“It’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”
“Stop blaming Willard! I know you haven’t liked him from the beginning, but he wasn’t out to hurt me.”
“Cassandra, he had the penthouse mortgaged to the hilt.” Reilly lowered his voice and moved in closer. “He was behind on payments to the bank as well as a long list of contractors who’ve been doing extensive work on the place.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe someone Willard owed money to, or had borrowed money from, killed him. Or maybe he wanted the necklace to sell to the highest bidder. He knows you don’t need the money—”
“Of course I need the money! I’m barely making ends meet, my mother is thinking of selling her house—”
“Wait a minute.” Reilly grabbed her arm. “What do you mean, you need the money? Your family is—”
“Broke!”
Cassandra pulled free and staggered backward. “The Van Winters are flat broke, bankrupt, busted. How many ways can I say it? My father had a fondness for gambling. He loved it more than he loved his family, more than he loved his mistress.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “All we’ve got left is my antique shop. Willard knew…he was the one who helped us keep everything quiet. Don’t you see? Willard wasn’t after the Van Winter fortune because it doesn’t exist!”
Astonishment filled Reilly’s dark eyes. Did he believe her?
Yes. She could see him adding up everything he’d learned about her over the last week and a half. She couldn’t stand there and watch as he did. Turning away, she raced up the embankment, her shoes slipping on the wet grass. She made her way to the limo and raised her hand to tap on the dark glass. She stared at her reflection, watching it turn to a blur when tears filled her eyes as she realized what she’d done.
It’s out, it’s over.
Reilly knew the truth. Did it matter? Would he tell anyone? Had anyone overheard them? With the speed gossip flew around this city, it would become front-page news fast and her shop would be finished. She wasn’t sure she even cared anymore.
Suddenly the window slid open and a hand reached out, grabbing her fingers. The icy touch on her skin made her want to pull away, but the hand already had a firm grip on her.
“Cassandra, is there something you need?”
Cassandra bent low to peer inside the limo. She breathed a sigh of relief as the sight of Willard’s mother. She wouldn’t be alone with Edwin. “Ah, Elizabeth, it’s my mother. She isn’t feeling well and decided to head home. I need a ride. May I join you?”
“I would be honored, dear.”
Cassandra settled inside the luxurious limo, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. She realized she and Elizabeth were alone as the vehicle started to move forward.
“Where’s Edwin?”
“Attending to work, as always. He can’t take off a single day, not even to honor his son.” Elizabeth’s voice was hard and flat. “You don’t mind it being only the two of us, do you, dear?”
A small bubble of unidentified emotion rose in her throat. Cassandra swallowed it away. “No, I don’t mind.”
“What’s wrong, dear?” Elizabeth leaned in close. “You’re looking quite pale.”
“It’s been a long few days.” A cloud of sickly sweet, expensive perfume wafted from Elizabeth and Cassandra had to fight the urge to sink back against the plush cushions. “But you know that.”
“Yes, indeed I do.” Elizabeth turned away. “All my dreams, all my plans are dead and buried as deep as my sweet Willard.”
Cassandra released a held breath when Elizabeth turned her back to her. She couldn’t see what she was doing, and then the clinking sound of glass against glass filled the air.
The bar. The limousine’s built-in bar, complete with crystal decanters and plenty of liquor, was on Elizabeth’s side of the vehicle. How far were they from the Bancrofts’ place? The last thing Cassandra wanted was for Willard’s mother to face her guests at the funeral reception drunk. “Is there anything I can do—”
“Any more than you already have?” Elizabeth turned back with two glasses, each filled with an amber-colored liquid. “You’ve been so wonderful to me, just like a daughter. Or the daughter-in-law I’d always hoped you’d be.”
Oh, please. Not this, not today. Not when it doesn’t matter anymore. Cassandra sighed. “Elizabeth, you know I was very fond of Willard, but not—”
“But not in the way he was fond of you, I’m afraid.” She held out a glass toward Cassandra. “Here, let’s share a toast to my son. My poor, misguided, foolish son.”
