Her Deadly Inheritance

by Beth Ann Ziarnik

  She peered into the dim passage with its brick walls. A metal stairway wound into the darkness below. That didn’t mean much. She had seen similar devices while conducting research on at least one other house for which she had prepared a genealogy. Those had concealed a passage but only to other parts of the house. This one might be no different.

  She shivered as it begged her to explore, but she didn’t have time now.

  Windtop’s front door opened below, and footsteps, decidedly feminine, clicked across the entrance hall. “Jill?”

  Throwing the handkerchief inside the passage, she touched the two medallions. Button shot through the opening just before the panel slid back into place. He would have to wait a few minutes. She hurried to the second-floor rail.

  Tia looked up at her. “Mother sent me to find you. Are you ready? Our guests will arrive soon.” The girl radiated a joyous poise in her lovely Victorian ball gown, her hair like a shimmering waterfall behind her shoulders.

  Glancing at the paneled wall behind, Jill sighed. Both the kitten and the passageway would have to wait. “Coming.”

  Tia squealed as Jill descended the stairs. “Oh, great choice. You look every bit as pretty as your mother in that dress.”

  Jill assessed her cousin’s clear-eyed gaze. Thank you, Lord! Tia was not the one she sought.

  One down and three to go.

  Twilight settled softly over the freshly cut lawns as Jill accompanied Tia. The great pink-and-white-striped tents glowed from the light of chandeliers within, and the soft music of a stringed quartet floated on the night air. If not for unanswered questions about her mother’s death and the dark passageway begging her to explore its secret, she could have enjoyed this lovely occasion.

  They reached the wide entrance of the entertainment tent, and Tia slipped into her place in the reception line between her father and her mother.

  Lenore’s cold gaze raked Jill. “I hoped you would choose something more suitable than that tasteless old thing.”

  Uncle Drew stopped tugging at the high, stiff collar of his Victorian evening wear. He half-smiled and sighed. “You look … so much like your mother, Jill.” His eyes misted, but the first guests approached, pulling his attention away.

  Jill moved aside, continuing to observe her aunt and uncle who were now fully engaged in receiving guests. Neither of their reactions was decisive. Lenore was her usual critical self. Uncle Drew simply appeared to miss his sister. If one or both were concealing a crime, she had no proof. How awful to be suspecting her family like this. But she had to stay open to any possibility.

  The ache in Jill’s heart accelerated as she moved into the cavernous reception tent. Round, linen-covered tables rimmed the perimeter of a polished dance floor. Each table was accented by a tall, fluted vase of fresh flowers and trailing ivy at its center and surrounded by eight polished wood chairs. Its beauty belied the ugliness slithering beneath the lavish occasion.

  She chose the nearest table. Standing beside it, she looked down at her mother’s lovely dress. So far, her attempt to unnerve a killer had failed. One Bradwell remained.

  Near the far wall of the tent, Carver played the charming younger host to Ben and his friends. She could be wrong about him too. She could be wrong about this whole murder idea. All she had to go on were Maggie’s suspicions and her mother’s unfinished letter. She would have to slip away and explore that passageway.

  A shadow fell across the table, and she looked up. Clay, in black tie and tails, stood a few feet away. Her foolish heart leapt until she caught the anger as his gaze swept her attire.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

  Looking him straight in the eye, she kept her voice low as she ground out her words. “Trying to flush out a killer.”

  “Trying to get yourself killed.” He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit down.

  She lifted her chin. “I don’t think so. Not as long as the Lord has anything to say about it.”

  At the deepening concern in Clay’s gaze, she set her chin and walked away. He would not stop her from finding the truth about her mother’s death.

  A feminine hand arrested her flight. She looked down to find Kitty seated at the next table. “Are you all right?” the woman asked.

  Jill forced a smile. “A little difference of opinion. That’s all.”

  “Well, settle it soon, dear. He obviously cares a great deal for you.”

  Jill tilted her head. “Not enough, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s too bad.” Kitty nodded toward the reception line. “Just look at Lenore.”

