Borrowed Identity (11 page)

Michael didn’t say a word. She was right. If there was something to be found, she would have noticed it by now.

“Besides,” she continued, “no one could possibly know about the passages if there were any. As I said earlier, the blueprints were lost long ago. In my grandfather’s day, or
maybe before.” She shrugged. “Anyway, all the people who have lived here are dead now, except for my mother. She’s in a mental facility. So I don’t think she broke into my house.”

Michael slowly digested the information. “Maybe we should visit your mother,” he said.

“Why?” Kelly hugged her body and shivered.

“Your mother may have told someone about the passages…if there are any.”

“I don’t want to see her. I can’t.”

Her fear was understandable. She’d paid a high price for her mother’s insanity. Of course she didn’t want to have to face the woman again. Michael considered leaving her out of it. He could approach her mother on his own, ask her questions if the woman was coherent enough to make sense. He didn’t have to have Kelly at his side.

But he wanted her there. It was the best thing for her. She would face her fears head-on instead of running from them. Perhaps she would be able to gain some kind of closure. Michael hated seeing Kelly in pain. This new protective instinct rose up in him again like a three-headed monster. The urge to take her into his arms, hide her from whatever demons lurked in the shadows, threatened to overwhelm him.

“I think it’s important,” he said. “I’ll be with you every second. She won’t be able to hurt you. You don’t even have to talk to her. You can stand in the background, let me question her.”

Kelly remained silent.

“Think about it,” he offered. “Finding out your mother told someone about hidden passages would be preferable to being crazy. Wouldn’t it?”

“Do you know anything about schizophrenia?”

She had him there. He shook his head in answer to her question.

“Well, I do.” She spoke quietly. Each word was pronounced with a cold finality. “I read about it after my mother burned me. If you have a parent who suffers from schizophrenia, you have a one in ten chance of getting it, too. Most of the time it can be controlled by drugs. But not always.”

A sudden noise vibrated through the room. Michael jerked, sitting up straighter. His heart hammered against his rib cage. His hand automatically went for his .38, but his fingers closed around air. Then he remembered he’d put the gun in the bottom dresser drawer beneath a ton of ancient, dusty quilts.

“It’s okay.” Kelly grasped his upper arm. “It’s an old house. It makes strange sounds sometimes. The furnace in the basement probably just kicked in. It’s normal.”

Michael settled back against the headboard. He was definitely leaving the light on tonight. All night.

“Oh my gosh!” Kelly’s hand flew to her mouth. “I just remembered something.”

“What?”

She leaped off the bed, coming around to his side as if she was too excited to be still. A new light sparkled in her eyes.

“I wasn’t choked by hands,” she replied. “The person who attacked me wrapped something around my throat. I fell off the bed, and you came running. Whoever it was took off, but didn’t take the material with him.”

Michael listened intently.

Her hand went to her throat as she relived the event. “I removed it myself. It must be in the bedroom. That’s my proof!”

He stood, his eyes automatically moving to the dresser drawer where his gun was hidden. He longed to retrieve it, but didn’t dare. He didn’t want Kelly frightened any more than she already had been.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “I’ll take a look.”

“I’m going with you. I know where I dropped it. You don’t.”

Michael grabbed her by the shoulders. “You’re staying here. Lock the door behind me. I’ll be right back.” He nodded toward the dog. “You’ll be okay. Boomer is with you.”

Maybe the dog could protect her if someone was still in the house, but who was going to look after Michael? He would be alone.

Kelly swallowed but didn’t speak. Her eyes were glazed with doubt.

He tapped her on the nose and added, “Trust me.”

Michael left Kelly in the bedroom, pausing outside the door until he heard the soft click of the lock being engaged. He reached the master bedroom in several quick strides. He wanted to hurry and get back to her before she panicked. She wouldn’t stay in his bedroom for long, he knew.

He snapped on the light. The sheets were in disarray, half falling on the floor. He grabbed them and searched for something that could have been used to strangle Kelly. There was nothing.

