Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance

by H. D. Thomson

  Then she realized something frightening. Maybe it wasn’t a nervous stomach or too much to drink that made her feel like passing out. Maybe it was because of something in her drink.

  Uncle Paul.

  He’d given her the drink through his son. But he’d have to be crazy. All those people around. All those witnesses...

  Katherine tried to open her mouth to speak, to warn her father as he opened the door to the back yard and ushered her outside. The moment the frigid air touched her face, Katherine’s legs collapsed from under her. Blinding light slashed across her vision. At the last minute, she flung a hand out to protect her head from taking the brunt of her fall against the cement.

  Then nothing.

  ~~*~~

  Lungs screaming in protest, John slowed to a walk when he reached the perimeter of the Spalding property. He strode up the drive with legs weak from running what must have been close to a damn marathon. He forcibly tapped down his ragged breathing—and the fear, which, if he let it, would corrode any clear thinking, and right now he desperately needed to count on his wits.

  With a trembling hand, he raked back his hair and cleared his throat. He passed a valet dressed in a formal black and white uniform. Windows from the ground floor blazed out onto the snow-crusted lawn, while the porch light, a miniature version of the huge chandelier in the foyer, illuminated a man stationed at the front door. On the bottom step of the broad, shallow steps stood a couple, no doubt, waiting for the valet to retrieve their car.

  As John reached the porch, a six-foot wall of muscle and man stepped forward and blocked the front door.

  “Your invitation?”

  The guy’s face consisted of one large slab of flesh. The flat nose, cheeks and brow looked as if they’d received a brutal fist pounding.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Then I need your name.”

  Impatiently, John watched the hulk glanced down at the clipboard in his hand. He had no intention of giving this guy his name. No doubt, Spalding had already pre-warned security of his possible appearance. “It’s not going to be there. But if you let Katherine Spalding know Clark’s here, you’ll see I’m more than welcome.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. From the dull glimmer in their depths, it looked like the many whacks to his head had reduced his I.Q.

  Grunting, the hulk grabbed for his radio at his belt but stopped. “Hey, wait a sec.”

  John stiffened and watched the guard shuffle through the clipboard’s pages and stop. Right there. Smack in the middle of the page and perfectly illuminated by the chandelier’s light was a picture of John’s face. He didn’t need to see the words written beside the photo, because from the way the hulk’s face twisted into a frown, John guessed they weren’t complimentary.

  John sighed, not seeing any other option. He glanced over his shoulder. Squinting into the darkness, separating and clarifying the shadows around him, he searched for the valet and anyone within sight. Finding no one, he turned back around just as the hulk glanced up. John tapped a fist into the brute’s face. With the look of recognition still stamped on his flat face, the man crumpled, shaking the cement beneath John’s feet.

  ~~*~~

  Katherine became aware of the floor, hard and cold, beneath her and the purr of a car’s engine. Pain throbbed into her right shoulder and her hip while gas and oil fumes assailed her. Flat on her back, she opened her eyes and blinked, trying to focus. The light. It burned into her eyes and forced her lids closed. But she’d seen and smelled enough.

  Her uncle’s garage.

  “She’s coming too.”

  She tried to lift a hand, a leg. Nothing. Her limbs lay paralyzed and useless at her side.

  “That can’t be. You said she wouldn’t wake up.”

  “Don’t worry. She’ll be out of it again in a minute.”

  The slap of flesh against flesh carried over the car’s engine. Pain cut into her cheek as her head snapped to the side. Katherine opened her eyes and found her uncle peering down at her.

  “That’s for calling me a bastard.” He sneered. “How’s it feel to be on the receiving end this time?”

  “My, God! What the hell are you doing! Don’t mark her. This is supposed to look like a suicide.”

  Katherine closed her eyes. That voice. No. She didn’t want to believe it.