  Following the woman’s joyful gaze, Jill observed her aunt, head held high, a gracious smile on her face, and one hand occasionally fluttering to the antique brooch at her throat. Lenore surely gloried in her role for the evening.

  “She’s the picture of her great-grandmother,” Kitty mused.

  Jill blinked. “I … don’t know what you mean.”

  Kitty appeared mildly puzzled. “Madeleine Beaupre, first mistress of Windtop. You know, the woman in Lenore’s family photo album.”

  Lenore? A Beaupre? Jill sank into one of the chairs at Kitty’s table. “Are you sure?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  Jill shook her head, unable to choke out a response. That explained a certain orphan’s obsession with Windtop.

  Kitty shrugged. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Lenore never breathed a word of it to me either. Not until after that weekend she went home with me for our first college break. She wandered through our old home, utterly entranced. When we returned to the dorm, she pulled out her family album and the pictures of Windtop. ‘One day I’ll live there,’ she said. The next semester, she met your uncle, they fell in love, and here she is. It’s interesting how some things are meant to be.”

  A chill pressed on Jill’s heart. Yes, interesting. Her aunt must have tracked Uncle Drew down and maneuvered him into marrying her.

  “How are you ladies getting along?” Her uncle smiled broadly as he pulled out a chair.

  Kitty finished sipping iced tea from her glass. “Jill and I were reminiscing about Lenore and Windtop. But, of course, you know all about her great-grandfather.”

  Uncle Drew scrunched his brow.

  “The Frenchman who built this house,” Kitty prompted.

  Jill caught him paling slightly before he sat down as if his legs might not hold him. “No.”

  Kitty wagged her finger at him playfully. “Like most busy men, you simply have no memory for unimportant details.”

  The slightly gray tinge gathering along her uncle’s jawline and his almost inaudible voice said otherwise. “She was an orphan.”

  “After her grandmother died. A very sad event for a ten-year-old. It’s a good thing she had the comfort of remembering her grandmother’s wonderful stories of Windtop. Lenore is quite proud of her heritage.” Kitty’s brow crinkled. “Are you sure she never told you?”

  Uncle Drew shifted uncomfortably. “Some of it.”

  Kitty raised her brows slightly. “Oh.”

  “Is there more?” Jill asked.

  “Maybe I’ve said too much already,” she said. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

  “If there’s more to the story,” Uncle Drew said, “I’d like to hear it.”

  “Well …” Kitty appeared uncertain.

  “Please. For Lenore’s sake,” he said.

  “All right, but I don’t know much more.” She paused a moment longer. Jill leaned slightly forward to catch each word.

  “Lenore took her grandmother’s death very hard. She arrived at the orphanage with two possessions, the brooch she is wearing tonight and her grandmother’s scrapbook.”

  Jill leaned on the table, crossing her arms and gripping her elbows. So that’s how Lenore knew so much about the Beaupres.

  “When she was thirteen years old, she happened to read a magazine article about your family, Drew, and was immediately drawn to you. She kept up on any news abou
t your family. When she heard about the college you would attend, she made up her mind to do the same. Isn’t that romantic?”

  “But private college is expensive,” Jill said.

  Kitty grinned. “You know Lenore. When she wants something, she makes a way.”

  Uncle Drew nodded solemnly. “You’re talking about her winning a scholarship to the college of her choice.”

  “Exactly!” Kitty’s eyes sparkled. “It was meant to be. You two fell in love, and Lenore regained her ancestral home.”

  Jill struggled to catch her next breath. The years of strife made an ugly sense now.

  Kitty studied her, then Uncle Drew. “You two really didn’t know, did you? How strange.”

  Jill’s chest tightened. Strange nothing! Kitty just confirmed what she had known since she was a child. Her aunt preyed on others for her own gain.

  “If only I had known,” Uncle Drew mumbled.

  Jill gazed at her uncle. Would he have done differently?

