The Widow (23 page)

Charlie tried to sit up, then sank back with a howl of pain.

Maguire dropped the lighter, plunging the place back into darkness, and swore. “What's wrong?”

“I've got a headache,” she said between gritted teeth.

“Tell me about it,” he said. “Now I can't find the bloody lighter.”

She sat up again, more slowly this time, and the searing pain in her skull subsided to a quiet agony. “I'll help you,” she said grumpily, getting on the ground beside him. Unfortunately she couldn't see him, and she practically landed on top of him.

“Mind the arm!” he said with a choke of pain.

“You're a wuss, Maguire.”

He'd found the lighter. He flicked it on again, and they were face-to-face, kneeling in the darkness, closer than she'd realized. “Come here and say that,” he taunted her.

For a moment she didn't move. She'd thought she was going to die. She hated him with every ounce of her being. And she'd never seen anyone look so good in her entire life.

“The hell with your arm,” she said, and jumped him.

He dropped the lighter again, using his good arm to catch her. He met her hungry kiss with one of his own, and within moments there were entwined on the dusty floor, and she was reaching for his zipper with all the brazenness of a streetwalker.

He stopped her, covering her hand with his. He was fully erect beneath his jeans, and she wanted, needed him.

“Hold on, girly,” he said with a muffled laugh. “We'll have plenty of time for that later.”

“We're going to die, Maguire,” she wailed. “And I want to have sex with you.”

“Yes, love, and we will. For days on end, but not here among the dead bodies with a crazy woman likely to walk in on us. Pull yourself together, Charlie.” He brought her hands to his mouth, kissing her. “I've unleashed a terror.”

“That's what I was trying to do.” She reached for his zipper again, but he stopped her.

“Enough of that,” he said sternly. “Give a girl a couple of orgasms and she gets all mouthy.”

“I was thinking I might like to try that, too,” she murmured, trying to move closer.

He let out a low, heartfelt groan. “Stop it, Charlie. A man could get distracted. We need to find our way out of this place before the damned thing collapses around us.”

“And preferably before Madame Antonella comes back to finish us off,” Charlie added.

“Hush!” he said fiercely. In the sudden silence they could hear someone moving around in the distance, making no effort to cover the noise of their approach.

“Then again,” Charlie whispered, “it may be too late.”

“Get back on the bed and pretend to be unconscious. I'm going to look for something I can use as a weapon.”

“I can help…” she began, but he simply shoved her up onto the cot again, cursing as he banged his arm.

“Be quiet!” he said, rising to his feet and moving away from her, the tiny flame disappearing into the inky blackness.

He barely made a sound, but she was intensely aware of every muffled curse, every swallowed groan, just as she listened to the footsteps getting closer and closer. No voices, though—if it was only one person, between the two of them they should have at least a fighting chance.

Maguire appeared out of the gloom once more, an old broomstick in his hand. He saw her doubtful glance and he shrugged. “It was the best I could come up with.”

“Let me look…” she started to get up but he pushed her back.

“You don't want to go back there, Charlie. Trust me,” he said in a gruff voice.

Charlie swallowed. “I already saw the paintings.”

“There's…something else besides.”

“Whatever's causing the smell?”

“Yes.”

“And I don't want to know?”

“You don't want to know. But they've been there a very long time—it's probably no one you ever knew.”

“They?” It came out in a whispered shriek.

“Don't think about it,” he said.

They could see the light now, spearing through cracks around a rectangle in the nearby wall. It was some sort of door, though Charlie couldn't tell if it was stone, wood or metal.

“What about the Swiss Army knife?” Charlie whispered.

“I think the broom will be more effective,” he said. “Hush.”

Someone was trying to open the door. Both of them held their breath, and Maguire had the broomstick raised like a weapon, ready to bring it down on the head of whoever walked through that door.

It creaked open, slowly, noisily, and the light from beyond was momentarily blinding.

“Charlie? Are you in there?”

It was Olivia. Maguire dropped the broomstick and grabbed her flashlight. “Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?” he demanded.

He'd trained the full power of the light on her, and she glared up at him, affronted. “Looking for my missing daughter, thank you very much. I got back to the villa and the place was deserted. I saw lights up here and I decided to come and see.”

“You decided to come and see?” Charlie echoed in astonishment. “It's a steep climb, not a casual stroll.”

