“You’d think that woman was working here, with all the things missing around this house. Kimberly would have known where everything was kept. I can’t find the silver pen she gave me, my pocket watch, or my autographed baseball. I’d been planning to ask Kate this afternoon, but she didn’t show.”
“Who’s that?”
“Our cleaning lady. She always comes on Thursdays. I don’t understand why she didn’t call. She’s been very reliable since Kimberly hired her a few months ago.”
A frown creased Marla’s brow. “What’s her last name?”
“Sebastian. Not very Irish, eh? She has a lilt and red hair. Said her mother came from the homeland.”
Her eyes opened wide. “You hired an Irish housekeeper whose name was Kate Sebastian?”
“What are you getting at?” Stan snapped.
“I’ll bet she took your missing items. Jeremiah said she had a compulsion.” Her mind raced forward. “Your letter opener! She must have brought it to her room at the Pearls’ house. Tell me, did Kathleen…Kate have a key to your place?”
“How else would she get in when I’m at work? Kimberly usually left the house by nine, too. What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’ll tell you later. Bless my bones, I have to warn Miriam. Bye.” Excitement shook her voice. It was all coming together now.
She finished by seven-thirty, a half hour remaining before Dalton arrived to escort her home. Alone in the salon, she picked up the receiver at the front desk.
No one answered at the Pearl household.
How odd. They should be having dinner now.
Before she could decide what to do next, her cell phone rang. She snatched it from her purse, hoping it was Dalton. “Hello?”
“It’s me, dearie,” warbled a feeble voice.
“Miriam? I just tried to call you.”
“I couldn’t reach the telephone. Marla, I’m worried. Agnes isn’t here, and there’s no one answering from downstairs.”
“What do you mean?”
“Agnes went to get my dinner and never came back. I gave Raoul the night off. Pressing personal business, he said. Normally Kathleen would be here. She has the day free and goes to the market for me, but she didn’t return by her normal time.”
“Isn’t the cook there to prepare dinner for the family?”
“I don’t know. No one answers my summons.”
“Dear Lord, I meant to warn you.”
“About what? Wait, I think someone’s coming. Oh, it’s you,” she heard Miriam say. “What are you doing? Can’t you see I’m on the phone? Oh, my. Marla—”
The line went dead.
Chapter Nineteen
Marla waited in her Camry with the engine running until Dalton arrived. After he’d parked his vehicle and strode over, she gestured for him to get in her car.
“Miriam is in trouble. I just spoke to her, and we were cut off.” She switched gears, pulled onto the main road, and headed south. “I think I figured it out.”
His solemn gaze raked her. “That’s what I like about you, brains to go along with beauty. What’s up?”
“Did you find out anything about Kathleen?” she countered.
“She’d been shot from behind. No one around her noticed anything unusual with all the noise from the circus.”
At Broward Boulevard, she turned east. Traffic was light toward downtown at eight o’clock; most people had already gone home. Orange streetlights provided a bright glow as they sped past empty storefronts and the I-95 overpass. Puddles flanked the road, but the rain had stopped. Moisture clung to the air as though the night had perspired. She kept her wipers on, oblivious to their monotonous hum.
“Stan called me earlier,” Marla explained after they’d crossed a set of train tracks. “He wanted to know how I was progressing with the case, then he mentioned not being able to find things around his house. He meant to ask his Irish maid about it, but she didn’t show up today. Her name is Kate Sebastian. Ring a bell?”
“Kathleen?”
“You got it.” She grinned at his bewildered look. “Jeremiah showed up at my salon, accusing me of contributing to his sister’s death. That’s what you were going to tell me, isn’t it? That Kathleen and Jeremiah were related. He said Kathleen had a compulsion to take objects that didn’t belong to her. She also had a key to let herself into Stan’s place when no one was home. What if she lifted his letter opener and brought it to her room in the Pearls’ house?”