  “I know what I’m doing,” Paul retorted. “She’s not going to bruise. I slapped her just hard enough for her to feel it. She deserves it. I’ve always hated how she looks at me. She’s not any better than me.”

  “You better be right. I’m not going to prison. I’d rather die.”

  “Shut up and help me here.”

  Hands clasped Katherine beneath her arms and around her ankles. She felt the sway of her body, the air against her back as she was lifted and twisted around. Then something cool pressed against her back and legs.

  Again she managed to open her eyes. She was being set inside the front seat of her car. A different face wavered in front of her. Katherine stared back in horror. Her protest came out as a strangled whimper.

  “Ah. You’re surprised.” Her father smiled somewhat sadly. “But you didn’t give me any choice. I tried everything to shut down the Morning Dove, but you were blocking me every step of the way.”

  He hit a button on the side of the driver’s door, and the window whispered open. “Don’t worry. This will be completely painless. The GHB Paul put in your drink will do its work and the carbon monoxide will do the rest. By the time you’re found, the drug will be undetectable in your system. People will assume a suicide. After all, you were deeply depressed over the shelter.”

  Katherine shut her eyes, not wanting to see or believe. But she couldn’t shut her ears to his words.

  “I know. How could I kill my own daughter?” Her father’s breath floated sinuously into her ear. “But you see, you’re not my daughter. Your dear mother screwed around when we were first married. I didn’t know about it until years later. By then, I didn’t care. I’d been doing the same. What man wouldn’t? You can’t get much colder than her. But I decided to stick it out anyway. Money can be a great motivator.”

  Katherine heard the words, but didn’t respond, didn’t feel the horror or shock, because she was slumping sideways and spiraling back into unconsciousness. One fleeting thought registered before her mind completely shut down.

  She was going to die, and strangely, it didn’t seem to matter.

  Chapter 32

  After checking the security guard’s pulse and pulling him behind several bushes alongside the house, John brushed flecks of snow and dirt from his sleeves. He started back to the front door but backed up and shrugged out of his winter jacket. He placed it over the guard. Maybe a stupid move, but John didn’t want another innocent death on his hand. Or maybe the guard wasn’t so innocent.

  Well, it didn’t matter. What mattered was finding and getting Katherine out of this place.

  Once inside, he casually walked down the hall toward the heavy drone of voices and past yet another flat faced guard who’d been hired for his bulk rather than his brain. At least John blended in with the other contributors, having the forethought to dress in formal wear before arriving at Sharon’s office.

  He paused beneath an arched doorway, which led into a huge hall—possibly a ballroom at one time—and searched the tables for Katherine’s golden hair. He didn’t see her anywhere, but he did see the man dressed in elegant black and white behind a podium and to the side of a small orchestra.

  Spalding.

  “As will anyone attest who knows me,” Spalding was saying, “I’m completely inept at public speeches, so I will quickly step aside and give the floor over to a person, who I consider not only a family member, but more importantly a friend, Sharon Spalding.”

  An enthusiastic wave of applause swept through the room. Spalding stepped from the podium, wiped his hands down the sides of his dinner jacket, and folded them behind his back. John frowned. Spalding’s movem
ents seemed stilted. Gaze narrowing, magnifying the distance between them, John focused.

  Sweat glistened off the man’s brow, and his fingers shook when he brushed at his jacket. Nerves from talking in front of a crowd? John didn’t think so as he watched Spalding walk to his table and glanced repeatedly at another doorway to the left of John. The way Spalding kept peering at that empty doorway seemed odd.

  Something was going on.

  More alarmed than ever, John, careful to keep out of Spalding’s line of vision, again searched the large, banquet room while moving along its perimeter. Still unable to find Katherine, he focused on the voices and attempted to distinguish Katherine’s from all the others. When he came up empty, he closed his eyes. Blocking out Sharon Spalding’s voice and the murmured encouragement from the audience, he listened to any discernible sound from beyond the huge hall.

