At the Midnight Hour (24 page)

It was the way it had been so long ago, when he’d rocked the crying baby to sleep at night, feeling his love like an overwhelming swell in his chest. It was the way it had been until that one night, when Alycia had stolen it all from him with her scathing words.

Except that it wasn’t gone anymore. It was here in the hallway, five years later but just as precious. Baby Andy had grown up into a six-year-old boy who could talk dielectrics and compute algorithms, and Richard thought he’d never met anyone so perfect in his entire life.

Slowly, he untangled himself from Andy’s grasp.

“Go take care of Liz,” he whispered, and Andrew nodded once more, then abruptly scurried back to Liz’s room to promptly begin his new duties. Richard watched the boy’s hasty departure with another smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

He had no doubt Liz wouldn’t be able to sneeze by herself for the rest of the day. He straightened and nodded to himself. That was just as well. He couldn’t keep his eye on them both for the afternoon, and he didn’t know of anyone he could send them to. So he would let them keep each other safe, while he disappeared briefly back into his lab.

He patted the diary in his chest pocket. He had some bait to doctor, and a trap to set. Tonight it would all come together.

If he could just keep Andy and Liz safe until then.

L
iz woke to the sound of a creaking floorboard. Instantly, she was on the alert, bolting upright as her heart thundered in her chest. Her head winced at the sudden movement, the pain clearing the last of her fog. She became aware of the fact that she was fully dressed and sprawled out on the library sofa. Yawning deeply, she stretched out her muscles and glanced at the grandfather clock. One-thirty.

Richard had left twenty minutes ago to put Andy to bed after their big night out. She’d been surprised by his offer to do so, but it only fit the tone of an all-round strange night. The dinner had been a reserved affair, with Richard in a polite if distant mood.

On the one hand, he seemed more relaxed around Andrew, and the two chatted a bit between themselves. On the other hand, his gaze was unreadable each time it swept over to her. He’d seemed restrained, and there were times when she’d thought his mind wandered away completely. As the hour had grown later, the movie approaching, then ending, his preoccupation had only increased. By the time they’d returned to the house, she could feel the restlessness hovering in the air around him. His eyes were darker, his face impatient. And still, when he looked at her, she knew nothing of what went on in his mind.

She sighed heavily, wanting to bridge the distance and not yet knowing how. She spared another glance for the grandfather clock. One-forty. Apparently, Andy was making him read all of
A Brief History of Time.

The small creaking sound came again, this time farther down the hall. She froze, then told herself it was only Richard finally coming to join her. Except, of course, the man usually walked like a cat. She found herself straining her ears even as a deep tremor rippled up the back of her neck.

A log popped in the fire, and she jumped.

With a shake of her head at her own nerves, she got off the couch and went to attend to the flames.

“You.” The word was a low angry whisper coming sharply from her right.

Immediately, Liz turned, fire poker in hand and her muscles tense—only to find a gun leveled at her chest. Her face paled, and the fear that gripped her stomach was complete. Slowly, surely, she dropped the heavy iron poker to the floor.

* * *

Richard scowled as he pounded down the hall toward Liz’s room. He hadn’t thought it would take so long to get Andy into bed, and he couldn’t shake the feeling something had gone wrong. He’d already checked in with Blaine for an evening update. Blaine didn’t look happy, but he’d succeeded in his mission to keep at least Greg and Parris under watch. Both men were currently drunk as skunks in Blaine’s room. Jillian had retired to her bedroom earlier, Blaine had said, his look plainly stating he couldn’t watch two rooms at one time.

Richard understood that, which was why he wanted to double-check the diary before he went down to the library. The time, however, made him nervous. He didn’t like leaving Liz alone for so long, especially when so many things could go wrong.

He’d done his best, in the few hours he’d had this afternoon, to create something at once discreet and efficient. He wanted a trap he could spring without the person’s realizing it had been sprung. Given all the people staying in the house, Richard didn’t want to risk a panicked confrontation. So, he’d settled on rigging the diary with an ink pouch, a classic trick often used in ransom payments to pollute the money and thus render it valueless. Basically, he’d concocted a normal-looking mixture of blue ink, except it was unwashable. When the diary cover opened, the ink spurted out not only over the pages, but over the perpetrator, as well.

