Curse of Black Tor (20 page)

“Yes.”

Dr. Hansen motioned Martha and Jules toward a window, where he spoke in low tones. “There's to be no heroics, Miss—” He paused.

“Jamison,” Martha said after glancing at Jules. “Martha Jamison.”

Dr. Hansen gave a quick nod. “I've promised your father, as you know, Jules. No hospital, no heroics.” The doctor spoke in a half whisper. “He is dying. A matter of hours or days—but soon. We'll try to keep him comfortable. You do understand, Miss Jamison?”

She nodded. “I understand.”

Dr. Hansen's eyes held hers, and he looked at her closely for several moments. “Very good,” he said at last. “I'll come anytime you call me. Although…” He shrugged, then added, “There's really nothing more I can do for Norman except leave him in peace. I'll speak to the police about the need for a decent amount of haste in getting their business finished so we won't disturb him any more than necessary.” He stepped over Simon's body and strode to the outer door. Jules followed.

Martha hesitated, then went back to the bedside. Norman's eyes were closed, and although his lips were fairly pink, a pallor circled his mouth. She looked at his fingernails and saw the bluish tinge that meant his damaged heart was unable to pump enough oxygen to the tissues, despite the extra oxygen flowing into his lungs from the green cylinder.

As she touched his wrist to check his pulse, he opened his eyes. His lips formed a word, though no sound came from them. “Simon.”

“I'm taking care of you now, Mr. Garrard,” Martha said, keeping her voice calm and clear. “Simon is—ill.”

To her alarm, Norman struggled to raise his head so that he could see the rest of the room. She urged him back against the pillows.

“Rest,” she told him. “Don't exert yourself.”

“Dead,” gasped Norman. “I know.” He stared into her eyes and she saw that his pupils were dilated. “Have to—” Once again he strove to raise himself. “I know who...” he said quite clearly as he levered himself and turned toward the door.

He can see Simon's body, she thought. Norman's face mottled with the effort, and she grasped at his wrist. “Please lie back,” she said. “There's nothing you can do for Simon. Dr. Hansen—”

“Dead,” Norman repeated, and fell back onto the pillows.

Under her fingers his pulse flickered and faded. His mouth opened and she heard his breathing change.

“Doctor!” she called. But Dr. Hansen had gone with Jules.

Norman was dying. Not in hours or days, but that moment. His pulse was almost gone, his breathing was shallower and the rales in his chest were ever more obvious—the rattle of dying lungs.

Martha had schooled herself not to fear death, and she knew she could do nothing more for Norman Garrard. If she went for the doctor, Norman would be dead when she returned. Still, her neck prickled with apprehension. Simon's body lay between her and the outside door, and now Norman's breathing had stopped. She felt trapped inside the death-filled room.

A stethoscope lay on the nightstand, and she fitted the earpieces in, then bent over to listen to Norman's chest. There was no sound. She removed the stethoscope and shut off the oxygen.

I mustn't let this affect me, she told herself. I've been away from nursing too long, that's what's wrong. But she glanced around her with terror, as though death might be visible after all.

Johann had been lying in his own blood when she'd found him, but his skin was still warm. If she'd come out a few seconds earlier, could she have saved him? She made a sound of protest and the small noise in the silent room startled her into awareness.

I must find Dr. Hansen, she thought. And Jules.

But as she stepped over Simon's body, the outer door opened and Jules was there with two strange men, one in uniform.

The police.

Martha hurried to Jules. “Your father just died,” she said. “Where's Dr. Hansen?”

Jules stood for a moment without speaking.

“Your father, sir?” one of the men said.

“The doctor's in the library,” Jules said to Martha. “With Bill Wong. Waiting for the ambulance.” He glanced toward Norman's bed and back at Martha. “I can't quite—”

“I'll get Dr. Hansen,” Martha said, moving past the three men and hurrying down the corridor toward the stairs. Before she started down, she saw a stretcher with a blanketed figure being pushed across the foyer toward the front door by two attendants. Dr. Hansen followed behind, but he stopped when she called to him. She met him halfway down the stairs and explained what had happened.

Later, when the hearse had come and gone, Martha went in search of Josephine and found her in the tower.

“The black remover's van,” Josephine said to her.

Martha stared at her.

“Don't you read Auden?” Josephine asked. “That's from one of his poems.” Tears glittered in her eyes.

“Josephine—”

“I didn't love him, I didn't!” Josephine voice rose. “Why do I feel so bad?”

Martha sat next to her on the window seat and put an arm around her. “Your father was an old man,” she said. “He was sick and uncomfortable— ”

Josephine turned away and put her hands over her face. “I know,” she said. “But he didn't want to die—no one wants to die!”

This from a girl who'd supposedly tried to kill herself more than once? Martha shook her head. She no longer believed that Josephine had ever tried suicide.

Josephine turned back to her. “He never loved me,” she said. “Or my mother, either.”

“I think you're wrong,” Martha told her. “I don't know how he felt about your mother, but every time I talked to him, his one concern was for your safety.”

“Only because I'm a part of him—-his daughter. Not because I'm me.” Tears rolled down Josephine's face. “He just loved Jules. Jules is her son. The first Josephine. Josie.”

“Didn't you tell me your father left everything equally to you and Jules?”

“I didn't say he wasn't fair.” Josephine began to sob, and her words came through with difficulty. “Only he never loved me...”

Martha held her while she cried, feeling tears gather in her own eyes.

At last Josephine straightened herself, wiping her face with a handkerchief, reducing it to a sodden ball. “Poor Simon,” she said when she'd finished. “They took him away, too, didn't they? I never liked Simon, but I didn't wish him dead.”

“Then you know?” Martha asked.

“Sarah told me.”

