The McKenna Legacy Trilogy

by Patricia Rosemoor

  "Old lies! Who's fed you that poison?"

  "I've heard it from more than one person."

  Hilary shook her head. “I would have known. Here." Placing a hand over her heart, her voice ascending a notch, she insisted, “Frank was a God-fearing man! He would never have sunk so low. Someone wanted to destroy his good name. Someone set him up."

  Rosalind felt sick that her grandfather came immediately to mind. His obsessive jealousy would have made him hate Frank Sullivan, because he'd no doubt assumed that the politician was having an affair with Lily.

  But would he have tried to destroy the man's career...or worse...his very life?

  "Why couldn't Frank have left Diane and married me?" Hilary murmured. “Then everything would have been different."

  Her aunt sounded a bit delusional, reminding her of Grandfather when he started on Lily. He'd always made it sound as if he'd lost the most precious thing in his life even while he'd had exactly what he wanted...ultimate control over the woman he loved.

  Control...

  The same way she'd tried to control Skelly.

  Sick inside at the comparison – she was too much like her grandfather for her own comfort – Rosalind wished she could take her demands back. She wished she could see Skelly face-to-face and tell him she'd been wrong. She would do that when she saw him in Chicago, she promised herself, even as unease stole over her. Skelly had wanted to think things over, had said he had questions to consider.

  So did she.

  "I thought I understood everything," Rosalind murmured. “But I don't. Aunt Hilary, are you certain Frank couldn't have molested those girls?"

  "I knew him better than anyone, dear. He never would have touched a child. If I'd ever thought that was true," Hilary swore, eyes filling, “I would have killed him myself!"

  A SHORT STOP IN APPLETON and Skelly was flying back to Galena through a glowing cloud of white. Adrenaline pumped through his arteries, urging him to go faster, even though the fog's tentacles had embraced everything in its path, swallowing objects whole.

  Houses...trees...road.

  All gone.

  Though he'd switched on his brights, the high beam barely cut a swath through the cloying damp cotton. Considering the conditions, he was driving recklessly and he knew it, but he couldn't think about his own safety.

  Not when he'd left Roz a sitting duck.

  A thin beam caught him in the rear view mirror. Another car creeping up on him as he swerved around a bend that he spotted right at the last second. He wasn't the only one driving like a crazy man. Probably the only one who didn't know the road, though.

  His stomach churned and a fist closed around his heart when he thought of the woman he loved alone and vulnerable, undoubtedly not even considering the danger she might be in. She'd been as upset as he. Maybe more. She'd been unreasonable, too...they would deal with that later. For now, he could concentrate on one thing only. Getting to her side as fast as possible.

  If anything happened to Roz...

  He'd never forgive himself, Skelly swore, noting the distance between the Thunderbird and the dark car behind him narrowed. Was the driver nuts? Skelly tapped his brake pedal lightly a few times in warning, but either the other driver wasn't aware of the flashing red lights or was ignoring them. Up an incline and around a curve, the other vehicle stayed with him until he pressed on the accelerator.

  Gaining speed down the sharp incline did as much damage to his stomach as any roller coaster, but at least he'd put the other vehicle a bit behind.

  Part of him concentrated on the drive. The other part drifted back to the Bed and Breakfast in Appleton. It had taken some doing, but he'd pried through the false sense of security with which Barbara Pohl had surrounded herself for more than thirty years. He'd told her about the brakes...the bluff...the danger anyone who knew too much was in.

  She'd talked.

  And, armed with the truth, Skelly only hoped he wouldn't be too late.

  Fear filled him, not for himself, but for the woman he loved. Roz was a gutsy lady. But she didn't know what she was up against. Unfortunately, he did.

  The vehicle following him zoomed forward again, more quickly this time, as if the other driver were intent on passing him in the fog. Realizing the potential danger, Skelly scanned the side of the road for a widening. A pull-over. But what met his eyes instead was the impression of a drop-off. Not that he could see beyond his brights.

