Someone Must Die (25 page)

C
HAPTER
48

Diana heard ringing. A phone? An alarm? She just wanted to sleep. She tried to roll over and hug her pillow, but her hands wouldn’t move. She tugged on them again, but they were stuck behind her back. She kicked her feet, but they didn’t move, either.

Something sharp and acrid crept up her sinuses. Gasoline fumes. She opened her eyes to darkness and felt a paralyzing terror. Where was she?

Her brain cleared abruptly. She remembered stepping into the foyer of the building, something crashing into her legs. The red tricycle. Gertrude was clearly determined to get all the details right in this reenactment of the past.

Then she remembered the sting in her thigh.

She had been drugged.

So where was Gertrude? And where was the smell of gasoline coming from?

She blinked to clear her vision. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she could make out a pale light coming in from behind closed drapes. She was in a small living room, on a sofa, facing an open kitchen.

Gertrude must have given her a shot of Versed, or something similar, then tied her up. How long had she been unconscious? Had Ethan gotten out safely?

Smolleck’s shouting voice came back to her.
Wait, Diana.
Why had he told her to wait, unless Ethan was still inside?

A wall air conditioner coughed and began to hum.

Diana looked down at her ankles. They were bound with duct tape, and she assumed her wrists were as well. There was nothing covering her mouth, but who was she going to scream for? The FBI already knew she was in here.

Now that her eyes had adjusted, she took a more detailed inventory of the room. She could see ugly rattan furniture and a glass étagère, a light-colored mica coffee table, and another floral-patterned sofa, catty-corner to the one she was on. On the counter between the dining room and kitchen were several piles. A few short pipes with long fuses. Bottles with rags sticking out of them—Molotov cocktails. Rolls of what looked like thick candles, but knowing what she did of Gertrude’s intentions, she assumed they were sticks of dynamite.

Gertrude had created a bomb factory just like the one that had brought down the brownstone on April Fool.

There was no sign of Gertrude, but she might return at any moment. Diana had to get out of here and find Ethan. She looked for something to cut the tape around her wrists and ankles. There were knickknacks on the upper shelves of the étagère, beyond her reach. Maybe there were knives in the kitchen. She struggled to stand up, then hopped around the coffee table until she reached the kitchen counters. She turned around and pulled open a drawer with her bound hands, then checked its contents. A pair of dark sunglasses and a wig of long hair, the same color as Diana’s.

There was a note written on top of the wig in thick black marker:

did you think i’d leave you a knife, pollyanna?

She tried the next drawer. A white blouse and jeans, just like Diana always wore.

The monster had taken her husband, her fiancé, her grandson, and her identity. Well, she wasn’t going to let Gertrude win.

She grasped the knob of one of the upper cabinet doors with her teeth, pulling it open. Drinking glasses glinted in the thin light, but she had no way to reach them. She scoured the kitchen for something long to hold in her mouth to swipe at them, but saw nothing that would work. She didn’t know what Gertrude’s plan was or how much time she had until Gertrude returned.

Her eyes fell upon the Molotov cocktails on the counter. Glass bottles with pieces of rags. Filled with gasoline. If she broke one of them, the gasoline would spread over the floor. Harmless if not ignited.

Was the risk worth it?

She might be able to get herself out of the apartment and building without cutting her bindings, but she’d never be able to rescue Ethan without the use of her hands.

She hopped around to the other side of the counter. Using her forehead, she pushed one of the bottles toward the edge. It toppled off and fell against the terrazzo floor. Without breaking.

Damn. She pushed the next bottle toward the edge. This time, she gave it a hard shove with her head. It hit the floor with a crash. Glass and gasoline burst over the floor. She leaned against the wall and slid down until she was able to reach the broken glass. As her fingers closed over a long, sharp sliver, familiar laughter rang out from the far side of the kitchen. She frantically sawed at the tape on her wrists, feeling the edge of the glass slice into her hand. A searing pain from the gasoline radiated up the nerves in her arm.

She heard a click, and light flooded the kitchen.

“There. That’s better,” said a soft southern female voice. “Now we can see each other.”

