The Third heiress

by Brenda Joyce

  Jill's heart turned over with real gratitude. 'Thank you," she whispered. *»

  They crossed between the two houses in darkness. Lucinda held a flashlight, but she kept it low, shining it only direcdy upon the ground in front of them. Jill told herself not to be nervous—^the intruder was, by now, gone. And although she had every reason to feel dread, she kept telling herself that she was not going to find Sir John bloody and headless. It was a mantra.

  The three steps leading to the front porch creaked as they went up them. The groaning wood sounded so loud in the quiet of the night. Where were the crickets? Jill wondered. The street cars? How come the neighborhood was suddenly so deserted? She glanced uneasily around but saw nothing and no one. She felt breathless.

  They paused before the front door. Jill gestured at Lucinda, who understood, and she swept the front porch with the flashlight. There was no headless cat anywhere in sight, thank God.

  Jill dared to breathe. She slowly opened the front door.

  her heart slamming, almost expecting someone to jump out at her, and she turned on the lights.

  "Oh, dear," Lucinda said quietly, taking in the mess in the parlor.

  Feeling slightly braver because she was not alone, Jill crossed the parlor and entered the kitchen, turning on every possible light as she did so. The kitchen was empty, but it, too, had been ransacked. The cupboards above and below the kitchen counters were open and various items were scattered everywhere, from bags of coffee to containers of ketchup and mustard to salt shakers, cereal boxes, and frozen bagels. Broken plates, saucers, and cups were shattered on the linoleum floor. Even her refrigerator door was open.

  The floor creaked behind her. Jill whirled, but it was only Lucinda. Her hearl thundered at a frightening rate. Jill whispered, "Can I borrow that light?"

  Lucinda handed it to her, her expression grim, and Jill went out the back door. She called for the cat loudly, hoping if the intruder was around, her cries would encourage him to flee. A few minutes later she ducked back inside, the house suddenly inviting compared to the dark shadowy gardens outside. When she rejoined Lucinda in the kitchen by the back door, she had failed to find the cat.

  "Maybe he's upstairs," Lucinda suggested.

  "I hope so." Jill closed the refrigerator as she walked past it, avoiding stepping on shards of glass and porcelain. Her pulse seemed to be slowing—but it was hardly normal yet. "Well, at least we can be pretty certain that whoever was here is long since gone." The fear had lessened, but she remained ill at ease. Whoever had done this had been angry. Why else sweep the china to the floor?

  "Yes," Lucinda said, her tone tight.

  Jill glanced at her and immediately felt sorry for the older woman. "Lucinda, you don't have to do this. I'm okay. I was shaken up, but I'm fine now." It was an utter lie.

  "That's all right, dear. I don't think you should be alone right now." Lucinda seemed pale. Her eyes were wide behind her tortoiseshell frames.

  Jill led the way as they went upstairs, calling loudly for Sir

  John now. Five minutes later they stood in the upstairs hallway, at a loss. "He's gone," Jill said. "He has disappeared."

  "Undoubtedly he is fine." Lucinda patted her arm but she was not smiling. "He probably was frightened by the intruder. You know how he is. He's hiding somewhere."

  Jill looked at her, saw the doubt reflected in her eyes. "I hope so."

  "I think you should sleep on my sofa, dear," Lucinda said, glancing nervously around.

  "Thank you," Jill did not hesitate.

  They went downstairs. Jill locked the house, leaving on two lights, before they left it together. As they crossed between the two flats, Lucinda asked her what she intended to do next.

  "I don't know." Jill was terse, glancing over her shoulder not once but three times. No one was lurking about. No one was following them. "But the prospect of staying here doesn't thrill me." That was one of the greatest understatements of her life. "Maybe I'll go back to Yorkshire for a few days." An image of Kate and the tower overcame her with stunning force. Jill's stride slowed. She thought about the photographs she had found at Coke's Way. Hal had been drawn to the ruined manor for a reason. Were the answers there?

  Jill was certain of one thing now. KC was right. Somehow, across the span of a century, Kate was desperately reaching out to her, Jill. Kate wanted her to find out the truth. A truth that others were determined to hide. And that truth was in the northern countryside.

