A Fatal Slip (24 page)

Emma’s hand automatically went toward her purse and her cell phone. She would call Brian and ask him what he thought. She dug around in the depths of her handbag, occasionally glancing toward the hall to make sure no one was coming.

She finally pulled out her phone and hit the speed dial number for Brian. One ring, two rings,
come on, pick up
Emma intoned to herself. Just as Brian’s voice came over the line, Emma heard footsteps coming down the hall. She clicked the phone off without answering and tossed it in her bag. She was trying to roll up the canvas when she heard someone enter the room.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Emma spun around to find Sabina looking over her shoulder. She still had her coat on, the collar pulled up against the chill.

Sabina’s eyes glowed as she looked at the painting. “You found it for me,” she breathed. “I should thank you. You’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”

“Is this the same painting—”

“As the one in the photograph that so fascinated you? Yes. It belonged to my grandparents and was stolen by the Nazis.”

“But how . . .”

“When Hugh was in the air force, he was assigned to a task force investigating art stolen by the Nazis. There were plenty of unscrupulous dealers more than willing to make their money selling other people’s property. Of course it had to be done very discreetly—and sometimes that meant waiting many years, after the trail had gone cold, to make a sale. Hugh always did have a lot of patience.” She fumbled with the clasp on her purse with one hand.

Emma’s cell phone rang. It was probably Brian wondering why she’d hung up on him. If the call had been dropped, she would certainly have called back by now. Emma’s hand instinctively went toward the phone.

“Don’t answer it,” Sabina commanded in a sharp voice.

Emma withdrew her hand as if it had been slapped.

“How did you know about the painting?”

“Hugh showed me a picture of it. He said it was the crown jewel of his collection. I recognized it immediately. At first I assumed he didn’t know it had been stolen, but it turned out he knew perfectly well. I asked that it be returned to my family.” She gave a small shrug. “He refused, of course.” She laughed. “I told him I would steal it back. He said it was hidden where I’d never find it.” She leveled a glance at Emma. “He was right. I certainly tried, but it never occurred to me he would take it out of the frame and hide it that way.”

Emma’s mind was reeling. She thought back to the night of Hugh’s party. She and Brian were making their way to the terrace to see the fireworks, but someone—a woman in a tangerine dress—was moving against the crowd. She was the only person there wearing that color. And she was slithering through the crowd and into the ballroom toward the stairs leading to the balcony.

“You did it.” The words burst from Emma before she could stop them.

“Killed Hugh, you mean?” A very smug look came over Sabina’s face. “Yes, I did. It was very satisfying to see the look on his face when I pulled the pistol from my purse.”

“I can understand your anger . . . but murder?”

“It was more than just the painting. I grew up listening to my grandparents’ stories about the Holocaust and what had happened to the Jews. It made me angry, and every time I heard a new tale, that anger built. This was a way of getting at least a crumb of justice for them.”

“But Hugh didn’t have anything to do with—”

Sabina shook her head violently. “He knew the work was stolen, and he still refused to return it to its rightful owner. He even bragged that he’d bought and sold other paintings that had been ripped from the homes of those who had been herded into the concentration camps.”

A thought occurred to Emma. “And you used that same pistol to spook Joy’s horse.” It was a statement not a question.

“Yes. It was meant as a warning, but if something worse had happened . . .” Sabina shrugged nonchalantly. “She saw me heading up to the balcony after Hugh during the fireworks and followed me. She tried to blackmail me.” Sabina threw her head back and laughed, showing her long, slender column of a neck. “I told her it would have been her word against mine.”

Sabina’s hand had been in her purse and just then she pulled it out. “And now I’m going to use that same pistol to get rid of you.”

Emma’s eyes widened as she stared at the gun in Sabina’s hands. It was small, but she had no doubt that it was deadly.

“Why don’t you just take the painting? That’s what you want, after all. I won’t say anything . . .”

Sabina laughed again. “Of course I’m going to take the painting, but I’m hardly going to keep you around as a witness.” She shook her head. “No, you are going to have an unfortunate accident.”