“Don't I know it,” Olivia said languidly. “I've destroyed my Ferragamos, my fingernails are ruined, I've lost a contact lens and I'm in a thoroughly bad mood. I prefer being the center of attention, not running around trying to rescue my daughter. What the hell is going on here?”

“Where's Henry? Gia?”

“I left them in Geppi. They're flying back to the States tomorrow—I figured you were well rid of him. After all, you've got Mr. Outback Tabloid Reporter here.”

“Stuff it,” Maguire growled.

“So what's going on? And what is that god-awful smell?”

“You don't want to know,” the two of them said in unison.

“Let's get the hell out of here,” Maguire added. “We can talk later….”

It was too late. Lauretta appeared behind Olivia, a stoic expression on her plain face.

“Lauretta!” Olivia greeted her gladly. “Just the person I was looking for. We need help getting these two idiots back to the villa. Don't ask me what they're doing up here—some kind of kinky love play, I suppose. Charlie, let Lauretta take your arm and we'll get you out of this nasty little pit.”

Charlie didn't move. Olivia stared at her. “I'm not in the mood for this, daughter dearest. I come charging up here to rescue you and find you don't need rescuing at all. Get off your butt and we'll go back to the villa and Lauretta can fix us something nice to eat.”

“I don't think so,” Charlie said.

Olivia turned back, slowly, to stare at Lauretta. And at the gun in Lauretta's capable hand.

S
he had to admire her mother. Olivia simply blinked, her calm unshaken. “Well,” she said. “And would you like to explain the reason for this, Lauretta?” she demanded sternly. “Give me that gun.” She held out her hand peremptorily.

Oddly enough, her commanding tones almost worked. Lauretta looked confused for a moment, and she started to hand her the gun. And then she stiffened. “I'm sorry, Madonna,” she said.

“I am not pleased,” Olivia said in icy tones. “Not pleased at all. Why do you want to hurt my daughter?”

“You don't understand, Contessa,” Lauretta said, using her mother's one-time title. “I have my own family to protect. I made a solemn vow to the master. I promised I would protect his widow, see that she's taken care of. I have no choice but to do what she asks.”

“Who the hell are you talking about?” Olivia demanded. “You're holding a gun on his widow.”

“No, Mama. He was married to Antonella all this time. Never to me,” Charlie said.

“That son of a bitch,” Olivia said bitterly.

“My sentiments exactly,” Charlie agreed.

“On top of that, Antonella happens to be Lauretta's mother,” Maguire broke in. “But Pompasse wasn't her father, thank God.”

“Why thank God?” Charlie questioned, momentarily distracted.

“This whole scene is sick enough, but I'm afraid incest might be just a bit over the top,” Maguire said.

“Enough!” Lauretta said in a firm voice that sounded like Madame Antonella's when she was being dictatorial. Strange, but now that Charlie knew the facts she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed the resemblance before. “I was hoping I could make it easier for you, Charlie,” Lauretta added plaintively. “I helped you leave five years ago, I tried to get you to go this time, but you wouldn't listen. My mother is determined, and I couldn't change her mind. I thought I could at least make it quick for you.” She gestured with the gun.

“Kind of you,” Maguire drawled, “but I think we'd rather take our chances with the old lady.”

“You don't know what you're dealing with,” Lauretta murmured. “She killed Pompasse, you know. She found out he was going to divorce her, put her in a home, so he could come after Charlie again. He thought Charlie suspected that they'd never been properly married and that's why she left him. He could never believe that anyone would really leave him.”

“Other women left him,” Charlie said. “There were models, mistresses who just disappeared…”

“No, they didn't. Even my own daughter didn't leave him,” Lauretta said sadly.

“Your own daughter?” Charlie echoed.

“They're all here. Madame Antonella brought them here. Even my poor baby Luisa.” Her voice broke. “They're all in the back of this tomb. As you will be. It grieves me, but there's nothing I can do.”

“Nothing you can do?” Olivia repeated in horror. “She killed your daughter and you're helping her?”

“She's my mother,” Lauretta said simply. “And I promised Pompasse I would always watch over her and keep her safe. Especially when we knew what she had done. That was the only reason she never hurt you, Charlie. Pompasse insisted I keep her drugged so she wouldn't realize what was going on. He couldn't bring himself to punish her, but he had to stop her from hurting anyone else. He used to like to set her off against his models. He called it putting the cat among the pigeons. Until she started killing them.”

