Good Sister, The (29 page)

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Authors: Diana Diamond

BOOK: Good Sister, The
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He squinted. “How …”
“How are you going to kill me?”
“Painlessly, darlin’. In a way you won’t even know it’s happening.”
“A bullet in the back of my head, maybe while I’m kneeling with my hands tied behind my back.”
“Oh, don’t be thinking that way, lass. I have a gun, but I have
no intention of using it. I’m not sure I’d know how.” Then he chuckled. “Terrible thing for a secret agent to admit, isn’t it.”
“Well, how then? Maybe a knife blade across my throat so you can watch me bleed to death?”
“No! No knives and no guns.” He seemed annoyed that she would even suggest such things. “While I was over on the island, I found myself a very stout walking stick, and I planned to slip behind you while we were looking out from the cliff and deliver one clean blow to the head. You’d go dark instantly. You’d never feel yourself falling onto the rocks below. And, of course, your wounds from hitting the ground would disguise the blow of my stick. So it would just be an accident.”
“But there would still be evidence. Someone would find your bloody club and would know it was my blood on it.”
He nodded. “Would you believe I had thought about that one? And I decided that given your terrible tragedy, the natural thing for me to do would be to light a fire to attract help. I thought the stick could be part of the fire.”
“And now that I know, and won’t turn my back on you for an instant …”
“I suppose things will get a little messy.”
Jennifer forced a laugh. “Messy? If you come near me, I’ll claw your face open. I’ll bite and kick. You’ll look like you’ve been in a catfight. And you won’t be able to shoot me. How could you explain a bullet wound if your story is that I fell accidentally?”
Padraig drew a heavy breath. “I hope you won’t make this difficult, darlin’. There’s no pleasure in this for me. It’s just that it has to be done. Especially now that you know the whole sordid story.”
Jennifer’s mind was driving, trying desperately for a chance to stay alive. “Padraig, what if I offered you the same deal? You and I could own it all. And we wouldn’t have to kill anyone. My sister is crazy. We could have her put away. I’d have her power of attorney, and you and I could have everything.”
He chuckled. “We’re a pair, aren’t we. I thought much the
same thing when I prompted that poor actor to put an end to her. But Jennifer, we both have to face the facts. Your sister is the celebrity. She’s the one who fills the house and sells all the tickets. With her, everything is twice as sensational! Twice as big! You and I could do just fine. But Catherine and I can run it all.”
He stood. “The sun is coming up, so we should get going. Is there anything you need to do first? Use the bathroom or something?”
She slid across the sofa and went down the steps to her cabin.
Padraig called after her. “And please, Jennifer, don’t lock yourself in or hide under the bed. It will just make everything more difficult for both of us.”
The trace of light in the east was their signal to cast off. Peter took in the lines and jumped down into the bow of the launch. Kevin backed the engine and threw the tiller over. The boat swung out, giving him room to put the engine ahead and turn the bow out to sea.
They began slowly, and Peter was impatient to pick up speed. But even when the throttle was pushed all the way forward, not much changed. The engine’s pitch went up a note or two, and the boat struggled to add a few more knots. But she certainly wasn’t a speedboat. The big dory ran even in the water, carving an elegant wake without any attempt to lift up and skim over the water. She was certainly a workboat, and she was used to being paid by the hour.
Kevin showed no sense of urgency, either. With the engine set, he settled back with an arm wrapped over the tiller. Like a horse, the boat knew its way out into the bay without any annoying tugs on the reins.
Peter stared ahead, straining through the binoculars that came with the boat. They were blurred and impossible to focus. He set them aside and scanned as best he could. There was a blinking light somewhere ahead. He couldn’t guess how far. And there
was a red light off the port bow. He guessed that it was a channel marker or a warning of land close aboard.
The eastern sky lightened. Suddenly he could make out the dark silhouette of an island behind the red light, and then another island off to the right. “Kevin,” he called back. “Are we okay?”
“Yup.”
At least he was awake. “Can we get any more speed out of this thing?”
“Nope.”
But they were making decent speed. Peter saw the islands moving by on each side as the boat split the channel. And with the sunrise, he could see the opening into the bay ahead. There were small rocky islands piercing the water off to the right.
“Should we check those out?” Peter asked.
“Not likely to find anything,” Kevin answered. “It would take a good captain to work his way through theyuh. Newcomers usually keep to the deep water.”
“Where then?”
Kevin pointed ahead. “Out a ways. Couple of islands out theyuh that are safe anchorages for weekenders. Some of ‘em even have state pahks.”
“Okay,” Peter agreed. He hated to pass any cove or inlet without peeking in, but he had no choice. The young man made his living in these waters, and Peter didn’t want to second-guess him.
“Maineman,”
Kevin volunteered, “is a big white trawluh. We see her around here during the summuh. Rides high in the watah. If she’s here, we won’t miss her.”
Peter found his confidence in the scruffy captain growing. He knew what they were looking for, which was more than he could say for himself.
As the sun got up a bit in the sky, the small pink ball grew larger and turned into blinding white light. It was hard to see, but Kevin kept plowing ahead. To his mind it didn’t matter. There would be nothing to see until they got there.
They were out more than an hour when Peter first noticed a shape ahead. Kevin saw him squinting. “That’s Pennobquit,” he said. “If I was runnin’ off with a lady, that’s where I’d take her.”
“How far?” Peter asked.
“Half hour. Not much more!”
Padraig led Jennifer out on deck and then aft to the dinghy. He had it tied up close and had already been aboard to replace the spark plugs. He stood behind her as she climbed over the rail and then helped her down to the boat. She didn’t resist when he eased her into the bow. Then he took the line and stepped in at the stern.
