Murder on Lexington Avenue (34 page)

Sarah stepped forward with Malloy right behind her, walking toward them until Electra caught sight of them. She looked up in surprise, and Oldham followed her gaze. When he saw them, too, he sat up, then jumped to his feet.

By the time Sarah and Malloy reached them, he’d helped Electra to her feet as well.

“I wasn’t expecting you for hours yet,” Electra said, surprising them.

“You were expecting us?” Sarah asked in surprise.

“Not you in particular, but I knew Aunt Betty would send someone after us. I didn’t think they’d miss me until suppertime, though.”

Malloy waved his hand to capture her attention. “We were looking for the notebook.”

Electra smiled. “You figured it out!” she said with satisfaction. “I was beginning to give up hope.”

Oldham was signing frantically, trying to get her attention. She signed something back to him impatiently.

“What’s he saying?” Malloy asked.

“He just wants to know how you found us and some other stuff about how he’ll never let me go,” she said dismissively. “He doesn’t know I left the note for you to find.”

“That was careless of you,” Malloy said.

Electra shook her head. “I had to make sure someone could follow us. How else were you ever going to figure out who the killer was?”

“So Adam did kill Leander and your father,” Malloy said, glancing at Oldham, who was signing frantically again. Electra was still ignoring him. Not at all what Sarah would have expected from a besotted young girl.

“How did you know he was the killer?” Sarah asked after capturing Electra’s attention.

“He told me he killed Father,” she said without the slightest expression.

Sarah and Malloy gaped at her.

“When?” Sarah managed, wondering how long the girl had known this horrible truth.

“The day Mother had the baby. Brother took me out so I could meet Adam. He said I needed to break it off with Adam. It wouldn’t be right to continue with my lessons with Father dead. Adam told me what he did.”

“And Leander wouldn’t have known what they were talking about because he didn’t understand signing,” Malloy murmured to Sarah.

Oldham had given up trying to get a response from Electra. He’d found his jacket, which was draped over the sofa, and pulled out a notebook and pencil. He’d been scribbling in it and now handed it to Malloy.

“He wants to know what we’re talking about,” Malloy said after reading it. “What should I tell him?” he asked Electra.

“Tell him you figured out he killed them,” Electra said.

Malloy wrote something and handed the notebook back to Oldham.

The shock registered on his handsome face, but he quickly recovered. He wrote something and handed the notebook back to Frank with a very confident smile.

“He says I have no proof.” Malloy looked at Electra. “He’s right. I can’t prove he met Leander that night.”

Electra turned and walked away, or at least that’s what Sarah thought she was doing, but she was actually going to the carpetbag sitting on the floor nearby. She stooped down, rummaged around for a moment, and then rose with something in her hand. She carried it back and held it out to Malloy with a confident smile of her own. It was a notebook just like the one Oldham had been using. The notebook Oldham had dropped the day of the funeral. The notebook that contained whatever message Oldham had given Leander on the day he was murdered.

Oldham made a strangled sound in his throat and dove to intercept the notebook, snatching it away from Malloy’s fingertips. Oldham turned on Electra, his face a mask of outrage and horror and indescribable pain. He was signing quickly, awkwardly, because he still clutched the notebook in one hand.

Malloy tried to snatch it away, but Oldham dodged him and lunged for the fireplace, where the flames were lazily licking at a log. He managed to open the book, fanning the pages as he tossed it into the fire.

Malloy tried to push him aside, but Oldham turned and grabbed Malloy’s arms, catching him off balance so that they both fell to the floor. While they struggled, Sarah grabbed the poker that stood in a stand beside the fireplace. Hastily skirting the writhing bodies on the floor, she managed to catch the notebook with the tip of the poker and toss it away from the flames to the safety of the hearth. It was charred and half-burned and still smoldering, and she stamped on it to smother any remaining embers and stop any further destruction. Perhaps there was still enough left to provide the proof Malloy would need, but she doubted it.

