A Deadly Edition

by Victoria Gilbert

  “Just tell them that it’s part of the ongoing investigation into Oscar Selvaggio’s death? Understood, Chief Deputy, sir.”

  “Brad will do,” he replied, in a lighter tone. “Now I should let you go. I expect you need to get to that dinner.”

  “I do, but thanks for the heads-up,” I said, before telling him good-bye.

  “See you tomorrow, almost Mrs. Muir,” he added, before hanging up.

  I hurried back to the porch, where I told Karla that we really didn’t have time to rehearse and would need to just hope for the best.

  “You’ll do fine,” she told me, while I locked up behind us before leading her to the car I shared with my aunt. “And just remember, tomorrow you’ll have a partner you can rely on.”

  As I slid into the driver’s seat, I thought about her words, realizing how accurate they were.

  And not just for one dance, I thought as a wave of happiness swept over me.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When we reached Highview, the circular parking lot was already filled with vehicles, so I took the narrow driveway that led to a smaller lot and detached garage behind the house.

  “I don’t think Kurt will mind if we park here,” I said. “Especially since I doubt he’ll need to go anywhere until after we leave.”

  Telling Karla to circle around to the front door while I locked the car, I took the opportunity to survey Kurt’s backyard and woods. I didn’t see any sheriff’s department deputies lurking about, but that didn’t surprise me. I assumed they’d probably keep their distance.

  They might not even come onto his property, I thought, as I dropped my keys into the pocket of my white linen jacket. Probably not, come to think of it. I bet they’re parked farther up the road. Just keeping tabs on who’s coming and going from there.

  A flash of movement in the trees caught my eye. Maybe it was one of Brad’s deputies after all. Strolling to the edge of the woods, I peered into the shadowed undergrowth.

  I didn’t see an officer but did notice something odd—what looked like a hand poking through a small window in a stone outbuilding. As it was almost obscured by the thick growth of shrubs and trees, I hadn’t realized there was another building in the woods behind the house until now.

  That can’t be a person, I thought, fumbling in my other jacket pocket until I realized that I still didn’t have a cell phone. With this week’s busy schedule, I hadn’t bothered to get mine replaced yet. It didn’t seem critical—I could simply use Richard’s phone when were in Italy for our honeymoon.

  Convinced that my eyes were just playing tricks on me, I decided I’d simply call Brad once I got inside the house. Turning around to head for the front door, I slammed straight into someone’s chest.

  Lifting my head, I met the heavy-lidded gaze of Lance Dalbec.

  “Pity,” he said, gripping one of my upper arms with fingers as strong as steel clamps. “You weren’t meant to be part of all this, but now …” He swung the switchblade he was holding in his free hand through the air.

  I opened my mouth, but Dalbec cut me off before I could scream.

  “None of that,” he said, giving me a rough shake. “Not if you want your friend to live.”

  “No phone,” I managed to squeak out as he poked at my jacket pocket with the handle of the knife. “And what friend?”

  “Old-lady dancer.”

  “Adele Tourneau?”

  “That’s the one.” Dalbec spun me around, still holding me tight. “I’m afraid you’ll have to join her. Don’t want you raising any alarms at this point.” He shoved me forward, forcing me to walk into the woods.

  “My other friend just went inside. She’ll expect me to have followed right behind her,” I said, fighting the tremor in my voice. “Someone’s bound to come looking for me soon.”

  “Unfortunately for you, your tall friend will have been stopped at the front door.” Dalbec tightened his grip on my arm while he unlocked the shiny padlock fastened through an older metal clasp on the weathered wooden door. “We have someone posted there who will’ve told your friend that everyone in the house had better stay inside and avoid contacting the authorities if they hope to see Ms. Tourneau alive again.” Dalbec flashed me a humorless smile as he yanked the stiff door open. “They’re to sit tight and wait for our next message.”

