JanesPrize (19 page)

“Whatever for?”

“My mother is very fond of antique
furniture and there is so much wonderful stuff in the house—”

“I couldn’t let you take anyone else in
there.”

“No, of course not.” Encouraged by the
absence of an outright refusal, Jane plowed on. “I remember some wonderful
painted urns in the living room. I’d like to go in and take a couple of
pictures. I think I have found something very similar in an antique shop and I
want to be able to compare. For authenticity, you know.” To her own ears the
story sounded barely plausible.

“You’d have to sign for it.”

Did that mean she would pass the key over?
“I’ll sign whatever you like. And I’ll be very careful.”

“I know you will, dear. Is this a gift for
your mother?”

“What?”

“The urn you’ve found.”

“Yes, that’s right. She would just love
it.” Jane’s mother hated everything “old-fashioned” as she called it and would
not give a thank you for a gilded urn, however valuable. Jane had never
realized she could be such an accomplished liar. But then, someone’s life had
never depended on her lies before.

“That’s very nice, dear. When would you like
to pick up the key?”

No time like the present, before anyone
could have second thoughts, herself included. “I’ll be right over.”

After she picked up the key and extricated
herself from Abigail’s chatter, she ran into Pete Burrard on the street. He was
in uniform and looking very handsome. He greeted her with a tip of his hat.
“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Pretty good. And you?”

“Fine, fine. They looked at each other for
a moment then both began to speak at the same instant.

Pete grinned. “You first.”

“I met someone who knows you. She’s new in
town. Her name’s Maria something.”

Pete frowned. “Can’t place the name.”

“She’s petite, very blonde, always looks as
if she’d stepped off a catwalk.”

“Then I’d certainly remember her. Don’t
think I’ve had the pleasure.”

“I must have misunderstood her.” She
glanced at her watch. “Got to run. Pete. Nice talking to you.”

Another one of Maria’s lies. Why had she
said she had come back through touching Pete and that he had helped her? Maybe
she was such a compulsive liar that she couldn’t tell the truth even when there
was no danger in it.

It wasn’t until Jane was in her car that
she realized she had never found out what Pete was going to ask her.

Chapter Twenty-One

Jane arrived at the mansion shortly after
noon. Thunderheads had built up over the ocean after the bright start to the
day and a cool breeze ruffled the tops of the tall trees. The promise of stormy
weather matched her mood better than the cheery sunlight of the early morning.

She parked at the rear of the house,
backing her small car into a sheltered spot where it would not be visible from
the windows of the main part of the mansion. She locked the car door and took a
step away. Struck by a new thought, she opened the driver’s side again and
tucked the keys under the floor mat. If she had to make a speedy retreat at
least she wouldn’t be fumbling for keys or struggling to turn the vehicle
around. She closed the door without locking it.

Pleased with her calm assessment and
thoughtful provision for the “might be”, she hefted the key to the house. The
black clouds that had threatened all morning chose that moment to swallow the
sun. It was as if a light had been extinguished. The top branches thrashed and
the temperature dropped by five degrees. Jane was thankful she had changed into
practical jeans and a light jacket. Her cell phone was charged and her shoulder
bag still held the pepper spray and a small flashlight from her stay in the
house. She gave a wry smile at the fears that had beset her at that time. They
were nothing compared to what she now faced.

Her sneakers made a faint crunching sound
on the gravel as she walked toward the main entrance. She looked around for
signs that Maria might also have had the idea to arrive early. There were no
signs of disturbance anywhere, although she asked herself who would be able to
tell what had passed over the gravel paths strewn with dead leaves from the
previous fall? She consoled herself with the thought that Maria didn’t have the
key and, unless she had added the talent of walking through walls to her other
accomplishments, she would have to wait to be let in.

Jane took a deep breath and opened the
front door.

It was obvious no one had been inside since
she and Pierce left. A thin film of dust covered the floor and the picture
rails. The same sheets shrouded the furniture, offering good hiding places. She
shivered. She felt more spooked now than when she had first entered this
building weeks ago. But at that time she hadn’t believed in ghosts and now…

Jane made a quick tour of the house,
refusing to allow the strange shapes and the shadows to play on her
imagination. She had spent hours in this place, alone at first, and had come to
no harm.

She lingered in the turret room where she
and Pierce had made love, then in the bathroom where they had made love, lastly
in her little room by the entrance, where they had made love. Where had they
not made love? The thought of Pierce and of what they meant to each other, all
they had lived through in such a short time, strengthened her resolve.

She had first come to the house hoping for
a cash reward that would set her life going in a new direction. Instead she had
come away with a prize greater than money. She had found her soul mate, a love
she could never have imagined and a purpose that she had to fulfill.

