was me?” Juniper asked. “The dress?”

  “No,” Quinn said. “It was the song. Chopin’s Nocturne, op. 9, no. 2. You played it the night you went on Johnny Carson.”

  “You remember that?”

  “December 23, 1971,” Quinn said. “You were only eight. Even then I knew how special your gift was—what a gift you were.”

  “I don’t know how I would have survived without you.”

  “That’s the thing, Juniper. You didn’t.”

  “You’ve got to let it go, Quinn,” Juniper said. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it. You hear me? None of it.”

  Quinn nodded, then stopped and looked up at the sky. “The eclipse is supposed to start soon.”

  Juniper gazed up at the clouds. “I don’t think there’s going to be much to see with the clouds.”

  “You didn’t bring me out here to talk about the eclipse or the weather, did you?” Quinn said.

  Juniper shook her head. “No.”

  “I know what you’re going to say,” Quinn said. “You’re not staying.”

  Juniper nodded.

  “It’s okay,” Quinn said. “I already knew.”

  “What’s going to happen with Wyatt?” Juniper asked.

  Quinn didn’t answer.

  “There’s nothing you can do?”

  “I’ve done everything I can,” Quinn said. “The governor won’t listen.”

  “What if I talked to him?” Juniper asked.

  Quinn stepped back and looked at Juniper. “We can’t do that.”

  “Do what?” Juniper asked. “Expose me? You want the governor to believe you. Well, here I am. For God sake, Quinn, let me help. I’m dead, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do something good.”

  “I’m still not sure you’d be able to convince him you’re a ghost,” Quinn said. “He’s an incredibly stubborn ass.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Juniper said. “Do you know if he’s still here?”

  Quinn nodded.

  “Okay, then let’s do it,” Juniper said.

  Juniper grabbed Quinn’s hand, and they started back toward the mansion—

  Then Juniper stopped dead in her tracks.

  “What is it?” Quinn asked.

  “The mansion,” Juniper said. “I know this. I’ve seen it before.”

  “Of course you have. You’ve been here—”

  “No,” Juniper said. “I’ve only been inside. This is the first time I’ve seen it from the outside.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, God,” Juniper said as a chill ran through her, one that had nothing to do with the weather.

  Juniper spun around and gazed off in the darkness toward the house next door. “Do you see that house next door?”

  Quinn peered into the darkness. The house was a good one hundred yards away and barely visible. “Yes. What about it?”

  “That’s where I was murdered,” Juniper said. “There, in that house.”

  Then it all came back.

  Juniper remembered waking up, strapped to the table in the back of the van. Getting one hand free and banging on the side of the van. The rear door opening. The woman helping her out of the van.

  There were still a few blank spots in her memory, but she remembered stumbling in her bare feet on the wet grass toward the lights of a house in the distance.

  No, not a house.

  Bigger than any house Juniper had ever seen.

  A mansion.

  The Mulvaney mansion.

  “I saw the mansion the night I was killed,” Juniper said. “It was this mansion. I was running from that house.”

  “Wait. Are you sure?” Quinn asked.

  Yes,” Juniper said. “He caught me and took me back. I was killed there, Quinn—in that house. We’ve got to get back inside and find Koda.”

  1:37 A.M. EST

  THE MANSION BALLROOM

  QUINN AND JUNIPER entered the ballroom, and Juniper spotted Koda standing at the back of the ballroom, watching Alec Yost perform for the remaining guests.

  “Where’s Robyn?” Quinn asked as he and Juniper approached Koda.

  “Gerylyn was exhausted. She took her upstairs for the night,” Koda said. “What’s going on?”

  “We need to tell you something,” Juniper said.

  “Juniper remembers where she was murdered,” Quinn said jumping in.

  “Oh, my God! Where?” Koda asked.

  “You might want to sit down first,” Quinn said.

  Koda could see the grave looks on their faces and waited.

  “The house next door,” Juniper said.

  “What are you talking about?” Koda said. “The house next door to where?”

  “Here,” Quinn said. “The house next door to the mansion.”

  1:39 A.M. EST

  THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BALLROOM

  DECLAN ENTERED THE ballroom after walking the governor out to the back deck to see him off. Getting the man to agree to pardon Wyat
t Scrogger had been a long shot. As expected, the governor wouldn’t budge. Only a divine act of providence could save the innocent man from the gallows now.

  Declan was just going to head to his room when the Whitlocks walked over. “Nice job on this evening’s event,” Warren Whitlock said, reaching out and shaking Declan’s hand.