  “But there’s a back door, you know,” I said, my thoughts jumbled as I attempted to process this turn of events. It was obvious that Dalbec was working with at least one other person, and that they planned to use Adele, and now me, as hostages in order to lure someone from the house out into the woods. Recalling Dalbec’s previous run-in with Kurt, I suspected that the art dealer was their target.

  “Someone’s keeping an eye out from the woods, so we’ve got that covered,” Dalbec said.

  I considered kicking him in the shins but remembered the knife. “Who’s this we, and why are you holding Adele?”

  “None of your business,” Dalbec said as he shoved me inside. “Just be quiet and maybe you and Ms. Tourneau will live through this,” he added, before slamming the door.

  I jiggled the latch, but he’d already fastened the padlock. The door rattled but wouldn’t open beyond the merest crack. Wiping my damp hands on my jacket, I turned around.

  “Amy! Oh my dear, how did you end up in here?” Adele’s voice rose up from one of the shadowy corners of the small room.

  “The real question is, how did you?” It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. As I picked my way across the broken flagstones paving the floor, I almost tripped over a lip of stone that surrounded a circular pit.

  Not this again, I thought, averting my eyes from the black depths of the stone circle. It appeared that this was an old well house, complete with a narrow runoff trough that led to a metal grate in the far wall.

  Adele was huddled next to the grate, her fingers scraping over the perforated metal. “I thought if I could pull this free or push it out …”

  I knelt down in front of her. “Neither of us can fit through that opening.”

  “But maybe someone could hear us shout, when they search the woods. As I’m sure they will, eventually.” Adele looked up at me, her eyes glistening with fear. “All the other windows are too high up, except that one at the front.”

  She was right. The narrow windows that pierced three of the stone walls were placed right below the wooden rafters. Only the window in the front wall was lower. Unfortunately, it was still situated above my head. It could be reached only if I stood on tiptoe, and even then, I could probably only stick my hand through the small opening and wave, as Adele had done. It was too high for me to look out, even if I stretched as tall as possible.

  “I didn’t mean to involve you or anyone else in this,” Adele said. “I just thought if anyone saw my hand waving through the window, they’d immediately call the police.”

  “Sadly, I don’t have a phone on me right now.” I examined Adele with a critical eye, noting the bruise discoloring one of her delicate cheekbones. Her hair had tumbled out of her bun to hang about her face like skeins of pale silk thread. “I don’t think that grate is moving. Looks like the screws are rusted shut. The front window is probably a better bet.” I helped her to her feet. “After all, I could see your hand poking through, all the way from the back driveway. We could try that again.”

  Adele rested her slight weight against me before straightening. “I doubt that will work a second time. That awful man will see it now. I think he’s keeping a watch out front.”

  “You don’t know him?” I asked as I moved to the center of the room.

  “No. I mean, he looks a little familiar, but I’m sure we’ve never met. Do you?”

  “Only slightly. His name is Lance Dalbec. He says he’s some sort of art broker, but I’m not sure that’s true, even though he does appear to know Kurt. But I’ve heard …” I hesitated, remembering I probably shouldn’t share this privileged information, entrusted to me by Brad, with someone
who was still a suspect. “Anyway, I’m not sure that’s his real profession or name.”

  “You mean he may be a criminal? I had assumed that already.” Adele brushed off some damp bits of mortar clinging to her black dinner dress. “I must look a fright.”

  “No worse than me,” I said, glancing down at my jacket, now stained with mildew where I’d wiped my hands. “But that really isn’t important. What I want to know is—how and why were you brought here?”

  “That man—Lance Dalbec or whoever he is—grabbed me when I stopped at one of the minimarts outside of Taylorsford. I was only inside for a minute, buying a bottle of water. He was waiting for me as soon as I stepped back outside, so I suspect he must’ve followed me all the way from the city.” Adele shoved her tangled hair behind her slender shoulders. “He came up beside me, grabbed my arm, and told me he had a knife. He claimed he’d use it if I screamed or otherwise attempted to escape.”

  “Then he drove you here?”

