Somehow, the rest of the day crept by and the sun set. He made his way to his family home. He stood outside, the warm windows glowing onto the street. The lamplighters had already been by and the halos of light made orange circles on the street. He could see the flickering light of a fireplace in the parlor. The staunch townhouse stood imperiously looking down at him. Fittingly, it began to rain a fine, hard mist. He pulled his collar up on his trench coat and his fedora down farther over his face. The warm light from the windows belied what was indescribable coldness within. He dragged on his cigarette, finishing it, then flicking it from his fingers. He took a deep breath. It was time.
What he didn’t see was the police wagon just around the corner.
Finn walked up to the door and didn’t bother to ring. The door was open a crack, inviting him in. He opened it and immediately the scent of lilies, his mother’s favorite, attacked his senses. He’d come to hate that scent, but it was fitting since it was the traditional burial flower. He grunted at his macabre sense of humor at the moment.
“Hello?” he called.
“In the parlor, Finn,” answered Sean.
Sean. His brother. That voice. That deep, familiar tone made his stomach clench and his knee throbbed with sudden pain, remembering that night all over again, that malicious grin as Sean ran right into him. The searing pain, the disbelief . . . his heart shrank with the fear of being out of control. Finn loved his job because he called the shots. He understood how it all worked, his role and how he fit in with the department as a whole. He was sure-footed. Here, he was anything but. It was like a nightmarish fun house; nothing was as it seemed and everything was out of control.
Finn didn’t bother to take off his coat; droplets of water fell to the floor and he imagined the hiss of steam as they hit. He went over to the door of the parlor, so much of this house like a shadow of a dream. Finn had walked these halls many thousands of times, yet it felt like it had been someone else. The lush carpets made his footfalls almost silent. He could hear within the tinkle of a glass with ice in it and the crackle of a fire.
“Hello, Sean,” said Finn.
“I’m glad you came,” answered Sean, his jet-black hair glinting from the light of a large chandelier looming overhead. He stood with one hand in his suitcoat pocket, calm and nonchalant.
Before Finn could say anything, Sean began a speech that sounded rehearsed. “You see, Finn, I know it was you. You must’ve hired someone here to initiate the poisoning of Father. And it wasn’t a coincidence that it increased so much that he almost died just days after you arrived.” A sheen of sweat appeared on Sean’s top lip. In a normal person, that would read as nerves. In Sean, it meant he was enjoying himself. To highlight that even more, he smiled. Smiled, waiting for Finn’s response. Anticipating the pain of Finn having to defend himself.
“Sean, that’s ridiculous. What are you talking about?”
“Finn, now relax. Don’t get yourself worked up,” he said in placating tones.
“Worked up? You’re accusing me of planning a murder!”
“Murder? Finn, you’re the one that’s bringing up murder. Was that your plan? Did you need to get rid of Father permanently? I’d thought you were just getting back at him for removing your annual allowance, but it sounds like you had more of a plan than that.”
“You’re putting words into my mouth,” said Finn. “It’s more likely that Gwen was in on it than me, for heaven’s sake.”
“Now you’re accusing Gwen? That’s completely irrational and indicative of your mental state. How could you?” he demanded.
This was spiraling out of control. Finn could feel it all slipping out of his grasp. His pulse quickened. Heat rose up his neck, his face. “Sean. You’re the one orchestrating all this. You know it!” He walked toward Sean, fists clenched. Ready for a battle.
“Gentlemen, I think you’ve heard enough,” said Sean, sounding smug. Confident.
“What?” said Finn. Three men, two in police uniforms, one plain-clothed, came around the corner.
“Take it easy,” said the man in a brown tweed suitcoat with a sickly, limp mustache above his lip. He had his hands raised in a calming gesture. “It’s okay. We’re going to help you. You’re obviously not feeling well. You’ve made accusations that are unfounded and you seem very ill. We are going to help.”
Finn’s mind was swirling. The two policemen stepped closer, their postures tensed and ready for a fight. Suddenly, Finn understood the trap. You seem ill? They weren’t trying to arrest him, they were going to commit him. Dear God.