His gaze sharpened, and she warmed to his solid, stabilizing presence. “I see where you’re going. Someone at Miriam’s place took the letter opener and the key, someone who knew the victim’s morning routine of getting up early to fix Stan’s breakfast before he came downstairs. Either Kimberly unlocked the door to let in a person she knew, or the killer entered with a key. The bad guy stabbed her with the letter opener, panicked and threw it in Stan’s yard, kicked some dirt over it, then fled.”
“Meaning it’s someone from the Pearl household. Kathleen must have realized who it was, and that’s what she intended to tell me. I hope nothing has happened to Miriam.”
They arrived at the estate in record time. The Camry’s brakes squealed when she stopped it in the circular driveway and shut off the engine. A few moments later, they charged up the front steps. The door was slightly ajar.
“Hold it,” Dalton commanded. Drawing a gun from his holster, he brushed past her and edged the door open farther. Dead silence greeted them.
“Shouldn’t you call for backup?”
“We’re in Fort Lauderdale, not Palm Haven,” he whispered. “Maybe nothing’s wrong, and Agnes got tied up talking to the cook. You can wait outside while I take a look around.”
“Are you kidding? I have to see if Miriam’s all right.”
“This could be dangerous. Do what I tell you.”
“No way. I’ll be careful.”
“Damn stubborn woman.” He cracked the door wider. “Where’s the butler?”
“Miriam said she gave him the night off.”
“Peculiar. Isn’t this about the time you said the family ate dinner?”
She nodded, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Wiping sweaty palms over her long skirt, she stepped forward. Keys rattled in her pocket and she clamped a hand over them. She’d locked her purse in the car, not wanting to be burdened.
“I’m going upstairs,” she said without waiting for his permission.
A scraping sound off to the left caught their attention. “I’ll check the kitchen,” Dalton rasped. “Holler if you need me.”
Marla carefully ascended the steps, watching her footing so she didn’t trip over the same piece of folded carpet as before. At the landing, she hesitated. The door to Miriam’s room was closed. Dare she peek inside?
Concern for the old lady propelled her forward. Please let Miriam be okay. Maybe she’s just sleeping, and that’s why it’s so quiet.
She tried to calm the tremors that shook through her, but her heart beat so fast that her teeth chattered. With icy fingers, she twisted the doorknob to Miriam’s chamber.
Oh, no. The matriarch’s still form lay supine on the bed. A pillow covered her face. Marla gasped, her indrawn breath the only sound in the room.
Rushing forward, she snatched the pillow away. To her relief, Miriam’s eyes were closed. She would have fainted at confronting the sightless stare of the dead. The old woman’s skin appeared translucently pale, blue veins throbbing at her temples.
Throbbing. She was alive, but unconscious. Someone had tried to smother her and failed.
Marla leaned forward to put her hand on a bony shoulder when several things happened at once.
A shout from downstairs was followed by a gunshot. The lamps in the room went out, along with the hallway lights. Darkness descended, but not before she noticed a shadow hurtling at her from the doorway.
A scream tore from her throat. She dodged sideways, missing a blow aimed at her head. It grazed her shoulder,
sending a searing pain down her arm. Lashing out with her foot, she felt a satisfying crunch when it connected with someone’s leg. A yelp sounded, revealing her assailant’s position. Before she could take advantage, her hair was caught in a viselike grip, her head jerked back.
“Interfering bitch,” snarled Agnes’s voice.
A sharp object jabbed her neck, pressing against her skin. She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. Dalton! her mind cried.
“Kathleen took this heavy onyx paperweight from Stan’s house,” the nurse said. “Do you know what a sharp point a narrow pyramid shape has? Would you like to find out?”
The tip punctured Marla’s skin. She whimpered, and Agnes chuckled. The cold, calculating sound chilled her blood.
“Kill her,” urged a male voice from beyond the darkness.
Horror dawned as Marla realized she faced two enemies who had her at their mercy.
“I’m having fun,” Agnes said. “Miss Shore has been a thorn in my side. She’s made Miriam ask me uncomfortable questions. The old bag even wanted to double-check my bookkeeping. How else do you think Miriam got wise to me?”
