The Third heiress

by Brenda Joyce

  And the blond, who reminded Jill of Jerry Hall, was clinging to his arm.

  "I see," Margaret said, in a tone of voice that indicated the opposite case was true. "Oh. Well, do come in, as you are here, and I am certain that Marisa will speak with you." She seemed confused:

  But Alex was excusing himself and now he entered the foyer. "Aunt, you look beautiful," he said, kissing her cheek.

  Jill watched them closely. Margaret's smile was instant, and it was the kind of smile a mother reserved for one of her sons. "Thank you, dear," she said softly. "Here." She straightened his tie, a brilliant black-and-white abstract print. "Miss Gallagher wishes to speak with Marisa, Alex. I've asked her to come in and join us for a glass of champagne."

  Alex looked at Jill, his expression oddly blank. Jill felt, rather than saw, his unspoken reprimand. Even so, Thomas's words echoed in her mind .. . He suggested I make you an offer. . . how much would it cost me? And an image of the bloodied body of the dead Lady E. filled Jill's mind.

  Margaret smiled at them both, then looked from one to the other, a question in her eyes, before she walked away to join her guests.

  "Why are you here? Are you all right?"

  Jill managed a smile. It felt horribly strained. "I didn't know there was a party." Don't let Alex guess you suspect anything, she told herself. She glanced past him. The blond had come to the salon's doorway and was staring at them, not with hostility, but with curiosity. And Jill finally saw Marisa in the crowd, stunning in a black-and-white, lace-trimmed Valentino dress.

  Alex followed her gaze. He made no comment on the other woman's identity. "My aunt said you're looking for Marisa. Why?"

  Jill's mind raced. Alex was smart. Too smart. She would resort to the truth whenever possible. "She probably knows about Hal's obsession with Kate." She tried to keep her tone light. But it was very hard to do, because there was this odd hurting in her chest—a hurt that had as much to do with what Thomas had told her that morning as it did with Alex's date. And Jill knew she should not care that he was dating a beautiful blond who looked like a young Jerry Hall.

  "Jill, this isn't the time or the place."

  Jill met his gaze. "There's never a good time or a place, is there, Alex, when it comes to life? In fact, wasn't it you who said life isn't fair?"

  He was taken aback. "Hey." He touched her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

  She pulled away before she lost control of herself. "Nothing." A quick glance told her that Marisa, who stood by Lauren, had seen her, too. "I think I will have that glass of champagne."

  Alex gripped her elbow. Jill thought he meant to steer her away from the guests and back to the front door, but he

  guided her toward the living room, instead. "Don't overstay your welcome," he said softly. Then, "Have you been drinking, Jill?"

  Before Jill could answer, Thomas materialized, walking toward them, his expression set in stone and impossible to read. "Hello, Jill." He was cool.

  "Hello." She was cool.

  "I wasn't aware that Alex had invited you to our fundraiser," Thomas said. "You never said a word."

  Jill looked at Alex.

  Alex smiled slightly. "Come on." He continued to hold her elbow, and he propelled her past Thomas. Jill could feel his eyes on her back. They did not feel kind and she shivered involuntarily. Nor could she understand Alex's behavior now. He was acting like an ally.

  But he was not an ally. She would not misjudge him again.

  The blond smiled at them as they approached. Jill managed a smile in return.

  "Lindsay, this is Jill Gallagher. Jill, Lindsay Bartlett."

  Jill nodded politely.

  Alex signaled to a passing waiter, and in a moment the three of them had flutes of Krug in their hands.

  The champagne was the best Jill had ever tasted. "So have you two known each other for very long?" she asked Lindsay. The moment the spontaneous question was out of her mouth she felt Alex's eyes upon her, and wished she'd never spoken.

  "Actually, only a month or two. You were dating Alex's cousin, weren't you?" Lindsay asked, but not with rancor or pettiness.

  "Yes." Jill decided to enjoy the champagne. But it now tasted like liquid lead. Jill couldn't stop herself from wondering if they were sleeping together.

  Then Jill realized how errant her thoughts were. It was not her business, she did not care, he was a traitor. She quaffed her drink.

