Private 10 - Suspicion (16 page)

"I have this amazing bubble bath with aloe in it," Mrs. Ryan said. "It will do wonders for that burn."

"Let's get her upstairs," Upton suggested. "Then you can come down and talk to the chef."

"What about the police?" Mrs. Ryan asked him. "They said it was urgent." Upton glanced at me warily. "I don't think I should go anywhere just now."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Ryan said. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of Reed until you get back. Besides, the ambulance will be here soon, not to mention the rest of your friends and their families." She gave me a tight smile. "Everyone wanted to be here to make sure you're all right."

I swallowed hard as I looked at Upton. I didn't want him to go. Not after longing to see him for the past six days. I never wanted to let him out of my sight again. But if Noelle and the others were on their way, I could manage. Especially if he was going off to slam the last nail into Poppy's coffin.

"Reed?" he said.

"It's okay," I said as my bare feet hit the cold tile floor. My knees collapsed underneath me and Mrs. Ryan held me up. She was a lot sturdier than she appeared.

"Are you all right?" Upton asked.

"Fine," I said, clearing my parched throat. "You can go. Just . . . come right back," I said, glancing warily at Mrs. Ryan.

Upton approached me. He placed his hands gently on my shoulders, probably afraid of hurting my scorched skin. "Are you sure? "

"I'm sure," I said, not feeling sure at all.

"All right, then. I'll be back before you know it. And don't worry. Calista will take good care of you."

Since when did he call her Calista? I glanced at Paige and Daniel's mother. Yesterday, this morning even, I had been certain her children were trying to off me. But it wasn't Paige and Daniel. It was Poppy. Upton and his crack team of investigators were convinced it was Poppy.

"Comeon," Mrs. Ryan said, flicking her fingers at me. "You'llfeel so much better once you get in that bath."

I took a deep breath. If Upton trusted her, I supposed I should, too. Besides, like he said, Noelle would be here soon. And Kiran, Taylor, Tiffany, and the rest. If I could survive six days on a deserted island, I could survive six minutes with Mrs. Ryan.

"Okay."

Upton kissed me on the forehead and I was on my way. Mrs. Ryan kept one arm around my back, supporting me as I slowly climbed the wide, red-tile stairs. The second floor was carpeted, and the warm fibers were like heaven for my cold feet. She led me down the hallway to the very end, where an open room awaited us.

"This is my dressing room," she said, flicking on the light. The chamber was actually one huge closet lined with shelves and drawers and racks of clothing built into the walls. At one end was a huge vanity table with curled legs and marble detailing. The mirror was so tremendous I could see my entire body reflected in its surface. It was not a pretty sight. My face was such a dark red it seemed unnatural, and my lips were cracked and crusted with blood. My hair was a tangled, matted mess and hung limply over my shoulders. The skin on my legs and arms had peeled in several places, leaving streaks of mottled white against the bright red. Flecks of dead skin were peppered everywhere. If Upton still loved me after seeing me like this, it would be a miracle.

"Have a seat and I'll draw the bath," Mrs. Ryan said, depositing me on the soft velvet bench in front of the mirror. She opened a set of double doors to my right, revealing a huge white bathroom. From my angle I could see only a wide sink, but she disappeared to the right side of the door and I heard her rummaging around. Heard the water start to gurgle. A bath was going to feel so good. Just sitting there in that clean, airy room, I was starting to smell myself, and it was not a nice scent. I wondered if Upton had noticed it on our way back from my island. If he had, he'd been too polite to so much as wrinkle his nose. Unable to stare at my horrifying reflection any longer, I turned my attention to the myriad products on the table. There were bottles and tubs and tubes and glosses. Moisturizers and toners and bronzers and plumpers. I ran my trembling fingers along the beveled edge of the table, unable to believe I was here. Back in civilization.

"Reed, I'm going to go check on the food," Mrs. Ryan called out. "I'll be right back."

A door closed. An outside door to the hallway from the bathroom no doubt. I glanced over my shoulder at the open door, then reached for a bottle of perfume near the center of the table. I removed the glass top, intending to give myself a little spritz to mask my stench, when the scent of the perfume filled my senses and the room began to spin. It was the scent I had smelled just before I was shoved off the stern of the Ryans' boat. Unmistakable. It brought me right back to that terrifying moment as if it were happening all over again.

