The Guest List (19 page)

“Not a thing. I finished my dinner and made my rounds earlier. The only things waiting for me are some very dry periodicals I’ve been postponing reading. Let’s walk down one of the bicycle paths. It’s a lovely evening. I do love the scent of burning leaves, don’t you? Makes me think of all the wonderful times I had as a child carving pumpkins and making scarecrows for Halloween.”

“I never did anything like that. It must have been fun.”

“I saw you on television this morning in the rec room. I think half the staff saw you. They were very impressed. I thought you carried it off very well. Do you think Mr. Mitchell saw it?”

“If he didn’t, he would have heard about it from Carol. I found out from Bobby that Carol watches that particular show religiously. Knowing her, she probably took notes on everything I said.” Mallory’s expression tensed. “Do you think I said too much? I didn’t want to give anything away. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know. But I think what you said was just right; however, I still wish I could talk you out of this plan of yours. It’s so risky. Won’t you at least consider talking to the police?”

“It wouldn’t do any good at this point. I don’t have solid proof, and I don’t know that I ever will. It’s all just speculation, putting two and two together. The police need facts.”

Constance took a deep breath. “What does your sister think of your plans?”

Mallory bent her head. “I haven’t told her yet.”

“My God, Mallory. You have to tell her. If you don’t, you could be putting her life in jeopardy.”

“I know. And I will.” She glanced around. “Aside from the guard at the gate, do you think anyone knows I’m here?”

“I certainly didn’t tell anyone. The guard is new since you left. No one looks at the guest sheets unless something goes awry. I’m glad you used another name, though. It pays to be cautious. Let’s sit over here under the tree and talk.” Before sitting down, she pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “This is a copy of the bookkeeping entry you asked for. I don’t know if you can call it a bribe, but you can certainly see how it would influence the board of directors.”

Mallory looked at the paper. There was barely enough moonlight to make out the numbers. “Is this right? Two million dollars?”

“That’s right. They used it to build a new wing onto Argone.”

“You know what concerns me, Constance? Sometimes I get scared that I haven’t changed, that I’m still that horrible little girl who derived pleasure from hurting others. Tell me I’m doing the right thing in exposing Donovan for the murderer he is, and that I’m not doing this to get even with him and Carol for putting me here.”

“Mallory, my dear. Being mean and hateful isn’t a disease. It’s a learned behavior, and you learned to be that way from your mother, who probably learned it from her mother. I taught you a new behavior. Kindness. Generosity. Compassion. Love. If I had any doubts about you, I would have recommended further treatment.” Constance squeezed her hand. “You mustn’t let your fears consume you, or you won’t be able to do what you need to do.”

Mallory nodded.

“Aside from all this, are you happy?”

“You always ask me that, and I never have the answer you’re looking for. I’m contented. Perhaps one day that euphoric feeling will hit me. I’ll call you right away if it happens.”

“Open up, dear child. I think you’re afraid to be happy for fear someone will rip that happiness away from you.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Constance. Now, enough about me. Tell me how you are and what you’ve been doing. In your private life. I don’t want to know anything about this place.”

“Well … I bought a new dress last week and I …”

Mallory smiled in the darkness as she snuggled against the old doctor.

“You look tired, Mallory. Are you taking your vitamins?” Abby said, concern ringing in her voice.

“Yes, I’m taking vitamins
and
herbs, but five days of eating and sleeping on the road has taken its toll.” She sat down at the kitchen table and reached for the cup of coffee Abby offered her. “I’m really glad to be home. Don’t take that the wrong way. I love doing the interviews and book signings. It’s the
pretending
to be you part that wears me out. It’s stressful. I’m always afraid I’ll say something I shouldn’t and blow your cover.”

“You’re beginning to sound like a real-life sleuth.” Abby grinned.

Mallory’s face broke into a tired smile. “I am a real-life sleuth. I bet I know exactly what you did while I was gone. You and Steve got it together, finally.” She leaned forward. “And it’s about time! I was beginning to think you two were never going to make it.”

