Stranger Than Fiction

by Emelle Gamble

  Chinese? Tai? A hamburger?

  She had almost two hours before Sarah was going to call, so she had decided to go out. Unable to decide which local joint would offend her stomach the least, Claire walked briskly across the street, heading for the deli on the corner. She had to get to the grocery store, too, before she died of ptomaine poisoning. A burgundy mustang, with faded paint and no headlights, pulled up next to her.

  “Hey, gorgeous. Come here.”

  Keeping her eyes straight ahead, Claire fought the instinct to yell at him to get lost. Just what she needed, she thought. Kids with hot pants and the inability to see she wanted to be left alone.

  “Claire. It’s me.”

  She almost stumbled at the sound of her name. Glancing into the car’s interior, her appetite vanished. Tony sat there, a navy wool fisherman’s hat pulled down low on his forehead. He looked rakish, criminal, and thoroughly desirable. “Where did you get that car?”

  “Rental. Come on, get in. We’ve got an appointment.”

  He double-parked the Mustang while she ran around the front of the car and got in. After slamming the door, Claire turned and drank in the sight of Tony. He was wearing a faded orange soccer shirt, with white piping, and tight white jeans. She felt flustered while he spent several seconds staring at her black stockings and short leather skirt.

  Folding her hands on her knees, Claire shifted forward, causing her shirt to slip off her left shoulder. While a hundred non-sequiturs and inane sentence fragments ran through her mind, Tony leaned across the seat and kissed her lightly on the chin.

  Burying his strong hands in her silky blond hair, he pulled her closer still, plunging his tongue into her melting mouth, both of them instantly feeling mounting desire. A low wolf whistle from the sidewalk and the catcalls of some boys broke their embrace.

  “Tony, I—”

  “Ssh, don’t talk yet. Just let me look at you some more.”

  “The way you’ve been staring at my leather skirt, I feel like a poacher caught red-handed with the illegal goods.”

  “It’s not the skirt I’m interested in. It’s the woman inside. How are you? Better after a day without arguing with me?”

  “I’ve been terrible. I’m sorry I ran away from you yesterday. But so much had happened.”

  “I understand. Really.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks when he reached out for her, crushing her, kissing him a hundred times. “I know this has been devastating for you, Tony. Tonight I’m hoping to put the last pieces of the puzzle together about what’s going on.” Claire’s brown eyes widened. “But what are you doing here? Why didn’t you go back to Rhode Island? I thought we agreed it was much more sensible if you... ”

  Tony hushed her by pressing a finger to her lips. “We didn’t agree on anything. And for the first time in a few years, I went ahead and did what I thought was best without worrying about the consequences. Which is why I’m driving this car. We’re going back to New Jersey.”

  “To Benton Convent?” Shifting in the seat to put on her seat belt, Claire heard the undercurrent of anger in Tony’s voice.

  “No. Parsonage, it’s about thirty miles north, quite close to the house where we found Patricia.”

  She unbuckled the seat belt. “Let me out of the car, Tony. I can’t go. I have to go home to get a call at nine.”

  “What I’m taking you to see is a lot more important than a phone call. I followed Roz around town all day, unbeknownst to her, of course. After she left Cauldron Press she went shopping, then returned to Usherwood. Then she left work and met Damien Laurent at the Russian Tea Room for cocktails.”

  The same sense of foreboding she had in her office returned. “You eavesdropped on Damien? Did he see you?”

  Tony gunned the car and shot through a light, then screeched to a stop to avoid several pedestrians. “I borrowed a waiter’s hat and coat and hung around the tables behind them. Neither saw me.”

  “Well? What were they talking about?”

  “It seems Roz feels she’s about to pull off quite a coup. You see, she’s going to Parsonage tonight, also.”

  “Tony, knock off this suspense routine. Who is Roz going to see?”

  “Why, Sarah Winesong. Who else?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Roz is meeting Winesong? My God, what for?” The night was beginning to take on the unreal quality it had when they had found Patricia. Claire shuddered, unable to shake a mounting sense of foreboding.

