Past Tense

by Freda Vasilopoulos

  * * * *

  Voices. They eddied around her like the wind that had chilled her earlier, the rise and fall of argument.

  “I’m telling you, we’ve got to get rid of her.” The accent was British, vaguely familiar. If only she didn’t hurt so much. It felt as if ten gremlins with hooks worked at her stomach, and ten more with hammers pounded in her head. They were talking, too, a constant buzzing in her ears.

  “We can’t. It would give the whole game away.”

  Game. That word again. Everyone was playing games, but no one had explained the rules. Help me, she thought but her vocal cords seemed paralyzed, or the message to shout had gone astray on its path from her brain.

  The voices faded, or she fainted. She didn’t know, or care. She wanted to sleep. If only the bed wasn’t so hard…

  * * * *

  “Samantha.” The peremptory command broke through the hum in her ears.

  “Go away,” she mumbled, batting ineffectually at the hands that were trying to lift her.

  “I won’t go away.”

  Tony. She was too tired to know whether she was glad or annoyed that once more he’d had to come to her rescue. He spoke again, the sound carrying away from her as he turned toward someone behind him. “Where is that ambulance?”

  Sam struggled to sit up. “I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “Well, even if you don’t, Dubray does, although I suspect we’re several hours too late.” Tony’s hands tightened on her shoulders. “Sam, what happened here?”

  “I don’t know.” She saw his look of disbelief. “Really, Tony, I don’t know. I was supposed to meet my aunt. I heard voices, came in here. Then I found the body.” She shuddered, a clammy sweat breaking out over her skin.

  The cry of the ambulance echoed between the warehouses as the vehicle rounded the corner into the dead-end street. “I have to speak with them,” Tony said apologetically.

  The first thing he had to do was protect Sam from the questions the police would ask, at least until she was able to give coherent answers. The policeman with him was the beat constable whom he’d gone in search of after he’d found Sam lying beside Dubray. But he knew Inspector Allen would be arriving at any moment.

  As if the thought had summoned him, a dark, unmarked car drove up and Allen slowly got out, already fumbling in his pockets for his notebook.

  As she had surmised at their first meeting, Inspector Allen was a compassionate man. He took one look at Sam’s white face, the shadows of horror in her eyes, and ordered her into the ambulance.

  “You’re not going far anyway,” he said with heavy-handed humor before turning to Tony. “All right, Mr. Theopoulos, what do we have here?”

  Tony looked at the ambulance attendants, who were loading Sam gently onto a stretcher. It worried him that she couldn’t seem to stand. He’d assumed she’d fainted, but her listlessness made him wonder. “I’d like to go with her to the hospital,” he said to Allen.

  “This won’t take a moment. I know where I can find you if I need you. Just a couple of questions now, and you can go with her.”

  * * * *

  “I was drugged?” Sam’s incredulous question coincided with the mellow striking of the clock on Tony’s mantel. Midnight.

  Tony turned away from the table where he’d just put down the telephone receiver. “Yes, that’s what the hospital said. Inspector Allen wants us both down at New Scotland Yard in the morning.”

  Drugged. She couldn’t take it in. “That’s why I felt sick.”

  Tony sat down next to her and took her hands in his. “You should be in bed, Sam. I should have let the hospital keep you.”

  “I feel much better. Tony, how did you find me?”

  “I went to the pub. You’d already gone. The barmaid told me you’d had a message, that you were supposed to meet your aunt in Pickle Herring Street.”

  Thank God for what she had sometimes thought of Tony’s overly protective instincts, Sam thought. If he hadn’t found her, she might still be lying on the cold warehouse floor. Next to…

  Tony must have felt the trembling that racked her body. “Don’t, Sam. Don’t think about it.”

  “How did Dubray die?”

  “I asked, but Allen said he was waiting for the autopsy. They may have a motive, though. Dubray phoned me at the Regal Arms last evening just before the package arrived. He didn’t give his name, but I recognized his voice. He warned that there would be a disruption of some kind at the conference, that someone might die. Those were his words. Then he hung up. If someone found out he’d warned us, that might be why he was killed.”