“A gunshot is hardly an accident.”
Keep her talking
, Emma thought. Maybe Mariel or Molly would return, or Joy would come in from horseback riding. Perhaps Brian was wondering why she’d hung up so abruptly and wasn’t answering her phone and was already on his way. Emma thought about the plaster cast on his leg, and her hopes fizzled. There wasn’t much Brian could do in the condition he was in. But maybe he would call the police? She realized it was a forlorn hope even as the thought crossed her mind.

“It’s time we went outside.” Sabina motioned toward the door with the pistol.

“Outside?” Emma reached for her coat.

“Leave it,” Sabina commanded.

Emma tried to drag her feet as much as possible but then she felt Sabina press the muzzle of the gun into her back and knew she meant business.

EMMA
crossed the foyer with Sabina’s gun still pressed into her lower back. The house was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock in the living room. Emma hesitated at the front door.

“Open it.” Sabina pressed the gun a little farther into Emma’s back.

Emma pulled open the door and shuddered as the blast of cold air chilled her instantly. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. Light snow was falling again, leaving wet blotches on Emma’s sweater and pants. She wished she’d worn her boots and not a pair of thin-soled shoes. She shot a glance at Sabina, who was warm and snug in her fur coat and suede boots.

“Across the field.” Sabina gestured with the gun toward the stables behind the house.

Emma began the torturous journey across the rutted field. The grass was frozen and slowly turning white from the falling snow. Emma was shivering violently now as she slipped and slid her way toward the barn. At one point she fell, crying out as her bare hands hit the hard ground.

“Get up,” Sabina demanded, waving the gun around where Emma could see it.

Emma stayed on her hands and knees for a moment, trying to catch her breath before heaving herself to her feet again. A strange feeling was coming over her. She was past being scared. Now she was mad. The surge of adrenaline propelled her forward, and she no longer felt the biting cold.

“Where are we going?” Emma had no idea where Sabina was taking her, but as long as they were out in the open field, there was still a chance that Molly or Mariel would see them. Emma risked a glance back toward the house and the driveway, but no cars had pulled in yet. For a moment she imagined that she saw Brian’s bright red pickup truck parked in the circular drive, but when she blinked again it was gone—merely an illusion or wishful thinking on her part.

Sabina marched her steadily toward the stables. They were close enough now to hear the occasional whinnying and snorting of a horse.

Emma suddenly remembered an article she had read in the paper—about how it was actually very difficult for an amateur to shoot a moving target and that when faced with someone with a gun, your best bet might be to run away. Her stomach knotted up at the thought of running while Sabina was firing at her. Emma had no idea how good a shot the woman was.

They were almost to the stables now. Was Sabina planning on shooting her there, where the noise would be less obvious? Emma decided she didn’t want to wait to find out. She took a deep breath and took off at a run across the slippery field.

“Stop,” Sabina commanded, but she didn’t fire.

Emma’s feet, in their thin-soled shoes, slipped and slid on the snow-covered grass. She kept her eyes on the ground, fearful of putting a foot wrong on the uneven terrain. A tuft of grass hid a deep rut in the frozen earth, and Emma caught her foot in it, slamming to the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of her.

In seconds, Sabina was leaning over her, the gun pointing threateningly at Emma’s head.

“Get up.”

Emma tried to stand up, but her hands slipped, and she landed on her knees again. Sabina prodded her with the gun. Finally Emma was on her feet and moving once more.

“Don’t try that again,” Sabina warned.

Emma risked another glance over her shoulder, but the driveway was still empty.

Emma was beyond chilled to the bone by the time they reached the stables. Sabina pulled open the door and shoved Emma inside.

The sudden comparative warmth felt glorious. The smells of hay and horse filled Emma’s senses, and she heard pawing and snorting from various stalls as if the horses were surprised by their sudden visitors.

A row of stalls ran down either side of a wide aisle lit by hanging overhead fluorescent lights. The stall doors were wood on the bottom with metal grills on top and over each was a metal plate with the horse’s name on it. Emma noticed that Big Boy’s stall was empty. Joy must still be out riding.

The horses moved around restlessly, perhaps wondering if Emma and Sabina had come to feed them. One large black mare named Pretty Girl snorted loudly and banged against the door of her stall with her rump, startling Emma and making her jump.