  “Not directly. He didn’t use Kurt’s driveway. He turned down a dirt road—a path, really—somewhere farther up and then forced me to hike through the woods to this spot.” Adele slid a lace-edged cotton handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and dabbed at the perspiration beading her upper lip. “There was a trail, even though it was terribly overgrown.”

  “He must’ve scouted that out ahead of time.” I glanced down at her feet. Her black leather pumps were gouged and scratched, and one shoe was missing a heel. “But why did he kidnap you, of all people? Did he say?”

  Adele shook her head. “He didn’t talk much. Just made some obscure comment about finally getting revenge for some wrong committed in the past.”

  “Not by you, surely,” I said, before I remembered Fred’s revelation about Adele’s attempted murder of Oscar Selvaggio. But why Dalbec would want to punish Adele for such a thing was a mystery. Unless …

  “You said Dalbec looked familiar. Do you remember where you might have seen him?”

  “Not him, exactly.” Adele crumpled the handkerchief between her fingers. “There was someone once, but that was so long ago.”

  “Like forty-five years or so ago?”

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes glazed as if she was staring at memories instead of me. “But that man already had a few years on me, and this one looks like he’s only in his fifties. So it couldn’t be the same man.”

  “It could be his son, perhaps? Or some other close relative?”

  “I suppose.” Adele lowered her head until I couldn’t see her eyes. “I saw that other man once or twice, when I was involved in a court case. He was in the gallery, sitting with some rather nondescript woman, during part of the proceedings. I only remembered him because he did have such a striking appearance. Pale and skeletal, with dark hair and light eyes, just like our captor.”

  “That must’ve been during the suit you brought against Oscar Selvaggio because you felt his actions contributed to your father’s death.” I softened my tone when Adele shot me a startled expression. “I read about your case when I was doing research for the sheriff’s office.”

  Adele wiped the dampness from her eyes with her handkerchief. “His reckless actions did cause Dad’s death. I know they did. Oscar Selvaggio sold my father illegal property, and when Dad tried to get an insurance appraisal on the item, he was caught up in a criminal case. As an honorable man, it simply crushed him.”

  “From what I’ve read, he had a heart attack. That was a natural death …”

  “But brought on by the unbearable stress he was under. He’d always been healthy before that. Before his reputation was destroyed.” Adele squared her shoulders in a dramatic movement that betrayed her dance training. “I encouraged my siblings to join me in a civil suit against Selvaggio, but it was later dismissed for lack of evidence.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry.” I examined her for a moment. “I’m still curious, though. Why were you so jumpy when I saw you fixing that drink at the party, and why were you out tramping through the woods right around the time Oscar Selvaggio was killed?”

  Adele’s face crumpled like old paper. “The drink was for Kurt. Sort of a bribe, I suppose. I wanted to ask him for another donation to one of my dance charities, and I thought I should butter him up beforehand.” She sniffed. “I hate doing that. It’s the worst part of charity work, but inevitable, I’m afraid. And honestly, right before you saw me with the drink, I’d just had an unpleasant encounter with Selvaggio.”

  “He grabbed you, like I heard?”

  She cast me an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I lied to you about that before. But I had provoked him, I’m afraid. I was terribly rude. It was even worse because we’d already argued before the party …”

  “When you ran into each other at the bed-and-breakfast?” I held up my hands. “Someone saw you and told me about it.”

  “Yes. I totally lost it during that first encounter, so having another fight at the party just felt”—Adele pressed one hand to her heart—“so cheap and tawdry. I wasn’t being the person I wanted to be, the person I’d fought so hard to become. So I decided I had to apologize.”

  “Which is why you went out looking for Mr. Selvaggio at the party?”

  Adele nodded. “I saw him rush outside. I didn’t follow immediately, but he looked so unwell that I thought I should see what was wrong. And apologize, of course. It seemed like the right time to do that, when maybe I could help him or something.”

  “But you never saw him?”