He sank onto the edge of the mattress with a sigh, his hopes dashed. Even though her story sounded implausible, Michael had wanted to believe it. He’d wanted to be able to prove her sane. Now he felt as if he’d let her down.

His eyes fell to the floor. Something pink peeked out at him from under the bed. Michael lifted it up for closer inspection. It was a long dusky-pink scarf. There was a dark stain on one end. He smelled it to rule out certain substances such as ketchup and scratched it with his finger.

It was blood.

But whose blood?

He pushed that question aside. He had a bigger problem. Should he show the scarf to Kelly or keep it to himself? Which would be worse—thinking you might be losing your mind or knowing someone was trying to kill you?

Chapter Seven

Every little noise set her teeth on edge. Kelly paced from one end of the room to the next. Her nerves sizzled, and she felt ready to bolt, ready to scream. It was ridiculous. With over forty rooms to choose from she had to be locked in a small guest bedroom. Alone.

Alone except for a dog, and the golden retriever appeared to be asleep. She knew she should find that comforting. The dog’s super hearing hadn’t picked up anything. But she wouldn’t relax until Michael was back safe and sound.

Outside the door, floorboards creaked in protest. The brass doorknob rotated slowly.

Her pulse raced.

“Michael? Is that you?”

There was no reply. The door rattled beneath a heavy hand.

She backed away. Her legs bumped into the mattress and she fell onto it. Her eyes frantically scanned the room for a weapon. The door wouldn’t hold forever if an intruder tried to kick it down.

Boomer woke and whined in protest.

“Open the door!” Michael shouted.

Relief flooded through her. She raced to the door and turned the lock with a trembling hand. Yanking it open, she
met Michael’s gaze. His lips were compressed into a tight line.

“You scared me half to death,” she complained. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

“I said it was me more than once,” he replied. “These doors must be thicker than they look.” He handed her an armful of folded clothes. “I thought you might want something to change into.”

“Thanks.” He turned his back while she dressed. She continued to talk to him in an effort to keep her mind off the fact that she was standing naked behind him. “Well, what did you find?” She slipped the blouse over her head before he could answer and said, “Okay, I’m decent.”

He immediately turned around.

He didn’t answer right away. She watched his face, his solemn expression while he hesitated. Her heart plummeted. It wasn’t going to be good news.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “There was nothing.”

She turned, keeping her agony to herself. It was true then. She was losing her mind. She thought back to the days with her mother living in the house, the mood swings, the crazy talk about voices in her head. Her mother had been paranoid to the extreme, actually believing people were trying to kill her. It all sounded familiar.

Frustrated, Kelly covered her face with a pillow and screamed into it. She was determined not to be locked away or put on drugs for the rest of her life. But worse than that was the possibility she could hurt another person, perhaps someone she loved.

Michael’s hands covered her shoulders. He whispered into her hair. “Everything will be okay. Trust me. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

How could he stop it from happening? He couldn’t climb into her head and fix what was wrong with her. No one could.

The urge to flee gripped her. She wanted to go somewhere no one would find her. In a mansion the size of Moore House it shouldn’t be too hard a feat.

Acting on instinct, she spun around, knocking Michael’s hands aside. Nothing was going to get in her way. Perhaps she would disappear into thin air like Elizabeth Barrington. The house just might open wide and swallow her whole. Kelly didn’t care.

Michael tried to latch on to her again, but she fought him. She almost ripped his jersey in her haste to get away.

A long pink scarf fell to the floor.

Kelly grabbed it before Michael could.

His long fingers reached for it, but she snatched it up and studied it closely.

“Where did you find this? It belongs to Margo. Did you get this from my room? Is this what the man used to choke me?”

Michael nodded grimly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to upset you,” he replied.

“Upset me?” Her voice bounced off the walls. She lowered it and continued. “You let me think I was going crazy. Why would you do that?”

“Do you feel better now that you know the threat is real? Someone is trying to kill you, and we have no idea who or why.”