“But why didn't he turn her in?”

“The master would never do that!” Lauretta protested, shocked. “And he knew I would never let him. He told her she had a choice. She could take pills that would calm her, or she would be put away. She chose to take the pills, and she never came near you. But when we took her to sign the papers even the pills didn't work. She got away from us. And we found her in Pompasse's apartment, crooning over his dead body.”

“This is too macabre for words,” Olivia said sharply. “I'm going for help.” She started past Lauretta, only to have the woman backhand her across the face, knocking her against the crumbling wall.

There was an ominous rumbling, as rocks and plaster spilled down into the dimly lit tomb. “You're not going anywhere, Contessa,” Lauretta said firmly. “Tomaso is bringing
madame
, and there will be an end to this. I'm sorry for your sake that you came back. It is sad to lose a child. I have borne the pain myself, but at least I didn't know until it was too late.”

“You sick bitch,” Olivia hissed.

“Olivia,” Maguire said in a warning voice. “She's got a G-U-N. Don't do anything stupid.”

“They're coming,” Lauretta said sharply. “Show some respect for the widow.”

They made a stately procession into the mouth of the old crypt. The mad old lady was dressed in her finest, though she had food dribbled on her black satin. She was wearing diamonds, the diamonds that Pompasse had given Charlie, the ones she'd left behind when she'd run. They were far better suited to the old lady than to a young girl.

Tomaso was supporting her, a miserable expression on his face. He was part and parcel of it all, Charlie thought, but not happy about it.

“Get the hell away from my daughter, you old hag,” Olivia snarled, starting to get up.

“Lauretta, kill her,” Antonella said promptly, and before Charlie could even scream Lauretta fired the gun.

In the dim light she couldn't make out her target, and Charlie could only hope she'd missed. The explosion was deafening, and the wall behind her began to crumble, a slow rumble of noise and rubble and dust. Maguire grabbed Charlie and dragged her backward, into the darkness, away from the plumes of dust. As it began to settle, Charlie could see that some of the roof had given in, and the faint light of stars were overhead.

“Not with the gun, you stupid whore,” Antonella said icily. “You'll bring the whole place down around us. Give it to your stupid husband and then snap her neck.”

Lauretta was looking abashed. She handed the gun to Tomaso, who held it as if it were something unclean. “Mama,” she said, “I cannot…”

“It's easy,” the old lady said. “You've killed chickens and sheep—you can certainly kill a worthless creature like this one. You just give the neck one sharp twist and it's over.”

“Madame Antonella,” Tomaso said miserably. “You cannot want us to do this. Signora Charlie has never harmed us. She's a good girl….”

“Send your foolish husband away, Lauretta,” Antonella said sternly. “He will only interfere.”

Tomaso retreated, but just to the doorway. He looked guilty, miserable, and totally incapable of stopping anything.

Ignoring Olivia, Madame Antonella advanced on Charlie. She smiled, exposing her impressive new dentures, and combined with the smell of the place, Charlie felt her stomach start to roil.

“Thought he loved you, didn't you?” she said. “Thought he'd marry you, leave you everything. But you were never married. Pompasse had only one wife, and that was me. He will only have one widow.”

“Of course,
madame,
” Charlie said softly. “You know I have always had the greatest respect for you….”

“Silence!” the old woman hissed. “You thought you'd tricked me. Like all the others. But I took care of them, and I'll take care of you. They'll never find you, any of you, and they'll never find your paintings. I couldn't take all of them, but I got enough. You'll all be entombed together, with the other ones, and I won't have to worry anymore. It'll be over.”

“What others, Madame Antonella?” Maguire spoke up suddenly. “Who are they?”

“Shut up, Maguire,” Charlie whispered. “I'm trying to reason with her.”

“She won't be reasoned with, love,” he said in a loud voice. “So tell me who those women are. The dead bodies in the back of the tomb? Lauretta says they're some of your earlier victims.”

“My daughter knows my secrets,” Antonella said smugly. Charlie wanted to kick Maguire, until she noticed Tomaso's reaction. He'd had no idea exactly how bad things were—news about the dead women in the crypt had clearly come as a shock to him, and he was staring at his wife in renewed horror.