  "Do you expect to rest in the country—or to continue your search for clues about Kate's death?" Lucinda cut into her thoughts.

  It took Jill a moment to comprehend her question, for she was already back at Coke's Way, already back at the tower. She had to reorient herself to the present, away from both the future and the past. "To continue my search," Jill said. "I need hard evidence, Lucinda, I need real, solid proof that Kate is my great-grandmother, that Edward fathered my

  .

  grandfather, that he killed Kate." She hesitated. "And if he did not kill her, then I want to find out who did."

  "And you think those answers are in Yorkshire?" Lucinda asked, pushing open her own front door.

  Jill realized she had not locked it when they had left to go search for the cat at Jill's flat. "I feel it in my bones. I didn't get to play sleuth up there the way I wanted to. I hardly got a chance to search Stainesmore or Coke's Way. The staff knows me now. If I'm very bold, I'll bet I can talk my way in as an invited guest."

  Lucinda nodded. "Let me make you those sandwiches, Jill." She hesitated. "Jill? I wouldn't mind making the trip with you. I can probably take a few days off. I would love to see that portrait of Kate."

  Jill's eyes widened. "That would be great! I could use the company. Should we drive?"

  "Unfortunately my Honda will never make the trip."

  "I can rent a car," Jill replied eagerly. "In ifact, I'll do so tomorrow."

  How far would someone go, Jill wondered, pushing a Hoover vacuum back and forth in the parlor, to scare her away from Kate Gallagher?

  It was a frightening question—one that had kept her up all night.

  And she was scared. Things had gone too far. First Lady E., then the intruder. Jill didn't think he'd been looking for anything. Jill thought he'd merely wanted to terrorize her— and he had succeeded. Even now, she had a knot in her stomach that would not ease.

  She sighed grimly, her back starting to ache. She wanted to finish cleaning the mess from last night so she could rent a car for the trip north. She'd been housecleaning since early that morning—it was almost noon—and this was not her favorite chore. Jill was about to quit when she sensed a presence behind her—when she sensed that she was being watched.

  In that instant, her heart lurched hard and she froze. Then

  she turned, gripping the Hoover's tube and preparing to use it as a weapon. Her gaze fell upon Margaret Sheldon, standing on the threshold of the parlor—the very last person she expected to see.

  Jill recovered and turned off the vacuum. She approached the other woman slowly. Margaret looked every bit like royalty in a pale blue spring suit that cried Yves Samt Laurent and a smart off-white hat. "Lady Collinsworth. You startled me " Recalling how crass she had been to crash her party last night and mouth off, Jill winced. She was afraid to find out why Margaret had dropped by.

  Margaret did not move. "I apologize. You did not hear your knocker." She stared, unsmiling.

  Jill tensed. In that moment, she knew this was no ordinary social call. "I owe you a huge apology," she began.

  "No." Margaret raised her hand, where a huge emerald sat. Her smile was forced, tremulous. "Miss. Gallagher, I don't know what you want, or why you're doing what you're doing, but I am asking you to stay away from my family. Jill flinched. „

  "Hal is dead. You have no idea what that has cost me. A tear slid down her face—which was set in a mask of controlled anger and equally controlled grief. "I'm sorry."

  "No'" Margaret trembled. "I know tha
t you and Alex motored up to Stainesmore for the weekend. I want you to stay away from him. Please. You've done enough as it is. Stay away from all of us." She was frighteningly white.

  Jill did not know what to say. She had never felt so rotten. "It's not what you're thinking. There's nothing between Alex

  and myself." ^ ■, ■ u

  "Hal isn't even cold in his grave." She reached into her pale blue alligator bag and produced a silk handkerchief. "I must be frank. I believe you're taking advantage of him. I m not quite sure what it is that you want—from him, from us

  all."

  "I've never taken advantage of anybody," Jill said

  hoarsely.

  Margaret did not seem to hear her. "I heard what you were saying last night in my home. How could you? I was kind enough to invite you in—and you accuse my father-in-law of... of... I can't even repeat it!" she cried.