He put up a good fight, but the two policemen were enormous. He’d landed a few good punches, but they managed to get his arms in their grasp and they started pushing and pulling him toward the door. They barged out and then he registered the police wagon. The blood drained from his face. When they got to the end of the walkway, he’d have one final chance. If they managed to get him to the lunatic asylum, he might never get out. Worse, he knew the mental specialists these days were happy to “help” an agitated patient get some peace by twirling a small instrument through the nose, up into the frontal cortex. A lobotomy might leave you drooling and vegetative, but you sure were more peaceful and easy to handle. He felt like he might throw up right then and there.
With more work than the policemen had expected, they finally wrestled Finn down the walk. Just as they got to the end, Finn dropped to his knees, surprising his aggressors and making them tilt forward off balance. They’d taken away his gun from his shoulder holster, but they’d made the unwise choice of not handcuffing him.
From the front door, Sean yelled a primal, “No!”
Motivated by a savage fear, in three quick, powerful swings Finn knocked out the two police and turned to whom he’d finally surmised as the “doctor” of the local insane asylum. The doctor had taken off running. Finn was huffing and puffing with the exertion and fear coursing through him.
Sean.
From behind, Finn felt a violent kidney punch that knocked him to the ground.
But it was a mistake on Sean’s part. Those two policemen hadn’t thought to look for Finn’s backup gun. Strapped to his ankle.
In a flash, Finn had drawn his revolver and leveled it at his brother. The rain was now coming down in earnest, blurring his vision, and he felt a trickle of blood issuing from a cut above his eye, but he had no trouble aiming the gun steadily at his lethal enemy.
“You couldn’t do it,” said Sean, snarling at him.
Finn cocked the trigger. “Wanna bet?”
Just then, two cars careened up and pulled over. His gun didn’t waver.
“Finn! Are you okay?” Lane. She was here.
Sean registered who the gentlemen were with Lane before Finn did. “Gentlemen! Restrain him! He’s not well, he’s been making wild accusations and now he’s threatening me!”
The two men stood on either side of Lane. Both holding their hands in front of them, in complete control. Not making a move to hold Finn back. Then Vivian carefully stepped out of the car, too. What was happening?
“Lane! I told you not to find me. I can’t protect you. It’s too much! I can’t stop him.”
“Finn,” she said softly, moving one step closer. “Yes. You can. Put the gun down.”
“No! He’ll kill us all. He’s capable. He will. And what if I’m just like him? I’m his brother,” he said with an anguished voice. He turned a quick eye to Lane. The rain was soaking her hair, plastering it to her face. Her bright eyes were set on him. Unflinching and fiery.
“No, Finn. You’ve already proven that you’re nothing like him. Not at all. You proved that years ago. He has no control over you. Put the gun down. Trust me. We’ve got it covered.”
Wait. The way she said we’ve got it covered. She was smirking. By God, he did trust her. With everything he had. Okay, he’d give it a go.
He lowered the gun.
“Now’s your chance!” yelled Sean. “Get him!”
Lane made a
rude sound, then said with a drawl, “Yeah. Now’s your chance.”
The two men walked toward Sean. Not him. “You’re under arrest, Sean Brodie, for the attempted murder of Richard Brodie.”
“Game? Is that you?” stuttered Finn.
“Yes, Sir Philip Game at your service,” said the police commissioner, head of Scotland Yard.
“And let’s not forget Mr. Stanley Baldwin,” said Lane with that secret smile of hers. Clever girl.
“Stanley Baldwin,” whispered Finn incredulously. “The PM? Bloody hell.”
Baldwin just grinned and nodded. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this. Not when I got an urgent telegram from the president of the United States. Seems to me, Sir Philip, perhaps we made a grave error years ago overlooking the talents of Mr. Finn Brodie.”
“Indeed it does, sir. Now, c’mon! Let’s go, Sean. You’ve got a long night ahead of you,” said the police commissioner.