  "It's so sad, what happened, and I'm so sorry," Lindsay said softly. ,

  Jill looked at her and realized that she was sincere, intelligent, and that she might have liked her given different circumstances. "Thanks." She whipped another flute off of a passing tray. "Excuse me." She failed utterly in her attempt to smile as she quickly walked away from them.

  Marisa was facing her expectantly.

  Jill faltered. Marisa was with a crowd that included Lauren. Jill noticed Hal's sister now for the first time, clad in simple and elegant black. Marisa stepped away from the group, her eyes on Jill. The two women paused, face-to-face.

  "You wish to speak with me?" Marisa asked tersely.

  "Yes. It's important. Could we step outside?"

  Marisa was startled. She hesitated and then she gestured for Jill to lead the way.

  Jill pushed open the terrace doors. She crossed it. When she turned, she saw into the brilliantly lit room behind Marisa, where guests were turning to look their way.

  "We are creating a stir," Marisa said worriedly, glancing over her shoulder. "This evening is difficult enough as it is, but it could not be postponed."

  "I'll be brief."

  Marisa's nostrils were pinched and reddening. "I wasn't going to come at all, but I am a big supporter- of Mr. Blair's—as was Hal."

  Jill stiffened.

  Tears filled Marisa's eyes.

  Jill's heart went out to the other woman. "I'm so sorry, Marisa."

  "What is it that you want to ask me?"

  Jill looked away, wished she had more champagne, then realized she held a full glass in her hand. She took a draft. "He loved Kate, didn't he?"

  Marisa, already the color of porcelain, paled.

  "Please, Marisa, please."

  "How can somebody love a dead woman?" Marisa whispered.

  "Hal was obsessed with her. Wasn't he?"

  Suddenly Marisa was angry. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, striding across the terrace, and another

  moment passed before she spoke, her back to Jill. "He didn't love her. It was like some teenaged boy with a crush on a pinup."

  Jill felt sorry for her. "Was that the way it really was?"

  Marisa whirled. "Yes! He admired her the way a man admires Marilyn Monroe."

  Jill's eyes widened. "And they were both killed, weren't they, because of the men they loved?"

  Marisa gazed at her darkly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  Maybe she didn't. "Did Hal know the truth about Kate? Did he know the truth about me?"

  Marisa continued to hug herself. She was shivering, but then, it was nippy out, and her dress was sleeveless. "You look like her," she finally said. "I saw that in the church." A tear slipped down her cheek. Her jaw tightened. "He knew who you were. He was so excited he called me soon after he met you," she said, her voice breaking. "He went to New York as much to look for you as he did to run away from me."

  "I see," Jill said. She felt dizzy. "He tracked me down." She reached out to hold the railing of the terrace. The iron felt wet, clammy, beneath her hand.

  "I hated her!" Marisa cried abruptly.

  Jill froze. "Kate?"

  Crying now, Marisa nodded. "Her ghost stood between us, always. How could I compete with a ghost? Hal thought she was perfection. He was obsessed. He claimed he wasn't, but he was lying to himself."

  "I understand," Jill whispered. She wanted to comfort her, but did not know how. "Did Hal tell you who killed Kate?"

  She stared, blue eyes wide. "No. He did not." She glanced over her shoulder again. "I'm frozen
. I have to go back inside." She did not wait for Jill's response, hurrying away.

  Jill stared, first after Marisa, and then across ttle terrace, into the night. One thing was clear. Marisa knew about Kate. And Jill would bet her last dime that both Hal and Marisa knew who murdered her.

  Jill wasn't certain how long she stood there, outside on the

  terrace, when she became aware of a shadow passing through the terrace doors. She watched Alex approaching.

  "Are you okay, Jill?" Alex asked.

  She met his probing, extremely intense blue eyes. "I'm fine." Her smile was brittle and she knew it.

  "Lindsay..." Alex began.

  "I don't care about Lindsay," Jill said, striding past him and lying through her teeth.

  He caught up with her. "You're jealous."

  Jill refused to answer.

  "She is not my date. She happens to be a friend of Lauren's."