Malloy had finally succeeded in subduing Oldham or else Oldham had simply ceased to struggle. Perhaps he figured the notebook had been destroyed by now. A glance at its sad remains brought a satisfied sneer to his beautiful mouth. Malloy was on his feet, panting slightly, and Oldham sat up, draping his arms over his knees as he caught his breath.

After a moment his gaze found Electra, who stood there shaking her head in disgust. “I know what it said,” she told Malloy. “It said to meet him at the Grey Goose Saloon on Delancey Street.”

But Adam couldn’t hear her. He was scrambling for the notebook and pencil he’d been using earlier. He scrawled something across a page and handed it to Malloy in triumph. Sarah could read it easily.

“No proof,” it said.

Malloy stared back at Oldham with a sneer of his own. He dropped the notebook, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out something that glinted golden in the fire-light. It was two short cylinders. He held one up in each hand for Oldham to see.

Sarah had no idea what they were, but Oldham did. The blood drained from his face. Malloy turned slightly to show them to Electra. “Do you know what this is?”

She stared at them in wonder. “Adam’s mechanical pencil. His mother gave it to him when he graduated from college. He told me he lost it.”

“He did,” Frank said. “In your father’s office on the day he was killed.”

To Sarah’s amazement, Electra smiled.

Oldham couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he did understand that Electra had betrayed him. The look he gave her sent a shiver up Sarah’s spine. For a moment they were all frozen, as if in a tableau, and then Oldham sprang, quick as a cat.

Before anyone could guess his intent, he’d snatched up a knife from the pile of dirty dishes and leaped to his feet. Instinctively, Malloy threw himself between Oldham and Electra, but Oldham had turned to Sarah. Grabbing her arm, he twisted it up behind her back and placed the blade of the knife to her neck.

She cried out in pain, and Malloy lunged for her, but a warning sound from Oldham stopped him cold. Oldham couldn’t explain his intentions, but he didn’t need to. They were crystal clear. The blade of the knife felt as if it were burning her skin where it pressed threateningly, and the pain in her arm brought tears to her eyes.

Terror turned Malloy’s eyes coal black, and he raised his hands in a sign of surrender. Then he started looking around for something. He found the notebook and the pencil lying nearby where Oldham had dropped them. Moving slowly, making his intentions clear, he bent over and retrieved them, then wrote something in the notebook and held it up for Oldham to read.

Sarah saw it, too. “Don’t hurt her. I will let you go.”

She couldn’t see Oldham’s face, but Malloy must’ve been satisfied with the response. He raised his hands in the sign of surrender again, even though he still held the notebook and pencil. Oldham started tugging on her arm, and he took a step backward, forcing her to do the same. He was backing them toward the door.

“Don’t let him get away!” Electra cried.

No one paid her any mind.

Sarah and Oldham were making slow progress, but Malloy hadn’t moved. He stood there glaring, as if the very force of his anger could protect her. Sarah’s mind was racing. She wasn’t going to leave the house with him, no matter what. And she wasn’t going to allow him to kill her either. Amazingly, she realized she had a weapon. A very deadly weapon.

“Poker,” she said to Malloy, hazarding only that one word. She knew Oldham couldn’t hear her, but she wasn’t sure if he could feel the vibrations of her voice if she tried to say more.

She saw Malloy’s gaze flicker to her right hand, where she still clutched the poker she’d used to rescue the notebook from the fire, and his eyes widened in comprehension.

“Don’t take any chances,” he said, barely moving his lips.

“You can’t let him go!” Electra cried again and started toward Oldham.

Sarah felt Oldham tense, and the knife dug painfully into her neck, but Malloy caught Electra’s arm and stopped her, holding her fast as she struggled.

Behind her, Sarah heard Oldham make a sound that might have been a sob. She’d been right about one thing: Oldham had loved Electra. But she’d been so wrong about how the girl felt about him. She had a thousand questions for Electra. She only hoped she’d have a chance to ask them.

Once they were out in the hallway, Oldham quickened his pace. Sarah had to struggle not to stumble as she fought her skirts and the terror of the knife at her throat and tried to keep the poker from bumping Oldham and revealing her secret weapon. Sarah’s mind was racing. How could she use the poker? She’d have to decide soon, before they reached the door.