  Or into those of the truck coming the other way.

  Blinded for a moment, he swerved to the right, his wheels nearing the edge of the road too close for comfort as the truck lumbered by. He pulled the Thunderbird back a bit, not quite to the center line, giving the driver following him a chance to pass. But while the gap narrowed dangerously, the other vehicle stayed directly behind him.

  Gut clenching, Skelly knew...

  Roz wasn't the only one in trouble.

  He sensed the other driver didn't want to pass, after all, even before the jolt whipped him forward. Though he was unprepared for a game of bumper tag, his seatbelt prevented his chest from being crushed against the wheel. A curve came on him too fast. He muscled the car around it even as he was rammed again, harder this time.

  Skelly was ready. Braced. His neck snapped and his head flew back slightly, but he got a quick glance in the rear-view mirror. For an instant catching sight of a familiar silhouette in the other car, he managed a moment of triumph before a third hit sent the Thunderbird careening out of his control.

  Chapter Thirteen

  SITTING IN THE DARKENED REAR PARLOR, not knowing what exactly she was waiting for, Rosalind jumped when the telephone shattered the midnight silence. She fumbled the receiver to her ear.

  "Skelly?"

  "I fear he'll be needing you as quick as you can get to him," came a frantic voice from the other end.

  "Keelin." Already sliding into her shoes, she knew this had to be his cousin...and that Keelin had seen something terrible happen to Skelly in one of the visions he'd described. “Tell me, please!"

  "The road he was traveling writhes within a dense fog. He left an old house...a Bed and Breakfast...to return for you. He feared for your safety...only he didn't think of his own."

  Rosalind's head was whirling as she accepted Keelin's word without doubt. Bed and Breakfast? Appleton? Knowing he must have spoken to Barbara Pohl, she flew to her feet. “You're saying that Skelly had an accident on the road?"

  "I'm saying someone forced him off a curve."

  Her heart climbed to her throat. “He is alive?"

  "I cannot see." Keelin sounded as if she were still trying. “He flew through a white blanket...objects rushing along on either side...and then nothing. Blackness. Jesus, Mary and Joseph...I tried to call him on that portable phone he carries around with him, but he did not answer."

  Trying not to panic, Rosalind said, “I'm on my way!"

  Hanging up, she raced into the kitchen, where she grabbed her aunt's spare car keys. She was flying down the steps when she realized her mother was standing in the street, her face pinched into the oddest expression.

  Her transfixed gaze suddenly refocusing on her daughter, Claudia asked, “Rosalind, where in the world are you off to at this late hour?"

  "No time to talk." She unlocked the big old Buick. “Skelly's had an accident."

  Even as she jumped behind the wheel, the passenger door opened and her mother slid in on the other side. “You shouldn't be alone."

  Rosalind put the car in gear and made like an Indy 500 driver, infinitely thankful that the late hour meant traffic was light. Only when the town's limits were behind them did it occur to her that the hour was also late for her mother to be out and about. And that her perceptible concern for her daughter – not to mention a man she disliked – was definitely out of character for her.

  "Where were you coming from, Mother?"

  Her question was countered by a soft-spoken demand. “Tell me what happened tonight."

  At the mome
nt unable to deal with her mother's reaction to anything that she and Skelly had learned earlier, Rosalind merely said, “We had a fight and I told Skelly to go back to Chicago. I gave him the keys to the Thunderbird."

  "Then how do you know he had an accident? Did he call you and ask you to come pick him up? Where is he? Did he stay with the car? Or did someone get him to the County Trauma Center?"

  Only half-registering her mother's rapid-fire questions, Rosalind murmured, “Dear Lord, I didn't think to summon help before I left." He had to be unconscious if Keelin had lost her connection to him...or at least he had been. “Skelly's cousin called after seeing him being forced off the road...retribution for prying into Frank Sullivan's death..."