  “My grandson deserves all the credit.”

  Bunny Whitlock extended a gloved hand. “We’d stay longer, but—”

  “You don’t have to explain, Christine,” Declan said as he held the overly made-up woman’s hand. “The weather out there is horrible.”

  “It’s because of our Salvadorian nanny,” Warren said.

  “Yes,” Bunny said. “It used to be you could threaten to call immigration if you wanted these people to work overtime. Now they call the IRS threatening to expose us for not having paid taxes on their wages. And do call me Bunny. Warren is the only one who calls me Christine—and only when I’ve exceeded the limit on our American Express black card, which has no limit.”

  “It’s a world gone mad, Bunny,” Declan said.

  “I notice you still didn’t get the property next door for that heliport you wanted,” Warren said.

  “Bruce is the one who wanted a heliport, not me,” Declan said.

  “Tell me, Declan,” Bunny said. “However did you manage to snag Alec Yost for the evening? That must have set the foundation back a pretty penny.”

  “To the contrary,” Declan said. “Alec is performing for free this evening. Rest assured, every penny of your donation will go to the foundation.”

  “Free? How did you manage that?” Warren asked.

  “It’s a long story,” Declan said. “Let’s just say Alec is like a son to me. I’ve done some things for him over the years, and he was kind enough to return the favor.”

  “Did you hear that?” Kara asked standing next to Stan Lee several feet behind the husband and wife who were saying goodnight to Declan. “That’s why they wanted the house—to tear it down so they could land helicopters.”

  Stan Lee didn’t answer. He was absorbing what he’d heard Declan say to the couple, and his stomach tightened.

  Alec Yost was like a son?

  A son?

  What was he? Stan Lee thought. Hadn’t he been like a son to him?

  “What are you waiting for?” Kara said. “He’s right there. You’ve got a knife. You’ve got to do it now.”

  “Maybe we should wait for a better time,” Stan Lee said.

  “A better time? What are you talking about?” Kara asked. “There’s never going to be a better time than this.”

  Maybe she was right.

  “Do it!” Kara shouted.

  Stan Lee put his hand inside his suit coat and gripped the handle of the knife, but then thought better of it. There were too many people around. Killing Declan now would be more than murder—it would also be suicide.

  “Do it,” Kara repeated. “If you don’t, I will.”

  And then Stan Lee saw her.

  A young girl in a blue dress on the other side of the room—a dress he knew extremely well.

  A dress he’d taken off the first girl he’d killed at the house, not long before he removed her legs and placed them in the glass jar.

  A dress he still had, folded neatly and sealed in a plastic bag hidden in the wall of the house. He’d used the girl’s panties and shoes to frame Wyatt Scrogger.

  Juniper had been Stan Lee’s first—at least that’s what he considered her. He’d killed three prostitutes before—as practice. But she was the first he’d spent any real time with.

  Talking.

  Getting to know her.

  Before he killed her.

  Juniper was special.

  And there she was, standing with Koda Mulvaney not more than fifty feet way—looking exactly the same.

  Stan Lee didn’t know how it was possible, but it was her.

  He was looking at Juniper Cole.

  Either that, or her ghost.

  Juniper had just finished telling Koda what she’d remembered—that she had been murdered in the house next door to the mansion—when she saw him.

  “Oh, my God. That’s him,” Juniper murmured.

  “What?” Koda said.

  “That man over there. The one standing near your grandfather,” Juniper said. “That’s him.”

  Koda and Quinn looked across the room to where Declan was talking to Warren and Bunny Whitlock. “The man in the black overcoat?” Koda asked.

  “No, the man behind him. The man in the white suit,” Juniper said.

  Koda shifted his gaze and saw the Southern Gentleman standing directly behind the couple. “The Southern Gentleman? What about him?”

  “That’s him,” Juniper gasped. “That’s the man who murdered me.”

  Koda shook his head, confused. “Wait, Juniper. I thought you said the man who killed you was a photographer for the Savanna PD?”

  “I know, but that’s him. I recognize him.”

  “Maybe you’re wrong,” Quinn said. “It’s been thirty years. Maybe—”

  “No,” Juniper said. “He’s older, and he’s wearing a disguise. But it’s him. I’ll never forget those eyes.”