Cassandra held up a hand to ward off the offer. “I don’t really think this is the time—”
“It’s the perfect time.” Elizabeth’s voice rose to a high shrill. She took a large gulp from her glass and shoved the other into Cassandra’s hand. “My husband is at work, where he’s always destined to be and my son is…well, I guess where he was destined to be.”
Grabbing the crystal tumbler to keep its contents from spilling, Cassandra cradled it in her hand. “Elizabeth—”
“And me, I’m alone. Is that my destiny?” Elizabeth took another large swallow, her stare locking on Cassandra as she lowered the glass. “You’re not drinking? Come, come, I hate to drink alone.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this today.”
“One drink isn’t going to hurt either of us.”
Cassandra looked at the glass, then at the tinted windows of the limo. It was too dark to see outside, but they must almost be at the mansion. “I’m not really in the mood for—”
“It’s juice.”
“Juice?”
“Apple juice, dear.” Elizabeth’s smile was thin and hard. “Do you really think I planned on getting stinking drunk at my son’s funeral?”
“No, of course not.” Cassandra didn’t know what to think. She mimicked Elizabeth and took a sip. She only knew that she wanted to get out and into the fresh air. In fact, she wanted more than that. She wanted to get far, far away. To the windswept beaches of Nantucket Island.
Her throat closed up at the thought of Reilly’s beach house. No, don’t go there, she lectured herself. She lifted the glass and took a generous swallow of the cold liquid. She grimaced at the salty taste on her tongue. What kind of juice was this?
“Lost in your thoughts, dear?”
Cassandra looked at Elizabeth and found her staring at the darkened window. “Yes, I guess I am,” she replied.
“Thoughts of my Willard?”
Closing her eyes against the fresh sting of tears, Cassandra turned away. Silence filled the limo as the minutes passed. There was nothing she could say that would make Elizabeth feel better, not today. In time, despite the heartache of Willard’s lies and his odd behavior the last few months, she would come to realize Cassandra did carry a special place in her heart for her son.
Her throat tightened and she took another sip, the distaste of the glass’s contents finally making it through her haze of thought. “I…think something is wrong with this juice.”
“Oh, you must mean the gamma hydroxybutyrate.”
“What?” Cassandra bolted upright, but a wave of dizziness slammed into her and she fell back. “What’s that?”
Finishing off her own drink, Elizabeth refilled the empty glass. “Hmmm, I think the young people call it Liquid X or Liquid Ecstasy.”
“Liquid Ec—what are you saying?” Cassandra threw the glass to the floor as a wave of nausea overtook her. She fought it off, only to have it replaced with a sense of mild euphoria that clashed with the revulsion that filled her. “You drugged me?”
Elizabeth smiled and brought her glass to her lips. “Don’t try to fight it, dear. From what I’ve been told it works rather fast, but I didn’t think it would happen this quickly. Must’ve been the dosage.”
A pleasant drowsiness made Cassandra feel as if she had no control over her muscles. Her arms were so heavy. She dropped them to her sides as she struggled to focus. “B
ut why?”
“Oh, I hate this time of year in the city. I know many claim to love the fall season, but days like this, the cold and rain, it doesn’t suit me. I prefer something beachier. Tangy sea breezes and warm sand between your toes…don’t you just love the beach?”
Startled, Cassandra blinked as she tried to focus her attention on Elizabeth’s face. “Ex-excuse me?”
“The beach? Don’t tell me a beautiful girl like you prefers a rainy day to the beautiful warmth of ocean-side living?”
The memories came rushing back. Cassandra had no time to brace against the powerful emotions they brought with them.
The thunderstorm, the accident and she and Reilly tripping over each other in the darkness until they ended up in each other’s arms. Heated kisses, skin to skin, making love again and again. It had been cold and rainy that night, but they’d found refuge together in the storm. And the next morning, bright sunshine had beckoned when they returned. She could easily picture his house in summertime, filled with family and friends on a hot July day.