“Hold on,” said Lane. She walked up to Sean and looked him right in the face, scrutinizing every inch. “I just needed to get a good look at him. I imagine we’ll never see him again after tonight.”
“You did this?” uttered Sean through clenched teeth.
“Oh, you better believe it. Your wife, too. She’s already at the jail,” she purred.
“You bitch!” growled Sean.
Lane turned her amused and flashing eyes to Finn and in an instant, he knew exactly what she was saying to him without one word. Her eyes said, Here’s your chance.
Whump!
“Holy hell,” uttered Lane.
He’d hauled off and punched Sean a massive blow right in the most tender part of the nose. A hair shy of knocking him out, his eyes rolled around in his head, blood pouring from his nostrils.
“I might’ve broken a finger,” said Finn with a wince, holding his right hand. “But it was worth it.”
Lane’s glittering eyes said it all, as they always did. She came over and wrapped her arm around his, pressing in close. The rain ran tracks down her face, but was no match for her sublime smile.
Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin, who was holding Sean’s arm to keep him upright, said, “Like I always say, I would rather trust a woman’s instinct than a man’s reason. Any day.”
CHAPTER 30
I could finally let go of all the tension, all the fear and worry. I watched as Finn flexed his tender right hand. Perhaps just a sprain or a bruise.
The head of Scotland Yard and the prime minister of England had everything under control. Hands on hips, they both directed the other policemen who came running and driving up to the scene. Vivian was speaking with the PM and looking like an eager, blushing schoolgirl.
A bobby who’d been patrolling the area and was one of the officers to arrive first was giving me a quizzical look as he stood there taking in the scene. He’d witnessed most of it. One side of his mouth pulled up in amusement as he shook his head.
I turned to look at Finn and smiled. “Finn, we may have brought the Lane and Finn spectacle to London.” He chuckled softly as he nodded a greeting at the young bobby who was smirking at us.
“We do tend to get a lot of attention wherever we go,” he said.
I felt his eyes intently turn to me. I looked at him and brought my hand to his cheek. The stubble from a day without shaving lined his jaw, feeling prickly against my palm. The moment reminded me of when he’d saved me from a shoot-out right on Main Street in my hometown in Michigan, but this time I was the cavalry.
I saw the blood on his face and automatically took a handkerchief out of my purse. The rain was still coming down, but I didn’t care. I carefully dabbed at his swollen left eye, then the bloody cut above his eyebrow. I felt the warmth of his hand come around my waist as he pulled me close.
“I tried to push you away, Lane,” he said in a raspy voice.
“I know. It takes a lot more than that to get rid of me. I don’t quit too easily.”
“I love that about you,” he said, smoothing a hand around my face and my wet hair.
“You know, Finn . . . there is no charm, no curse.” He breathed in a quick breath. I went on, “In Macbeth the curse was themselves. Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. The witches just foretold what was going to happen, a dark charm didn’t make it happen, or some kind of ultimate destiny. Human avarice did. You already proved beyond a doubt that you were separate from your family’s vices. You already did it. You just didn’t see it yet.”
“You did? You saw it?” he asked, sweetly revealing an ounce of the little boy that long ago had lost hope, daring to believe again.
“I did.” I put my hand on his chest, feeling the warmth even through the rain and his coat.
Heat from his kiss poured into me as I brought my hand up and around his neck, curling my fingertips into his hair, pulling him even closer.
He pulled his lips away slowly, but staying in the embrace. “You’re freezing, Lane. We should get you back to the hotel for a hot bath.”
“That . . . is a great idea,” I whispered as I leaned close to his ear. I felt him shiver as he bent his head down and gently, lingeringly kissed just below my ear.
CHAPTER 31
After a little nap, I changed into a pair of cream-colored wool trousers and a soft, light pink sweater. I didn’t put on socks and shoes just yet; the bathroom floor had quite a bit of water sloshed onto it.
“You’re smirking,” said Finn as I looked into the mirror, brushing on a light coat of raspberry pink lipstick. He was almost ready, lying on the bed with his white dress shirt open wide at the collar, ankles crossed, eyes sparking with mischief as they pierced mine in the reflection.