At last, the only room remaining was the
living room where the ghosts had enacted their scene. She hesitated in the
doorway. The picture of Pierce and his family still hung over the mantel.
Maria’s painted eyes seemed to glitter in the faint light and follow Jane as
she paced the room. There was the sideboard where Maria claimed Stan had been
hiding. Of course he would not be there now. She frowned. Why hadn’t she
thought of that? If Pierce was no longer available to reenact the scene, then
Maria and Stan would not be playing their parts either. She had asked Pierce
that some time ago but it had slipped from her memory.

Even if it were true that little Stan had
been a silent witness to the murder, with the main player missing he would no
longer be tucked inside the cupboard to watch and listen.

She knew now why Maria had begged Pierce to
come back to the house to complete the murder reenactment. She had been right
to keep him away.

She made her way back to the small room
where she had set up her bed in order to win the cash prize. It was now bare of
furniture but the window gave a good view of the entrance. She slid to the
floor, her back against the wall, and hugged her knees.

Selma had said that revenants could die
from natural causes. What were they?

Disease and old age. No. Maria looked very
healthy and she was in the prime of life, if that could be true of a ghost.
Pierce had said that ghosts stayed the same age as when they died. She looked
about thirty-five. So she had years in her yet.

Drowning? No. There was no water around and
she couldn’t see using the tub upstairs. It would take eternity to fill. Maria
might well die of old age before then. She giggled then pulled herself
together. Her nerves were making her frivolous. Suffocation? She couldn’t
imagine pulling a plastic bag over Maria’s head and keeping her immobile until
she died. Nix that idea.

Exposure and starvation. Her brain slowed
down. Was this a possibility? If Maria were trapped in the house with no way
out would she die from lack of food and water?

Jane sprang to her feet and made for the
small powder room under the stairs. She turned the tap. Nothing. Dry as a bone.
The water had been turned off.

She hurried back to her refuge and fished
in her bag for her cell phone. Quickly she dialed Selma’s number. “Be there,”
she prayed. “Pick up, pick up.”

“Hello.” Selma’s voice was like a miracle.

“Selma, I’m in the house, waiting for
Maria.”

“Good. Is it safe?”

“As safe as I can make it. I have a
question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Can you… Can revenants die of starvation
or thirst?”

“Of course.”

“Is it a long, painful death?”

“At my age it would be, but for someone
who’s just come over it would be quick. The flesh would still be in transition.
Most of us have very healthy appetites during the first weeks.”

Jane let out a breath. “So if I could trap
her here she might die again?”

“She certainly would die again if she
couldn’t find a way out. You’d have to make sure there was no window or door
she could get through. Lock her in somewhere.”

“Thank you.”

Slipping the cell phone back into her
pocket, she sped through the house once more, checking locks and window
catches, breathing a vote of thanks to the builders who had provided inside
security on every window. Someone had been almost paranoid about preventing
anyone from entering or leaving without permission. She gathered up all the
small keys and put them into her pocket. They made a lump against her hip that
she could feel when she moved.

The basement stairway also had a door that
locked. She removed that key.

“Lock her in,” Selma had said.

The obvious spot was the small cloakroom
under the stairs. Although an addition to the original house, it had the
typical heavy door and a sturdy lock. An instinct made Jane take one of the
dustsheets from a small table in the entrance hall and fold it neatly. Leaving
the key in the lock of the small powder room, she pushed the door back against
the wall as far as it would go.

The front door remained ajar, to be opened
wide when Maria arrived, but Jane took the key from the lock and slipped it
into another pocket. If she had to leave the house at a run she would need to
be able to secure the door in double-quick time.

Slightly breathless from hurrying up and
down stairs she eventually returned to her little hideaway.

The bunch of window and door keys went in
her bag, which she slung bandolier-style across her chest, after taking out the
can of pepper spray. The folded dustsheet lay within reach.

Nothing left to do but wait.

Time ticked by. She wondered what Pierce
was doing and if the documents Alex had talked of were interesting. She pulled
her cell phone from her jacket pocket. Her finger hovered over the speed dial
button. How she longed to hear his voice. If only she could tell him what was
happening…

What was she thinking? If she called him,
she might give something away that let him know where she was and why. He would
immediately hurry to her side and might even run into Maria.

She put the phone away.

At that instant she heard car tires crunch
on the gravel. A door slammed and a woman’s voice spoke briefly. On her knees
Jane edged to the window and peered over the sill. Maria was paying off a taxi.
The wind was whipping her silk skirt around her legs. She was trying in vain to
hold an umbrella over her coiffed hairdo. It occurred to Jane to wonder where
Maria was getting her money for clothes and now a taxi. She dismissed the
thought. Maria was devious and manipulative enough to find her way around. In a
few hours it wouldn’t matter anyway.

