by Gigi Pandian
“For God’s sake, Abby—” Rick began. He tried to pull away, but she tightened her stranglehold and pressed the knife further into his side. He cried out as a small trickle of blood ran down his shirt.
“It’s only a matter of time before they identify Vincent and figure out what happened,” Abby said. “I need to disappear. I need to find the treasure. Where is it, Rick?”
Chapter 43
Rick’s chest heaved in disbelief. “You killed Vincent? And you’re the one who killed Marc? That’s why you shut down when you saw that I was interested in what had happened to him?”
“He wanted to steal our daughter!” Abby shrieked. “I couldn’t let him do that. She idolized him. She would have chosen to live with him, even if it was in hiding in some God-forsaken country. He’d already accused me of stealing her because I moved back to the U.S. when we’d gotten divorced. My father was in California. It was good for Becca. Marc was going to fake his death, get rich selling the family heirlooms that he believed were worth a fortune, and become the artist he wanted to be in some ex-pat commune in a third world country. But don’t distract me. The treasure. Where is it?” She pressed the knife more firmly against his side.
“I know where it is,” I said.
Rick gaped at me. “You do?”
“It’s not here. You were wrong about those lines being a map to get here. But I know what they are.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I can tell you. But first, Abby, you need to let him go.”
“That’s not happening.”
“It appears we have a stalemate,” Rick said. “What would Gabriela Glass do?”
“Don’t get cute.”
Rick shrugged. “I can’t help it.” I was close enough to see his shoulders quiver. He wasn’t as nonchalant as he was acting.
“I see what you’re doing. Don’t move! None of you. You don’t understand.”
“Help us understand,” Rick said. “If you help me understand, I’ll tell you where the treasure is.”
“Jaya just said you were wrong and you don’t know how to find it.” Abby whipped her head back and forth, looking at each of us.
“But I know,” I said. “And I’ll tell you. After you fill in the blanks and let us out of here safely.”
I was balanced precariously on a jagged stone, but I didn’t dare try and move. One slip of Abby’s knife could be the end of Rick—his second death the real one, just like Marc.
“Where. Is. It.” Her eyes blazed at me. The knife pressed more firmly into Rick’s side.
“In a minute,” I said as calmly as I could. “I don’t want the treasure. All I want is to have the truth. Am I right that your husband staged his own strangling?”
Abby nodded. Slowly at first, then vigorously, as if she’d made up her mind. As soon as she began speaking, the words poured out of her. She confirmed I was right that Marc’s supposed strangling was an act he put on for the man she thought was his university friend. He’d locked the glass doors so Lane couldn’t get in, then made it look like the ghost killed him. He knew that Lane would either flee, in which case he’d make his escape with the sculpture, or call for an ambulance. His partners were nearby waiting to get him and the sculpture out of there.
“But how did you know?” I asked.
“I’d taken Becca to France for the holidays, arriving earlier than planned because I thought it would be a nice surprise for everyone, because I wanted my daughter to know both sides of her family. Even though Marc and I had a terrible breakup and I took her far away, that didn’t mean he should be able to steal my daughter away from me.”
“Steal her?”
A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. “I overheard him talking on the phone with his accomplice. I figured out what he was up to. He was going to disappear. I knew he was going to take her with him. She’s always adored him, put him on a pedestal. Even now. All of this is about him!”
“That can’t be right,” I said. Lane wouldn’t have had conversations on the phone about the theft, plus he hadn’t known Marc was going to fake his own death. Someone else had to be involved.
“It was an awful plan thought up by a cruel man, but yes, that’s what happened.”
“You’re lying,” I said, receiving a sharp glance from Lane. “The thief wasn’t in on the plan for Marc to fake his death. If we accept your deal to trade the treasure for our lives and the truth, you need to tell us what really happened.”
“I’m not lying,” Abby said. “I never said it was the thief he was talking to. The thief was a patsy. I overheard Marc speaking on the phone to his other accomplice.”
Other accomplice?
Lane tensed next to me. I could tell he wanted to ask so much more, but didn’t want to reveal anything about his past, since Abby seemed unaware that he was the “thief.” Instead, he said, “What about the ghost?”
“The ghost? That’s a secret that’s been passed down to the women of the family for generations. Durant men are notorious, it’s a wonder any of us marry them in the first place…but they have a certain charm. And money. Pots of money. Daphne killed her husband Beaumont. Not for herself, mind you. He was essentially murdering poor workers on a daily basis and making life impossible for his family.
“Before she killed her husband, Daphne Durant had already hidden an important piece of paper—a letter Aristide wrote to his son that included the name of the Cambodian temple where he’d found half of an important sculpture. This was back before anyone called the removal of artifacts stealing or looting. Aristide told his son that the ship he meant to take home to France had sunk, so he had to stay in Cambodia longer than expected. There was a thriving French community there, so he lived well there—until he caught a fever and died. His possessions were eventually shipped back to the family.