  The tick of a grandfather clock, the whirl of a toilet flushing, a woman’s snide comment on her husband’s Botox treatment, the throb of a car’s engine and possibly a dishwashing machine, the caterer’s in the kitchen arguing—

  Damn it. Still nothing. There were far too many background noises and voices to distinguish one from the other accurately.

  He was wasting too much time. Quickly, methodically, and as inconspicuously as possible, John searched the ground floor. When he found nothing unusual, he rushed up the stairs, past the repaired handrail, down the empty hallway and into the east wing of the second floor. He forced himself to slow down and use his senses to their optimum capacity. He didn’t encounter anyone, which was good, because he didn’t have a plausible excuse to be roaming around in this part of the house.

  When he still didn’t find any sign of Katherine on the second floor, he started to panic.

  Control yourself. Now. Think.

  Then John heard it. He froze, standing in one of the bedrooms in the west wing, and listened closer.

  There. A cry, faint but distinct. He focused harder. Someone yelling. Another voice. Angry. Softly spoken. Deadly.

  Spalding.

  John sped down the hall, grabbed the stair railing and hurtled over the top. Knees bent, hands outstretched on either side for balance, he landed on the marble tile on steady, sure feet. Rising, he turned. And froze.

  John stared back at the same security guard he’d hit in the face. Standing feet away, the man looked fully conscious...and fully angry.

  “Holy shit.”

  ~~*~~

  Katherine woke up. Something dug into her ribs as she lay slumped on her side. Varying shades of gray pressed down around her. With muscles weak and unsteady, she pushed herself up on one elbow and glanced down. Despite the shadows, she recognized the console between the two seats of her car.

  She pushed herself completely up. Sudden nausea flared and rolled through her stomach. She gasped, clutching the steering column as her vision tilted and danced wildly. Pain dug into her temples and brow. Taking slow, shallow breaths, she didn’t move for several long and uncomfortable moments.

  Eventually, the queasiness receded, and she carefully eased around at the waist and glanced over her shoulder. Artificial light seeped in through small, arched windows along the top of one wall. No. It wasn’t a wall, but a garage door.

  She was in her uncle’s garage and in her car. Fleeting, fog coated memories stirred in her head. Something about her uncle, but more importantly her father. She tried to wade through the disturbing visions but couldn’t grasp their meaning.

  Then Katherine became aware of the rumble of the car, the sealed garage and the danger. When their meaning sank in, her memory sharpened with terrifying clarity. Her father, her uncle—both wanted her dead. With each breath, each moment of inaction, the carbon monoxide cut off more oxygen to her brain, slowly, surely suffocating her.

  She fumbled with the key in the ignition for several long, agonizing minutes. Finally after the third attempt, she wrapped her fingers around the metal. She turned and pulled the key from the ignition and immediately dropped it. She watched the key land on the floor by her feet, which seemed near impossible to reach from her position with her motor skills near to zilch.

  Exhausted from the entire experience, and even knowing she needed to get out of the car and garage before she passed out again, Katherine, slumped deeper into her seat. The feat of getting out of the garage seemed inordinately difficult. If she rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes, everything would be just fine. All she had to—

  No. Deadly gas fumes still permeated the air. If she lost consciousness now, she’d never wake up.

  She thought of hitting the horn to get someone’s attention but realized the stupidity of it. The odds of attracting her uncle or father’s attention far outweighed the chance of getting some unsuspecting guest. If either man came out, they were liable to kill her in a far more gruesome manner.

  Struggling to focus, Katherine blinked and stared out the windshield. She noticed the small, rectangular panel, darker than the rest of the wall, but it took a moment for her brain to grasp the simple idea.

  The switch to the garage door. She needed to hit the button to open the garage door for air—and focus long enough to actually do it.

  With the aid of a shoulder, she opened the door. The second she stepped onto the pavement, her legs buckled and her peripheral vision darkened and thickened. Feeling herself about to pass out, she latched onto the open door. Please. She couldn’t faint. She just needed a little longer. Hanging onto the car for a long, woozy moment, she managed to remain conscious.