  “Mrs. Wentworth.” Carver’s cheer broke through the fog of Kitty’s revelations. “Mother wants to see you right away.”

  He nodded to his father and paused to acknowledge Jill. “How lovely you look tonight, dear cousin, and may I say, dressed most appropriately.”

  He held an arm out to Kitty. “Are you ready?”

  The moment they left, Uncle Drew slumped in his chair. “Why didn’t I guess?”

  “So you didn’t know any of this when you agreed with Grandma and Grandpa that Mother and I should inherit Windtop.”

  Her uncle’s ashen face began to regain its color. “I had no idea.”

  “But you must have known Lenore would object.” How could he not?

  He groaned his eyes dark pools of agony. “I did it for her own good. Her obsession with Windtop seemed unhealthy. It never occurred to me that she would make you and Susannah miserable all those years. I tried to stop her more times than I can count and was never successful. Finally, I just gave up.”

  Jill remembered all too well. “Then why did you beg me to return, Uncle Drew? With Mom and me out of the way, Lenore would have gotten Windtop and been happy.” And I wouldn’t be agonizing over whether or not my mother was murdered.

  “You have no idea how happy I was when I discovered you were alive, Jill. Every time I look at you, I see Susannah and know a part of her lives.” He tried to still his trembling hands. “But, forgive me, I urged you to claim Windtop, not just because it was your inheritance, but to save my wife.”

  “From what?” Jill crinkled her brow. Her uncle looked so weary.

  “About a year ago, Lenore took to wearing those old-fashioned dresses. Her doctor warned me she was in danger of an emotional breakdown. Her years of obsession over Windtop had weakened her health and the strain was taking its toll. I hoped that keeping this place from her would also keep her safe.”

  “And I ruined everything by inviting you all to live here. You couldn’t refuse. Oh, Uncle Drew, I’m so sorry.” Jill laid her hand on her uncle’s sleeve.

  “You believed you were doing the right thing,” he said. “You meant well.”

  Sure. She also meant well when she left the island to find her father. Why hadn’t she seen the pattern before? Her impulsive solutions often ended more in hurt than help.

  “Hey, you two.” Tia rushed up and bent to kiss her father’s cheek. “This is no time for all this serious talk. Dad, will you come with me? I have something to show you.”

  “Give me a minute, Tia. I’ll be right back.” Uncle Drew left the table.

  Tia plopped down in a chair, her joy like the fragrance of the table flowers. “Why did I ever fight Mother about this party? I am having the best time. Especially with Leo.” She sighed and gazed across the floor.

  He smiled and waved in acknowledgment.

  “But he’s right. It’s time I gave Dad some attention.”

  Uncle Drew returned and Tia led him away.

  Jill scanned the guests and her breath caught in her throat. They were ambling toward the dining tent. The moment she had been waiting for had arrived. Her best chance to escape to the house and explore the passageway undisturbed was right now.

  A familiar, outstretched hand arrested her attention. She looked up to find Clay gazing at her. Her pulse quickened.

  “I’m leaving,” he said. “Could we talk?”

  She placed her hand in his and let him lead her into the night.

  Outside of the gazebo, stars shimmered overhead. Subdued strains of chamber music reached them while Jill’s hand lay so warm and yielding in his. This could become a memorable night if he found that elusive way to break through her stubborn resolve.

  “You’re leaving tonight?” Her soft words came to him as if she were pleading with him not to go.

  Clay claimed both her hands and ran his thumbs gently over her fingers. “It’s time I moved on.”

  “But I thought … have you changed your mind about catching Janice’s killer?” Her gaze simmered with a desperate hope.

  “For now.”

  She nodded, the sadness in her eyes telling him she hadn’t missed the nuance. His hunt wasn’t over, merely postponed.

  “And your next project?”

  “Hopefully restoring a historic hotel in Haiti. The client wants to discuss the details early tomorrow morning. She’s considering other firms.”

  “I wish you well,” Jill whispered. Wistful words, as if she would miss him even after all the stupid things he’d said and done.