The stranger had short, wispy white hair, arched black eyebrows, and wide blue eyes. She wore a flowing blue tunic and slacks. Star—the woman she’d only seen in photos. If only Diana had recognized Gertrude in this impostor, all of this could have been prevented. But Star’s disguise had been so masterful that no one had suspected, not even Larry.

“I know ya wanna split, Di,” said the pretty woman, switching to Gertrude’s Brooklyn-accented voice. “But that’s not gonna happen.”

In the next blink, Star dissolved. Gertrude stood before her. Haughty. Sexy. Confrontational. The surgeon’s scalpel couldn’t change who she really was.

Gertrude walked around and pushed Diana forward with one of her feet. “You’re bleeding,” she said. “Drop the broken glass. I’d hate for you to hurt yourself.”

Diana released the shard and heard it clink against the terrazzo. Gertrude kicked it away.

“Good job,” Gertrude said. “Now get your ass back up and over to the sofa.”

Diana did as she was told. Her hand throbbed from the stinging gasoline.

Gertrude sat down on the other sofa.

Could sharpshooters see into the room through the heavy drapes, now that a light was on?

“They can’t see in,” Gertrude said. “And if they could, they’re just as likely to shoot you.”

Diana searched her old roommate’s face for something familiar, but the prominent jaw had been reshaped in a delicate heart, the nose was smaller and narrower, and her upper lip, once bowed, was now puffy with cosmetic filler. Even the beauty mark on her cheek was gone. Only her probing eyes were the same.

“You look like shit, Di,” Gertrude said. “Of course, you have been under a lot of strain the last couple of days.”

“Where’s Ethan?”

“That’s the question of the hour.”

“You were supposed to let him go,” Diana said. “That was the deal.”

“That was my plan, but the FBI tells me he never came out.”

“Please let him go. This is between us.”

“I would if I could find him.”

Was she lying, or had Ethan hidden somewhere? Was Gertrude capable of blowing up the building with a little boy inside? Unfortunately, Diana knew the answer.

“They said you died in the brownstone explosion,” Diana said.

“Obviously, they were mistaken.”

Diana took in Gertrude’s creamy pale hands, the rings that covered all her fingers.

Gertrude lifted her left hand and wagged her pinkie. “I’m sure you’re curious about this.”

She was. The finger appeared to be intact, but Gertrude had been identified by the print from her pinkie found in the aftermath of the explosion.

Gertrude gripped her left pinkie with her right hand, gave a tug, then held up the top joint of the finger with a spiraling ring still wound around it.

“Jesus,” Diana said.

“I never take it off,” she said. “Larry once asked why I always wear my pinkie ring. I told him it’s sentimental.” She pursed her lips. “I wonder if he’s dead yet. I spoke with his physician before they took him in to surgery. He said Larry would probably have extensive brain damage if he lived.”

Diana didn’t believe the surgeon would have said that. More likely Gertrude was trying to get a rise out of her. All of this had been to get Diana’s attention—Ethan’s kidnapping, Jonathan’s death, Larry’s accident. And now, here they were for their final confrontation.

Gertrude’s phone rang. She glanced at the display, touched a button, and the ringing stopped.

Diana needed to defuse her, to bring her down. At least until she could get Ethan to safety.

“How did you escape from the explosion?” Diana asked softly. “Everyone was sure you were dead.”

Gertrude rubbed the knob of her finger. “I stumbled away from the blast. Some friends let me hide until I was able to get away to Mexico.”

“I can’t begin to imagine the agony you’ve been through,” Diana said.

“That’s right. You can’t.” Gertrude fixed her blue eyes on Diana. Back in college, her eyes often looked violet, altered by the pink-lensed glasses she always wore. Now, the black pupils throbbed in the way Diana remembered them doing when Gertrude became enraged.

“I’m sorry, Gertrude. I know you think I turned on you, but I didn’t. I was trying to protect you and everyone in the group.”

Gertrude shook her head. “You wanted to be sure we wouldn’t blow up Low Library. Was that your idea of a good outcome?”

Diana didn’t answer. Arguing would only inflame her further.

“Another revolutionary group fails, and the government gets to keep on murdering. That was your solution?” Gertrude practically spat the words. “Stormdrain would have been for nothing.”

“We had an impact,” Diana said. “Stormdrain and all the others who went out to protest the war. The government had started paying attention to us.”