She tried to block out the images, but her mind refused to listen as they kept flashing before her eyes. “I-I guess I like all kinds of w-weather.”
“Well, you’re young. When you get to be my age, you will find heat is better than cold. I’m tired of being chilled to my bones and you are going to help me make sure I am warm and toasty for the rest of my life.”
“Wh-what are you talking…how is dr-drugging me going to help you?”
“Doing it the old-fashioned way with booze would’ve taken too long.” Elizabeth’s flat tone matched the expressionless look on her face. “Did you open it?”
“I’m s-sorry.” Baffled by the woman’s question, Cassandra could only stare at her. Her stomach took another wild roll. “What—open what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, dear, it doesn’t look good on you.”
“Eliz…abeth, I h-have no idea what you’re t-talking about.”
Willard’s mother turned to stare out the window. “Did you know I spoke to your father before he died? I got to the hospital before you and Margaret that night. He was a mess, broken and bloody, his favorite Armani suit lying in shreds around him. It was quite a horrific sight.”
A soft gasp escaped Cassandra’s lips at the abrupt change in the topic of conversation. It somehow came out as a giggle. Sickened at her reaction, she tried to control herself, but it was useless. “But…how—”
“Oh, we’ve been generous contributors to the hospital for years and money does allow for a few privileges.” Elizabeth took a long moment to finish off the contents of her glass. She then turned to her. “He was almost gone, lying there mumbling your name. I think he was hanging on to see you one last time. That didn’t happen, did it, dear?”
Cassandra shook her head. Her mind, fuzzy and unclear, struggled to take in what Elizabeth was saying.
“I didn’t think so. He never mentioned your mother or Laverne, his mistress.” Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed and she laid her empty glass on the seat between them. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I knew. We all knew.”
Cassandra’s fingers curled over the edge of the clutch purse next to her, biting into the supple leather material. Why? Why was Elizabeth playing this sick game with her?
“Your father was a liar and a cheat, Cassandra. He loved the thrill of the gamble, the power of waging, of betting more than anything. Except for, perhaps, you. I assured him you’d be there soon, but I think he knew he wasn’t going to make it. He then started babbling about your inheritance—”
“N-no…th-there’s no in-inheritance.” Cassandra tried to hold back the panic threatening to consume her. Why was Elizabeth doing this? Money? What money? “My father died…huge gambling debts. W-with Willard’s help, my m-mother and I kept it quiet. It took ev-everything, including my t-trust fund. There’s n-nothing left.”
“I’m well aware of all that.” Elizabeth brushed at the lapels of her calf-length fur coat before slipping her hand into the pocket. “My son and I were very close and as you know, Willard could never hold his liquor. One night, just before he died actually, he told me what happened to your family.”
Disbelief at her friend’s betrayal filled Cassandra. “No…W-Willard would never do that to me.”
“How little you knew my son surprises me.”
The limousine finally slowed to a stop. Cassandra had no idea how much time had passed or where they were, but she knew one thing. She needed to escape and it had to be the moment the limo’s doors opened.
“Don’t even think about it, dear.” The dark object Elizabeth held in his hand shone in the soft overhead lighting. Cassandra choked back a cry, impaled by the sight of a gun and Elizabeth’s narrow gaze. “Even if you could wrap your mind around the idea of running, there’s no way your body will listen.”
Cassandra knew Elizabeth was right as she again tried to will away the feeling of placidity that filled her.
“You’re going to exit the limo nice and easy and allow my driver to help you.” Elizabeth moved up next to her. “I’m going to be right behind you. Darrell knows to do as he’s told and not ask questions. Don’t think of trying to yell or signal for help, from him or anyone else.”
Elizabeth’s breath fanned over her face, revealing her drinks hadn’t been juice. The door opened, bringing a blessed cold breeze, but the hard press of metal at her side paralyzed her. A pair of strong arms lifted her from the limo and she stepped onto the sidewalk. Her legs felt like jelly and she was surprised to find herself actually standing.