  “Are they taking this threat seriously?”

  “Of course. They’re beefing up security even more. Even though the call was technically anonymous, Dubray’s death gives it authenticity.”

  Sam’s head was woolly with fatigue. “Am I a suspect?”

  Tony stared at her. “A suspect?” A bitter laugh burst from his lips. “Sam, how could you be a suspect? I saw them load Dubray on the stretcher. He’d been dead for a while. Sam, this needn’t have happened. If I’d been with you—”

  “I was supposed to meet Aunt Olivia.” She suddenly gripped Tony’s hands, her nails digging into his skin. “Tony, she must be frantic. I have to phone her.”

  Tony watched with troubled eyes as she dialed the number of the Grosvenor. Sam seemed so trusting of her aunt, but he wondered whether Olivia had led her into a trap. Sam had mentioned the gray Mercedes as the ambulance had driven them away, but he’d seen no sign of it on the street.

  “Aunt Olivia—” Sam broke off and held the phone a safe distance from her ear.

  Tony could clearly hear Olivia’s first question. “Samantha, why didn’t you meet me?”

  “You were late. I waited, and then I got a message to meet you—”

  “I know I was late,” Olivia interrupted. “I’m sorry. I was delayed at my previous appointment. But I didn’t send any message, Samantha.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Sam closed her eyes, rubbing the renewed ache in her temples. “Then I wonder who did.”

  “Samantha, are you all right? You sound strange.”

  Sam loosened her fingers, which had been gripping the phone with painful intensity. “I feel strange, Aunt Olivia,” she admitted, without the least intention of elaborating. “When are you leaving? Perhaps you could mail me the item we discussed, since we won’t be seeing each other.”

  “I’m staying on for a few more days,” Olivia said. “I may be needed for the trade conference.”

  “You didn’t mention that.”

  “It hadn’t come up. I received a call today from the organizers and they asked if I’d lend a hand here, since one of the regular staff is unable to make it. So, we may have time to get together, after all.”

  “I’ll give you a call, Aunt Olivia.” Sam wasn’t in the mood for any more wild goose chases.

  “Do that,” her aunt said pleasantly. “Good night, Samantha.”

  “Good night,” Sam echoed, knowing exactly how Alice had felt at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party.

  “Well?” Tony asked as soon as she put down the phone.

  “She was delayed. I guess by the time she got to the pub, I was already on my way to Pickle Herring Street.” She fixed wide, perplexed eyes on his face. “I wonder who sent that message. Damn it, I don’t like being made a fool of.”

  “You did what you thought best, Sam. Nobody’s calling you a fool,” Tony said soothingly. He didn’t like the glassy look in her eyes, or the dark smudges beneath them. She was exhausted, absolutely worn out. “Maybe we’d better leave it until tomorrow, Sam. Your aunt will still be here, and we can talk to her then.”

  He put one arm around her shoulders, the other under her knees, lifting her from the sofa. She lay against his chest, so light and fragile, weariness making her muscles lax.

  Sam allowed him to carry her to his room. Her brain was fuzzy with the
need for sleep, but a question nagged at the edge of her consciousness. Only she couldn’t think what it was.

  The soft quilt enfolded her like loving arms. She was dimly aware that Tony undressed and crawled in beside her, fitting his hard, warm body along her back. He wrapped his arm around her waist and tucked her in close. Secure, Samantha slept.

  She woke with a start, the room dark around her. Tony breathed quietly beside her, his mouth against her shoulder.

  “Tony, wake up.” Sam poked his arm.

  “Wha—?” He lifted his head, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “What’s the matter, Sam? It’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep.”

  “Tony, Bennett must have known about Aunt Olivia’s plan.” She leaned across him to switch on a lamp. “He’d given her the bank draft for me.”

  Tony frowned. “Not necessarily, unless he was still there when she made the plan.”

  “He might have been.” An ominous thought hit her. “If that’s true, it’s very likely that Bennett had something to do with Dubray’s death.” She shook her head, her hair sweeping around her shoulders. “Tony, I hate to think it, but I wonder how deeply Aunt Olivia is involved with Bennett and all this political stuff.”