She tried again. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late to turn back.” Padraig didn’t seem to notice the sound of her voice. He set the engine controls and then pushed the starter. The little outboard broke into a pleasing buzz. As soon as he moved the shift lever, they were on their way to the island.
“Padraig, this isn’t a movie. It’s real. In real life, murderers get caught. And they rot in prison.”
He glanced at her. “It isn’t my idea, girl. I don’t like it a bit. But there isn’t another way.”
“There is! We can go back together and tell Catherine that I’m buying in. You can tell her that you want to be with me, and I’ll tell her that I don’t give a damn what she sees in her magic mirror. What can she do?”
“Take away Leprechaun,” he said. “She and Peter can toss me out on my arse. I’d be looking for work while Catherine was taking bows for our films. Can’t you just see her, up on the stage, thanking all the little people for her Oscar? And me playing the butler in a stupid sitcom.”
“It wouldn’t happen. Peter and I could warn her that if she dropped you, she wouldn’t get another cent out of Pegasus. She’d have to go along.”
“Peter,” he mocked. “Jaysus help me if I ever have to count
on that one. He’d be only too happy to kick my arse out the door.”
“But he—”
“Jennie, darlin’, don’t you think I’ve been through this a million times. Don’t you know that if I could start all over again, I’d never have put either of us in this predicament? But here we are. Rotten as it is, this is my only chance.”
The bow scraped on the beach, and Padraig quickly killed the engine. Jennifer bounded out of the boat and ran inland as fast as her feet could carry her. O’Connell took his time pulling the boat ashore and tying the mooring line securely. Then he tipped the engine up and patiently disconnected the spark-plug leads. He used a wipe cloth to grasp the plugs as he twisted them out.
When he walked inland, he headed directly to a small clump of brush. There he retrieved his “cane,” a widening branch with the joint of another branch broken off at its head. With the narrow end on the ground, the top came up to his waist. It was more like a baseball bat than a walking stick.
Padraig started up the hill toward the park area with its lean-tos and fire pits. That was the only area that offered any sort of hiding place. And if she wasn’t there, he would certainly be able to spot her; the campground was near the cliff and afforded a view of the whole island. “Jennie,” he called ahead. “Please don’t make this hard on yourself. It’s not as if either of us have a choice.”
There was no answer, not that he expected one. He walked up the hill turning left and right to see where she was hiding. When he did spot her, Padraig couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Jennifer was in her bathing suit, sitting on a curved boulder. As he watched, she pushed herself off and slid into the sea. A second later, she bobbed up and began stroking back out to the trawler.
“Oh, sweet Jaysus,” he snapped, and he ran back down to the dinghy. “Jennifer,” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Come back. You’ll never make it.” But just in the few strokes that he
watched, he knew she had a chance. She was swimming powerfully, propelled by a steady kick. In the light seas, she was moving very quickly.
He fumbled with the plugs as he replaced them. The alignment had to be perfect, and in his hurry, he made two false starts. Then one of the electrical connectors proved balky and wouldn’t snap into position. He needed his pocketknife to make the hookup. He pushed the dinghy out before he untied the line, then had to pull it back to climb aboard. By the time the engine started, Jennifer was more than halfway to the trawler. She was still swimming with a strong stroke.
But she was numb from the cold. The icy water that first stung her skin had now taken away most of her feeling. Her muscles were generating their own heat, but she could feel cramping in her lower back and her thighs. Her arms, which had carried her much farther in the warm waters off French Guiana, were beginning to feel heavy. She knew she was losing strength.
Padraig could see her in the water, and he knew he was closing the gap. Even with its small engine, the inflatable was a fast boat, skimming across the surface rather than plowing through. He guessed they would reach the trawler at about the same time, and thought he would have little trouble overpowering her and bringing her back. But still, he picked up the small paddle, wielding it like a hatchet.
“There she is!” Kevin was pointing out over the port bow.
Peter squinted. Pennobquit loomed ahead, its coastline a series of craggy rocks. But he couldn’t make out detail. Just a shape against the dark water. “Where? I’m not picking it up.”
Kevin had moved the tiller and was pointing straight over the bow. “Dead ahead. You can see her stern around that rock. In the cove.”
Peter began to make it out. The white hull contrasted against the dark stone. And then it was clear. He could see the windows in the pilothouse. As best he could make out, there was nobody
on deck. No hint of movement aboard. But the boat was still there, still riding at anchor. Whatever Padraig was doing hadn’t been completed; otherwise he would be bringing the boat back into port.
Then Peter saw the dinghy, although at first he had no idea what it was. Some sort of boat with one person aboard, leaving a small wake behind. Suddenly, he focused in on the one person. There should be two of them. For a sick instant, he thought he might be too late.
Jennifer was still short of her goal when she heard the engine behind her. She didn’t look back. The cramps were tightening her limbs and the cold was making it difficult for her to breathe. If she stopped swimming, she might never start again.
Twenty strokes more, she told herself. Count them. Nineteen, eighteen … She was shivering violently, beginning to feel delirious, just as if she were wracked with fever. She had to keep her mind working as well as her body.
The buzzing engine was louder. Now she could hear the sound of the flat-bottomed boat bouncing on the water. How far behind? Twenty yards? Fifteen? Keep swimming. Count the strokes. Ten … nine … eight …
“Jennifer …” It was Padraig calling behind her. How far? Just a few feet.
She reached for the swim platform, and it was just beyond her fingertips. One more stroke. Her hand was on the trawler. She grabbed the ladder to the swim platform and nearly floated aboard.
But she couldn’t stop, not even to take a breath. She had to make it up the ladder and over the rail before the sound of the outboard overwhelmed her. Two steps … one step … her hand was on the rail when Padraig’s grip locked around her ankle.

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