  He gently guided her chin up to look deep into her eyes. “Do you?”

  “Yes.” Her soft lips, so ripe for the kissing, trembled.

  He gazed at her for a long, painful moment. Did she care enough? Could he convince her? “Then come with me, Jill. Let’s both just walk away.”

  “What about catching a killer?”

  “You’re more important.” He would take care of that killer once he had Jill safely out of harm’s way.

  She said nothing as if wrestling with her decision. Then her chin quivered, and she stepped away. “I want to, Clay, but I can’t. Not yet.”

  Her iron resolve had slipped back into place. Nothing he said would make a difference. He didn’t want to leave her, but neither could he force her to go.

  He kissed the palm of her hand, not trusting himself to seek her lips. She had his heart as surely as it once belonged to Janice. To keep Jill from harm, he’d have to play it the hard way.

  “Good-bye, Jill.”

  Jill stood mutely as Clay walked away. She strained to stop herself from running after him. His suggestion tugged at her, but she knew she could not leave Windtop with so many questions about her mother’s death unresolved. The answers were so close. If Maggie and Clay were right, she had all the more reason to see this sorry mess to the end. She couldn’t live the rest of her life not knowing when a killer might strike.

  The party’s bright lights and distant laughter held no charm for her. With Clay gone, along with her heart and her hopes for their future, all she had left was the task that lay ahead of her.

  Lenore’s guests were gathering around tables in the dining tent, anticipating the late evening supper about to begin. Her aunt, Uncle Drew, Carver, and Tia seated themselves at the head table. As far as Jill could tell, everyone was accounted for.

  Her heart lodged in her throat. Now was the perfect opportunity to check the passageway. She skimmed through the shadows on her way to the house.

  How was it possible to seek the truth with such determination, yet fear it so deeply? At least Clay had walked away. Whatever she discovered, he would never know. He would be safe from whatever followed. Maybe, sometime in the future, he would share his suspicions with the police. Maybe, after tonight, she could do the same.

  The house loomed in the night sky, its hidden passageway calling her. She hurried toward Windtop’s back entrance.

  Lord, please help me find the truth and accept whatever it might be.

  Chapter Twenty
-Six

  Lilting strains of stringed instruments and a faint din of conversation drifted on the damp night air as Jill slipped into the kitchen and set the security system. Alert for the slightest sound of another person in the house, she moved through the dining room, the library, and entrance hall and stole up the stairs.

  Evening shadows dimmed the second-floor hall.

  Her heart thudded. Did she dare turn on a light? Better to use the antique oil lamp Lenore kept on the hall table. It should provide enough light to accomplish her task.

  She opened the small table’s narrow drawer and searched for the box of matches. Moments later, the lamp’s wick flamed to life, casting a faint pool of light. After replacing its glass chimney, she left to check the rooms on the third floor.

  All clear. She needed one more thing.

  Entering her room, she groped in her purse until her fingers curled around a small, bright-beamed flashlight she kept for emergencies. That should illuminate the dark passageway.

  Returning to the second floor, she paused at the railing, again listening for any telltale sound below. All remained quiet.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. Now to activate the medallions on the paneled wall and face what lay beyond.

  Her shadow loomed large in the passageway’s cavity. She stepped inside and turned on the flashlight, praying for enough time to see where it led and get back to the party before anyone missed her.

  Grasping her long skirts, she plunged down the iron staircase, following its spiral descent into the darkness below. Surrounded by stone walls, she reached the level where a cool dampness enveloped her.

  A light shone below.

  With a soft gasp, she turned off her light to listen. No footsteps or detectable breathing accompanied the dim, steady light.

  She crept down the last few steps and peered into the lighted area. A wide, damp tunnel carved through rock stretched before her. Overhead, at far intervals, hung a string of dim electric lights. Who left them on? Did she dare go farther?

  Venturing forward a few steps, she stopped and listened again. Nothing more than a faint dripping reached her ears. It was probably moisture from the stone walls.