He had hid the diary, and made sure everyone knew he was taking Andy and Liz out for the evening. He just had to trust the killer to take advantage of the situation. Richard had even moved the armoire back a bit to aid the culprit’s search. In an ideal scenario, the killer would find the diary, open it and become stained with ink. Thinking Alycia had booby-trapped the book and it was now unreadable—and thus of no possible danger—the killer would return the book discreetly. The next morning, one person would appear with the story of a pen leaking on them. At his convenience, Richard would take the person aside to a safe, controlled environment. He would announce that he’d actually rigged the diary, having, of course, read its contents beforehand, which clearly revealed the perpetrator’s role in Alycia’s death. The person would be rattled, and Richard could trick him into a testimony for the sake of the hidden tape recorder.

Everything would be wrapped up neat and clean by afternoon. Except, of course, for the fact that the situation rested heavily on assumptions about people and their behavior. And human behavior was the hardest factor to control for.

Richard made it to Liz’s room. A quick check revealed that the diary was gone. Frowning even more heavily, Richard stood. Jillian, or Mrs. Pram? He went to check on Jillian first. She wasn’t in her room, however, and he was just about to leave for Mrs. Pram, when his eyes fell on a towel on the floor, now covered with blue ink.

He turned, swearing low under his breath. Without questioning the instinct, he flew down to the library.

* * *

“You will do exactly as I say,” Jillian stated in clipped tones. Her blue eyes were no longer distant, but burned with a manic rage that worried Liz far more. That, and the pistol held with calm competence in the woman’s hand. “You read the damn diary, didn’t you?”

Numbly, Liz nodded, only realizing her mistake too late. Judging by the look of relief on Jillian’s face, the fact had clearly been in doubt until Liz had confirmed it. She wanted to swear, but her brain was still reeling from the sight of the gun and the impact that all along it had been Jillian. Jillian had killed Alycia.

Jillian abruptly held up her left hand to show it was covered with blue ink. “I suppose I have you to thank for this little souvenir, then. Very clever of you. Of course, I realized then that someone else must have found the diary first. After all, Alycia had never been quite that clever.”

Liz honestly had no idea what the woman was talking about, but her silence was taken for acquiescence as Jillian kept talking.

“How ironic that you should find it after I’ve spent five years looking for the damn thing. I always thought the renovations would make it easier to find. If only I could have dragged Blaine back to the house more often. No matter, though,” Jillian said briskly, using the gun to motion Liz toward the door. “Since you destroyed the diary, you’ll just have to serve in its place. I want that money, damn it. And you’re going to tell me where it is, or you won’t have enough teeth left to be identified even by dental records.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Liz said mechanically, her eyes never leaving the gun.

Jillian’s gaze darkened, and for just one minute, her hand clenched on the pistol. “Don’t try that ignorance routine with me, you little slut. I’ve seen the way you’ve been wrapping Richard and Blaine around your finger. You think you can take Alycia’s place, but I was here way before you. Blaine is
mine.
That money is
mine.
So start moving. I’ve always heard that compared to the first murder, the second is easy.”

Liz swallowed heavily, and felt the faint drumming of her own pulse in her ears. Where was Richard? But she didn’t know, and the gun in Jillian’s hand didn’t seem keen on waiting. Slowly, she turned and forced her feet into motion even as she commanded her terrified mind to think. Money. Jillian wanted money. Liz couldn’t think of hints from the diary, so she just kept walking.

And unconsciously, her feet took them to the one room she most associated with Alycia and that dark night five years ago. The one room farthest from Andy, and the room where she might hope to buy time before anyone else got hurt.

She led Jillian up to the right-hand tower.

* * *

Richard rounded the corner into the library at a near run, only to come to a screeching halt. Empty. The damn room was empty. He felt the panic grip him tightly, his blood running cold and his head drooping as a million different horrible scenarios ran through his mind.

Liz. What if Jillian had already gotten to Liz?

Then abruptly, he felt a draft from his right, a chilling, musty draft. His head came up slowly, his face already rigid with the knowledge.

The right-hand tower. Someone had opened the right-hand tower.

And then he knew just how much he stood to lose.

He strode into the library, his face set as his cheeks paled beneath his normal darkness. He opened the bar without blinking, reaching way back to pull out what he wanted. He snapped open the leather case with efficient fingers, and spared one glance at the smooth shape of the Chief’s Special. He began to walk even as he clicked out the barrel and began to load.

And each stride took him closer to the right-hand tower.

* * *

“I don’t remember any money,” Liz was saying frantically, watching as Jillian grew angrier and angrier before her. “The diary just talked about the blackmail, I swear it.”