“Tell us who they were,” Maguire said, his voice soft and admiring. “You must have been very clever to get away with this. I like a woman who's both beautiful and smart.” He was flirting with her, Charlie realized in shock. And the old hag was responding with ghoulish girlishness. “How did you do it?”

The old lady preened, responding to Maguire's practiced charm. “I told you, it's easy. You just snap their neck. Fast, and relatively painless. They didn't even know it was coming. I brought them up here to see some of Pompasse's hidden paintings. I always used to take them when he wasn't looking. He never could find them.” She smiled with remembered fondness.

“And you killed them all?” Maguire prompted. “The women who wanted to leave?”

“Don't be foolish. It was the ones who wanted to stay who were a danger. Those were the ones I killed.”

“Even the young one?” Maguire prompted her. “What was her name?”

“Luisa,” Antonella replied calmly. “The little slut. My grandchild, and his own child. He took her into his bed when she was fifteen. I killed her when she was sixteen. Lauretta was not happy with me, but she helped me, anyway. She had promised Aristide.”

“Damn,” Maguire muttered. “I really didn't want incest.”

“No!” It was no more than a whispered moan of pain, but it was the first sound Tomaso had made. “No. Not my baby.”

Lauretta threw him a pleading look. “It was too late for me to stop her, Tomaso. She had already done it. I had no choice but to protect my mother….”

“She killed our daughter, and you protect her?” Tomaso's voice suddenly thundered in the underground chamber. “What kind of creature are you? You are worse than she is, a monster.” Before she realized what he was doing he raised the gun and fired, straight at her, the weapon sparking in the darkness.

“Oh, shit,” Maguire muttered. “Move it.” He shoved Charlie toward the back of the tomb, then grabbed Olivia and hauled her after him as the entire place began to rumble.

Lauretta was clutching her stomach, staring at her husband in shock. “Tomaso?” she said in a piteous voice. The old woman was screaming in the background, filthy imprecations in a dozen languages, and Tomaso turned patiently, pointed the gun at her, and fired again.

She went down like a felled ox. Before she even hit the ground the roof collapsed in on them with a rumble that must have rivaled the bombs that first shattered the place in World War Two, burying them where they stood.

Maguire shoved Charlie against a wall and covered her with his body. She heard a muffled wail, and she tried to break free, to make sure her mother was all right, but Maguire was immovable, and the roar of the collapsing stone was deafening. She really was going to die this time, she thought, and she didn't want to die without telling Maguire she loved him, but even if she screamed it he wouldn't hear her, and besides, he was better off not knowing. At least he wouldn't die smug.

It took her a while to realize that the roaring had stopped, though her ears still echoed with the noise. The thick dust was like smoke, swirling around them, and Charlie pushed Maguire away.

“Mama!” she screamed.

There was a dusty cough from the area near her knee. “Right here, darling.” Olivia's voice came from the darkness. “I'm fine.”

“Thank God,” Charlie breathed. “Maguire…?” She reached out for him again, and he let out a yelp of pain.

“I'm surviving,” he said bitterly. “Though I'm not sure I want to.”

The dust was slowly settling. The night sky was brilliant overhead, the moon shining down brightly on the pile of stones in front of them. Half the remaining church had collapsed, and the old pew lay across the pile like a headstone. Tomaso, Lauretta and Madame Antonella were buried beneath it, crushed by the stone.

“Jesus,” Maguire breathed. “Will you look at that?”

“They're dead,” Charlie said.

“Not that. Look behind you.”

She turned. The other half of the crypt had caved in as well, crushing Pompasse's stolen paintings, crushing what remained of the women Madame Antonella had killed. The only place left standing was the small area where Charlie, Olivia and Maguire had taken shelter.

“I don't believe it,” Maguire said, shaking his head. Dust and bits of stone fell onto his shoulders. “It's a bloody miracle.”

“I think I'm going to faint,” Charlie said in a wavery voice.

“Forget about it. I can't carry you with this bum arm. You've made it this far—you can make it back to the villa.”

“Besides,” Olivia said, struggling to her feet. “If anyone's fainting it'll be me. I've been through quite enough today. It's not in my nature to be a heroine, and I think I've done quite splendidly, but now I need a hot bath and a rest cure. And some healthy young man to take my mind off my aches.”