  Koda suddenly flashed on the memory he had as a kid, sneaking outside with the new Meade telescope he’d gotten for Christmas. He set it up and tried to look at the stars, but he didn’t know how to focus it. So he lowered the telescope and pointed it at the house next door—and that’s when he saw the man, standing at the window smoking a cigarette—looking back at him through a pair of binoculars.

  And he remembered seeing the man’s eyes. Even at the age of six Koda sensed something sinister in them. Something evil.

  Koda looked at the Southern Gentleman, standing there behind the Whitlocks.

  His hair was white like Colonel Sanders. And he had a white moustache—all part of a disguise.

  The Southern Gentleman turned and looked in Koda’s direction and their eyes met.

  The Southern Gentleman smiled.

  Jesus.

  Koda took a step toward his grandfather, Quinn following closely behind. Then Bunny Whitlock, standing next to Declan, screamed…

  “He’s got a knife!”

  Then—a long, slow-motion second later—Koda watched as the Southern Gentleman took a step forward and plunged a knife into Declan’s stomach.

  Stan Lee wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. One moment he was standing there, talking to Kara, and then it was like what happens when you’re driving somewhere, and suddenly it’s…

  Later.

  Stan Lee suddenly became aware of his surroundings, as if he’d been gone for a moment and now he was back—seeing the knife dangling in his hand...

  Covered in blood.

  Stan Lee looked down and saw Declan Mulvaney on the floor, clutching his stomach. Then he looked up and saw Koda Mulvaney racing across the ballroom in his direction.

  “Go!” Kara shouted. “Run!”

  Stan Lee dropped the knife and bolted.

  1:41 A.M. EST

  THE MULVANEY MANSION BALLROOM

  SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE!” Koda yelled when he saw Declan on the ground clutching his stomach in pain.

  “He just—he just came out of nowhere and stabbed him,” Warren Whitlock stammered. “I couldn’t stop him. There, there was nothing I could do.”

  Quinn and Juniper got there seconds after Koda, and Juniper dropped to her knees on the floor. “What can we do?”

  Koda looked down at Declan, who was clutching his stomach—blood from the wound seeping between his fingers. “Napkins,” Koda said. “Get me some napkins.”

  Quinn nodded and pushed his way through the circle of people who were gathering to see what the commotion was about.

  “Grandpa, can you hear me?” Koda asked.

  Declan could only groan.

  Alec Yost pushed his way through the throng of onlookers and dropped to his knees next to Koda. “Christ, w
hat happened?” Alec asked.

  “The Southern Gentleman stabbed him,” someone said from the crowd. “I saw it too. He suddenly pulled out a knife and lunged.”

  “Has anyone called an ambulance?” Alec asked frantically.

  Koda remembered the emergency call button Stormy had given him and pulled it from his pocket and pushed it.

  A large man stepped forward from the crowd. “Yes, I called them,” the man said, removing his mask and letting it fall to the floor.

  Koda looked up and recognized the man instantly.

  It was a face he’d seen a thousand times—never in person, but in a picture—an old black-and-white photograph hanging on the wall in his grandfather’s study. What struck Koda was that the man looked the same as he did in the photo—a photo that had been taken at least fifty years earlier.

  The man knelt down next to Koda. “You don’t know me, Koda. I’m a friend of your grandfather’s. I’m—”

  “—Uncle Tommy?” Koda said.

  Tommy Bilazzo nodded.

  “What do I do?” Koda said, tears welling in his eyes. “I don’t know what to—”

  “You’re doing great,” Tommy said. “Keep pressure on the wound, just like you’re doing. I’ll go out front and direct the ambulance when they get here.”

  Koda used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the tears off his face and then looked to Quinn and Juniper. “Have you seen Robyn?”

  Quinn and Juniper shook their heads.

  “Find her for me,” Koda said.

  Juniper nodded and took off running. “He’s going to be okay,” Quinn said unconvincingly.

  Koda looked down at his grandfather who looked pale and was barely moving, and he wished he could believe him.

  1:44 A.M. EST

  IN THE SECURITY ROOM

  STORMY WAS SITTING in the security room, reviewing the closed-circuit TV monitors, making sure guests weren’t venturing into areas of the mansion that were off limits to anyone but family. As best as he could tell, there were only two such people—Graeme Kingsley, who was officially a houseguest with an assigned room on the second floor—and Olympia Fudge.

  Stormy felt no need to watch the Australian and Olympia having sex—though he could have, if he’d wanted to, since every room in the house had a camera secreted in it somewhere. He’d told everyone the rooms were private with no cameras present.