  Jill could not feel worse. Margaret was beginning to cry and Jill felt sorry for her and was close to hating herself. She knew her grief over the loss of Hal remained as strong ais ever. Jill told herself to listen to the other woman, to walk away. Instead, she said, "Someone killed Kate Gallagher, Lady Collinsworth. There was never any justice. Don't you care?"

  Margaret sat down abruptly, her hand on her bosom, as if her heart was bothering her.

  Alarmed, Jill knelt before her. "Are you okay?"

  "No." She looked up, breathing heavily. "Frankly, I don't know what you are talking about. I know nothing about this Kate Gallagher, and whatever did happen, why, that was almost a century ago! Maybe, for some reason, you want to hurt all of us. Is that what you are about? Do you want to hurt my family?"

  "No. I'm not trying to hurt you." Jill stood. "Let me get you some water." She rushed off into the kitchen, wondering what she would do if Margaret fainted on her sofa. When she returned, handing the countess a glass of ice water, Margaret opened her eyes and took a sip. "I'm sorry," Jill whispered. "Just stay calm. I didn't mean to upset you."

  But Margaret shook her head. "My father-in-law was an honorable man. He was a fine man, a strong man, a man with ethics. He did not have a mistress. Miss Gallagher. I knew him."

  Jill stared. "But he di*d in '45. You must have been a chUd."

  "Yes, I was a child—I was ten or so when he died, but our families were close. He was a great man."

  "He had an affair with Kate, before he was even engaged to Anne."

  Margaret looked up, directly at Jill, her face stiff with

  tension. "Do you have a price? Is that what this about? What is happening is intolerable to me. I will write you a check," she said. "Name your amount, Miss Gallagher, and then leave us be.'*

  Jill straightened, frozen inside. Alex, Thomas, and now the countess ... Her mind raced and she immediately dismissed her suspicion that Margaret was in any way involved with the threats recently made against her. It was impossible. She finally said, "This isn't about money. This is about a murder, this is about the truth."

  Margaret stood. "I don't understand," she said. "What will you do if you find out the truth? Write a book?"

  "I haven't thought about it."

  Margaret regarded her with skepticism. "Don't do this," she said. "Hal wouldn't want you to do this."

  Jill stared. It was a terribly low blow—it was a direct hit.

  Jill paused before sliding out of her rental car, a blue four-door Toyota. Alex was standing on the street in front of Lucinda's gate, speaking to the other woman. His back was to her—he had yet to see her.

  Jill slammed the door and locked it, aware of the mad pounding of her heart. She did not want to see him. And what were they talking about?

  She trusted Lucinda and knew she would not say a word about their plans to depart for Yorkshire tomorrow morning. But what if she told him about what had happened last night at her flat? Doing so because she believed that telling Alex could only be helpful to Jill?

  At that moment, he turned. Their gazes locked.

  Jill did not move. As they stared at one another, she recalled everything she wished had never happened—the way he'd held her at Kate's grave, the way he handled the Lamborghini with his strong hands, the way he handled everything—decisively and effectively. She recalled their single night of passion, and his sleeping on her couch the night Lady E. had been murdered.

  Jill closed her eyes, in that moment wishing, desperately, that someone or something could give her the answers she

 

  wanted—not the answers she was afraid she had already found.

  She reminded herself that she must not, for a minute, forget that he wanted her paid off. That was a fact that he had admitted to.

  Alex said something to Lucinda and started purposefully toward Jill. His gaze was searching. "Hi."

  Jill nodded, trying to be cool, composed. Undoubtedly he could hear her deafening heartbeat. He had been furious with her last night; today, he seemed to be his usual self.

  "Lucinda told me what happened last night." His tone was sharp. "Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you call the police?"

  Jill wet her lips. "It crossed my mind," she said slowly, "but it also crossed my mind that you or someone in your family was giving me another warning."

  He stiffened. For a long moment he did not speak. "Let's go inside. I want to talk to you about everything."

  "I think it was another warning, like poor Lady E." Jill's chin tilted up defensively.