Abby stared at her sister in awe. “What was your first clue?”

“Ahhh … ? Are you asking me to give my supersleuthing secrets away?” When Abby rolled her eyes, she said, “Okay. There were candles all over the patio for one. They weren’t there when I left. And I saw empty wine bottles in the trash can. I’ve never known you to drink alone. And there’s this fragrance … sandalwood, I think … coming from your bedroom. Nice but a little strong,” she said, looking down her nose until her eyes crossed.

Abby felt a warm flush work its way through her body. “You’re right, and I’m in love,” she admitted. “Totally, completely, wonderfully in love. I never thought it would happen again.” She smiled, knowing how lucky she was. “Steve is the most patient and understanding man I’ve ever known. You should have seen him. He was so funny,” she said, reaching across to touch Mallory’s hand. “He recited a whole list of his qualities and one of them was that he’s willing to let me keep Connor’s picture on the mantel.” Abby pulled her hand back and picked up her toast.

“Sounds like true love to me.” Mallory grinned.

“I’ve been thinking, though, that I need to put the picture away. Connor will always have a special place in my heart, but he’s part of the past and the past is gone.”

Mallory’s eyes grew intent as she stared at Abby. “Do you really believe the past is gone? Don’t you ever think about Mama and Daddy?”

Abby stared at her sister. There was something in Mallory’s weary expression that alerted Abby that something was bothering her sister. “Occasionally, but it’s all so painful that I don’t like to dwell on it. How about you? Do you think about them?”

Mallory swallowed her coffee. “Lately, every day of my life,” she said, emphasizing each word. “Do you have any pictures of our parents?”

“One of Mama, but it isn’t very good. Uncle Donovan always
gives me a picture of Daddy at Christmas. I have them all in an album. Do you want to see them?”

“Maybe later.”

Abby drew a steadying breath. “I wish—I wish that they’d been buried instead of cremated. It would give me comfort to know there’s a place I could go with flowers. Donovan gave me Daddy’s ashes. What did you do with Mama’s?”

Mallory tilted her head inquiringly. “I don’t have Mama’s ashes. I didn’t even know they were cremated until I was around thirteen, and then I assumed the ashes had been scattered somewhere. Don’t look at me like that. I would remember getting an urn full of Mama’s ashes, believe me.”

Abby forced herself to think logically. “I don’t understand why Donovan would tell me he gave you the urn if he didn’t. He gave me Daddy’s when I was … I don’t know … fifteen or sixteen. The urn used to give me the creeps when I would see it sitting up there on the shelf in my closet.”

“I’d like to see it if you don’t mind,” Mallory said, searching Abby’s face with troubled eyes.

Abby led Mallory to her bedroom. She took the plain white urn down from the closet shelf and handed it to her. “It doesn’t weigh much.”

Mallory examined the urn, then handed it back to Abby, who slid it as far back on the shelf as it would go. She turned out the closet light and closed the door. “If
you
don’t have Mama’s urn, then who do you suppose does?” She sensed a sudden tension develop between them and wished she’d never brought the subject up.

“Why don’t you call Donovan and ask him?” Mallory suggested tightly. “If you don’t want to, I will. This isn’t right.”

Abby could see the agitation building on her sister’s face. “Relax, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Let’s go back to the kitchen and think about it.” The moment Abby refilled their coffee cups, she sat down across from Mallory. “Try to remember if Carol and Donovan ever brought a package or a box to
you at Argone that might have gotten misplaced. Or maybe they gave it to a member of the staff and it just never found its way to you.”

Mallory burst into hysterical laughter, then sobered when she saw Abby’s look of hurt confusion. “I’m sorry. It’s just that … well … in all the years I was there, Carol
never
once came to see me. As for Donovan—I already told you, he visited me a few times, but he never brought me anything. If either of them told you otherwise, they’re lying.”