Emma’s mind was racing trying to think of a way to escape from Sabina. Sabina had approached Pretty Girl’s stall and was fumbling with the latch, her gun still trained on Emma. She finally unlocked the door and grabbed Emma by the arm.

“What are you doing?” Emma tried to resist, but Sabina waved the gun in her face.

“You’re going in there,” Sabina said, pointing to the horse’s stall. “And when I shoot off my gun”—she brandished it in Emma’s face—“the horse is going to go crazy. You won’t be able to get out of her way, and it will all look like a terrible and unfortunate accident.”

“No,” Emma protested. The mare was stomping and snorting in earnest now as if she was angry at the intrusion into her territory. Emma watched as more than one thousand pounds of horseflesh slammed into the sides of the stall. If Emma went in there, she would be crushed for certain.

She decided to take her chances. She yanked her arm from Sabina’s grasp and began to run, zigzagging across the stable floor. She was out the door before Sabina was able to respond but it was mere seconds before Emma heard footsteps pounding behind her followed by the sound of the gun being fired.

She flinched but kept running, changing direction repeatedly so that she would be harder to hit. Another shot, then another, but she was still running, her breath rasping in her ears, her heart feeling as if it would burst.

A thunderous noise came from behind Emma. She turned around and glanced over her shoulder quickly. Joy was galloping across the field, standing out of the saddle, a look of intense concentration on her face. Big Boy was kicking up clods of mud behind him as he flew across the grass.

Sabina raised her gun in the air, and Emma held her breath. If Big Boy spooked now, Joy could be seriously injured. Sabina pulled the trigger but . . . nothing. No sound, no bullet. She swore loudly, throwing the gun on the ground. She turned around and looked at Emma then back at Joy.

Joy and Big Boy were headed straight for Sabina. Sabina hesitated like a deer caught in a car’s headlights, then she began to run. Joy and Big Boy easily overtook her, the huge horse knocking her to the ground. Joy pulled on the reins and Big Boy slowed and finally came to a halt, his chest heaving and clouds of vapor streaming from his nose. Joy dismounted and both she and Emma made their way toward Sabina, Joy suddenly clumsy now that she was no longer on Big Boy’s back.

Sabina lay on the cold grass, her face white and her body still.

“Is she breathing?” Joy asked, her own breath coming in gasps.

Emma, who had begun to shiver uncontrollably, knelt and felt Sabina’s neck. She looked up at Joy. “There’s a pulse.”

“Time to call nine-one-one.” Joy pulled a cell phone from her jacket pocket and punched in the numbers.

Just then they heard the sound of a car engine, and they both turned toward the house. Brian’s red pickup truck was barreling down the drive. Emma couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. The truck came to a stop in a spray of gravel and both doors flew open.

A man—Emma thought it was Bobby Fuller—was sitting on the driver’s side as Brian slid out of the passenger seat, swinging his crutches after him. He began to make his slow and laborious way toward Emma.

Emma began to run, cold, stiff and limping slightly from all the times she had fallen. She reached Brian about two-thirds of the way across the field and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Brian whipped off his coat and wrapped it around Emma, holding her tight against him. She began to cry, and he stroked her hair gently.

“How did you . . . why did . . .”

“Sssh,” Brian said softly. “When you hung up on me earlier and then didn’t answer your phone, I had a strange feeling. I didn’t like it. I convinced Bobby to drive me over here to check on you. We were already out looking at a job.”

“It was Sabina,” Emma said somewhat incoherently, gesturing toward the field. “She was trying to kill me.”

Brian tightened his arms around Emma. They both heard the faint wail of a siren in the distance. Emma twisted in Brian’s embrace. She looked back toward the field. “I’d better go help Joy. If Sabina wakes up . . .”

But before Emma could move, a police cruiser had pulled into the driveway and the two occupants were running toward the figure lying in the field, their guns drawn.

“Let’s get you inside. You’re freezing,” Brian said.

Another siren blared in the distance getting louder and louder until it cut off abruptly as the ambulance pulled into the driveway.

“They’ll take care of everything,” Brian said, gesturing toward the police and the EMT crew who were pulling a gurney from the back of the ambulance. He began to lead Emma back toward the house. “It’s all over.”