  Realizing who she was talking to, Rosalind let it drop. According to Lily, she'd taken advantage of her young daughter's shock to help her forget. If she'd really pulled the trigger. And if she remembered now, would she really do anything to keep her secret? Though they didn't have an ideal relationship, Rosalind couldn't believe that her mother would hurt her.

  Though someone would.

  Someone who knew about brakes and wasn't afraid to go skulking around river bluffs.

  Uneven breathing pricked the silence. Rosalind chanced a glance toward the passenger side. Her mother sat stiff and staring through the windshield, seemingly in another world. Her fingers plucked at her skirt and her head shook slightly.

  Bumps crawled along Rosalind's arms and down her spine; she dodged the creepy feeling.

  Swallowed whole by a blanket of white, the night was eerie enough. And the car was nosing onto the stretch of road that might thrill her in the brilliance of day, but that frightened her in the fog of night. Still, she didn't slow down around the hair-raising curves, not even as she chanced frequent glances at the other side of the road. Her heart hammered in her breast as she waited for a glimpse of a wreck.

  And her mind raced ahead. Who? Who could be evil enough to force Skelly off the road?

  Next to her, her mother trembled harder. Because she was guilty? Claudia Van Straaten might dislike Skelly, but she wasn't a violent woman. She devoted her life to charity work, especially singling out children.

  Rosalind's thoughts raced faster.

  Aunt Hilary had sworn Frank Sullivan hadn't molested anyone. If he hadn't touched those girls, if he hadn't touched the thirteen year old Claudia, then who had? Who? Surely Lily couldn't have been mistaken about what had happened to her own daughter.

  She'd barely latched onto a theory when a faint light suddenly cut through the miasma ahead. Light not aimed at them. Not focused on anything.

  "That's it."

  A definite glow told her the Thunderbird sat somewhere directly below the road. She slowed down. How to get to it? The graded land to her right held no prospects for a quarter of a mile. Then she caught sight of a dirt turn-off. Good enough. Gingerly maneuvering the big Buick around what had to be a private road, she was startled by brights swooping out of nowhere, another vehicle passing them with mere inches to spare.

  Shaking at the close call, Rosalind glanced at her mother, who didn't seem as if she'd noticed, then finished the turn and fled the way they came. When she relocated the motionless glow, she knew she had no choice. She parked the car as close to the edge of the road as possible and turned on the flashers.

  "You'll have to get out, Mother. This car's a sitting duck. I have to get to Skelly."

  But the older woman didn't so much as move a muscle, while Rosalind flew out the door and around to the trunk. She grabbed an emergency flare and one of the flashlights. First starting the flare, she stuck it in the soft shoulder at the rear of the Buick.

  Then, with another, less patient warning to her mother, she approached the drop off, steeling herself as she clambered down the steep grade toward the wreck below. From the direction of the car's beam, she could tell the Thunderbird was tilted awkwardly.

  "Skelly!" she yelled, refusing to imagine what she might find inside. “Say something, please!"

  Though it was doubtful that anyone more than a few feet away could hear. Her voice stopped dead as if hitting an impenetrable barrier. She didn't let that stop her from talking, however. She kept up her one-sided conversation, voicing encouragement that she didn't really feel.

  Cold and still inside with fear, she opened the passenger door. Her softer, “Skelly," went unrewarded. A streak of light around the interior told her why.

  The car was empty.

  Her heart jerked her around. He couldn't have gotten far. Not by himself. But if he wasn't in the car, she assured herself, at least he was alive.

  He had to be alive.

  Because if he wasn't, it would be all her fault. She'd sent him away in anger. She'd been wrong and she knew she deserved to be reproved, but, please God, not by losing the man she loved forever.

  She was circling the surrounding area, her flashlight hitting pockets of clear air. The fog seemed to be lifting gradually. And then she heard a low groan to her right. Instinct drew her straight to Skelly. He was stretched out on the ground some distance from the car. The left side of his face awash in blood, he was attempting to push himself to a sitting position. She practically threw herself at him.