“Don’t bother,” the blonde sneered, looking at Liz with open contempt. “Do you expect me to believe you? You’re no better than Alycia. Well, I sat back and watched her for two years. I let her steal Blaine and I looked on while she married Richard. And then I realized I was never going to get anywhere while she was in the picture. That day, she thought she was so clever, to have figured out who I was. She thought she could stand here and laugh at me and swear she wouldn’t pay another red cent. Well, I showed her who was really the smart one.

“And then I got to be patient once more. Blaine needed time, Parris needed time. The whole damn world seemed to need time to get over Alycia. But now it’s
my
time. Blaine was coming around. Just a couple months more and I’d have had him down the aisle and then I’d never have to worry about money again. Until, of course, you showed up. You should have left when I put that note on your bed, you little bitch. Did you really think I’d just sit back and let Blaine go for the second time?”

Liz shook her head furiously. “I don’t want Blaine,” she said, then quickly reworded her answer as Jillian’s eyes glittered dangerously. “I mean, Blaine doesn’t want me. And really, that’s fine. I hope the two of you will be happy together. I’ll be the first to throw rice at your wedding.”

“Too late,” Jillian said coldly. “You’re going to help me find the twenty thousand Alycia still owes me, and then if you’re lucky, I’ll kill you with the first bullet. Don’t make me run through the list of alternatives.”

Liz swallowed, and wondered for the thirtieth time how she was going to get out of this. Slowly, her eyes never wavering from Jillian’s form, she sank to the floor.

“It’s hidden under the floor,” she ad-libbed. “Alycia wrote that she hid the money here.” She pretended to run her hands across the stone, as if feeling for a release lever, wondering if she sounded at all convincing.

It seemed to work, because Jillian suddenly looked at the floor with renewed interest.

“How shrewd,” the blonde murmured, kneeling slowly. “Bring the money to the final site, but hide it in the floor, just in case. Perhaps I didn’t look hard enough the first time.”

Keeping the gun trained on Liz with one hand, the blonde felt out the stones with her other hand. Liz allowed herself another deep breath. So far, so good. Maybe if she could just keep the woman talking, absorbed in finding the last of the money, she could distract Jillian’s attention from the gun. At this point, it was the best plan she had.

“So you were the blackmailer,” Liz began.

Jillian simply nodded, her face cold as she searched out another stone. Liz moved over a few feet, and instantly the woman stiffened. Liz hunkered back down slowly.

“What,” she asked after a minute, “what did you blackmail her with? In the diary,” she added quickly, “she only refers to one day she swore never to think about again.”

Jillian laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “It was a freak thing, really,” she said coolly as her free hand smoothed along the stones. “Six years ago I was talking to a friend of a friend of a friend, who just happened to be in the business of performing abortions and, well, he’d performed one on Alycia. When she was sixteen. It appears Alycia had a little incident with one of her father’s business associates.”

Liz started, and the surprised motion earned her another level glance. For emphasis, Jillian cocked the pistol. “I’m getting impatient,” the blonde said pointedly.

Liz nodded, and turned back to the floor, trying to look as if she were searching for the last of the blackmail money that Alycia apparently had never handed over. Her panic kept growing, and nervously her eyes darted around the room. It was then she suddenly noticed the shadowed form of Richard standing in the doorway. Quickly, she dropped her eyes, hoping Jillian hadn’t noticed her staring. She moved back a bit, drawing Jillian’s attention farther from the door.

“Why—why kill Alycia if you were collecting money from her?” Liz asked nervously, licking her lips and catching Richard’s stealthy approach out of the corner of her eye. He appeared to be holding a gun in one hand, but that didn’t ease her nerves. If Jillian happened to glance over and notice him...

“I didn’t have a choice.” Jillian shrugged. “She figured out it was me, and then confronted me up here at the drop-off site. She had the gall to say she’d brought the money with her, but now that she knew it was me, she had no intention of paying. She thought she could just turn and walk away. She thought I would just let her.” Jillian’s face hardened, the pistol waving in her hand with the force of her anger. Immediately, Richard froze, and Liz swallowed thickly, wondering if she was going to be shot out of pure rage. Slowly, the blonde collected herself. “I cocked the gun, thinking to scare her, and that little twit turned around and rushed me. We struggled a bit, but I was always much stronger than her. I maneuvered her over to the window, and when I got the first opening, I pushed her hard. She fell like a rag doll, and Blaine became mine.”

In spite of herself, Liz shivered. Unbidden, her gaze sought out Richard, now just steps behind Jillian’s kneeling form. This time, however, the blonde frowned, and turned as if to follow the line of Liz’s gaze.