by Anne Frasier
Elise returned the phone to the cradle and tossed back the knitted throw. Purple. Soft. Probably made by Anastasia or by someone who’d stayed at the plantation.
Barefoot except for the elastic bandage around her ankle, Elise grabbed her cane and walked down the hallway, turning on a few dim lights as she went, muted bulbs casting a soothing glow on wooden walls. Through the living room, to the pool room. Once there, she opened the door and hit the round dimmer switch, adjusting the overheads to low. The next switch turned on the submerged pool lights, illuminating blue water.
Elise stripped down to black bra and panties, then sat on the chaise longue and unwound the elastic bandage before approaching the water. Careful of her ankle, the cement floor cold, she curled her toes against the lipped edge of the pool, linked her thumbs above her head the way she’d been taught as a child, and dove in.
It was colder than she’d anticipated, and she suppressed a gasp reflex. Eyes open underwater, arms outstretched, she rode the downward momentum, shooting toward the drain in the deep end. And, just as she’d done years ago, she touched the metal ring with her fingers, then turned her body, braced her good foot against the bottom of the pool, and pushed hard. She shot skyward, breaking the surface of the water moments later.
She swam several slow laps, loving the way the water felt against her skin. Sensuous. Relaxing. Finally she turned, closed her eyes, and let herself float.
She thought about Audrey, soon to be up there in the sky, above water, above the Atlantic Ocean. A flight to New York, then a switch to Savannah.
Elise knew she should probably be the mom.
No, David was right. This wasn’t a time for discipline. It was a time for honest reaction. When Audrey got off the plane, Elise would hug her, and they would both cry. Mother-and-child reunion.
Elise fanned the water on each side of her, then she did a surface dive, gracefully moving through the water, reaching the bottom once more. This time she stayed down there, thinking of those tea parties she and Anastasia used to have. From below, she looked up through the layers and gallons of water to see the lights on the ceiling above, out of focus and shifting as if being stretched and pulled.
From somewhere in the broken prism, a dark shape emerged. Something beyond the water, near the edge of the pool.
A person.
Elise pushed herself and shot to the surface, expecting to see Melinda. Treading water, her hands moving in quick figure eights, she scanned the room, her gaze freezing when it reached the chaise longue. A person, yes. But not Melinda. Definitely not Melinda.
Her heart began to pound in her head and she gasped, sank, and resurfaced to stare at what she wished to hell was an apparition. But no. Atticus Tremain sat on the chair by the side of the pool, a dark jacket beside him, his hands stacked and resting on the crook of her cane.
CHAPTER 39
Ah, there you are,” Tremain said, as if he and Elise had casually gone to different areas of the house hours earlier and had now reunited.
The thing about Tremain? He wasn’t bad looking. If a woman met him in a dark alley and had to choose between Tremain and a tattered, homeless guy, she’d choose Tremain. She’d run to Tremain for help. Many cold-blooded killers had a certain look, something not quite right about them, where even the face itself seemed off. But then there were the ones like Ted Bundy and Atticus Tremain. Those charming and handsome sociopaths who could fool their family and coworkers.
Elise struggled to understand how he’d gotten from northern Georgia to the plantation. David had just texted her an hour and a half ago.
He smiled. “I can see you’re trying to figure this all out. Did you do it? Figure it out?”
She continued to tread water in the center of the pool, wishing her heart would slow down so she could think. “You never left Savannah, did you?” she asked. That was the only explanation. He’d never gone anywhere. He’d set a trap, and they’d walked right into it.
“I actually thought you’d go to my mother’s house and I would come here and hide while you were gone, but how fortuitous that you stayed behind, because this works out nicely.” Tremain looked around, walked over to a small wicker shelf, and returned with a mint-green towel.
He was dressed in baggy black pants, leather shoes, and a rumpled plaid shirt. None of the clothes looked new, and she figured he’d picked them up at Salvation Army or Goodwill. His beard was gone, but the dark hair on his head was long, almost to his shoulders.
“Come out of the water, Elise. I can see you’re getting tired. I’ll even give you a hand.”
“What do you want from me?” It was a ridiculous question to ask a man who was batshit crazy, but she was stalling. She was buying time.
“I want you to recognize your calling, that’s what I want. And if you won’t do that, I want you to pass the mantle to me.”
“I don’t have a mantle to pass, and if I did, I’d pass it to my daughter, I wouldn’t pass it to some murdering psychopath.” Probably shouldn’t have said that. “And anyway, mantles can’t be taken. They have to be given willingly.”
“Then you haven’t kept up with your studies. Your power can pass to me if you die by my hand.”
“I have no power.” Why did everybody keep insisting she had something she didn’t have? And she was beginning to suspect David was right. It was all bull anyway. The Black Tupelo body art hadn’t protected her. The mojos Strata Luna kept plying her with had done nothing. Nothing. Why? Because none of it was real.
“That’s what makes me mad,” Tremain said, not sounding mad in the least, but rather typically detached. “Your denial.”