  Tony took the expressway toward New Jersey. “To hire her away from Cauldron Press? To blackmail her about Patricia’s letter to Usherwood? To pay her off for killing Patricia? Take your pick. There are lots of possibilities.”

  “But how did Roz find out where Sarah lives? All we have on our contracts is a damn post office box number.”

  “Winesong called and gave her the information. According to what I heard her tell Damien, Winesong’s asked her for help.”

  “Help?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Damien asked if she had checked with Newcastle, and Roz claimed she did not need to get his approval on anything. It sounded like Laurent wanted to go with her, but she wouldn’t agree.”

  Claire’s mind raced toward the confrontation ahead, and then ricocheted back to her earlier one with Roz. She filled Tony in on what had taken place in her office that morning. “Maybe Winesong wants to see Roz because she found out Patricia Snow had contacted Usherwood Publications.”

  “We’ll find out tonight.”

  “What do you propose we do once we catch up with them? Break in on their meeting?” Claire liked that idea, and her excitement grew.

  Tony silently chewed the inside of his right cheek. “I think we have to play that one by ear. But I want to say something to you, before you get too gung ho about cornering a rat.”

  Catching her breath, Claire turned and watched him closely. “I’m listening.”

  Tony kept his eyes on the road. “From now on I’m going to keep after you until you learn to let go. Of the past, of your absorption in your job, of whatever it is that always pulls you away from me when we start to get close. I think if we try we can make something important of our feelings for each other, Claire.”

  She was breathless at this unexpected turn of events. In the dappled light from the expressway, Tony’s profile was gorgeous, and unbelievably dear to her. “I don’t know what to say, Tony.”

  Tony’s voice was husky, full of passion. “Say what you feel.”

  Suddenly it was all very easy. “I may be falling in love.”

  “With anyone I know?”

  “E. A. Poe. Dark, brooding type.”

  He squeezed her hand tightly. “You editors all go for those literary types.”

  “Especially ones who are desperadoes.”

  A tiny word of caution brushed against her happiness for a moment, but Claire dismissed it. Mr. Harrison was wrong. Tony was everything she thought he was, and more.

  She reached for his arm and, leaning over, grazed his cheek with her lips.

  The car drifted a little toward the oncoming lanes of traffic, which made them both laugh aloud. “Take it easy on me, okay? I’ve got a lot of driving ahead.”

  “I’ll behave.”

  “Good.” Claire Kennedy was what they called solid in the military. Balanced and ready to meet life head-on, she would be able to withstand the shock of what he feared waited for her in Parsonage, New Jersey. He hoped.

  * * *

  Monday night traffic was skimpy, and it took only a little over an hour to reach the part of New Jersey they wanted. Above them, the night sky was bereft of stars, and a heavy, late spring fog swirled in a gray haze across the road. Tony kept the headlights on low as they crossed a covered bridge, and then hit the brights to read the directional sign for Benton Convent. It was several miles ahead, but their destination was fourteen miles to the east.

  Neither mentioned the proximity of Sarah Winesong’s home to where Patricia Snow had been murdered, but
both thought of little else. Even with the car’s heater blowing full blast, Claire still felt chilled.

  Tony rubbed his hand up and down her opaque black stockings, and though his touch warmed her, Claire shivered. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she directed her thoughts to places other than Tony’s hands. “I’m glad to see you haven’t had a smoke for the last couple of hours. Finally giving it up?”

  Slanting his eyes toward her, Tony nodded. “I’m trying. Are you flattered?”

  “Yes, if it’s on my account. If it’s not, I‘m just plain happy. I’ve been thinking about that cigarette the Rhode Island police found at Patricia’s house. I saw you put the one you started to smoke back in your pocket that night. I can’t imagine how they found one that had your fingerprints all over it.”

  “We’ll probably never know.”

  Claire was silent for a moment, several little fragments of information clicking into place, though the puzzle still needed to be completed. “Someone got your cigarette from somewhere, that’s for sure. But who? And when?”

