Ashes to Ashes (47 page)

“Just for one, you’d no have written a’ that incriminatin’ evidence doon in your wee book, would you?”

“You read my notebook?” Rebecca demanded indignantly, and clapped her hand over her mouth. Nothing moved in the ballroom but light, shadow, and that insidious tang of lavender.

“You had the wind up when you came back from the Records office. And you were talkin’ tae Birkenhead— aye, I listened in. You twigged it and never said naething to me. I’m no the only liar.”

“I didn’t lie for personal gain, like you did— at the beginning, at least,” she amended.

“No, you were coverin’ your arse for actin’ a gowk ower Adler!”

“I never told him about your letters!” Rebecca shook off his hand, bounced to her feet and started around the couch.

Michael came around the other side and they met nose to forehead. “Never grassed on me, did you? That’s fair obligin’ o’ you.”

“No it wasn’t, I just wanted to be impartial… . “Her thoughts raced in circles, panting. “I don’t know what it was.”

Michael pulled her, none too gently, against his chest. “Aye, you ken what it was right enough. The same thing that had me wantin’ to protect you.”

“Yes,” she said. Her hands got away from her, running around his sides to embrace him. She watched bemusedly as her mind stilled and puddled in his grasp. His warm smoke-scented breath stirred her hair. The fire popped and shrank to orange incandescence. The wind cried.

Then the dorsal fins of thought sliced the still pool of Rebecca’s mind. No. Not now. Not yet. She straightened abruptly and Michael dodged, guarding his chin. “The mausoleum key was gone for three weeks. Who knows about the mask?”

He emitted a wry laugh and released her. “No one’s touched it in years. You could hardly see it for the dust and cobwebs. But then, I was lookin’ for it.”

If she’d gotten control of her feelings then he’d managed to bring his accent to heel. “Obvious once you know the answer?”

“Aye… . “Suddenly Michael looked around and held up a warning hand. Slow footsteps reverberated in the air. The sifting of snow on the window sill exploded softly into the air and settled, sparkling, onto the floor.

“How many of them?” Rebecca asked.

“Only the one. Which staircase?”

“I can’t tell. Do you want to face him— her— down? Or do you want to play hide and seek through the house until Steve brings the cavalry?”

“I’m no puttin’ my trust in Steve, thank you just the same. Maybe we can throw something at him and distract him.”

Rebecca didn’t argue with Michael’s choice of pronoun. If only one person had come, instead of a pack, she knew who it had to be. “This way,” she said, tugging at Michael’s sleeve, and started toward the storerooms.

Too late. A burst of light caught them poised in the center of the room just as Heather had been nailed by the headlights of the Volvo. He was only a dim shape behind the glare as he stepped from the storerooms into the ballroom. Of course he would have one of those big Black and Decker spotlights. “Well,” said Eric’s smooth, perfectly moderated voice, “there you are. Punch up the fire, would you please?”

“Damn,” said Rebecca, and walked across to the fireplace.

“Careful with that poker,” Eric said, as her hand touched warm iron.

“Do as he says, hen,” said Michael. “These American yobbos, they have to have their guns.”

Rebecca glanced around. The gleaming black shape in Eric’s right hand was nothing less than obscene. With another curse she flailed away at the fire. Sparks flew and flames clawed high up the chimney. She sidled back to Michael’s left hand and said, “Eric Frederick Adler. You shouldn’t have told me your middle name. I’ve figured it all out.”

“Really?” In the combined reflections of fire and spot Eric’s face wasn’t a stiff, cold mask. One side of his mouth twitched and his teeth glinted between his lips in a vulpine smile. “Well, you’re wrong. The ‘F’ stands for Forbes.”

“Grabbed your step-grandfather’s name out of the air, did you?” If she didn’t keep talking she might start screaming, and there was no way she’d let him know how frightened she was. “All right, Forbes is close enough. Named by your grandmother, Katherine Gemmell, in a fit of wishful thinking.”

Michael gasped. “So that’s it!”

“Not wishful thinking,” Eric said. “As a promise, that I’d one day regain what had been kept from us by John and by James.”

“Sure,” snorted Michael. “Katie could never prove a thing. You could never prove a thing. No one kens whose bairn was whose.”

“So you understand why I had to take a slightly more subtle approach.” Eric strolled closer to the fireplace, his smile cramping.

“All that blether about Dorothy,” said Rebecca. “It was your scheme all along, not hers. You were using her. And you weren’t after a few artifacts. You wanted the entire estate.”