Growing increasingly tired, Elise slipped, resurfaced, and gasped for air. Realizing she couldn’t continue to tread water, she struck out for the opposite side of the pool, away from Tremain, her fingers making contact with the concrete edge. She stuck her elbow in the gutter and anchored herself there, her toes against the wall of the pool.
“There are no accidents,” Tremain said. “Everything happens for a reason. Do you remember that night a long time ago? You were maybe ten or eleven, and everybody was down by the river. You were going to go swimming, but I told you not to. I told you there were alligators in the water.”
Her mind struggled to grasp what he was saying.
He nodded as he watched the comprehension on her face. “I used to come here,” he said. “Years ago. I knew your aunt. In fact, she and I spent a few interesting nights together. And just think, if not for me you’d have been raped. Probably killed. Just to keep you quiet, because rapists do that. I saw the guy pick you up and carry you into the house.” Tremain shook his head. “Something told me to go after you, protect you. And I did.”
“That was you.” She felt a tumbling and shifting in her brain as the pieces fell into place, and she was both horrified and amazed. Amazed to think that the long-ago past was touching today, touching this moment. That knowledge was profound. Her fear receded, not because he wasn’t to be feared, but because the song the universe was singing was beyond her control. It would sing the same song no matter what she did.
“I had a different name then,” he said.
“Joe.”
“Not Joe. Joel. But you called me Joe, and I didn’t have the heart to tell you that was wrong. After the murder I changed my name to Atticus Tremain in case your aunt decided to report the incident.” He circled the pool as he talked, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. “I wanted a different name anyway. Thought about changing it to Sweet. Kinda wish I had.”
Now he was a few yards from her. “There are so many ways into this place. Do you know this was a stop for the Underground Railroad? At least that’s what Anastasia told people, but I suspect a lot of what she said was a lie.” He unfolded the towel and held it up with both hands—an invitation to let him wrap her in it. “I came from the river. She really should do something about the
bars over the tunnel entrance. Anybody can get in.” He laughed. “And the little bit of rebar left was painted blue. Like that would stop me.”
“Blue paint isn’t for humans,” Elise said, trying to keep him going while her mind devised a plan. She had to get to her room, to her gun. If she could outrun him . . . “Blue paint is for slip-skin hags, for spirits.”
“There was no one here when I arrived,” he continued, seeming to relish sharing how well things had fallen into place. “I hid upstairs in one of the rooms and waited for you to come home.”
“We could go to the kitchen and have a slice of pie,” Elise said shifting to another tactic. “It’s really good. I’ll bet you’re hungry.”
“Don’t pull that detective stuff on me again. It didn’t work before, and it won’t work this time.”
She was watching him, watching him.
Come closer. Just a little closer.
“Sorry,” she said, trying to keep her voice conversational. “I just thought . . . Sometimes pie can fix a lot of things. The ultimate comfort food. You saved me once. I’m grateful for that. I really am.”
Odd, to think she could very well be dead if he hadn’t been at the plantation that night. And if she’d died . . . no Audrey. And she would never have known David. She liked to think she’d brought some stability to his days. What would have happened to him without her?
Tremain’s face softened a little at her acknowledgment of the role he’d played in her life, and she thought maybe she was getting through to him.
“You were cute,” he said. “And I knew who you were, even back then. I knew you were Jackson Sweet’s daughter. I didn’t want him hurting Jackson Sweet’s kid.”
Both of her arms were out of the water, elbows bent, braced. Come closer. “I miss those days,” she said softly. “Everything was innocent.”
“That was my first kill,” he told her. “Think about that. I did it for you. Weird, isn’t it? How everything comes around. It freaks you out, I can tell. You started me on this path. And I kind of own you since I killed for you all those years ago. We’re practically soul mates. And there’s something else. Remember when you came to the hospital?”
“When you were in a coma.”
“You touched me, and you talked to me. You woke me up. So see, our connection is strong. There’s something between us and you need to quit fighting it. You need to let it happen and accept it.”
His expression softened even more as he basked in his delusion. For a fleeting second, he lost focus on the now. She lunged, grabbed his foot, and tugged, pulling his leg out from under him. He landed hard at the side of the pool, but not in it. She’d wanted to pull him in it. Drown the bastard.
She turned to swim away, hoping to reach the other side, hoping to get out of the pool and run to her room, but he was fast.
“Bitch.” He grabbed her hair and slammed her head against the side of the cement pool, stunning her. Then he shoved her face under the water and held her there.
CHAPTER 40
Elise didn’t want David to find her dead in the water. She imagined him walking in the kitchen door, calling her name, looking through the house until he checked the pool room. And there she’d be. Another water death. Another water murder.
The fear of David finding her body gave her strength. Or maybe Tremain wasn’t ready to kill her yet. Whatever the case, he loosened his hold, and her head broke the surface. She sucked air into her burning lungs in one long, gasping breath.
With no hesitation, she grabbed his leg, this time with both hands and even more resolve, and she pulled, her feet braced against the side of the pool. His arms flailed, and he tumbled into the water. Without waiting to witness the result of her attack, she swam away, to the other side. With both hands on the ladder, she pulled herself up and out. Then she ran, ignoring the pain in her ankle, out the door and down the hall.