“They were killing our brothers,” Gertrude said, her eyes roaming over the floral-patterned sofa as though she hadn’t heard Diana. “Killing them to feed their own greed. We had to bring the war home. It was the only way to stop them.” Her eyes paused on Diana. “I told you that was the only way to get their attention. Someone had to die.”

“Yes, I know you believed that was the way.”

Gertrude smacked the coffee table with her open hand. “It
was
the way! If you hadn’t interfered, we would have succeeded. We could have killed hundreds. We would have been heard. Instead, we became hunted animals. I was forced to go into hiding.”

“I’m so sorry,” Diana said, but Gertrude didn’t seem to be listening.

“He promised he would come for me,” Gertrude said. Her eyes were no longer throbbing with anger. There was something else there. Sadness or hurt.

“He said we’d live in Mexico. Puerto Vallarta, or maybe Cabo. I believed him.”

Who was she talking about?

“I found ways to get him messages, but he never replied.” She turned to Diana abruptly. “He lied to me.”

“Who? Jonathan?” Was that why Gertrude killed him?

Gertrude gave her an odd look. “You never got it, did you?”

“Got what?” Diana said. How was she going to save Ethan from this madwoman?

Gertrude gave her a little smile. “I was pregnant. I’ll bet you didn’t know that, either. It was Jonathan’s.”

Diana felt a spasm of pain. Pregnant? By Jonathan?

“Janis was born in October 1970. Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix had just died. I thought my daughter should begin her life with an important name.”

Jonathan had told Diana none of this. But he was dead now. There would be no explanations from him.

“Did he know about Janis?” Diana asked.

Gertrude shook her head. “At least you can take some small comfort in that.”

Poor Jonathan. Killed by this woman, and he’d never known about the deep grudge she’d carried against him all these years. Diana struggled to push her thoughts away from him. If she kept Gertrude talking, maybe that would satisfy her need for revenge. Maybe she’d realize she had already taken enough.

“How did you survive with a baby and no money?”

“I turned tricks for a while,” Gertrude said. “Then when I realized my knight wasn’t coming to rescue me, I reinvented myself into a sweet southern belle with a little surgery and cotillion lessons. I married an old crook who was happy to live out his final years in bliss. Of course, they ended sooner than he was expecting, and I came away with a few million and lots of free time to plan things.”

“You mean getting even with me and Jonathan.”

Gertrude smiled. “And Larry.”

Of course. Gertrude hated both her and Larry for going to the FBI.

Gertrude’s phone rang again. She glanced at the display, then over at the closed drapes. She ignored the call. “I kept up with you and Larry,” Gertrude continued. “First with PIs, then things became easier with the Internet. I wanted to be sure you were thinking of me, too, so I had a little fun with a delusional janitor who believed I was an actual Greek goddess. I convinced him he was Jeffrey Schwartz, and with the facts and figures I fed him about April Fool, I understand he really had the FBI and media going. In fact, my PI told me that Schwartz’s reemergence shook up your marriage quite a bit.”

So Gertrude had been behind the mysterious Jeffrey Schwartz.

“I decided I didn’t want to keep watching you two from the sidelines, but I was in no hurry to take Larry away from you. I knew the right moment would come along. And it did—just in time for a big wedding.”

Kevin’s wedding.

“I persuaded Larry to ask for a divorce when I knew you were most vulnerable.” Gertrude touched her cheek where the beauty mark had once been. “I had Larry so bewitched, it was easy to convince him you didn’t go to Kevin’s wedding because you faked your illness.”

Gertrude had even contrived the rift between Diana and her son.

“For six years, I enjoyed being on the inside and seeing you alienated from your family.” She twirled the ring around her index finger. It was shaped like a serpent. “I probably would have been satisfied maintaining the status quo, but you ruined that yourself.”

“I started dating Jonathan,” Diana said.

“There didn’t seem to be any justice in it, ya know what I mean? You get everything, and I get screwed.”

“I never intentionally hurt you.”

“No one ever does,” Gertrude said. “People fuck you and don’t know they’re fucking you. They kill your dreams. They kill the ones you love.” She was starting to speak more quickly, becoming agitated. “Where’s the justice in that? Would you tell me? Where’s the fucking justice?”