“Daphne’s husband Beaumont had told her in confidence, during one of his moments of marital weakness, that he hoped to visit Cambodia to become an adventurer like his ancestor before him. He wanted to find the treasure in Banteay Chhmar that he thought was rightfully his—a fragile jewel-encrusted piece that had been lost to history—but he was worried about who would look after his workers and the business. Their children weren’t yet old enough. Their children—that’s what made Daphne snap. It’s completely understandable, the need to protect our children. It’s natural.”
Abby’s knuckles were turning white as she clutched the knife. Her hand was sweating.
“He was going to mold their son into a version of himself, and she couldn’t stand for that. One night after he’d berated the children and slapped her, she saw him standing at the top of the stairs. She pushed.”
Abby paused. Was she remembering how she had pushed her own husband down the stairs in that same house?
“The rest of the people in the house heard the commotion and rushed out,” she continued. “Daphne didn’t make an attempt to flee. She stood there, in shock. He was dead, and they all remained silent. But Daphne was a good person. The knowledge that she had killed her own husband drove her mad. She’d been a painter and performer before marrying into the family, so she had the skills and dexterity to alter the painting. She wanted her sins to look at her. But it was too much. She could no longer bear it. A year after she killed him, she threw herself down the stairs. That’s when the ghost story truly took hold.
“She revealed everything in her journal. That’s how I learned the truth. The dusty old book had been lost in that rambling house until I found it. It explained so much about that family, and how I was a victim too. That’s how I got the idea of altering the painting to make it look as if the ghost had struck again. I’m not a painter by training, but Marc and I had painted side by side for the first year of our relationship, before everything went wrong. So I knew no one would suspect me. And it worked. For seven years. Until Rick decided to write again.”
&nbs
p; “What did you do with the snake sculpture?” I asked.
“What? I didn’t take it.”
“Of course it was you.”
“How could I have gotten it out? It was impossible.”
“You got it out with the ambulance workers,” I said, and watched her face pale. I knew I was right. Why was she denying it?
“Don’t you think I’d have sent Becca to private school and moved into something better than my tiny walk-up in New York if I had that Durant family treasure?”
“I know that was Marc’s plan,” I insisted, the pieces falling into place as I spoke. “That’s how he planned to get out with it in the first place. Two sets of ambulances arrived. Everyone said that. Nobody paid attention to that fact, because there are multiple ambulance companies in France, so more than one might have showed up to such a high-profile location. But I also read that one of the paramedics was reported to have been afraid of seeing a ghost—now I know that wasn’t because he was afraid of the ghost, but because he couldn’t believe his accomplice was dead. Marc was supposed to get out of the house with the sculpture on the gurney with the help of his co-conspirator. But you were the one who ended up working with the criminals instead. That’s how the sculpture got out without making tracks in the snow—because it didn’t get out until the paramedics came into the house. You were already there hiding, lying in wait. You only needed to slip out with the gurney.”
“You’re wrong,” Abby said. “Well, half wrong. The first two paramedics who showed up were his accomplices—men he’d met in medical school who’d also hated it. But by the time they arrived, the sculpture had already vanished. In the commotion, I was able to convince them they were already accomplices to murder, so they let me slip out underneath their gurney—using the harness that they’d planned on using to smuggle out the statue with a fake-dead Marc on top. But now, Marc was really dead, and the straps meant to hold the statue held me as they left the house.”
I stared at Abby in disbelief. That meant it truly was impossible. I’d solved the mystery of Marc Durant’s ghostly death, but the missing sculpture had indeed vanished.
Chapter 44
Abby’s hands shook. More blood ran down Rick’s side. “I never wanted the statue, or the long-lost treasure it was meant to be guarding. It’s only now, when I need to flee—”
“Why, Abby?” Rick whispered.
“Why? Why were you writing this story after all this time? When you told me you were writing again, I didn’t realize this was the story you were writing—until Jaya told me. I still don’t know how you found out the details, since I couldn’t very well tell you it was real.”
Children watch and learn, I thought to myself. Nobody suspected Becca had seen and realized as much as she had. She knew the documented stories Lane and the ambulance staff had told the police, both of which were partial truths, but she didn’t know the full truth.
“Becca,” Rick said. “It was Becca who came to me and told me.”
“Don’t drag my innocent daughter into this.”
“Innocent? She’s the one who wanted revenge against the person who killed her father. This man. Don’t you recognize him?”
Lane tried to remain as still as possible, poised on one of the fallen stones that surrounded us. This was a remote temple with hardly any visitors on this side, away from the excavations. What would Abby do if someone else arrived?
“You’re trying to confuse me,” Abby said. “Just like you’ve been doing as you evaded me.”
In the near-silence of the remote temple I was keenly aware of the sound I made as I inhaled deeply. “You’re the one who was following me to see what I knew.”
“I need the prince and princess to have the money to get away. I can’t find it on my own. I need—Rick, why did you go in search of the treasure in the first place?” Her bravado was faltering. I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. “Why? You have so much money. Why did you care so much about living out the fantasy of being in one of your novels?”