Kelly nodded defiantly. “As a matter of fact, I do. I feel much better now. I’d rather fight a flesh-and-blood person than a mental disease any day of the week.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re so happy about this,” Michael said sarcastically. “You said something about Margo? You’ve seen this scarf before?”

“Yes. I’m sure it belongs to Margo—the nice old lady who lives in what used to be the guest house. I told you I
went to check on her before I got locked in the garage. Remember? She’s Boomer’s owner.” When he nodded, she continued, “How did somebody get her scarf? Dammit, Michael, do you think Margo’s been hurt?”

“I don’t know.” He stepped outside the room. “But I’m going to find out. The sun won’t be up for another three hours.”

“I’m going with you.”

He didn’t argue this time, and Kelly was relieved. She couldn’t just sit around and twiddle her thumbs. If something bad had happened to her friend, Kelly wanted to know.

Boomer glanced at them but was clearly too relaxed to move. His head went back down and his eyes closed.

“What can you tell me about Margo?” Michael asked as they were headed down the stairs.

“She bought the house three years ago. She’s a sweet old lady. You know the type. She wants to feed everyone in sight. She worries about everyone and loves her dog as if he were a human child,” Kelly replied, “Margo is the type who would invite a stranger in off the street. She wouldn’t question them or wonder if they were going to hurt her. She thinks everyone is as nice as she is.”

“Family?” Michael asked, “You mentioned family earlier.”

Kelly shrugged. She replayed every conversation she could remember having with Margo over a pot of tea and cookies. Margo had mentioned having grown children, but she didn’t seem to visit with them very often. Kelly hadn’t had the chance to meet them herself.

“I don’t know their names. I don’t have their phone numbers.” She rubbed her forehead. “I should have asked in case of an emergency. I just didn’t think of it.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure the lady is fine.”

Kelly had her doubts. She knew Margo well enough to believe the woman wouldn’t leave her dog locked in the
house by himself for more than an hour. She would have taken him with her on a walk.

Kelly climbed into the cab of her truck and Michael took the passenger seat. As they drove down the street, her headlights glided over something—something silver and metallic. Was it a car?

Her eyes wavered from the road and she glanced in the rearview mirror. “I saw something.”

“What?”

“There’s a car parked near the house. I think someone was sitting in it, watching us.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Michael said. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll check it out on our way back.”

When they reached Margo’s house, Michael entered first. He stopped in the living room, motioning for Kelly to stay where she was and be quiet.

Who did he think he was? He assumed command of their invisible army, taking control as if it was his by right of birth.

She watched him move through the living room with silent, cautious footsteps. He walked through the house as if he knew what he was doing. Kelly watched in fascination.

Margo was nowhere to be found.

Michael knelt down on the kitchen floor.

Kelly drew closer. She stood above him as he scratched at a dark spot on the yellowed linoleum. He lifted his thumb nail to his nose and studied it closely.

“Is it blood?” Kelly was caught off guard by a dizzying rush to her head. “Who would want to hurt Margo? Everybody loves her.”

“There could be a reasonable explanation for this. Margo could have cut herself and called someone to take her to the hospital. Or the blood could have come from the dog. There are hundreds of possible scenarios.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Well, there’s no sense in borrowing trouble.”

“How do you think the scarf got into my bedroom?”

Michael glanced up at her from his position near the blood. A grimace marred his handsome features. Her hand itched to stroke the furrowed lines from his forehead.

He sighed. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“Scare me?” Kelly threw up her hands. “How could you possibly scare me any more than I already am? You can’t, okay? So go ahead. Say it.”

“Okay.” Michael stood, placing his large hands on his narrow hips. “Obviously, someone brought it into your room to strangle you with. That someone probably knows what happened to your friend, too.”

Kelly was overwhelmed by his brutal honesty. Although, in his defense, she had asked for it. But hearing the words made everything real to her. Someone had invaded her room and tried to take her life. Who would do something like that?

A psychotic individual. Somebody like her mother.