Ivy Secrets (52 page)

The man nodded and went past, out through the doors and down the steps. Charlie looked quickly around, then set the knapsack on the floor. She turned to leave but could not help looking around, looking back. She saw no one. No one. Not Connors. Not Greenberg. And not the kidnapper.

She opened the large door again, nearly knocking over a young student in yellow leggings and a broad-brimmed straw hat.

“Sorry,” Charlie muttered, and quickly left the building, heading back up the walk toward Tess’s house.

    Marina crouched behind Peacock’s Bench, watching Alexis move toward Morris House. She didn’t care that Joe Lyons had demanded she return to Tess’s; she was going to make sure her bitch sister did as she was told.

Alexis struggled under the weight of the knapsack. Even from here, Marina could see that her sister’s expression was twisted into a familiar look of defiance, even in the face of blatant wrongdoing.
Diplomatic immunity
, Marina thought.
What a crock of shit.
She wondered with an ache of regret if there wasn’t something she should have done differently years ago—if there wasn’t something she could have said—to have prevented this always-second-best sister from going this far. If only she had tried harder to show Alexis she loved her. If only she’d had the courage—years ago—to keep Jenny, to live with the consequences. If only Alexis had known that she would have been perfectly content to let her sons inherit the throne.
If only, if only
, she thought as Alexis moved closer to the house.
If only I could have foreseen this betrayal.

Suddenly, Alexis disappeared around the opposite corner of the huge house, away from Marina’s view.

“Shit,” Marina whispered. She quickly crept to the porch and snuck behind an overgrown shrub. She sat quietly, pressed between the gritty concrete foundation and the prickly green bush. Her head throbbed with the knowledge that Joe Lyons—and the FBI—were going to trust an electronic device to lead them to where Jenny was being held captive.

She blinked as she spotted Alexis come from the side of the house, then turn and walk toward Green Street, where Marina knew the police were waiting. She was relieved that at least her sister was following instructions.

Just as Marina began to straighten up, she spotted the knapsack through the bushes. She quickly crouched again as her sister’s accomplice scurried past. The footsteps were firm, determined. But worse than that, they were familiar. Marina held her breath as she realized the gait was well known to her, had been well known to her, for many, many years. It did not belong to Jonathan DuValle. It did not belong to any of Alexis’s sons. A ball of vomit rolled into Marina’s esophagus. She squeezed her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Oh, God. No.”

But Marina knew what she must do. She swallowed sharply and crept from her hiding place. She looked quickly around, then spotted her sister’s accomplice. Even from his back, Marina knew she had been right. It was Nicholas.

Her breaths came faster and faster as she watched him scurry past the house and around the back, in the direction of Paradise Pond, the playing and riding fields, and the abutting grounds of Northampton State Hospital.

As Nicholas picked up his pace, Marina sprang to her feet and charged in his direction. Even as she raced, she wanted to deny what she was seeing. But there was no time for denial: Nicholas must be stopped.

She ran past the dance studio and Sage Hall, then quickly darted down the hill toward the red bridge—the bridge where she’d so long ago confessed to him about her pregnancy; the bridge where she had put all her trust in him. She choked on the irony now of the red bridge—red, like the communists, the betrayers of old.

“Bastard,” she whispered under her breath.

Then she stopped dead.

Nicholas had stopped on the bridge. Nicholas was facing her.

“This is quite a switch, Princess,” he said. “You following me.”

Marina tried to catch her breath. She wanted to turn, she wanted to run. But she knew she was caught.

“Where is Jenny?” Marina demanded. “What have you done to her?”

“She is safe. I am not going to kill her.”

“That is not what Alexis wants.”

“I am not a child killer, Marina.” His tone was soft, almost apologetic, almost embarrassed.

Suddenly, Marina saw the picture clearly. “You set up Alexis. You told her about Jenny because you knew it would make her wild. You knew she’d want her dead.”

“Alexis is so predictable. I knew she would agree to anything, as long as she thought it self-serving.”

“But what about my father? He trusted you.”

Nicholas shifted the weight of the knapsack. He looked around, as though unsure of what to do next. “I am only a man, Princesca. A man with wants and needs like every other man. You have no idea what it’s like to have to work for the King. To see all that money, all that power, day after day, year after year. I deserve this money, I deserve to be rich. To have someone wait on me for a change.”

“Did you only want the money, Nicholas? Or were you looking for revenge—on Alexis—on all of us?”

Nicholas stared at the ground. “Perhaps both.”

“So you used my sister. You used her weakness to humiliate all of us.”

“I couldn’t get the money alone. I needed someone to help.”

“To make the phone calls.”

Nicholas rubbed his cheek. “She was the one person Jenny’s existence would matter to.” He shook his head. “The issue of an illegitimate child no longer is much of a scandal. Alexis was the only one with anything at stake.”

“And Viktor. You used his name as a threat to the king.”

“No one knew he was dead. It was perfect. Everyone would have thought it was him.” The pace of his words increased, his tone grew animated with conviction. He was no longer the Nicholas that Marina had trusted—and loved—all her life.

“Are you trying to ruin Novokia?”

Nicholas snorted. “Believe me, Princesca. No one wants your dilapidated country. Least of all me.”

“But you wanted the money.…”

He shrugged. “Yes. I wanted the money. The fact I could get it and destroy the noble Marchant name was an added
benefit.” He raised a finger, his cheeks reddened, his eyes narrowed. “You’re no better than me, none of you. Not the king, not your damned sister, and not you.”

Marina dared a step forward. “But it’s over now, Nicholas. The police know. They have Alexis in custody.”

He stood for a moment, staring at her.

“They cannot touch her,” Marina continued as she took another step. “She has diplomatic immunity. You, however, do not.”