“But last Christmas when Carol broke into the house …” She cut herself off, her thoughts swirling. She remembered Donovan saying the reason he knew Mallory was well adjusted and living a good, productive life was because he’d kept his eye on her in spite of Carol. Then, just the other day when he called, he said he hadn’t been around Mallory enough to know if she’d really changed. She wondered why he would contradict himself.

“What? What were you going to say?”

Abby waved a hand. “It isn’t important. I was just thinking.”

Mallory eyed her uncertainly. “I can tell you have doubts. I don’t blame you. I would, too. But I can prove what I told you. We can drive to Argone and talk to Constance. She has documented records of every one of Donovan’s visits since the day I arrived there.” She handed Abby the portable phone. “We can talk about this later. Call him. I can’t wait to hear what he says about Mama’s urn.”

Abby’s stomach rumbled sickeningly as she placed the call. “Yes, this is Abby Mitchell,” she said to Donovan’s secretary. “I’d like to speak to Donovan please.”

A moment later, Donovan’s voice boomed over the wire. “Princess, it’s so good to hear from you. Are you calling with good news or bad?”

“Neither. I just have a question.”

“Fire away.”

“I’ve been thinking about buying a plot and burying Daddy’s
ashes,” she said, saying the first thing that came to mind—a lie, the second one she’d told him within the space of a few days. But what else could she say that wouldn’t sound as if she was interrogating him? “I thought it would be nice if I put Mama’s and Daddy’s urns in the same plot. Does Mallory have Mama’s ashes? I vaguely recall you saying she did. I forgot to ask her, and she’s away right now and I can’t get in touch with her.”
Lie number three,
she thought, turning her gaze on Mallory while awaiting his answer. “That’s what I thought. Darn it. Oh, well. I guess I’ll just have to wait until she gets back. Thanks. Give my love to everyone. Bye.” She set the phone down and took a deep breath. “He said he turned the urns over to both of us the same weekend.”

“That’s a goddamn lie, Abby.” Mallory pushed her chair back and sprang to her feet. “You have to believe me. I have no reason to lie about something like that. Why would I, for God’s sake?”

By the same token, Abby thought, what reason would Donovan have to lie about it? What was there for either of them to gain? Or lose? Her mind reeled with confusion.

Mallory stood by the stove, drumming her nails against the tile countertop. “Listen, Abby, this probably isn’t the best time, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. You aren’t going to like it. You probably aren’t going to believe it either. But promise me you’ll keep an open mind and withhold judgment until I’ve said what I have to say.”

Abby saw her sister’s jaw tense and felt a wave of apprehension flow through her. “Okay, but you’re being awfully dramatic.”

“I’m just going to come right out and say it—I don’t think our parents died the way the police say they did. I think they were murdered. And I think Donovan Mitchell murdered them.”

Abby’s face went white, the port-wine stain standing out like a huge glob of grape jam on her face. “Mallory! How
could you possibly say such a terrible thing? I know you hate Donovan and Carol for putting you in Argone, but accusing Donovan of murder … That’s taking your revenge too far.” Abby broke the promise she’d made to Mallory about passing judgment.

Ironically, the conversation she’d had with Donovan popped into her head at the same moment. He’d warned her that Mallory might be setting her up, looking for revenge. He’d cautioned her to be on guard.

She was now.

Mallory remained cool in spite of her sister’s anger. “I’ve had a long time to think about this, Abby. I wouldn’t be telling you if I didn’t think you needed to know.” She turned toward the window and gazed outside. “Right now you’re thinking I’m crazy. That I belong back in Argone. That’s okay. It’s what I expected. After I’ve told you everything, I think you’ll feel differently.”

Abby wasn’t about to argue. She knew next to nothing about Mallory’s mental problems, and she didn’t want to give her any reason to reveal them. The best thing she could do was to sit still, stay calm, and humor her sister while she continued to play her game or until she was so tired of it she would be forced to call someone. Who? She didn’t know. But someone.