The bottle fell from my quaking fingers and hit the table top with a crash. I was on my shaky feet like a flash, the adrenaline that had kept me alive on the island returning full force. Desperately, my eyes scanned the shelves and racks on the walls all around me, taking in flowered dresses and pressed pants and silky blouses. I took a deep breath and told myself to concentrate. If it was here somewhere, I could find it. I just had to concentrate. I breathed in and slowly scanned the room. Right next to the two floor-to-ceiling racks of shoes was a small section of workout gear. Yoga pants were folded neatly on shelves. Tank tops hung on silver hangers. Right next to a half dozen hooded sweatshirts. My legs quaking, I stepped ever so slowly toward the rack. I saw the white trim before I was even halfway there, but I kept moving. I needed to be sure. My arm was so weak as I reached for the garment, I could barely lift the hanger off the high rod. But I managed. I drew the sweatshirt toward me and lifted the hood. The white trim traveled up the sleeve, along the shoulder, and all the way around the hood. It was the sweatshirt my attacker had worn.

But Mrs. Ryan? Why?

I heard a creak and whirled around. Mrs. Ryan was standing, framed by the doorway, with a heaping tray of food in her hands. Bread and cheese and grapes and apples. Little green manchineel apples.

"Reed?" she said, glancing at the sweatshirt in my hands. "What are you--oh, are you cold?"

Why? Why was she trying to kill me?

She placed the tray on a small table near the door and as she did, her huge necklace shifted. My vision zoned in on it like heat-seeking radar. A gold necklace. A big, ornate gold necklace with thousands of tiny, sharp, gold leaves. A bubble of disgusted realization welled up in my throat. Upton's first. Mrs. Ryan was Upton's first. No wonder he had called her Calista. They had been .. . intimate. I was goingto vomit. I had nothing in my system to vomit, but I was going to vomit just the same.

"Are you all right?" Mrs. Ryan asked. "The bath should be ready. Or do you want to eat first? "

She stopped short of lifting a poison apple toward me, but she might as well have. I took a step back, still clutching her sweatshirt in my hands.

"It was you," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "You hired those men to kill me." A brief shadow of fear crossed over her face, which she quickly replaced with a look of total confusion. But it was too late. I had seen it. I had seen the recognition and I knew she was the one. And I also realized I should have kept my mouth shut--probably would have if I hadn't been so exhausted from my six days alone on a deserted island. Should have asked for a phone so I could call my parents and instead called the police. Because now I was alone with the person who had been desperately trying to kill me for days. Alone and weak. But there was nothing I could do about that now.

"It's been you all along!" I said, still backing away. There was nowhere for me to go, except maybe the bathroom, but she could cut me off there by going back out into the hall and entering from the other door. I was trapped. Trapped with the woman who'dbeen trying to kill me for two weeks. The woman Upton had promised would take care of me. Upton Giles was turning out to be a seriously bad judge of character.

"Reed, I don't know what you're talking about," Mrs. Ryan said, reaching up to toy with her necklace.

"You did it for him. Because you were jealous of Upton and me," I spat. "That is just sick, do you know that? He's friends with your kids. You're married!" A flash of anger lit her eyes and she snapped. "Do not talk about what you could never understand!"

"You did it, didn't you?" I said, stalling for time now. Noelle and the rest of my friends would be here any second. Any second now. All I had to do was stay alive until they arrived.

"You spooked my horse that day in the woods. And you rigged that Jet Ski to go haywire on me. And when neither of those little ploys worked, you shoved me off your boat and took my necklace so you could set up Marquis to take the fall. God, you must have been so frustrated when they found me alive," I said. "That must have just killed you." Mrs. Ryan's face had taken on almost masklike calm, but her eyes quaked in their sockets. "You're going to have to stop saying things like that," she said, advancing on me. "We have a large staff in this house. Someone might hear you. Someone might actually repeatyour delusional ramblings." I glanced around at the dressing table for something I could use as a weapon. All I needed was something heavy. If I could take down Gravois, I could take down Mrs. Ryan. But there was nothing. Nothing but tiny gleaming bottles and tubes. Then something moved. Out in the hallway, I saw a shadow.

Please let it be Noelle or Upton and not Daniel or Paige or one of the other St. Earths nutbags.