  Alex just stared at her. His eyes seemed very dark. "I hope that is not the case," he finally said.

  "Do you?" Jill asked, wondering if he was becoming angry, and if so, why? He was controlling his expression and she was finding it difficult to read.

  His face had tightened. "Yes, damn it, I do."

  Jill shrugged. If only he were being absolutely honest with her. And out of the comer of her eye she saw movement on the porch. She turned, gasping, as Sir John settled himself by the front door, staring at her. "Sir John!" she cried, almost in disbelief.

  She flung open her gate and rushed up the stone path, then slowed as she approached the front steps of the porch so she would not frighten him away. But Sir John did not move. Jill had never been happier to see anything or anyone. She sat down on one of the steps. "You're okay," she whispered, overcome with dazed relief.

  To her amazement, he got up and came over to her, pressing his sleek, silvery body against her arm.

  Immediately Jill ran her hand over his back. He arched beneath it. "You're really okay," she whispered again, tears blurring her vision.

  She pulled the cat into her arms, hugging him, expecting him to protest. He did. With a soft sound he leaped away, but then sat down a few feet from her, delicately cleaning the fur by his shoulder.

  As Jill wiped her eyes with her fingertips, she became aware of a shadow falling over her. She knew it belonged to Alex. She looked up. jij

  He looked down. Then he extended his hand to her. ■

  Jill stared at it. It was a broad hand with long, capable fingers; it was a strong hand. The symbolism was overwhelming. Jill hesitated.

  "Jill."

  Jill put her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet. She tried to break free of him, but his grip on her hand tightened, and the next thing she knew, he had pulled her hard against his body, wrapping his arms around her, crushing her to him. "I would never let anything happen to you," he said harshly in her ear. "I don't like this, Jill. I don't like what's happening to you—to us."

  Jill was stiff as a board. She felt like she belonged there, in his arms, against his chest, thigh to thigh and heart to heart. Had Hal ever felt like this? Jill did not think so; she could not remerhber. Her body began to soften against his in spite of her doubts. Oh, God, she thought helplessly, what am I doing? What should I do? "There is no us," she whispered.

  ^'No?" he asked, looking down at her, holding her gaze.

  "No," she returned, as firmly as possible.

  "Then what was that night about?"

  He did
not have to elaborate. Jill stepped back from him.. "That was about sex."

  His nostrils flared. "Right," he said, the one word heavy with disbelief and sarcasm.

  "What are you doing here?" Jill asked.

  He gripped her shoulders so their gazes could meet again. "I told you last night we'd talk today. Thank God I came over. You weren't going to call me, were you?" .,

  "No."

  She glimpsed anger again, flitting through his eyes. "Maybe you were right, not to call the police," he said. His gaze was intense. "But you should have called me."

  Jill's temples began a slow, dull throbbing. In his presence, like this, she was torn. And in that moment, she had to face what she didn't want to face—a part of her was glad that he was there, just as a part of her had been glad that he had stayed the night Lady E. was murdered. "I'm scared," she said unthinkingly. And it was too late to take it back.

  "I know." He touched her face. "Trust me. I won't let anything happen to you."

  An image of Lady E.'s headless, bloody body came to mind, followed by an image of her ransacked flat. Alex's eyes were so blue, the color of a clear country sky, and filled with sincerity. Jill thought about Kate, desperate and terrified, begging for her life. And suddenly she remembered how Hal had felt as he lay dying in her arms, his life ebbing rapidly away, before her very eyes, with herself helpless to prevent it.

  Jill closed her eyes. In that moment, she needed his strength and she knew it-^but she didn't want to need him. Especially because he might be an illusion. But he was so goddamn strong. "Alex, I'm so confused," she whispered.

  "I know." He pulled her back, into his arms, against his chest. He spoke to the top of her head. "Promise me, Jill, if something like this ever happens again, I'll be the first to know," he said.

  "All right," she said, not quite sure whether she meant it or not, her cheek against his shirt and jacket, her heart beating against his. Would it be so bad, she wondered, to find comfort with him again? Even if it was fleeting, even it if was brief?