“I’ll have the entire estate. Haven’t you figured out that Charlotte Dennison Morris and Katherine Gemmell Brown Adler are one and the same woman? And I’m Katie’s heir, perfectly legal.”

“I would’ve gotten there eventually,” Rebecca replied. “Is Katie waiting for you to sell the place, pocket both the proceeds and your commission, and come home to California?”

“No. She died five years ago. But she trusted me to carry on without her. It’s the principle of the thing, you see. Justice.”

“Justice,” Michael repeated, his breath hissing between his teeth.

Katherine must’ve been a Tennessee Williams character, consuming her offspring. Rebecca shivered. The estate. The only way he could get it now was to eliminate the people who’d figured out his scheme. He hadn’t come tonight to get a few paltry artifacts, he’d come to kill them.

Her mind leaped and twirled in denial, tripped and fell sprawling. Don’t think about that, think about how to get away. He didn’t know about the letters she’d written, he didn’t know that Jan knew his ancestry. He wouldn’t get away with it, no, but threatening him with that would only put Jan in danger and make sure the letters were destroyed. None of which would help her and Michael now. Keep him talking and pray for a distraction.

“The only one who had any money to begin with and you wanted more,” scoffed Michael. “You’re a right bastard, you are.” He took Rebecca’s hand. Their sides pressed together. Lavender wafted through the firelight. Rebecca could almost hear Elspeth laughing with glee. Eric, her great-grandson, come for vengeance, come for justice.

Eric’s hands holding flashlight and gun were perfectly still, his face thoughtful, even regretful. “Yes,” he said, his voice slipping into a lower register. “Cozy up together— that’s the idea. He appreciates your type, Rebecca, more than I can. A love triangle, except the foreigner won’t take no for an answer, one thing leads to another, and there’s a gun to hand.”

“Clever,” said Michael. “Murder/suicide.”

Oh, God, wailed something in Rebecca’s stomach. He can’t, he can’t! Eric was wearing gloves. No fingerprints would be on the gun except hers or Michael’s, which didn’t matter. “Where would we get a gun?” she asked.

“I reported it missing from my car yesterday,” Eric replied. “I’m sorry, I wish there were some other way, but there isn’t.”

“Yes, there is,” said Rebecca. “What about Dorothy? What about Steve and Heather? They’ve all been working for you. They can all turn you in, and probably will.”

“Poor pitiful Dorothy, with all her pills and booze. She’s suicidal, can’t you tell? Has been for a long time. Steve was supposed to have eliminated himself. It was certainly handy, that day, to still have my suitcase in my car so I could change my shoes. But you had to interfere. No matter. He never knew where his orders were coming from.”

Michael said, “So I have you to thank for burnin’ my hands?”

“You had to be a hero, didn’t you?”

Michael didn’t reply. Rebecca’s mind sparked and sputtered and successive waves of heat and cold ran down her spine. Heather had been furious at Steve after the fire in the trash can. She’d said, “Love is worth anything.” “Steve wasn’t taking his orders from Dorothy but from Heather,” Rebecca said. “What’d you bribe her with? Clothes? Make-up? Drugs?”

Eric stared at her. “You’re too clever by half, aren’t you? No, just for your information; I told her if she was going to be seen with me she had to take off the make-up. She’s much prettier without it.”

Pathetic kid, he’d once called her. “She might be pregnant, Eric. Is the baby Steve’s? Or is it yours?”

Michael muttered an outraged four-letter word. Eric took a step backward. It was hard to tell in the ocher firelight, but Rebecca thought sure he’d paled. “She what?”

No wonder Heather had been out so late last night. He’d gone to her when Rebecca had thrown him over. She felt queasy. “For God’s sakes, Eric, you should know the laws about statutory rape.”

“Oh, it wasn’t rape, I assure you. She’s a sweet little thing. I’d never hurt her. It’s just as well she ate the food tonight. She won’t know a thing about— about this.”

“And what about the child?” Rebecca demanded.

His brows rose with indignation. “It’ll have everything I never had. What do you think I am, anyway?”

“I take it,” said Michael, “you dinna want an answer to that.”

The fire popped. Eric’s dark slacks and jacket didn’t reflect the light. His eyes did, black gemstones faceted with flame on the surface, not in the depths. The depths were as cold as the draft from Elspeth’s window. “You,” he said to Michael. “I could’ve worked a deal with you, bought you off, couldn’t I?”

“No,” growled Michael, but Rebecca felt him shudder.

She groped for topics of conversation— oh, for half of Scheherazade’s tales. “Is the mazer really destroyed?”