"I'm not delusional," I said, the backs of my legs pressing into the dressing table. "And you're goingto jail."

"Oh, really?" she said with a smirk. "What makes you think anyone's going to believe you?

What makes you think I'm going to let you have a chance to make them?" My heart stopped, but I managed to see the flaw in her plan. "If you hurt me, they're going to know it was you. Upton just left us alone together. You'll be the one and only suspect this time."

"Not if I left you alone in the tub for just a few minutes and when I came back you had drowned," she said through her teeth, her eyes wide with innocent wonder. "Who knows what kind of ailments six days of exposure on an island can cause?

Heart attack, stroke, simple fainting... any one of these things could cause you to go under. So tragic, drowning in a marble tub after surviving all those days on the island." Before I could even process the insanity of all this, she lunged at me and grabbed my hair in her hand. I shouted out in pain as she dragged me forward, toward the bathroom and the full tub. I struggled against her, but she was freakishly strong and I was pathetically weak. I screamed at the top of my lungs and before the sound even died away, Sawyer came bounding through the door with some kind of long object in his hand. He slammed the butt of it down on the back of Mrs. Ryan's skull. Her eyes popped open so wide I thought I might have to catch them in my palms, but then they closed and she crumpled forward onto the floor. Sawyer and I stood there for a moment, both of us heaving for breath. Then he dropped his weapon at his feet--I could see now that it was some kind of modern table sculpture--and reached out a hand to me. He was wearing a black tuxedo, his long black tie loosened and askew.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I tripped over Mrs. Ryan's ankle as I flung myself at him. Sawyer backed up a couple of steps from the force of my embrace, but I clung to him like there was no tomorrow.

"I can't take this anymore," I rambled. "I can't. I can't take it."

"It's okay. It's okay," Sawyer said, grasping the back of my T-shirt to hold me up.

"She did it. She tried to kill me," I said, glancing over my shoulder at Mrs. Ryan. "She set the whole thing up."

"I know. I heard everything," Sawyer said, pullingback so he could look me in the eye. "It's going to be all right." He shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and slung it over my shoulders. The warmth was like nirvana.

I sniffled and nodded, still weak as could be. "What're you doing here?"

"Everyone's here," he said. "I was just the first one inside. Come on. Let's go downstairs and we'll call the police,"

My eyes widened in terror.

"No. Not the police," he said quickly. "We'll call my dad. He'll know what to do."

"Okay," I said, clinging to him as we walked out to the hall. "And can we get something to eat? Something that's not poison?" I said, glancing at the tray on the table by the door. Sawyer appeared confused, but nodded. "Absolutely. I think something that's not poison would definitely be a good idea."

FOOD

There was a lot of commotion. I could hear it from inside the airy kitchen with its bright aqua accents and gleaming silver appliances. I was eating a hunk of crusty bread with Sawyer and Noelle at my sides. Everyone else was out in the great hall at the front of the house, watching as Mrs. Ryan was hauled away in handcuffs. Mr. Lange had called the police after all. There was some shouting. A few slamming car doors. But I heard it all from inside a vacuum. It was over. It was finally over. And I was finally eating.

"I don't believe this. This is actually beyond the scope of the believable," Noelle said. She had brought me a black Calvin Klein sweat suit and didn't even care that I hadn't taken a bath before I put it on. Thanks to that and a pair of comfy white socks, plus the food and water, I had finally stopped shivering.

"Believe it, baby," I said, then snorted a laugh, my head jerking back slightly. Noelle leaned toward me. Her black satin gown swished whenever she moved, and her heavy evening eye makeup seemed ridiculous to me in my haggard state. "You're delirious, aren't you? Doesn't she seem delirious?" she asked Sawyer.

"She was alone on an island for six days with nothing to eat and no one to talk to," Sawyer pointed out matter-of-factly.

"Point taken," Noelle said.

I wasn't delirious. I was just done. I couldn't wrap my brain around another near-death experience. Couldn't really feel it. Once I had stopped crying all over Sawyer and he'd found me something to eat, all the emotions had just sort of. . . stopped. Now all I could feel was the weakness, the exhaustion, the hunger, and the pain. Maybe once I solved all those issues, the emotions would crash in on me again, but for now, there was nothing.