The Cold Blue Blood (38 page)

“But why did you kill him so close to home?”

“Name a better place,” Bud answered. “It’s totally private out here. No witnesses. The women were gone for the afternoon.”

“We met up with him in the barn,” Jamie recalled. “That’s where it happened.”

“Niles was utterly flabbergasted,” Bud jeered. “The bastard couldn’t believe it. He thought we were joking.”

Mitch took a gulp of his scotch, his hand wrapped tightly around the glass. “Who pulled the trigger?”

“Tuck Weems,” Jamie replied. “He shot the girl, too.”

Red was still not saying anything. Just standing there in front of the fire with the shotgun. Outside, the wind howled and the rain still poured down.

“It was stupid of him to use the same gun,” said Mitch. “That was the one crucial mistake you made.”

“Agreed,” Bud acknowledged miserably. “But only with the benefit of hindsight. At the time, we had no reason to believe that anyone would ever find Niles’s body.”

“And Tuck
seemed
to know what he was doing,” Jamie added defensively. “He ran the early stages, really. All the rest of us did was loan him our cars for his assignations with that
girl.
”

“Torry,” said Mitch. “Her name was Torry.”

“Tuck didn’t want to leave a recognizable trail behind,” Bud explained.

“And why did you shoot
him?”

“Tuck’s conscience started gnawing at him,” spoke up Red, who’d finally decided there was no point in staying silent. Mitch couldn’t decide whether this was a good sign or a bad sign. He suspected it wasn’t good. “Something to do with him becoming a father for the first time at age fifty. Poor guy thought he’d seen God or something.” Red puffed out his cheeks in disgust. “Suddenly, he wanted to set things right—marry Darleen, become a decent family man.”

“He threatened to go to the police,” Bud said. “And take the rest of us down with him.”

Red nodded. “Not an acceptable option. So Tal Bliss took care of him. Which upset Tal greatly.”

“Plotting to kill Niles Seymour didn’t?”

“Niles was a cancer,” Bud said with savage certainty. “Taking care of him was necessary.”

“Just as keeping Dolly’s thirty-year-old secret was necessary?”

Bud took a sip of his scotch, eyeing Mitch over the rim of his glass. “So you know about that, do you? Lieutenant Mitry was getting very close to the truth. That’s what Tal told me over the phone right before he shot himself. He was afraid that after all of these years poor Dolly would be branded a murderer.”

“Well, she did kill them,” Mitch pointed out.

“That man
raped
her,” Bud argued, his voice choking with emotion. “She was a
virgin
and he
took
that from her! No court of law would have convicted her. But the trial—my God, it would have destroyed her. And she didn’t deserve that. She deserved better. She still does. There are very few truly special people on this earth, Mitch. Dolly is one of them.”

“And so is Evan,” Jamie added fondly. “Like mother, like son. They’re too gentle, too
good
for this world, Mitch. People like Dolly and Evan can’t make it in life on their own. They need protecting.”

“On this particular issue Jamie and I have always been in agreement,” Bud said. “They
must
be protected.”

“And so must Big Sister,” Red said. “This island has belonged to my family for three hundred and fifty years, Mitch. It’s our legacy. Each generation is beholden to it. We have a duty to make sure it stays
ours
. Niles didn’t see family tradition. All he saw were big, fat dollar signs. Lord knows what might have happened to this place ten or twenty years down the road if he were allowed to remain here. Niles was a problem that needed solving. We solved it.”

“Even though you had to kill an innocent girl to do it? You guys don’t seem too concerned about sacrificing the life of Torry Mordarski. Or about leaving her son an orphan.”

“We needed the girl,” Red explained simply. “It wouldn’t have worked otherwise.”

“I did suggest using Darleen,” Bud spoke up. “Checking
her
into Saybrook Point Inn. But Tuck wouldn’t implicate her—he actually loved the little cow.”

“Did he have any feelings for Torry?”

“Torry was a whore,” snapped Red.

“And you three are gutless wusses,” Mitch said, shaking his head at them. “You should have killed me when you had the chance. Not that you didn’t try, of course. On the subway tracks—am I right, Bud?”

“That was … a different matter,” Bud responded quietly.

“You didn’t drive into the city that day, did you? You rode in on the same train we did.”