Nicholas looked off toward the pond. Suddenly he reached into his pocket and snapped around. Marina looked down. A gun was aimed at her heart.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he said. “But you leave me no choice. You have never left me any choice. But I am tired now. Tired of being a servant to kings and princesses. Spoiled brat princesses.”

“Drop the gun, Furman.”

Marina turned quickly. Joe Lyons moved from behind her. He pushed Marina aside. “Get out of here,” he commanded. “Fast.”

Marina hesitated a moment, then sprinted up the hill.

A shot rang over her head. She ducked and fell to the ground, her face rubbing the dirt. Another shot boomed through the air. Then there was silence. Pure, utter, deadly silence.

“Shit.”

She heard the word and closed her eyes.

“It’s over, Princess,” Joe Lyons called to her. “He’s dead.”

She turned on her side and pulled herself from the ground. On the bridge she could see the body of Nicholas Furman, trusted bodyguard, crumpled atop the knapsack. Blood oozed across the wooden bridge. The red wooden bridge.

It really is red now
, she thought, then started to cry.
Jenny. Jenny is somewhere. Alone. Somewhere.

“You should have gone to Tess’s,” Joe said angrily. “We may never find her now.”

“We’ll find her,” Charlie’s voice came from behind them.

Marina looked up to the top of the hill in disbelief. Charlie was there, with Peter, Dell, and the two FBI men.

Wedged among the group was a small little man with an odd smile. It had been many years, but his face was unforgettable. And he still wore a baggy shirt and saggy pants. As Willie Benson always had.

The FBI had finally found Willie, crouched between shelves at the back of Dell’s bookstore. He was hiding, and he was scared. He’d overheard Dell and Joe Lyons talking about Jenny, about Charlie, and about the fact that someone suspected he’d done it. Willie knew he was stupid, but he wasn’t
that
stupid.… He remembered what had happened with Charlie, the girl with the boy’s name and the pretty hair. He remembered, so he’d hid.

“When the FBI questioned Willie, he said he’d seen a little girl with black hair at the old hospital,” Charlie quickly explained.

“Pretty black hair,” Willie said.

“In the mental hospital?” Marina asked.

Charlie nodded.

“I play there,” Willie said with a grin. “It’s where I play. I used to live there.

“And you’ve seen Jenny?”

Willie’s eyes danced “Sure. Sure. Two times.”

Charlie reached out and put her arm around Willie, amazed that she felt no anger, and that she was unafraid. “Willie’s going to take us to her.”

“I can find the little girl,” he mumbled. “I know how to get in.”

“Willie’s spent a lot of time there,” Charlie said. “He knows the layout.”

Joe Lyons touched his bandaged burned hand and shook his head. “Officer,” he said to one of the city cops, “take care of the body. And watch the bag. Closely.” He turned to the others. “Let’s get the cars.”

“No cars,” Willie said. “I won’t go if I have to ride in a car.”

    It didn’t make any sense, why the old man had kidnapped her.

Jenny bit into the scarf that was wrapped around her mouth. The fabric was slimy against her teeth, and it was beginning
to smell. But biting into it was the only thing she could think of to keep from crying.

She tried to focus on the old man. He knew who her father was; he knew her mother. And he knew Aunt Tess. He had a funny accent. And puffy red cheeks. She knew from watching old
Rockford Files
and
Murder, She Wrote
and
Father Dowling Mysteries
on cable that it was important to remember these details. She tried to remember more, but she couldn’t remember any kidnapping episodes, which was really stupid because of all the TV she watched. All the TV shows that gave her something to do when her parents were out at night, something to keep her out of Grandmother Hobart’s way.

Maybe the old man had something to do with Grandmother Hobart. Maybe there had been an extra page in her will that said Jenny must be “disposed of.”

Stop being a jerk
, Jenny told herself.
Grandmother is dead.

Still, she knew Grandmother had hated her. She knew she wasn’t pretty like Mommy or even Aunt Ellen. She knew she had this mass of thick black hair that didn’t seem as though it should belong to her, and these dark eyes that didn’t look at all like those of Grandmother Hobart or any of the ancestors whose pictures stood on top of the shawl-covered piano in the music room at Hobart Manor.

Jenny knew she didn’t belong there. But she’d never been able to figure out why. And she’d never dared question it. She decided now that if she ever saw her mother again, she was going to ask her. She was not going to be afraid anymore.

If she ever saw her mother again.

An ache of fear or sadness or hunger—or all of them—clawed at her stomach.

She heard a rustling, swishy noise, then squeezed her eyes shut.
It’s only a bird
, Jenny told herself. But she had seen rats in the stables a few times, and she knew the noise they made.

She turned her face away from the stinking mattress and felt the dampness between her legs. She had, she knew, peed. Wet the bed. Jenny Hobart, age fourteen, had wet the bed.

She bit into the scarf again and wondered, for the thousandth time, what she had done wrong and if she was going to die.

“This is totally against protocol,” Joe mumbled as they slipped through an open window into the basement of the old hospital.

“Screw protocol,” Charlie heard Peter answer. “My daughter’s in here somewhere.”

Beneath her aching anxiety, Charlie realized Peter had called Jenny his daughter. And for the first time—maybe ever—she felt that he meant it. She recognized the new feeling inside her as hope.

“Maybe we should split up,” Marina said as they all stood on the damp concrete floor.

“I think I’m giving the orders here,” Joe said, then added, “All right, let’s split up. Charlie and Marina, you go with agent Connors. And Willie. Peter and I will go with agent Greenberg. Dell, you come with us.”

“I’ll find her first,” Willie chided.

“I’m sure you will,” Joe answered.

“I wish Tess were here,” Dell said.

Charlie felt a twinge of sadness for Tess as the groups split and went in different directions.

“At least she is not in a place like this,” Marina said, as if reading Charlie’s mind.