  She blinked again and grappled for strength. When it felt like she’d regained some control over her muscles, she surged from the car’s hood to the wall and slammed a palm against the rectangular panel. She hit the garage button and then flipped on the light switch beside it.

  Lightheaded, nauseous, Katherine floundered and caught a hand against the ladder hanging the length of one wall. The metal clanged against the wall. She winced at the noise and the sudden glare from the garage’s harsh fluorescent lighting. The garage door rumbled opened, and Katherine, too exhausted to be relieved, sank to the cement to rest against the wall.

  Cold air caught against the film of sweat across her brow, neck and spine and sent a chill racing up her back. She shivered. Blessed air, frigid and oh, so beautiful rushed into the garage, dispersing car exhaust and sweeping into her lungs. Loving the texture, the crisp feel of the winter air, she inhaled again and again, and with each inhalation, her mind grew lucid and her dizziness subsided.

  But with the fog easing, images of the past took on more substance and with it a horrifying reality. Her father. Involved all this time. Katherine raised her knees and clamped her arms around her legs. She wanted to be dumb and blind to her father’s betrayal, wanted to pretend the drug in her system had turned her delusional. Ducking, she brushed a cheek against her knee to wipe away the tears.

  And what of John? What had they done to him? He should have shown up. Had her father and uncle killed him? A thick, painful lump caught at her throat.

  She couldn’t think that. The thought of losing John after just finding a man like him was unspeakable.

  Ernest. Compassionate. Unique. A rare man of principle. John possessed all those traits and so much more. He was too strong, too filled with life to have it all come to an end.

  Well, it wasn’t going to happen. She was going to make sure neither man touched John. Using the wall for aid, she rose. Her legs quivered beneath the strain, and the floor and walls tilted right, then left. Afraid of falling, she placed a palm against the car’s hood for support. Standing, between the wall and the car, she took another fortifying breath of night air and edged toward the door.

  Was she nuts? How could she hope to help John if she couldn’t even walk right?

  Just then, the knob on the door leading from the garage to the house turned. Not knowing whether the person on the other side was an ally or enemy, Katherine froze. The door eased open. She took a step back. Her father slip
ped into the garage. As she met his gaze across the short distance, fear roared into her head.

  By the look of shock on his face, he probably thought she’d be dead by now, Katherine realized, sickened by the idea.

  As her father moved toward her, Katherine moved backward, using a hand against the car for support. He blocked the door, the only entrance to the house from the garage. As for a possible witness, there were none. The garage, used solely for family, sat at such an angle that anyone standing by the front entrance or driving up toward the house couldn’t possibly see inside. Since her father blocked the only means into the house, Katherine’s other option was to back up and race down the opposite side of the car and outside.

  That is if she could outrun him. The way her legs felt, though, she doubted she’d get out of the garage, never mind reach the front door. Of course, there was the other option she hadn’t thought of until now.

  “Take another step, and I’ll scream.”

  Her father stopped. He lifted his hands until both palms faced her. “No one’s trying to hurt you, Katherine. You’re the one doing it to yourself. You know, suicide isn’t an answer...”

  For one wild, irrational second, she doubted herself. Then she realized the drug and carbon monoxide must be toying with her head.

  “...because all you needed to do was come to us for help and we’d—”

  “Stop it! I’m not stupid!”

  “Fine! Okay. No games. You’re right. You’re not stupid. But you’re too damn stubborn. If you’d just let the shelter close down like we wanted, its tie to Miltronics would have died. Everything would have been fine then.”

  He sounded calm, assured, but Katherine saw the sheen of sweat across his brow.

  “Fine for who? You and Paul? And Mother? What of her? Is she involved?”

  “Of course not. She’s too wrapped up in her politics to understand what’s going on.”