  Turning onto a heavily overgrown drive, Tony stopped and shone a flashlight through the car window onto an iron mailbox. Two Sycamore Court was neatly lettered on the side, the same address Roz had happily shared with Laurent. Tony shut off the headlights and slowed to a five-mile-an-hour crawl.

  “We’re here.”

  Anticipation sent goose bumps along Claire’s arms and down her back. Tony’s hand reached out for hers, his strong squeeze reassuring. The car continued creeping down the private road, though after several moments she still saw no trace of a house. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  “It’s the address Roz had.”

  “What time is it, Tony? Maybe we’re too late.”

  “No. It’s only ten to nine. Roz said Winesong was expecting her at nine. Damn!” Tony swerved the Mustang off the paved road. It bumped up and down madly as he headed for a small clearing between the sycamores and elms that lined the drive. When he slammed on the brakes, Claire flew forward into the dash.

  “Claire, are you hurt?”

  The warm taste of blood surprised her as she licked her top lip. With his hands on her arms, Claire reached down for the seat belt. It had popped out. “I’m not hurt, though I now have a fat lip to go with your bumps and gashes. Why in the world did you swerve off the road and stop like that?”

  Glancing out the rear window, Tony hugged Claire close to him and pointed. “I’m sorry. I really am. But look, there are headlights back there.”

  A car was approaching down the same road they had just left. The fog bank marched solidly behind it, as if protecting the vehicle.

  Claire held her breath as the car rolled even with them, then past their darkened huddle. The car’s taillights pulsed like gashes against the dense, smoky fog. Claire whispered, “What are we going to do now?”

  He pulled off his jacket and handed it to her. “Here, put this on. We’ll go the rest of the way on foot. The house can’t be that much farther down. We’ll just follow the line of trees. Come on.”

  They got out, and the car door creaked as Tony pressed it shut. Linking his fingers in Claire’s, they started in a run in the direction of the house. The taillights of the car that had passed them were still visible a hundred yards up the road. With a glance behind her, Claire whispered, “I don’t see any other lights coming. That must be Roz.”

  Claire kept her eyes glued on the twin red glows ahead. After a minute or so, she realized they were gaining on the lights. Then suddenly the lights blinked off. Tony guided Claire off the road again.

  “The house must be close. The car’s stopped.” The muffled echo of a car door closing reached them.

  With his arm wrapped around her, they stayed close to the woods as they stealthily approached the unknown. A breeze began to blow from the sand marshes to the north, and ghostly ribbons of fog swirled among the treetops.

  Magically, the house at Two Sycamore Court materialized.

  It was a dramatic structure of granite boulder and massive thick walls covered with an accumulation of moss and ivy. A clump of trellised rose vines climbed around the doorway, sprouting leaves, bare of blooms.

  Roz Abramowitz stood on the front steps, one hand on the heavy wrought iron knocker, as an overhead light revealed the garish yellow of her clothes. Holding a fur car coat, she was reading a note that she must have pulled from the door. She seemed ill at ease and turned to stare in Tony’s and Claire’s direction. Fortunately they were hidden by the fog.

  As she and Tony continued to watch, Roz turned back toward the house and placed a tentative hand on the doorknob.

  It opened and she peeked around it. Her nasal voice called out, “Miss Winesong?” After a few seconds, Roz went in, leaving the door ajar.

  “What do we do now, Tony? We won’t be able to find out a thing if we stay here in the woods.” Claire’s teeth were chattering, and she experienced a pang of hunger. She had not eaten since the night before.

  “I know.” Tony was worried about Claire’s safety. Until now he had not considered the possibility that they had been set up. Had Roz seen him and recognized him when he had followed her to the Russian Tea Room? Had Damien Laurent?

  Tony turned and took Claire’s face in his hands, gently brushing her lips with a kiss. “Why don’t you go back to the car? I’ll stay here and risk a run across the yard. Once I figure out what room they’re meeting and pry open a window or something.”

  “I wouldn’t leave you alone here for all the bestsellers in the world.”