  Tony scratched his chin, his fingers rasping over twenty hours of beard stubble. “We’re not about to find out here at—” he squinted at the clock “—three in the morning.”

  He yawned. “We’ll ask Aunt Olivia when we see her.” Brushing his hand lightly over Sam’s hair, he settled back down on the pillow beside her. “Sam, how do you feel?”

  She looked at him indignantly. “I’m not hallucinating.”

  Tony laughed, a rumble of pure enjoyment. “I wouldn’t suggest any such thing, Sam. I meant after last evening. Does your head feel better?”

  She shook it, and smiled. “Yes, much. Whatever they used doesn’t seem to have any lasting effects.”

  “Didn’t want to damage the merchandise.”

  “You said that once before.” Sam frowned at him. “Tony, I’m only incidental in this. If Bennett’s paying back the loan, doesn’t that prove he’s not after my money?”

  “I guess.” Although Tony pretended agreement to reassure her, his doubts remained. Compared to Sam’s total fortune, one and a half million dollars was a paltry sum. He turned off the light. “Sleep now, Sam. We’ll sort it out tomorrow.”

  * * * *

  The imminent arrival of the trade conference delegates made Tony’s presence at the Regal Arms vital, especially after yesterday’s threat. Reluctant though he was to leave Sam, he went to his office in the morning. “Stay here,” he admonished her as he kissed her goodbye at the door. “You’ll be safe.”

  Samantha set her jaw. There were things she could find out on her own. In daylight, among the teeming crowds of London, she would be just as safe as in Tony’s house. “What about Aunt Olivia? I need to talk to her.”

  “The telephone. Besides, Inspector Allen, once he has the autopsy report, may want to talk to you again. It’s better if you stay available.”

  “Don’t smother me, Tony. I refuse to be a prisoner.”

  Tony made an impatient sound. “Sam, nobody’s making you a prisoner. But until we find out what Bennett is up to, you have to be careful.” He lifted her chin with his forefinger, dropping a light kiss on her nose.

  Sam gave him a reluctant smile. “I’m not a child.”

  He ran his eye over her face. It showed maturity, character, and a stubbornness that was bound to cause him many more sleepless nights. “No, you’re not. Sam, please stay here. I’ll call you later, and I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  * * * *

  An hour later Samantha walked into the lobby of the Regal Arms. The desk clerk gaped at her. “I thought Mr. Theopoulos said you wouldn’t be in today.”

  “As you can see, I am. Would you please tell me where Olivia Smith is working?”

  The man picked up the phone. “One moment, please.”

  Sam had put a call through to the Grosvenor as soon as Tony had left. Aunt Olivia wasn’t going to be in for the rest of the day. She could be reached at the Regal Arms.

  “Just go down that hall and to the right, Miss Smith. You’ll find her.” He hesitated. “Shall I tell Mr. Theopoulos you’re here?”

  Sam threw him a bright smile. “I’m sure he’ll hear of it soon enough.”

  The man looked faintly bewildered. “Quite, miss.”

  “By the way, do you happen to know whose idea it was for my aunt to work here today?”

  “I think one of the Canadian representatives suggested it. Some of them have arrived.”

  “Thanks.”

  Samantha walked briskly down the hall. The room she entered was a scene of chaos, a dozen makeshift desks, numerous filing cabinets, and the sound of phones ringing incessantly. Aunt Olivia was installed in the far corner, scribbling notes on foolscap attached to a clipboard.

  “Hello, Aunt Olivia,” Sam said coolly as she reached the desk.

  Olivia looked up, surprise in her eyes. “Why, hello, Samantha. I thought you were resting today.”

  “I’m fine. Aunt Olivia, who knew I was meeting you last night?”

  For a second Olivia looked guarded. Then she gave a quick laugh. “Why, the hotel did. I left my itinerary there in case someone needed to contact me. You see, I was out for most of the day.”

  “So Bennett could have found out where I was.”

  “I suppose so,” Olivia said slowly. “But why would he? If he’d wanted to see you, he could have met you himself, given you the money in person.”