“Yes,” Bud confirmed, reddening. “I sat ten rows behind you the whole way in. You two never noticed me. But I saw you. I saw how she cozied up to you. I saw how she k-kissed you in the middle of Grand Central with all of those people watching. Her body pressed against yours. Her lips … I-I lost my head on that subway platform. Utterly and completely. Loving Mandy—it’s a disease. A vile, incurable disease.”

“And yet you told Tal Bliss that Mandy was the one who pushed me. Why?”

“That was her idea,” Bud explained. “She said no one would prosecute her. They never have, never will. But with me it might be different. We had my career to think of. And my reputation.”

“You should have killed me,” Mitch repeated, glancing around at the three of them. “But the fact remains that
you
didn’t kill anyone. You had the Dudleys Do-Right and Do-Wrong do it for you. This time it’s different. You actually have to pull the trigger yourselves. And I don’t think you can do it. In fact, I’m prepared to bet my life you can’t.”

They all stood there in charged silence now.

“What is it you want, Mitch?” Bud asked him finally.

“What is it I want?” Mitch thought he heard a door slam somewhere in the distance. But it may just have been the wind. He couldn’t tell for certain. “I want Hollywood to make some decent, well-acted movies that are not totally devoid of intellectual ambition. I want to lose thirty pounds. I want to spend some quality time with a certain long, tall brunette. I want—”

“He means,” Red broke in impatiently, “what would it take for you to remain silent?”

“None of us are millionaires,” Bud cautioned. “And Mandy’s money is bound up in a trust. But I could arrange to transfer the deed to this house to you.”

“It belongs to Dolly,” Mitch pointed out.

“Not a problem, I assure you.”

“If it’s money you want,” added Jamie, “I could get my hands on a hundred thousand in cash by ten o’clock tomorrow. Another hundred thou by the end of the week. How does that sound?”

“Like a pay-off,” Mitch replied. “Look, guys, it’s no use. Maybe you honestly and truly think you did the right thing. And for all of the right reasons. But you didn’t. And I know it. And I’ll be damned if I’ll keep quiet about it. Because no one has the right to do what you did. No one. So I guess you’ll just have to shoot me, Red. It’s a little different than shooting a deer—you aren’t planning to eat me afterward. At least I hope you’re not. But it’s not completely different. After all, I’m just some clueless stranger who got caught in your headlights. So pull the trigger, Red. Go ahead and be done with it.”

Now the three of them exchanged a long, hard look.

“I think you’d better come with us, Mitch,” Red finally said hoarsely.

“Where to?”

“The dock.”

Mitch cocked his head at him curiously. “Why the dock?”

Bud finished his scotch and stared down into his empty glass. “You made a crucial mistake yourself, Mitch. You told us you couldn’t swim.”

“You’re about to fall in, my boy,” Jamie explained. “You’re about to hit your head on a piling and drown.”

“Hell, that’ll never play. The police won’t buy that I was that reckless or stupid—storm or no storm.”

“But they
will
buy that you were suicidal over the death of your dear wife,” Bud said. “You told all three of us about it at great length. You’ve been despondent. Inconsolable, even. And now you shall be joining her.”

Red raised his shotgun and nudged Mitch in the chest with it. “Let’s go.”

Only they weren’t going anywhere. The doorway was blocked.

Standing there in the pouring rain was Dolly, drenched to the skin in her flimsy nightgown. Her gaze was eerily unfocused, her hair soaked and stringy, her pale bare feet covered with grass clippings and mud.

In her right hand she clutched a carving knife.

Mitch had heard a door slam, all right. It was Dolly having herself another of her episodes. Same as that night when she had shown up in his bedroom. The storm had set her off. It was the storm.

Saliva bubbled from her lips now. “The mother,” she murmured softly. “The mother is hurt.”

“The mother is okay, Peanut.” Bud started toward her—gently, so as not to startle her. He led her inside out of the rain. “The mother is
okay.”

Dolly responded to the sound of Bud’s voice. She even appeared to be coming out of her trance. She blinked her eyes rapidly several times and began to look around the room in puzzlement. She was trying to grasp where she was. Trying to understand. But just when it seemed as if she were about to, Dolly’s eyes suddenly bulged in terror. And she screamed. It was a blood-curdling scream. Mitch had never heard anyone scream like that before in his life.

It was the shotgun.