Martha started up. “I left her with Louella. Where—”

“Don't go,” Josephine begged. “Sarah's all right. I was down in my room when she came in. Then Aunt Nat collected her.” She dabbed the last of the tears from her eyes. “What happened to Simon? I saw the police. Were they here about Bill, or was Simon...?” She stopped, looking at Martha. “Dr. Hansen doesn't know what killed Simon. He—it might have been a natural death. The police checked because—well, there could've been an accident.”

“Or someone could have killed him, too, isn't that right?
”

“Too?
” Martha asked.

“Like they tried to do with me. And you. Accidents.”

“I don't know,” Martha told her. “Don’t forget Bill Wong was shot as well. Another accident?”

“I—I assumed it had been,” Martha said. “The woods--”

“Our land is all posted,” Josephine said. “No one hunts here.”

“Still...”

“I don't believe it,” Josephine said.

Martha agreed with her but thought it best not to say so. “Let's go down to our bedrooms,” she said to Josephine. “I realize you don't feel like eating, but—”

“It'll be just like Jules to insist we all appear for dinner as usual,” Josephine said bitterly. “And I suppose I'll have to. Jules will be watching me, waiting for me to act peculiar so he can put me in one of those places and get control of my money.” Her mouth tightened and her face grew tense. In that moment Martha thought Josephine looked a good deal like her half brother.

Josephine caught at Martha's arm. “You won't have to leave Black Tor now!” she cried. “I can pay you to stay— to be my companion! You'll stay, won't you?”

“I'll stay if you want me,” Martha said. “But there's Diego, too.” Josephine shook her head. “We have to wait. I don’t want Jules to know about Diego. Not until the money’s in the bank with my name on the account.” 

“You promised me I could meet Diego,” Martha reminded her.

Josephine eyed her warily. “He says not yet.”

Martha looked away, her mind filled with mistrust of the reluctant Diego, missing all these years and now returning just as Josephine came into a fortune.

“I'll be twenty-three in a week,” Josephine said. “Daddy thought he'd live past my birthday. He knew I wasn't crazy. That's why he changed his Will last year. Before that, Jules was my guardian and had control of my share of the money if daddy died. But last year the will was changed so that I had control of my own money when I reached twenty-three. So I won't get my share until next week, when I have my birthday. And I suppose there'll be delays, so I won't really have it for months after. But I'll pay you when I can, Martha.”

“Don't worry about paying me,” Martha said. “I'll stay as long as you need me.”

As she followed Josephine down the winding stairs from the tower, Martha wondered how she could protect Josephine as Norman had asked. From whom? Diego? Jules? Someone else at Black Tor? Charn? Cathleen? Natalie? Or Matthew? Could Louella be a threat to anyone? Martha didn't trust any of them.

In her bedroom Martha changed into a cotton print skirt—not especially appropriate for a Black Tor dinner, but it would have to do.

Josephine came in looking pale and subdued in a navy dress with white piping around the collar. She knocked against the stand that held the gilt cage with the stuffed canary, and the yellow bird swung dumbly on its perch. They both watched the tiny swing go to and fro. Martha's mouth twisted in distaste.

“I don't like them, either,” Josephine said, turning her face from the cage. “I'm sorry I threw the cat from the tower and frightened you when you first came, but I'm glad I got rid of one more dead pet. I—it's morbid, all different kinds of animals in the house and none of them alive. But Daddy wouldn’t let anything be different from the way his father did it.” She swung around and glared at the stuffed canary in the cage.

“Jules won’t change things, either. I’m glad Daddy left him the house. I don’t want it.”

They met Louella in the hall by the staircase.

“How is Sarah?” she asked.

“Aunt Nat took her somewhere,” Josephine said. “But she didn’t seem upset after I told her Daddy and Simon were dead. More like excited.”

Louella shook her head. “I trust Natalie put Sarah to bed,” she said. “The child’s too young to encounter so much death. Finding the young man--and them losing Norman. She loved her grandfather.” Josephine glanced sharply at Louella, but the old woman had turned away and was picking her way down the stairs moving slowly and carefully.

Martha wondered if L
o
uella checked for a cord each time. But why would anyone wish to do away with harmless Louella?

“And that’s the ugliest stuffed animal of all,” Josephine said, pointing at the orca rising from the foyer below them. “But Jules won’t ever part with her. When I was little, I was afraid of that killer whale until Jules told me it was a she. So I figured if she was a girl
,
that made her safe and I stopped being scared. I wish some museum would--” she broke off and stopped, one foot already on the next step down. “What’s that fastened to her?”

Martha saw what she meant--a white paper was bound to the orca’s tail.

“The writing’s in green!” Josephine cried. “I know who it’s from.” She rushed down the rest of the steps, pushing past Louella.

Martha hurried after her.

When she caught up with Josephine, the girl was already on her tiptoes, reaching for the paper and saying, “He always writes me in green.” She gave the paper a yank, but it didn’t come loose. She pulled harder.

“Oh, dear God, it’s going to fall!” Louella cried from behind them

With horror Martha saw the pedestal buckle, screamed and grabbed for Josephine, trying to pull her sideways. She heard a grinding noise, something hit her across the chest and flung her to the floor. After that nothing. 

Chapter Twenty

Voices in the darkness, hands touching her, a man calling her name. Martha opened her eyes with an effort, surprised to find herself lying on the floor.

“Are you all right, Martha?” Jules's voice.

She looked up into his eyes. “I—think so.” She moved her legs tentatively, then her arms, and winced with pain. “My shoulder....”

She turned her head and saw the broken body of the killer whale littering the foyer floor. Someone had said the whale was falling; someone had screamed—

Josephine!

Martha struggled to a sitting position, ignoring the pain in her left shoulder. She tried to rise to her feet, but a wave of dizziness prevented her. “Josephine?” she asked. “Is she...?”