“Don’t utter a sound and walk straight ahead.”
A strong arm circled her waist, forcing her to comply. Cassandra slowed her steps, the ornately etched wording on the doorway coming into focus. “The Breckenridge? W-what are we doing h-here?”
“There’s something I want you to see. Now, keep moving.”
The lobby was empty and Cassandra’s heart sank. There had to be someone here, someone she could signal for help. But help for what? What was wrong? The high of being intoxicated filled her and she welcomed the pleasant state of relaxation.
No, wait…that’s not right. She hadn’t been out drinking, had she? No, she was with Elizabeth, and that was a bad thing. Was it? Cassandra’s head spun as she tried to remember why the two of them were here in this strange building. And why did she need Elizabeth’s help in walking?
Willard.
Willard, her son and Cassandra’s good friend, was dead. Were they drowning their sorrows together? No, she wouldn’t drink with Elizabeth. Willard’s mother wasn’t supposed to drink and they were at the cemetery this morning. Reilly was at the cemetery. Why wasn’t he with her now?
Cassandra stumbled as she tried to keep up with Elizabeth’s quick pace. “I don’t know what…what you’re doing.” Her words came out in a slur. “Where are we going?”
“Just get in,” Elizabeth hissed as they came to the elevators.
Doing as directed, Cassandra bit back the vile taste of terror as the doors silently slid closed leaving only her and Elizabeth inside. Why was she doing this?
“Press the penthouse-level button.”
Willard’s penthouse. Now, she recognized the name of the building. She hadn’t wanted to really believe Reilly when he told her about the property, but he’d been right. Willard must own an apartment here.
Owned, Cassandra thought, as the elevator glided to a stop and the doors opened.
“To the right.” Elizabeth dropped her arm and pushed Cassandra into a large foyer, which broke off into four private hallways. Using the wall to steady herself, Cassandra followed Elizabeth’s directions. They came upon a set of double doors that she opened and waved Cassandra inside with the gun.
As she stepped inside stacks of boxes, ladders and power tools filled the apartment entry. Elizabeth forced her to move farther into the space and an overwhelming feeling of air and space surrounded her. The vast penthouse was empty of any furniture, but there was metal scaffold
ing, sawhorses and debris littering the hardwood floors.
“This…this place is un-unbelievable.” Cassandra realized the space was three times the size of her apartment. She found herself drawn to the wall of plate-glass windows running the length of the room that offered a breathtaking view of the city. “How—how could Willard afford a place like this?”
“He couldn’t,” Elizabeth said from behind her. “But he was determined to give you the kind of home you deserved after the two of you married.”
“Give me? What are you talking—ohmigod.”
Then she saw it.
Photographs.
Of her.
Chapter Sixteen
“Married?” Cassandra spun around, catching herself to keep from falling as everything whirled into a kaleidoscope of colors. She pressed her fingers to her eyes, praying for the dizziness to stop. It finally eased, and she looked up.
Baby pictures, birthday parties and holidays stared back at her from a lone inside wall. The images, some actually blown up to life size, covered the area at least twenty feet in length and height. A patchwork anthology of her life.
A winter vacation in the Alps both families had taken together. Her first formal at the age of fifteen, in a dress reminiscent of Scarlett O’Hara with its wide hoop skirt. A birthday bash with her friends the night she turned twenty-one. There were everyday pictures too. Her outside her mother’s home waving for a taxi, at the corner market and at the shop.
Her breathing dropped to shallow gasps as she stared at a full-scale picture of herself and Willard taken last week at his parents’ ball, the Fabergé necklace she’d worn covered in slashing black marks. Tears blinded her and strangled her throat. She inched her way to the wall. She reached out to touch the life-size image of herself, but her hand froze inches from it.
Her heart twisted in her chest. “I don’t…don’t understand any of this.”
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