When the cab pulled away, Jane watched the
woman pause as if searching the paths and the façade of the house. She was
probably wondering if Jane was already here and if so, where she’d put her
vehicle.

A sudden stronger gust almost blew the
umbrella inside out and Maria took hurried steps toward the main entrance. Jane
scrambled to her feet and tucked the dustsheet over her arm. God, she hoped
this would be as easy at Selma said.

“Remember she’s dead. It’s not a crime,”
she whispered, echoing Selma’s words.

Before Maria could ring the bell, Jane
threw open the door.

“Oh, you startled me.” Maria lowered her
umbrella.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were expecting me
to be here.” Jane took a firmer grip on the pepper spray can in her pocket.

“Of course. It’s just that I didn’t see
your car.”

“Leave the umbrella outside.” Jane nodded
toward a dry corner of the porch.

“This dreadful weather. In my day we had
real summers with warm days, lots of sunshine, parties on the lawn…” As she
chattered Maria entered the house and shook out her damp skirt. She smoothed
her hair with one hand.

Jane took a step back. No way she wanted to
be within arm’s reach. The door stood ajar.

Maria moved forward, passing Jane. “I can’t
wait to see my little boy. What are you waiting for? Let’s go into the living
room.”

Jane took a step to one side, bringing her
close to the front door. She took the can of pepper spray from her pocket, one
finger lightly placed on the nozzle. “It’s not true, is it?”

Pierce’s stepmother turned. “Not true?”

“Little Stan isn’t there.”

“Of course…” Her voice faded.

“Shall we check?” Jane gestured to the
living room with the hand holding the pepper spray.

Maria’s eyes flickered to the can and the
travesty of a smile twisted her mouth. “I always thought you were too smart for
your own good. Of course he’s not there,” she said, “but you’re here. It was
Pierce I wanted but I can get rid of you and then take my time over Pierce.”
Her face contorted with hatred and her body tensed.

Just as Maria launched herself, Jane’s
finger pressed on the nozzle and a jet of pepper spray hit Maria full in the
face. She screamed and raised her hands to her face. In rapid movements Jane
shook out the dustsheet and threw it over the writhing woman, turning her and
giving her a push. Hobbled and blinded, Maria stumbled toward the gaping door
of the cloakroom. Jane shoved her inside and slammed the door. She turned the
key and heard the satisfactory click of the solid lock.

Without waiting to listen for shouts and
sounds as Maria tried to fight her way out of the shroud of the dustsheet, Jane
spun around, unlatched the front door and slammed it behind her. She inserted
the key with shaking fingers and tried to turn it.

From a distance she heard Maria pound on
the powder room door. “My eyes! I can’t breathe! Open this door. I need help!”

At last the heavy key slid into place and
turned in the lock. Jane stumbled down the steps and raced for her car.

“
You did
what?
”
Pierce stared at her, for once at a loss for words.

Jane was in her robe. As soon as she had
arrived home she’d stepped under the shower, cleansing herself of every vestige
of pepper spray and Maria’s perfume. Her hair was still damp and she’d lifted
it from her neck in a loose ponytail. “You heard me. I locked Maria in the
house. Selma says she’ll die very quickly.” Jane had a flash of a neglected
houseplant, withering and fading. “She won’t suffer.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say you love me.”

Pierce kissed her. “Haven’t I said that
enough?”

“Never, it’s never enough.”

“She could have harmed you.”

“I was prepared. More to the point she
could have killed you again and taken you from me. I couldn’t bear the thought
of losing you.” She tucked her head beneath his chin, listening to the thump of
his heart under her ear. She thought of the blood rushing through his veins, of
the life in him, growing stronger every day.

“I still can’t believe it. I would never
have thought—”

“Believe it. Although I don’t think I ever
want to use that powder room again.”

“I’ll have something done about it.”

“Please. Let’s change the subject. Tell me
about the documents Alex showed you.”

“We had a really good time going through
those old papers…” Pierce slipped his hands under her robe and stroked her
back. “But they’re not nearly as interesting as,” he brought his mouth close to
hers, “what I can do with you.”

She swept her hands over his hair. She
loved to feel every inch of him. She thought she would never grow tired of
touching him, making sure he was real.

He lifted his hands to her neck and pulled
her mouth to his in a sweet and tender kiss. When she made a sound in her
throat he pressed harder and his tongue pushed inside her mouth. She felt the
familiar spark in her belly.