  "My God, don't move," she said, landing on her knees at his side. She aimed her flashlight at his forehead. A cut slashed through his hairline, but the bleeding had stopped. “Something might be broken."

  "Don't...think so...got myself this far," he said, and with another groan, finished sitting up.

  "Stay right there," she ordered. “I'll find your cell phone and call for an ambulance."

  Before he could respond, the crunch of a foot on dry earth told her they weren't alone.

  Rosalind whipped around, her flashlight catching her mother by surprise. Claudia briefly lifted a hand to her eyes...and Rosalind swore she got a glimpse of a small handgun.

  "Mother?"

  "I can't let it happen again!" the older woman said, voice rising, her gaze searching for something that Rosalind couldn't see.

  A cold ball formed in the pit of her stomach. “Let what happen?"

  "It's my fault Frank died. All my fault."

  Had her mother killed him, then? Had Hilary been blind to her lover's proclivities?

  Lump square in her throat, she said, “Mother, you're not making any sense. Calm down, and we'll sort this out later. I'm calling an ambulance."

  "Forget it." Skelly sucked in the clear air around him. “I need a minute is all."

  "Don't argue with me."

  A growing apprehension that all was not right forced her away from him and back to the Thunderbird through entrails of thinning fog. It didn't make sense that someone would try to kill Skelly and not finish the job. She needed to find the cell phone and fast.

  "Wait!" he yelled after her. “It's not necessary!"

  A glance over her shoulder gave her nothing more than a glimpse of the soupy blanket billowing between them. Mentally focusing on the one item that would link them to civilization and the authorities spurred her on. But a few more hurried steps ran her straight into an immovable object that meant to keep her from her goal.

  She smothered a yelp and tried to back off. A band of steel wrapping around her wrist trapped her where she stood.

  "You should have high-tailed it back to Chicago when you had the chance," a disembodied voice whispered. “Now you've gone and complicated everything."

  Her heart thundering loud enough to deafen her, she swept the flashlight upward to confirm what she'd already guessed. She met Walt Rogowski's evil gaze before he knocked her hand away with something hard.

  A gun.

  "So, you are the one." Her voice was as shaky as her knees. Simultaneously frightened and relieved, she said, “You're to blame for everything. The brakes. The bluff. The accident. You killed Frank Sullivan!"

  "Rosalind? What's going on?" Skelly called.

  What to do? Skelly was in no shape to help. If she yelled a warning, he would certainl
y fly to her rescue...and Rogowski would simply shoot him dead.

  "Tell him you're making the call," the politician instructed in a low voice, tightening his grip around her wrist.

  Rosalind complied. “I'm trying to get through to the paramedics!" Then she managed to choke out another whispered question. “What were you doing in Lang House the night you killed Sullivan?"

  She wanted Rogowski talking while she calmed down and prepared for the fight of her life. He had a weapon while she only had a flashlight. Dismal odds, at best.

  "Me, kill him? Frank and Lily had that big public argument," Rogowski reminded her. “About Hilary, as usual. He came back to the office. I was there, working late. After a while, he decided he had to see Hilary. I drove because he didn't have his car with him. Frank used his keys to get into the house."

  "And then you went inside...” Thoughts of escape on hold for the moment, Rosalind went for the whole truth. “...where you attacked my mother."

  "You don't know what you're talking about."

  Bracing herself, she said, “You don't think I'm the only one who knows, do you? And all the pieces we've turned up have been exposed to many others. The truth will out if something happens to us."

  His laugh chilled her. “I'll stop anyone who gets in my way. Eddie!"

  Horrified, she heard his bodyguard answer, “Here, boss," as the massive young man stepped out of the fog.

  "Finish McKenna any way you have to." Rogowski cocked the gun. “I'll take care of the woman myself."

  A knife suddenly appeared in Eddie's hand. He took the direction from which she'd come, where Skelly sat like a sitting duck. Her considerable adrenaline wound tight like a spring, Rosalind let loose and shoved her shoulder into the bastard's chest.

  "Skelly! Watch out!" she yelled.