“I’m sure I am,” I said. “C’mon, let’s go grab a drink, they’ll be waiting for us by now.”
We finished getting ready, then headed downstairs, hand in hand. We arrived at the bar and got to witness Vivian clinking her glass with the head of Scotland Yard. In order to not make too big of a scene, the prime minister decided to let us hash out the details with just Sir Philip.
We pulled up chairs as we signaled the waiter. Two martinis, mine with a splash of olive juice and three olives, his neat with a twist of lemon.
“So it looks as if you two have the debrief well under way,” said Finn, a teasing grin focused on his grandma. Vivian was glowing with a soft pink tone to her cheeks and the same exact spark of playfulness in her eyes as Finn had just displayed. Honestly, they were more like mother and son than grandmother and grandson.
I took a good swig of the icy, salty martini. As I set my glass down, I said to Sir Philip, “First of all, I have to know, how did you discover that Sean was behind the poisoning?”
“You’d better ask your grandmother,” he said with a sardonic salute to Vivian. She turned a deep fuchsia.
“Good Lord,” uttered Finn as he signaled the waiter rather desperately for another martini to have on deck.
Vivian cleared her throat, preparing for a good lecture. She would really enjoy Aunt Evelyn. “Right after you left, Lane, I started to give it some thought. And actually, I’m certain Sean is involved, but I think the main culprit in the actual poisoning is Gwen.”
“I knew it!” I exclaimed with a victorious kind of punch to Finn’s arm.
“Ouch!” he said.
“Oh, sorry,” I said.
“You are not.”
“No, I’m not,” I said, unable to keep the cheeky grin from my face.
Sir Philip cleared his throat, probably trying to get us back in order. Good luck.
He began, “So as you know, Prime Minister Baldwin received an urgent telegram from your president. In summary, we got the idea that you, Lane, contacted Mayor La Guardia about Finn’s predicament and he immediately flew into action. You have some powerful friends, my dear,” he said with a cocked eyebrow.
“Yes, I do,” I said. “As does Finn. He’d been under direct orders from President Roosevelt a few months ago, and of course Mayor La Guardia has a vested interest in him. Once I realized Sean wasn�
��t just going for an arrest, but to try to commit Finn, I just about had a heart attack. It would’ve been a thousand times more difficult getting Finn out of a lunatic asylum than debunking the accusations of poisoning and murder. And they could do absolutely anything they wanted to him in there.”
It made my blood run cold. It was shockingly easy to get someone committed. You think your wife might be cheating? A son or daughter not doing what you want? A mother or father too old and difficult to take care of? Get them committed and they just disappeared.. . . And with the web of deceit that Sean had woven over decades, he would’ve had plenty of evidence. False as it was, it would’ve been enough.
“And I was not going to let that happen,” declared Vivian with a fierce tone. Her fist came down on the table, rattling the glasses.
I turned to Finn and said, “I just love her,” which made her anger slip away and she laughed delightedly.
“So anyway,” she continued, “I got to thinking, and then I spotted the flowers Gwen brought me. The bishop’s lace.”
I asked, “Oh, that’s right. She gardens. Does she plant foxglove, or nightshade or something?” I knew those were poisonous.
“Actually, it’s what I thought was bishop’s lace. I thought it looked a little different than I remembered. It’s quite similar, but far more poisonous. Hemlock. They were careful to put small doses over time in Richard’s favorite tea that no one touches because he’s so picky as to only drink that. So I ran to the hospital with this new knowledge and they tested the hypothesis. Richard started improving right away once they knew how to treat him. He’s not out of the woods, but he has a much better chance now. Plus . . . Gwen had brought a tin of his tea to the hospital so he could enjoy it there, too.”
With admiration written all over his face, Finn asked her, “So how did you get word to the police?”
She said, “I had the doctors call. I figured it would be taken more seriously if the doctors informed them. Then I was quite taken aback because I got a call right from the top. Sir Philip called, then came over to see the flowers for himself.”
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