  Jill shrugged as she entered the living room. Heads turned her—their—way.

  Alex caught her arm, halting her in her tracks. "What did Marisa say?"

  As if she would tell him anything, Jill thought angrily. "She said that Hal knew the truth about Kate."

  Alex stared.

  Jill seized another glass of champagne.

  "Don't you think you should slow down on that champagne?"

  She gave him a cold look. "So you want Thomas to pay me off."

  He started, eyes wide, head coming up.

  "No rebuttal?" She was scathing and she knew it.

  "Hold on. You are jumping to conclusions, Jill, and that's not fair."

  "Life isn't fair. For the umpteenth time."

  "I don't want to see this family torn apart by an old scandal that has little if any bearing upon the present," Alex said slowly, removing the flute from her fingertips.

  Jill turned and took another flute from a passing waiter. "If my great-grandmother was murdered, it has a bearing on the present," Jill said. From the comer of her eye, she saw several guests straining to overhear her conversation with Alex. One of them was Lauren.

  "Whoever did it can hardly be executed or serve a life

  term," Alex said with caution in his tone. "Could you lower your voice, please?"

  "You're a very smart man, Alex. But you must think me a fool." Jill ignored his command.

  "I think you're one brainy lady, actually," Alex said, eye ing her. "And I also think you want to fight with me. But won't allow it." He took her hand, either to guide her or drag her out of the living room.

  Jill braced herself, refusing to budge. "Kate died—and her son got nothing. Her son ... my grandfather. What happened to Peter? And where did her fortune go?"

  Alex stared at her.

  "Someone stole it, didn't they?" Jill cried heatedly.

  "No one stole anything! Is that what you want—your share of her fortune?" Alex asked harshly.

  Jill scoffed. "You know what I want. The truth! Edward killed my great-grandmother—which means a blue-blooded Sheldon was a cold-blooded murderer and it's been covered up by this family for ninety years!" Jill cried.

  "Lower your voice," Alex snapped. "That's a wild accusation and you know it."

  "Did you," Jill said, uncaring of the fact that theirs was the only conversation in the room and that heads were turned their way, "or did you not tell Thomas to pay me off so I'd shut up and go away?"

  Alex's facial muscles tightened. Jill thought he would deny it. He did not. "I did."

  "I see," Jill said. Now she knew she would throw up.

  His hand was on hers again, but this time, his grip was painful. "You've overstayed your welcome, Jill," he began roughly.

  Jill saw Lauren coming. She tried to shake him off and failed. He walked her into the foyer, where Lauren caught up with them, rounding in on them and blocking their way. "What is she saying?" she cried, her face utterly white, making her coral lipstick stand out starkly against her skin.

  "I'll handle this," Alex said firmly. "I'm taking Jill home."

  ,i

  "No, you're not." Jill broke free of his grasp. "You're busy with Miss Jerry Hall. I'll get a cab."

  "Jill." Lauren's gaze was wide, wild. "What are you saying? That my grandfather murdered someone? Are you insane?!"

  "Your grandfather, Edward, was my great-grandmother's lover," Jill said harshly. "Kate Gallagher was Edward Sheldon's mistress and she had his child—and he killed her—in cold blood!"

  Lauren gasped. "I don't believe that. You are insane! What do you want from us? Why are you doing this?"

  Jill faltered, because Thomas reached them, his face flushed, his eyes blazing.

  "Those accusations are highly irresponsible. We will not be blackmailed. Miss Gallagher. Not only will we not be blackmailed, I will not have my family's reputation muddied like this. You are slandering the good Sheldon name."

  Jill did not move, incapable of doing so in the face of Thomas's fury.

  Thomas seemed to recover some of his composure. He straightened. His smile was a mere curling of his mouth. "Get her out of here, Alex. And meanwhile, my lawyers will be contacting her in the morning."

  Alex grabbed Jill's arm.

  Lawyers, Jill managed to think. Did that mean he was suing her for slander?

  "You are lying," Lauren cried.

  "No." Jill shook her head. "Kate didn't disappear. She died. I found the grave. She died seven months after having Edward's child. And shortly after she died—eight months later, in fact—Edward married your great-grandmother. What your family has done disgusts me," Jill cried back.