Agnes yanked on Marla’s hair until she moaned with pain. “I stopped sending those checks to Kimberly a long time ago. Built myself a nice nest egg along the way, until the smart-ass child figured out where her money was going.”
“What about you, Morris?” Marla croaked, buying time. “How are you involved?”
Heat emanated from Morris’s body as he joined them inside the room. “I couldn’t let my darling niece expose Jeremiah’s connection to the family. If my brother claimed his share of Harris’s fortune, he’d find out it wasn’t there. Mother would learn I’ve been covering my gambling debts by skimming money from the company, and she’d disinherit me.”
“I noticed Morris’s financial reports didn’t jive with our accounts,” Agnes said proudly. “When I realized he’d been dipping into the family funds, I confronted him. We ended up covering for each other. So you see, we had a perfect arrangement, until you came along.”
“I took care of the cop downstairs,” Morris said. “Get rid of her, or would you rather I do it?”
“Don’t be in such a rush, darling. We’ll be gone by the time your family returns from their concert.”
Marla, who’d listened in rising panic, jabbed the nurse in the ribs with her elbow and stomped on her instep.
Agnes howled with fury but loosened her grip enough for Marla to spin away. At first feigning to the right, she dodged to her left as Morris lunged. The doorway loomed in front of her like a portal to heaven. She staggered into the hallway, cursing the pitch darkness. Dropping to her knees, she crawled in the direction of the staircase.
Then the lights switched on with blazing clarity.
Morris faced her, holding a familiar weapon in his hand. Dalton’s gun. What had happened to the detective?
Agnes emerged from the bedroom, face purplish with fury. “Shoot her,” she urged, spittle on her lip.
Marla glanced at the balustrade railing. She’d never make it down the stairs. Only one option presented itself to her.
She leapt onto the rail, slid to the ground level, and crashed onto the marble floor.
A sharp pain jarred her hip upon impact. For an instant, she remained paralyzed, frozen with fear. But then she tested her limbs. They moved sufficiently, allowing her to struggle upright.
Torn between checking on Dalton and escaping through the open front door, she hesitated. Didn’t staff members use a separate service entrance? Maybe there was an exit from the kitchen.
While her instincts screamed at her to escape, she mustered her strength to dash into the kitchen. It became a limping marathon, because she couldn’t put her full weight on the side where she’d fallen.
Her stricken gaze fell on Dalton flat on the tile but still breathing. A swelling bruise on the side of his head told her the rest of the story.
“Dalton, wake up.” She lifted his arm, attempting to drag him toward the rear door. He had to regain consciousness, because she lacked the strength to budge him. Her heart leapt when he groaned and his eyelids fluttered open.
A gunshot sounded, and a whoosh of air flew by Marla’s head. Dalton rolled to his feet, swayed in place, and would have fallen if not for her supporting arm.
“This way,” Marla indicated. They stumbled together out the door into the inky night.
Now what? If they could make it to her car, they were home free. But as they staggered around the corner, she gave a gasp of dismay. All four tires had been punctured. Agnes grinned at them, waving a poker she must have retrieved from the fireplace.
Behind them, Morris chortled in triumph and fired a volley of shots. His aim went wild, but Marla didn’t stop to thank her lucky stars. She grabbed Dalton’s hand and pulled him toward the woods surrounding the Pearl compound.
He kept pace with her limping stride, but his constant blinking had her worried. From his dazed expression, it looked as though he was making a concerted effort to stay conscious.
Oh, joy, I can barely walk, and he can barely stay awake.
At least the clouds dissipated, revealing a full moon that provided enough light for them to discern a path through the forest. She urged him on, afraid Morris and his partner in crime would overtake them. Or worse, one of his bullets might hit the mark.
“He’s out,” Dalton said, hanging onto her arm. His added weight made her good side sag.
“Huh?”
“Out of ammunition. He stopped firing.”
“Maybe he just wants to get closer. We have to get off this path if we want to avoid them.” She glanced at his empty belt, which usually held a cell phone and radio. “We should circle around to my car. My purse is inside along with my phone.”