He would probably either release her hand or remove the knife from her neck in order to open the door, unless he turned her around and made her do it. If he released her arm, she might be able to spin around and hit him with the poker, but she wouldn’t have much time or much room, and if she didn’t hurt him the first time . . .

At the end of the hallway, Sarah could see a shadow in the doorway to the room they’d just left. Malloy had moved up, ready to come after them the moment he heard the front door open. Even still, he was much too far away to save her if Oldham decided to slit her throat.

She felt Oldham’s breath on her ear and realized how close his face was, just over her right shoulder. He was slowing down, and they passed the doorway into the front parlor. They were almost to the front door. She had to act now or be totally at his mercy.

Sarah braced herself, tightening her grip on the poker. Bending her elbow, she lifted the metal rod slowly, making no sudden move to alert Oldham to her intentions. The poker was straight out at waist height, and then she felt his breath again and she quickly lifted her arm, sending the poker back over her shoulder and straight into his face.

She felt the impact. Oldham made a horrible sound and released her instantly. Now free, she spun around, slapped her left hand over the right on the poker handle, and raised it up just as Oldham recovered and lunged at her with the knife. She brought the poker down with all her might, not aiming or hoping or planning, just praying it would stop him.

This blow landed even more solidly on his shoulder, eliciting a satisfactory grunt of pain. She heard something clatter to the floor. The knife? She couldn’t be sure. She raised the poker and brought it down again. By the time she’d raised it a third time, Oldham was on his knees, cringing, his arms over his head, and before she could bring the poker down again, someone grabbed it.

“I’ll take it from here, Mrs. Brandt,” Malloy said. Using the pressure of his hand, he forced her to lower it, and then he picked up Oldham by the scruff of his neck and punched him solidly in the stomach.

Sarah winced at the violence of it, completely forgetting she’d been about to bash Oldham’s brains in just a moment earlier, but she instantly saw the wisdom. Oldham wasn’t hurt, but with the wind knocked out of him, he was completely incapacitated.

“See if you can find someplace where I can lock him up,” Malloy said as Oldham writhed and gasped for breath. “I’ll need to go find the local police, and I don’t want to take a chance of him hurting you again.”

Finding herself unable to speak, Sarah handed him the poker and went in search of Electra, who had been watching everything from the far end of the hallway. The girl was helpful enough to show Sarah the pantry, a windowless room about eight feet square and lined with shelves that were almost bare at the moment. The door could be locked and the key hung conveniently nearby, since the room contained nothing of value at the moment.

At Sarah’s call, Malloy dragged Oldham back to the kitchen, threw him into the pantry, and locked the door.

“Did I hurt him?” Sarah asked.

“I think you might’ve broken his collarbone, but nothing serious.” He looked at the key, looked at Sarah and Electra, who was still watching everything with avid interest. “I think I’ll keep this,” he said and dropped the key into his own pocket.

Oldham began pounding on the door and trying desperately to turn the knob. That lasted for a few minutes and then they heard the sounds of what might have been sobbing. Sarah winced again.

“That’s why I’m keeping the key,” Malloy said with disapproval. “I’ve got to walk back to town and try to find somebody in authority to take him into custody. I’ll probably be gone several hours, so don’t let him out, whatever you do.”

“He had a knife to my throat,” Sarah reminded him indignantly, raising her hand to touch the skin that was still stinging. “I’m not going to let him go!”

“Oh, my God, you’re bleeding,” Malloy said in alarm, “Sit down.” He pulled out a kitchen chair and forced her down onto it.

Meanwhile, she was feeling the injury. “It’s just a scratch,” she protested. “I’ll take care of it. You should get going. It’ll be dark soon.”

But Malloy insisted on washing the blood away at least, to satisfy himself that she was right and it wasn’t serious. Sarah sat patiently, allowing him to fuss over her and reveling in the opportunity to see a side of him he seldom revealed. His large hands were amazingly tender as they wiped the blood away.

When he was satisfied that she was all right, he left, armed with a crudely drawn map from Electra of the shortcut footpath he could take to town.