  “No. I suppose he’d headed directly for that shed, for some type of rendezvous or something. Anyway, I checked the area behind the house, but”—she shrugged—“saw nothing.”

  That explained her appearance in the woods, and the drink, but not her apparent recognition of Lance Dalbec. “Getting back to our captor, let’s assume it was his father in the courtroom …”

  Adele’s eyes narrowed as she stuffed her handkerchief back into her pocket. “But why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Dalbec’s father was somehow involved with Selvaggio and was in the courtroom to keep tabs on the proceedings or protect his interests or something.” Seeing Adele’s haunted eyes, I decided to go ahead and share more. “Our chief deputy, Brad Tucker, told me that Dalbec has a questionable past. Maybe his dad did too.”

  “Perhaps. But it still doesn’t make any sense. I never did anything to Mr. Dalbec, or the man who was possibly his father. If he was a thief who was involved with Selvaggio in selling stolen goods to my dad, how could I have ever done him any wrong? It’s more likely that he was involved in harming me.” Adele pressed her hands to her temples. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see the connection.”

  “Neither do I, but there must be one.” I looked her over. “You honestly don’t have any idea why you were abducted?”

  “I just thought it might be as bait.” Adele dropped her hands and rubbed her bare forearms, as if warding off a chill. “Dalbec did mention something about Kurt protecting me. I think he plans to lure Kurt out here by threatening me with harm.”

  “Which would work.” I took a deep breath before continuing. “Kurt’s done it before, you know. Stepped in to save you. Back around the same time as your court case.”

  Adele’s forehead creased as she stared at me. “What do you mean? Kurt has been a generous benefactor in terms of supporting my dance charities, but I wouldn’t call that protecting me, exactly. And we didn’t actually meet until a few years after the court case.”

  It was too late to back away from the revelations now. I met Adele’s puzzled expression without faltering. “I’ve been told that Kurt was the anonymous donor who provided you with the best possible legal help, among other things, when you tried to kill Oscar Selvaggio for what he’d done to your father.”

  Adele took two stumbling steps backward. “What? How could you know such a thing?”

  “Research. And some information from the authorities. As I said, I’ve been assisting them with gathering information related to th
e recent murder of Selvaggio. And”—I clenched my hands until my fingernails dug into my palms—“Kurt himself told me some of this.”

  “Why would he do such a thing? He didn’t even know me.”

  I took a deep breath before speaking again. “Don’t misunderstand—it wasn’t all about you. I believe Kurt did want to help you, but he had an ulterior motive. One that involved my late uncle Andrew Talbot.”

  Adele pressed her palm to her forehead. “I’m so confused. What does your uncle have to do with anything?”

  Stepping forward, I laid my hand on her arm, tightening my grip as she wobbled when I explained the connection between Kurt, Andrew, and the Kelmscott Chaucer. “You see, it wasn’t really Oscar Selvaggio who sold your father that copy of the Kelmscott Chaucer. He was involved, and he did cover up the truth when Kurt pressured him to do so, but he wasn’t the real instigator of the sale.”

  “Kurt helped me in order to cover up his own deeds, then,” Adele said, her tone icy. “As an expiation of some of his sins, I suppose.”

  “Partially.” I forced myself to hold her intent gaze without faltering. “But it was really because of my uncle’s involvement. I think Kurt would’ve taken the rap if it had only involved him, but you see …”

  “He loved Andrew? I knew there was someone, sometime in his life. There had to be.” Adele’s expression softened. “He betrayed himself once, when he didn’t think I was looking. He was watching a particularly beautiful performance by Richard and Karla. The piece was about loss—specifically losing a loved one. I glanced over at Kurt’s face and couldn’t help but notice this look, like he’d lost something, or someone, he’d treasured more than life.” Adele straightened her shoulders, casting off my steadying hand. “I know that look. I should. I’ve seen it in my mirror often enough.”

  “You’re right, he loved my uncle. I think he still does, in a way. But I also know he feels sorry for having contributed to the circumstances that thrust your family into such a horrible mess.”