  He paused and smiled. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  Together they moved swiftly across the circular yard and then pressed themselves against the damp walls. Claire smelled the moldy odor of decay of last year’s leaves as her boots sank into the mud along the foundation. Slowly she and Tony crept toward the front door.

  Barely ten feet from it, it was thrown forcefully shut from inside. A second later, the front light went out.

  Tony and Claire froze. His dark eyes glowed with anxiety as, with a nod, he directed her toward the rear of the house.

  A large bay window jutted out onto a porch. Curtains on the lower half of the windows blocked their view of the room. A chandelier glittered through the diamond cut panes, offering the perfect illumination for seeing inside if you were nine feet tall, Claire thought.

  No voices carried outside, and Claire noted with alarm that the fog was thickening, obliterating the line of trees standing a hundred yards from the house.

  Tony put his cold lips to Claire’s ear. “If I give you a boost, you can get up high enough to look in.”

  “What if they see me? Tony, let’s go back to the front door and knock. Maybe if we confront them, we can get to the bottom of everything without all this skulking around. I feel like a character in one of Sarah’s books!”

  “Confront them? Are you forgetting what happened to Patricia?”

  Claire shivered. “Okay, just one look, and then maybe we’ll go knock.”

  Tony nodded. He needed to know if Winesong and Roz were alone. He had a hunch they were not. Bending down, he leaned against the wall and made a cup with his hands. Claire’s lithe figure rubbed against him for a second as she stepped into it. He allowed himself a brief nuzzle, then with a single boost, he lifted her up toward the window.

  “Okay, stand up,” she murmured.

  Tony stood, lifting her the rest of the way. Despite the fact she was nearly frozen, Claire broke out in beads of perspiration. Slowly she moved her head upward, until her eyes were just above the top of the curtains covering the lower panes.

  The room she saw was huge. It was dark paneled and full of furniture, its walls covered with dramatic pictures of English sea battles.

  Anchoring her fingers firmly into the ivy climbing the wall, she leaned closer to the window. A desk in one corner was piled high with papers, and an overstuffed settee sat next to an unlit hearth. On a tea table was a silver service complete with sugar ton
gs, a bowl of lemon slices and folded napkins.

  Then she saw Roz.

  She was slumped in a green wing chair across from the tea service, her head hanging limply on her chest. A faint, wet stain darkened the lapel of her yellow jacket, and an empty cup lay upside down on her lap.

  The chair opposite Roz was turned so that Claire could only see the legs of the person sitting in it. And their shoes. Heavy soled orthopedic shoes, the kind Tillie wore, stuck out on motionless feet. Leaning against this unseen person’s chair stood a silver-headed cane.

  Claire caught the scream rising in her throat just as Tony touched her leg. Nearly losing her balance, she looked down and met his eyes. She did not have to say a word.

  Quickly he lowered her from the window and held her close. “What is it? What’s going on in there?”

  “We’ve got to call the police. Something’s happened to Roz.”

  Before Tony could ask what, there was the crack of a shotgun. Crouching, they looked around. The fog hid everything beyond a five-foot radius. A second shot splattered against the wall above their heads; chips of rock and cement exploded around them.

  Tony shielded Claire with his body. “Are you okay?”

  “We have to get out of here.” She squirmed underneath him.

  “Just lie still for a moment.” Staring into the fog, Tony detected no movement. The night was quiet except for a hollow rustle of leaves stirred by a light breeze.

  His pulse pounding in his ears, Tony looked around for somewhere to hide. Just as he had decided to make a run for the car, he spotted the basement door. Twenty feet from where he and Claire lay, the heavy wooden door, at ground level, beckoned. “See that door over there? That’s where we’re going.”

  “Into the house? Are you crazy, Tony? We don’t know who’s in there, or what they’ve done to Roz, or... ”

  Placing his finger to his lips, Tony spoke with authority. “It’s our best bet. I’m a lot more worried about the nuts out here shooting than that damn old woman inside. Now, let’s go.”