  "Jill." Alex's tone was like the lash of a whip. "I'm taking you home. You're angry, you're confused, and you can't possibly think clearly under the circumstances. Let's go. You've already made enough of a scene, and tomorrow you can formally apologize to the family before Thomas sues your ass."

  "Let me go," Jill said.

  And then, with her peripheral vision, she saw a shape clad entirely in black, with a huge diamond-and-pearl pin, slowly collapsing toward the floor,

  Jill stumbled, pulling against Alex, turning in time to see William and Thomas supporting the nearly prone figure of Margaret.

  The silver monster halted at the curb in front of Jill's flat. Jill remained huddled on her side of the car, staring straight ahead, hating herself. Not for her quest for the truth about Kate, not for her need for justice, but for bringing more pain and maybe even ill health to a woman as gracious and innocent of wrongdoing as Margaret Sheldon was.

  Alex had not said a word to her in the entire twenty minutes since they had left the house. In fact, he had not even glanced at her a single time.

  She had never seen him so angry. And now the tables were turned. She was angry with him but she felt horrible for behaving like such a low-class cretin with his family. They certainly had every reason to despise her and think her a threat. Why had she let her tongue loose like that? It had been so foolish. Now she might never uncover the truth, because whoever wanted to stop her knew her agenda. And worse, what if Thomas really sued her? She didn't have a penny to her name with which to defend herself.

  "We're here," Alex finally said, turning off the ignition.

  Jill tensed and dared to look at him. Why had he turned off the car? Did he think to come in? All of her suspicions about him—all of KC's warnings—rose to the forefront of her mind. "I am sorry," she said quickly. "I will apologize. Thanks for the ride." She shoved open the door and leaped out of the car.

  He did not return her gaze. "We'll discuss everything in the morning."

  "Yeah." Jill could not believe he would not even look at her. She should not care. She did not care. She slammed the door closed and stepped away from the sports car.

  The Lamborghini's engine came to life, and it pulled

  away from the curb. If Alex looked back, even once, in his rearview mirror, Jill did not see.

  Jill watched the car's taillights disappear around the corner. She was hugging herself. "I don't care." Good
riddance, she added silently.

  Then she looked toward her flat. She hadn't thought to turn any lights on because she'd left well before noon. The house was utterly black, cast in shadows and darkness. It somehow appeared squat, almost ugly. An image of Lady E., dead, not alive, flashed through her mind. Jill stared at her flat, shivering.

  The house seemed so cold. It was no longer charming and quaint, it had changed, as if it had taken on a life of its own. Jill shivered again, thinking that it appeared different, strange—almost ghastly, almost menacing.

  Jill dreaded going inside.

  She told herself that she was drunk and her imagination was running away with her. Which was very natural, considering that she was obsessed with a ninety-year-old murder— and that Lady E. had been killed just last night.

  She glanced at the adjacent flat, where Lucinda lived. All of the lights were on, giving the house a warm, incandescent glow. Lucinda's flat appeared friendly, inviting, benign. Jill started up her brick path.

  Lucinda opened the door immediately, smiling. "Hello, Jill." Then her expression fell.

  "Is something wrong?" Jill asked, dread churning in her stomach, already knowing that something was terribly wrong.

  "Janet Witcombe is dead."

  Their gazes locked. Jill could not believe her ears, and for one moment, she pictured the kind old lady crumpled on some clinical floor, her features distorted and grotesque in death. "What happened?" she breathed.

  "She died this morning. A blow to the head. Apparently she fell," Lucinda said, wringing her hands. "Oh, do come in, Jill. What am I doing, making you stand outside on such a cool night—and you without even a coat!"

  Jill stepped into Lucinda's cheerful foyer. "So it was an

  accident," she said slowly. "Janet was very old. She was well into her eighties.*'

  "I think she was eighty, just," Lucinda said. "Shall I make us some tea?"

  Jill didn't answer. Old people fell down and died every day. It was hardly unusual. Then why was she so ... upset? So ... uneasy?