“I’ve been blind, but so have you.” Rick spat out the words. “Don’t you know the answer to that? I wanted to prove myself worthy to you, Abby. I was in love with you. For so many years. But you…You killed your husband and my brother?”
“Vincent said he knew! He was going to blackmail me. Your royalties were drying up after so many years without a new book. He was great at growing your empire, but even he couldn’t work miracles. He needed money for his lavish lifestyle.”
“He knew nothing.” Rick’s voice cracked. “You know Vince. You should have known. He was all talk. If he saw weakness, he’d take advantage of it. You killed him for nothing.”
“No, I…” She loosened her grip, and Rick slipped out of her grasp.
“No!” Abby screamed, raising the knife above her head.
“Stop,” I said, holding up my phone, “or your daughter will hear you commit murder. She now knows what you’ve done. Don’t make it any worse.”
While Abby was distracted by Rick, I had called Becca. I wanted her to hear the truth. I raised the volume so we could hear Becca.
“Mom!” Becca screamed through the crackling phone. “Don’t!”
When Abby realized Becca was really on the line, her face contorted. I thought she was going to crumple onto the stones beneath her feet, but I was wrong. She ran forward toward me, the knife in her outstretched hand.
Lane jumped in front of me. The knife sliced into his chest.
Chapter 45
Someone screamed. I’m pretty sure it was me.
While I rushed forward to grab Lane before he fell to the jagged stones beneath his feet, two new figures appeared from behind a stone arch.
Mr. Leap and another man, who was carrying a large fishing net. They dropped the net over Abby.
“Let go!” she cried, as Rick and the two men subdued her.
“Sorry we late,” the Banteay Chhmar guide said. “We needed to find a net to hold the bad lady.”
“Police will be here soon,” Mr. Leap said as he wrestled to gain control of the net along with Rick and the guide. He shook his head. “Indiana Jones, you were supposed to wait for me to go inside the temple.”
“An ambulance,” I said. “Call for an ambulance.”
I knelt next to Lane on the uneven rocks. I cradled his head in my hands. Blood seeped from his chest.
“No ambulance come here, miss,” the local guide said.
I called out for one of the men to give me their shirts to press to Lane’s wound.
Mr. Leap made sure the other men had a firm grip on Abby beneath the net, then ran to my side. His shirt was off by the time he reached me. The way he applied the right amount of pressure to the wound told me this wasn’t the first time he’d done so. At least one of us was calm.
“Stay with me,” I whispered to Lane.
“I’m sorry, Jones,” he whispered back. His eyes fluttered shut.
Chapter 46
The next day, Abby was sitting in jail, and Lane was recuperating in our Siem Reap hotel courtyard. He’d been treated in Thailand overnight and insisted on coming back.
Abby’s knife had gone through his clavicle and hadn’t punctured a lung. He’d stayed the night under a doctor’s care at a local facility but hadn’t needed to be evacuated to a larger hospital.
Mr. Leap had accepted our large tip of thanks and would now be able to buy his fiancé a bracelet in the night market, though he picked out a different one.
I made sure Lane was comfortable in the lounge chair with pillows, snacks, coffee, water, and several distracting novels, but he didn’t look too happy when I stood to leave.
“Be careful,” he said.
“Abby is in jail. All I’m doing is finishing this quest.”
Rick said he wanted to see things through before he went home to bury his brother, so we were
heading back to Banteay Chhmar to follow the map.
I knew why the lines of the map were both squiggly and grid-like—they were a map not to a temple, but a map within the temple’s sprawling complex. The grid was the outer layout, how all temples in the Angkorian style were built with grid-like architecture of concentric walls, and the squiggles reflected the ornate stone carvings that were reference points to follow within the temple grounds. Tina and Leap were coming, too. They were already in the car when I came through the lobby.
“I’m sorry, Jaya,” Mr. Leap said, nodding toward Rick in the backseat. “He is looking more like Indiana Jones than you.”
“That’s all right, Oum Leap,” I said. I expected Rick to jump in with a quip like “damn straight,” but he only acknowledged the remark with a polite nod of his head. The death of his brother was finally sinking in.
“You don’t have to come,” I said to him.
“The truth is, I couldn’t get a flight home until tonight without paying an arm and a leg. Abby wasn’t kidding that I need to write a new book.”
“I’m not sure how long this will take,” Tina said. “We might not make it back until after your flight leaves. You’d better stay behind.”
He didn’t put up a fight, so I knew he was in bad shape.
Tina was driving us in her car, a tiny model I wasn’t familiar with. She turned onto a road going a different direction.
“I think you turned the wrong way,” I said.
“We’re not going to the temple.”
I looked nervously out the window. “What’s going on?”
“I’m really sorry about yesterday. I’m so glad your boyfriend is going to be all right.”
I began to sweat in spite of the rattling but highly functional air conditioning in the car. I tried to gauge how quickly we were going. Could I jump out and survive?
“We’re going to my house,” Tina added. “I have something to show you. I’ll explain everything there.”