“We’d have a better chance if we separated Morris and the nurse. It’ll be easier to take them on one at a time.”
“Yeah, right. Like either of us is in a condition to fight.”
“Let’s head over there.” Dalton pointed to a spreading banyan tree that must have been hundreds of years old.
Dead leaves and dried pine needles crunched underfoot as they struggled through the underbrush. Sea grapes competed for space with cabbage palms and live oaks in the semitropical hammock, redolent with the earthy odor of decaying vegetation. The hairs on her arms prickled in the cool breeze as footsteps thudded close behind.
Dalton stooped to snatch a dead tree limb, fumbled with it, and fell to his knees. “Dizzy,” he grunted.
“Not now! We have to get up that tree.” She wouldn’t leave him on the ground to be murdered by their adversaries.
It would have been difficult under normal circumstances to scamper up the roots that reached from the branches to the ground. A tree house would fit in the network of intertwined limbs that stretched in a wide radius, and she wished for one now, with a convenient ladder. Lifting her leg brought a sharp agony to her right hip. She bit back an exclamation of pain, gritting her teeth as she clambered over the rough bark from one foothold to the next. Dalton crawled after her, holding a club fashioned from a fallen branch.
They crouched on a horizontal limb, waiting as two disabled prey hoping to turn the tables on their predators. The sounds of their soft breathing mingled with the crickets’ nightly chorus.
“I’m sure they went in this direction,” Agnes’s voice sounded directly below.
“Dammit, I don’t see them,” Morris snapped.
“Maybe we should leave. If we make the flight, it doesn’t matter what they report.”
Dalton reached down and swung his club, cracking Morris on the head. The man crumpled to the ground and lay there motionless.
“Oh, what the hell.” For the second time that night, Marla took a leap of faith that would have impressed even a man of spirituality such as Jeremiah Dooley. She landed on Agnes, knocking her over. The poker dropped from Agnes’s fingers, but the nurse was far from disarmed. A blade in her other hand gleamed in a shaft o
f moonlight.
“Marla, watch out,” Dalton cried from above.
Beyond their twisting, struggling bodies, Marla caught a glimpse of his sickly expression. The effort of swinging the chunk of wood must have aggravated his head injury. Nonetheless, he hung his legs down in preparation to jumping.
A knee to her stomach forced the breath from her lungs. As her mouth gaped to draw air, Agnes rolled her onto her back. The nurse’s leering face hovered above hers as their arms locked into a death match. Marla gasped, able to inhale again as her diaphragm recovered. She sucked in another breath, while Agnes’s heavier weight pressed her down.
The woman aimed a blow against her bad side, forcing a groan from her lips. Her arms weakened, and Agnes thrust the blade forward to pierce her on the chin. Pain blurred her vision.
Beside them, she heard a thud. Dalton must have landed, she thought vaguely. Or fallen. She didn’t sense any other motion nearby. It was just the two of them, and Agnes had the advantage.
Stones and twigs dug into her back through her sweater as she fought to keep the knife from slipping to her throat. Agnes’s onion breath washed in hot gusts over her face. The whites of her eyes showed in feral madness. Marla’s arms ached from the difficulty of pushing against her superior strength.
Heck, I’m no lightweight. I lift hairbrushes all day.
Mustering her energy, Marla shoved with all her might, at the same time sliding her good leg sideways and over. Her twisting motion took Agnes by surprise. She felt the nurse’s grip loosen. Letting go of one hand, Marla groped in the soil. She hit pay dirt when her fingers closed around a rock.
Crack. Marla cringed when the rock connected with Agnes’s skull. Relief surged through her as the nurse collapsed to her side, stunned. Taking advantage of her momentary disability, Marla grabbed the knife from her nerveless fingers.
Dalton stirred, putting a hand to his head with a loud groan.
Hearing him rouse spurred Agnes from her prone position. “Morris,” she called, but her companion didn’t answer. He remained sprawled on the ground, unresponsive.
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