Hide Yourself Away (35 page)

The group clustered around Lucy were visibly relieved as they listened to the girl’s explanation of where she had been. There was none of the scolding that Lucy had feared.

“Where’s my mother?” she asked, knowing she still had to face the final judge.

“Good question,” said B.J. “She’s probably still inside looking for you. Let’s beep her.”

B.J. entered a text message.
LUCY SAFE. SERVICE ENTRANCE.

She heard the beeper go off in her purse.

“There’s one more thing,” said Grace, clinging to the hope of still getting out of this and being able to tell the authorities what she knew. “The yellow silk handkerchief. I know that it was found in Charlotte’s dress, too.”

“Ah, yes. Finally we do come to a problem.” Manzorella nodded. “I couldn’t take that from the evidence room because it had already been logged in, and if it disappeared, it would look like an inside job and might lead to me.”

“Your DNA is on it,” Grace pointed out.

“True. But nobody’s going to think of trying to match it to me. And I’m certainly not going to order that test.”

Grace cast about in desperation, trying to think of something else that could make Manzorella see he couldn’t get away with this. “You can see you’re wearing the yellow handkerchief in the file tape we have,” she said, averting her eyes as she lied.

Manzorella laughed. “You may be smart, Grace, but you’re not a good liar. The pocket square doesn’t appear in the videotape, does it?” He didn’t wait for her affirmation. “Not to worry, though. Even if I do appear wearing it in the video, it’s highly unlikely that anyone is going to think anything of it if they haven’t so far.

“No, the photo is the only link, and if I hadn’t been so crazed that night, I never would have dropped it down over Charlotte’s body. I should have taken it with me and destroyed it. Instead, I left my fingerprints all over it.

“Fingerprints can last for years and years, Grace. Did you know that?” His eyes narrowed with menace. “Now give it to me, like a good girl. Drop your purse,” he commanded.

Where was Grace?

Why hadn’t she come running after he paged her? Something must be terribly wrong. Nothing would keep Grace from her daughter.

B.J. ran into the mansion, his video camera still on his shoulder, shouting her name. Frank grudgingly followed.

Manzorella instinctively shielded his face against the hurled purse as Grace struggled out of his grasp, putting the coal truck between herself and her attacker. She stood at the opening of the tunnel, wanting to run through to the hatch and the street above. But she remembered what the professor had told her. The coal hatch was locked now and alarmed. She couldn’t get out that way.

But maybe she could set off the alarm.

Grace ran barefoot over the cool bricks on the tunnel floor, hearing Manzorella behind her. She came to the tunnel’s end, and there it was, overhead. But she couldn’t reach it. She looked around in desperation for something to knock at the hatch. From a pile of coal, left for the benefit of tourists, a shovel protruded. Grace lifted it and smashed it at the double iron doors above her.

B.J. and Frank were in the ballroom when the alarm sounded in the distance.

“It’s coming from downstairs somewhere,” called B.J., as he sprinted across the polished floor.

Grace felt the searing pain as the knife pierced her back. Using all her energy, she spun around to face her attacker, swinging the coal shovel as hard as she could into Manzorella’s head. Both of them fell to the ground, one unconscious, the other bleeding.

Grace lay there, staring at the detective’s motionless body for what seemed like an eternity until she heard the voices at the end of the tunnel calling her name. It was only then that she let herself slip away.

  EPILOGUE  

Grace felt the gentle lips that kissed her forehead. Slowly, she opened her lids to find a pair of brown eyes peering intensely into hers. They were B.J.’s.

“What time is it?” she whispered groggily. They must have given her some sort of sedative.

“Almost seven o’clock,” he answered, taking her hand.

“At night?”

“No. In the morning.”

When she tried to sit up in the hospital bed, the soreness in her back brought the rushing memories. Detective Manzorella, the tunnel, the knife. She had focused on Elsa and Oliver because that was where her personal outrage lay. That had been a mistake.

“Easy,” said B.J., helping her up. “You’re going to be fine, but take it easy. You were lucky, Grace. No internal organs were affected. They say you might be able to leave later today, tomorrow for sure.”

Grace scanned B.J.’s rumpled shirt, the one he’d worn at the party.

“Have you been here all night?”

“Yep,” he answered. “Believe it or not, Linus assigned someone else to finish Lauren’s piece on the Ball Bleu. He was all for me staying here with you.”

“That was nice of him,” Grace said. “Maybe he has a heart after all.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s worried about you suing or something.” B.J. smiled at her tenderly. “I’m so relieved that you are all right, Grace. I couldn’t take it if someone else I cared about so much died so violently.”

Grace looked at him questioningly.

“It’s a long story, honey,” he said. “I’ll tell you all about it sometime. We’ll have lots of time to talk about my past and anything else you want.” He bent over and kissed her on the lips.

Grace closed her eyes and kissed him back, her wound, for the moment, forgotten.

“Lucy. I need to call Lucy.” Grace reached for the phone on the table next to the bed. She was suddenly frantic as she remembered. What kind of mother was she? Making out with her new boyfriend before giving a thought to her child.

“Lucy is fine, Grace. She’s with Frank. He’s going to bring her over later.”

Again, Grace looked at him in puzzlement. “How do you know Frank’s name? I never mentioned it to you.”

“I have my ways.” He grinned as he glanced at his watch. “Could you stand watching the show?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Okay,” Grace agreed as she lay back gingerly in the bed.

Constance and Harry made their introductions, opening the Thursday morning edition of
KEY to America
from The Elms—not from the mansion’s lawn, as had been originally planned, but from the coal tunnel.

“A fourteen-year-old murder mystery has seemingly been solved,” announced Constance, “a mystery that began in one tunnel and culminated in another, this one beneath The Elms, one of Newport’s most renowned mansions.”

As Grace listened to Constance describe what had happened, she marveled at the dark video that appeared on the television screen. The images of the tunnel were shaky, as if the cameraman had been running.

“KEY News has this exclusive footage of the scene last night.”

Grace watched as the camera zoomed closer to the tunnel’s end, recording the video of the two figures who lay on the floor. She shivered as she recognized herself lying alongside the murderer.

“Forty-two-year-old Albert Manzorella, a detective with the Newport Police Department, was taken to Newport Hospital to be treated for injuries sustained in a confrontation with
KTA
employee Grace Callahan. Early this morning, Manzorella confessed to the murders of Charlotte Wagstaff Sloane, her daughter, Madeleine Sloane, and
KTA
intern Zoe Quigley. Manzorella also admitted attacking Sam Watkins, another
KTA
intern. Grace Callahan is also in Newport Hospital, recovering from a stabbing wound inflicted by Manzorella.”