“No. A collector has it. It’s quite safe.”

Even now that was a relief. From the corner of her eye Rebecca saw the box where Mary’s rosary and prayer book lay. He wouldn’t feel anything for them either. “Why, Eric? Why?”

“It’s all Dorothy’s fault. She had to take things, just a few little things, enough to raise James’s suspicions. And that idiot Steve, taking the mausoleum key, setting that fire. And you.” His eyes blazed and Rebecca had to stop herself from shrinking back. “I tried to scare you away, I tried to get your moronic boyfriend to take you away. The plan was faultless, not a hole in it, until you came along and started asking questions.”

“You didn’t have to hurt Ray like that… . “He’s right, Rebecca told herself. I forced him into this corner. His little financial caper, his life’s justification, hadn’t included murder. Or had it? “I wasn’t here when you pushed James down the stairs. No wonder Darnley scares you so much, he saw you, didn’t he? Every time you see the cat your guilty conscience twinges.”

“James was going to change his will,” Eric explained, his rationality more chilling than any draft. “He had no business doing that to me. Dorothy made him suspicious of me, the fool woman.”

“You weren’t surprised when Peter found that new will,” Rebecca went doggedly on, “because Dorothy heard us talking about it and warned you.”

Eric shook his head as though bothered by a stinging insect. “You’re too damn smart, Rebecca.”

Michael said scornfully, “Ah, a woman wi’ no intelligence is like a sandwich wi’ no fillin’, there’s no point to the eatin’.”

“Thank you,” said Rebecca toward Michael’s frosty profile. Half his mouth smiled at her, the other half stayed crimped shut. Eric’s brows tightened. He swung the light around the room, objects quailing in its brilliance, as if he’d heard something. But nothing was there.

Keep him talking, Rebecca told herself. “So you were just using me.”

“Not really. There’s no harm in some mutual pleasure, and you were available.” She winced at that. Eric went on, “I had to keep on good terms with you to get reports of what was happening here. But it wasn’t work. We had some good times, if not quite as many as I’d intended. You could’ve had your cruise, you know. You didn’t have to give that up.”

“That would’ve been the cap to your scheme, wouldn’t it? Taking me on a cruise paid for by the goods stolen out from under my nose!”

He grinned, his uneven teeth flashing. “You wouldn’t have known that. And you would’ve benefited. Nothing stimulates the libido like success.”

Rebecca grimaced, wanting to hate him. All she felt was pity for that charming, handsome, sick face. Beside her Michael’s infuriated expression moderated to curiosity and his head went up as if he, too, heard something. The cat, maybe, prowling downstairs. Eric was afraid of cats. Darnley, Rebecca thought, trying to project telepathically, here kitty, kitty.

The scent of lavender hung heavy on the air. Eric glanced at his watch, the light of the spotlight dipping and swaying and sending the shadows fleeing. “Tell me. What were you two doing in the mausoleum tonight?”

As one, Michael and Rebecca stiffened. Their hands clenched together. Neither said a word.

“Something was hidden in there?” Again Eric grinned, slowly, a wolf scenting its prey. “Now that’s a thought. Did old John hide his treasure in the mausoleum? I’ll have to look. Later. It’s a shame you two aren’t asleep like you were supposed to be. It would have made things much easier.”

Michael stared ahead, scowling. She could, Rebecca thought, try pleading with Eric, but that wouldn’t make any difference. Did it matter if she died with the last shreds of her self-respect intact? Yes, it did.

Her mind stuttered. She wasn’t going to die. Impossible. No way… . Now she heard something. Not the light thump of the cat, but the clump of boots on stone. Steve? No, anyone he’d bring would come in shouting. James? James! she screamed silently. Don’t let him get away with another murder! Help us, James!

Three more steps, far down in the house, then three more. Bloody great tackety boots. Michael glanced at her, brows arched. His eyes went abstract. He, too, was calling for help.

“Let’s go on downstairs,” said Eric, with a tight, pained grimace, “and get this over with. Come on.” He gestured with light and gun.

Michael stood firm. Rebecca didn’t move. James! she shouted, projecting the shout from her mind into whatever passed for another dimension in Dun Iain. James! Come up the stairs! Please!

James started up the stairs. Each step was sharp and clear, cutting through the moan of the wind. Eric darted a quick glance over his shoulder. “Great! You two, get back in there.” Michael and Rebecca, pushed at the point of the gun, retreated toward the storerooms. “In there.” Eric shooed them up the narrow stairway beneath the platform.