In her room, she lunged for the dresser and the weapon she’d left there. Coughing, wheezing, struggling to catch her breath, she stared at the empty holster in her hand. Her gun was gone.
From behind her, Tremain appeared in the doorway. Over his wet shirt was the brown jacket she’d spotted earlier on the chaise longue. He nonchalantly reached into a pocket, then brought his hand back out.
“Happiness,” he stated, dangling her missing weapon from one finger.
She almost laughed at the way he looked, his wet clothes hanging on him, hair plastered to his head. And maybe she did laugh. She wasn’t sure. Because at that exact moment, the moment she would have made an actual sound, he aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.
Headlight beams bounced as David pulled off the dirt road and hit the highway leading back to Atlanta. He pushed the accelerator to the floor, hoping the sedan had some power. It took awhile, but the car eventually topped out at ninety. He checked his phone and was relieved to see he finally had a couple of bars. Earlier, he’d texted Elise to warn her about Tremain and to tell her to get back to Savannah if she was at the plantation, but the text hadn’t gone through. Now he hit “Resend.”
The sound of the discharging gun and the pain that ripped through Elise’s arm hit at the same time. The force of the bullet knocked her backward in a stutter step. She caught herself, then stabilized, her injured arm hanging loosely at her side, blood dripping from her fingers.
“Guns are amazing,” Tremain said. “I’m over here, you’re over there, yet I’m hurting you. Stopping you. Amazing.” He pulled the trigger again. White-hot pain shot through her leg, just above her knee.
“I want to make sure you can’t get away this time,” he explained. “I don’t want you dead. At least not yet. There’s something I need to do first.”
“The mantle?” she asked in a breathless, snagging whisper of pain. She’d outsmarted him once, but this time was different. This time she had two bullets lodged in her. And this time she knew what he was capable of.
“You have something else of mine,” he said.
She could only think of one thing. “The tattoo.”
“Smart girl.”
Her phone buzzed, and both she and Tremain looked at it. He jumped, snatched the phone from the dresser, and read the message.
“From your partner,” he told her. “Texting to tell you that I’m not at my mother’s.” He laughed. “And to warn you about me. He wants you to stay in Savannah tonight. I’ll just let him know everything is fine.” He typed a reply, then hit “Send.”
David’s phone buzzed with a reply from Elise.
Everything is fine here, but I’ll stay in Savannah tonight so you won’t worry. She ended it with a smiley face.
He let out a sigh of relief, checked the speedometer, and settled on eighty-five miles per hour. There was one more flight from Atlanta International Airport to Savannah that night, and he wanted to be on it.
CHAPTER 41
As soon as David’s plane touched down at the Savannah airport, he flashed his badge and pushed past passengers in order to be the first one off. Then he was sprinting down the walkway, running through the deserted airport and past the closed shops to the parking lot where he’d left his car.
Middle of the night and there was no traffic. Both the airport and plantation were north of town, and thirty minutes after stepping off the plane he was pounding on the plantation house door even though Elise’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and even though she’d told him she was staying in town.
If she was in town, she would have answered when he tried to call. And there was the issue of the smiley face. At the time of the message, he’d just been relieved to hear back from her. But then he started thinking about it. Elise didn’t use emoticons. She didn’t even use exclamation marks.
No response, so he broke the glass on the door with a large stone, reached through to unlock the dead bolt, and stepped inside.
Flowers in the center of the table
. A pie missing a single slice, and a plate with a few crumbs on it. Wine, opened but very little gone. These were the details he absorbed in a second.
He spotted a folded piece of paper. A letter to Elise, from her aunt. He forced himself to take the time to read it in case it held any clues, but it only confirmed his earlier suspicion. The woman had faked her death, most likely for insurance. And now that Elise had discovered her deceit, her aunt had run off.
David tossed the note back on the table, and moved cautiously toward the bedroom where he’d deposited Elise that first day. In the hallway, on the wooden floor, he spotted something dark. He crouched to get a closer look. Freshly dried blood. He followed the drips to the bedroom where upon first glance it appeared nothing had been disturbed. But there on the bed was Elise’s black shoulder holster. The weapon itself was gone, and her phone was on the dresser.
He did another scan. On the floor near the doorway were two 9mm shell casings. Elise’s gun used 9mm.
He pieced together a scenario that might or might not have been what happened. She’d gone to bed. Something had awakened her, and she’d pulled her weapon. He hoped to hell Elise had been the shooter, and he hoped to hell the blood belonged to the person she’d shot. And let’s be perfectly frank, David told himself. That person was most likely Tremain.
With his own gun in hand, David moved back down the hall, opening doors as he went, to reveal stale rooms that hadn’t been disturbed in years.
He cut through the living room to the pool area. Through the glass, before he opened the door, he saw a pile of clothes on a chair. Elise’s clothes. He recognized the shirt and pants. And now his brain put together a new scenario. In this one Elise wasn’t the shooter. Instead, she’d gone for a swim thinking everything was okay, thinking Tremain was in custody, or at least soon-to-be in custody. Tremain gained entry, found her gun, and accosted her.