It was the sight of Red standing there holding that shotgun. Except she wasn’t seeing Red’s face. She was seeing the face of Roy Weems. She was back there all over again, back to that day thirty years before when Roy had raped her at gunpoint in this very house. That day when she had shot him and Louisa. That day she remembered nothing about.

She was back there.

“No, don’t hurt me anymore!” she whimpered, her voice that of a desperate little girl. “Please don’t hurt me!”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Dolly,” Red said, straining to keep his voice calm. Pain etched his face. “No one is going to hurt you. Now please give me the knife … Just give me the knife, okay?”

No, it was not okay.

Dolly charged her brother—the carving knife raised over her head and a feral roar coming from her throat.

“No, Dolly!” he cried out. “It’s
me
! It’s
Red!”

It was no use. She wasn’t hearing him. She wasn’t seeing him. It was Roy Weems, the trusted family caretaker, who she was seeing. It was the man who had robbed her of her innocence. And she was ready to kill him all over again.

Bud dove for her, wrestling with her, grabbing her by the wrists. The knife clattered harmlessly to the floor. Only now Dolly lunged for the shotgun, fighting Red for it. Clawing him savagely. Raking him and Bud both with her nails. Then all three of them had their hands wrapped around the gun barrel, gasping, moaning, groaning …

Until suddenly it went off with a deafening boom.

And just as suddenly everything in Mitch’s universe became tilted and strange and he didn’t seem to be standing up anymore. The floor. He was lying on the floor.

And now there were rapid footsteps on the staircase and the lieutenant was standing over him, Sig-Sauer in hand.

“No, no, you’re blowing it,” Mitch scolded her. “You were supposed to stay upstairs unless the play broke down.”

“Guess what—it broke down!” she cried out. “Now let’s just hold it, people! Don’t anybody move!”

Only somebody was. Jamie was making a dash for the door. He didn’t get there—the lieutenant was quicker on her feet. She kicked one of his legs out from under him and threw him to the floor. Jamie landed with a thud and lay there. He did not get up.

Somebody else was sobbing. Dolly. It was Dolly. The others were silent.

Now Lieutenant Mitry was kneeling over Mitch. “How are you?” She seemed terribly worried about him for some reason. “Talk at me.”

How was he? He was cold. He was dizzy. Everything seemed to be swirling around him. He’d broken his wrist once when he was ten years old. Fell out of a tree in Stuyvesant Oval. That’s how he was. “I’m just great. Did we get ’em?”

She wasn’t listening to him. She was too busy yelling into her cell phone. “I don’t
care
if it’s raining. I need an ambulance
now.”
Mitch couldn’t make out the rest of what she was saying. Something to do with a
bleeder
.

There was blood. He was lying in a pool of his own blood. He’d been shot, he suddenly realized. Now she was tying a belt around his leg with all her might. He could see the cords in her neck stand out.

“Damn, how did I let you talk me into this?” she fumed at him.

“Simple. If they got away with it you’d never be able to live with yourself.”

“I still might not. And who the hell’s this long, tall brunette you were going on about?”

“Gwyneth. She’s really a bottle blonde.”

The lieutenant showed him her dimples. “That a fact? I had no idea.”

“Stick with me. You’ll learn all kinds of amazing, trivial things.” Mitch felt himself getting even dizzier. He was starting to think he might even pass out. “Lieutenant, I’ve discovered something truly shocking about myself.”

“Which is what?”

“I’m really, really good at this.”

“Uh-hunh.”

“No, I mean it. I was calm. I was cool. I was, dare I say it,
macho.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, macho man. It’ll dull the pain.”

“Will you take care of Clemmie for me?”

“Not a problem. Anything else?”

“Tapioca.”

Her face was very close to his now. “You said what?”

“I want a large bowl of warm tapioca. Tell Sheila Enman, will you?”

The lieutenant’s features were starting to get fuzzy. And then Mitch couldn’t make out her face anymore. It was Maisie’s face he was seeing now. His beloved Maisie. She was right there next to him, reaching out to him, beckoning him to join her. Smiling, Mitch held his hand out to her. She gripped it, her hand warm and strong, just as he remembered it.

Together, the two of them went far, far away.

Mitch woke up in a hospital bed with an immense bandage wrapped around his leg and a pair of Hideki Irabu’s used sweat socks stuffed in his mouth. It was daylight. The sun was shining. And he was not alone.