“Why would Donovan want to kill our parents?” Abby asked, continuing the discussion with the most important question that was front and center in her mind. “Give me one good reason. Just one. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m having a real hard time with this.” She crossed her arms in challenge.

Mallory turned back. “Donovan and Mama were lovers. He came over to our house on the nights Daddy went bowling. I told Constance that I used to see him walking across the lawn. The minute he and Mama went into the bedroom, I would sit outside the door and listen, just like I used to sit outside Donovan and Carol’s bedroom door. One night, Mama caught me and told me if I promised not to tell Daddy about Donovan’s
visit, she would get me a new toy and a Barbie outfit. After that, I watched for Donovan to come over so I could blackmail Mama. That’s why I had so many toys.”

Was it true? Abby wondered. Or had Mallory imagined Donovan’s visits? “Okay, so they had an affair,” she said, pretending to accept her story. “That’s still not a motive …”

“All these years,” Mallory talked over her, “you thought Mama hated you because of your birthmark. That was probably part of it, but I think there was more. I think she hated you because you were Daddy’s child, and she
hated
Daddy.”

“Of course I was Daddy’s …”

“Wait!” Mallory wagged her finger. “She
loved
me because she loved Donovan, and I was Donovan’s child.”

“No! That’s not true.” Outraged, Abby bolted to her feet, her chair flying out behind her. “You’re making all this up.” Too late she remembered her concerns about Mallory’s mental state and knew a moment’s fear when her sister walked toward her.

“No, I’m not, Abby,” Mallory said, sounding tired. “Donovan doesn’t know I know. Hell, I didn’t know until Constance started hypnotizing me. That’s when it came out. Constance has it all on tape … all the things I heard and saw when I was little. I have the proof right here,” she said, reaching behind her and grabbing her purse off the counter. She took out a large manila envelope and sat down. “When I was working for that insurance company, Steve Franklin applied for a key-man insurance policy for Donovan. When you apply for a policy like that you have to give a blood sample. I was good friends with the guys in the lab and I conned them into running a DNA test to compare Donovan’s blood with mine.” She searched through the envelope and extracted a single white sheet of paper. “They match, Abby.”

Abby took the lab report out of Mallory’s hand. She’d acquired a similar report a few months ago, for research purposes,
so she was familiar with the process. There was no doubt. Donovan and Mallory were father and daughter.

She looked up from the report and saw tears swimming in Mallory’s eyes. She felt her guard slip several notches. “There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked, the challenge, the fight gone out of her.

“You asked what motive he would have to kill them. I don’t know for certain. I can only speculate. Maybe Daddy found out Donovan was having an affair with Mama, they got into an argument about it, and Donovan killed Daddy and …”

“Wait a minute. None of this is making sense. I remember that Donovan hated Mama.”

“Maybe he said one thing and felt another.” Mallory paused to rub her neck. “Here’s what I think happened. I think he loved her so much he couldn’t stand the thought of her and Daddy having sex, so he made her promise to abstain.” Before Abby could comment, Mallory added, “Under hypnosis, I remembered that Donovan had accused Mama of lying about something. She screamed back that she hadn’t lied, that she’d been
true
to him.
True
to him, Abby. I’m sure I didn’t know what that meant way back then, but I do now.” She paused to take a breath. “Just for the sake of argument, let’s say that Donovan did ask her to abstain and she gave him her word. Now let’s say that somehow he found out you were Daddy’s child and not his. How angry would he be that Mama had lied to him? Who would he take his anger out on? Isn’t it conceivable he might lose it … as in commit a murder?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but he doesn’t seem the type.”
Stupid comment,
Abby thought.
Really stupid.
She’d researched enough murders to know that there was no “type.”

“They never do.”

Abby remembered bits and pieces of her early childhood. “Mama died of natural causes, didn’t she? And Daddy …”

“Supposedly committed suicide,” Mallory finished for her as she withdrew more papers from the envelope. “Here’s a
copy of the newspaper article that carried the information about their deaths, and here are their death certificates. There was no major investigation and no autopsy done on Mama.”