  Before Sam could answer, two hands closed around her waist. She spun around, finding herself looking into Tony’s face. “Hi, Tony. I thought you might need me.”

  His eyes narrowed and he compressed his lips as if he wanted to be angry with her. Then he relaxed. “You win, Sam. But be warned, it’s the same boring stuff as yesterday.”

  “That’s fine. Better than waiting around for something to happen.”

  * * * *

  By mid-afternoon she was tired. She rubbed her temples, a headache crowding under her skin. The door to the small office where she worked opened and she looked up gratefully as Tony came in.

  “Good news, Sam. I think they’re finally taking our suspicions seriously. I had a call from the police. They’ve hauled Bennett in for questioning.”

  Somehow the news seemed rather anticlimactic. “Does that mean they’ll hold him until after the conference, just to make sure nothing happens?”

  “I doubt it. Not unless they charge him with something.” He leaned down and scrutinized her face. “Sam, I think you’ve done enough. You look pale.”

  “A walk in the fresh air would help. I’d like to stop by my flat and give Bagheera something to eat.”

  Tony frowned worriedly. “He managed before he adopted you. Sam, I don’t know about you walking on the streets on your own—”

  She squeezed his hand, touched by his concern. “Tony, I’ll be fine. If Bennett is with the police, he’ll be tied up for hours. It’ll be perfectly safe.”

  After her appearance in the hotel this morning, Tony knew it was useless to argue unless he had some very heavy ammunition. “Okay, Sam. But take a taxi.”

  That was a suggestion made to be broken, she decided as soon as she stepped outside. The sunlight spilling over the old brick buildings issued an invitation too tempting to ignore. Throwing back her shoulders, she strode down the street, her headache already a vague memory.

  * * * *

  Her flat appeared undisturbed. She wrinkled her nose as she inhaled the stuffy air. Opening a window at the front, she let in a breeze already scented with the pungency of autumn.

  In the kitchen she threw open the back door, delighted to see Bagheera preening on the little landing. “There you are, cat. I was beginning to worry.”

  “Not half as much as I,” he seemed to say as he wound himself around her legs, purring ecstatically.

 
She rinsed out his food dish and filled it. Bagheera left off his purring and began to greedily devour the meat. “Cupboard love,” Sam murmured affectionately.

  Taking the mail she’d brought up, she went into the bedroom. Tony had asked her to be his guest at the trade conference’s opening banquet and she had nothing at his place that was suitable for a formal occasion.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she opened several of the envelopes, tossing junk mail and bills aside to be dealt with later. The last envelope was a fat one. She turned it over curiously, her heart jumping as she saw the Smith Industries logo. The items James had promised to send. She ripped it open, letting the papers and photographs tumble out.

  With mixed feelings she sorted through them. Several photos were of her as a child, with her mother. There were also transcripts of school reports. She hugged the papers for an instant to her chest, closing her eyes as tears threatened. Her father had cared. He hadn’t shown it often, especially since she’d grown into an adult, but he had cared.

  The last item was a long white envelope. She tore it open and drew out a document bearing the letterhead of the corporate law firm that handled Smith Industries’ legal work. Her eyes widened in horror as she ran them over the pages. Although written in lawyers’ jargon, she had no trouble understanding the gist of it.

  With trembling fingers she picked up the phone on the bedside table. “Tony, you were right,” she said, in a voice gravelly with despair. “Bennett does stand to gain.

  “What do you mean, Sam?”

  “I just got a document that my father had made up before his death. It gives Bennett half of Smith Industries as soon as we marry.”

  Tony let out a long, low whistle. “No wonder he didn’t come after you right away. He figured if he gave you time, you’d come back. Of course, when you didn’t, he had to find you and put on the pressure. Sam, I’m coming over.”

  A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. She sniffed. Standing, she pulled open a drawer to find a handkerchief.

  A knife.

  There, obscenely displayed on a white satin slip, lay a knife. Bloodstains darkened the blade. It was a very large knife and the last place she’d seen it was in her kitchen drawer.