Microsoft Word - Jenny dreamed (23 page)

"You have my sympathies, Bentley," Dev answered, and a gasp came from Maggie's end of the table.

Her eyes wide and feverish-looking, about to spill over with tears, Maggie stood up and threw down her linen napkin. "I've had enough of this!" she shrieked in a wavering, hysterical voice. "You're both bastards; damn it, all men are! All you care about is using women, gratifying yourselves like ... like pigs before you cast them aside. Yes, that's right-rutting, selfish pigs, and I tell you I won't take it any more, I won't!" She put her hand up to her throat in distress.

Bentley looked slyly at Dev, who seemed bored by the display of temperament. He drank more of his wine, and as he stared down at his plate, an amused, inebriated giggle bubbled from his throat. "Well, all I got to say is … if we're all pigs ruttin' after you, m'dear, that makes you a sow, doesn't it?" He giggled again, slapping the table in delight at his own wit.

"A sow without any little piglets!" He looked up at her and held his glass high in a toast.

"Oink, oink, oink!"

Maggie screeched at the top of her voice, grabbing for her own glass. She tossed it at him in a fury, staining his white dress shirt with dark, blood-like splotches.

"You'll be sorry for this, both of you!" she screamed, then ran sobbing to the door, to pause there and toss out a final threat. "See if you're still laughing when the police find me at the bottom of the cliffs!" Tears coursed down her face, and she covered it with her hands, sobbing dramatically as she ran down the hall. A moment later the door to the gardens slammed with a reverberating crash.

Dev and Bentley exchanged looks. Maggie had given a consummate performance, and Bentley smiled, his voice clear of its former hint of drunkenness as he cynically observed, "I feel I should applaud, don't you?"

A heavy sigh of disgust was his answer as Dev wadded his napkin into a ball and threw it onto the table. "I'd never have believed she could be so cunning," he said, more to himself than to Bentley. "You'd better go after her-you don't want to miss your cue. The curtain's rising on the last act of this farce."

Bentley rose from his seat and started for the door. "Did well myself, didn't I, Cantrell? You'll remember that, won't you?"

"You've already had my word on it," Dev snapped, "and it's more honorable than yours.

You'll have to trust me. Now, go-before she gets suspicious!" .

Alone in the room, Dev waited until he heard shouting from the gardens, then wearily rose.

Erasmus should be here any minute; the police had been waiting outside, hidden in strategic spots where they could eavesdrop on the coming scenario, for over half an hour now. If all went well, Cathy, or Maggie as she had once been known, would admit,her part in his murder scheme within earshot 6f witnesses.

Outside, the air was brisk, and Dev turned up his collar against the chill. A full moon riding in a cloudless, indigo sky provided enough light that he could see Bentley struggling with Maggie ahead, almost ten feet from the rocky overhang of the cliffside. Maggie was still sobbing, Bentley was acting out the part of a distressed, apologetic, husband, and as Dev stumbled across the lawns, remembering his supposedly drugged state, he thought he detected a subtle movement of the shadows in the surrounding foliage. "Come on in, Cathy," Bentley insisted, pulling at her arm. "It's too damned cold out here for this nonsense!"

Maggie, her plan drawing toward a successful culmination, called out in a slurred voice as she pulled away from Bentley's grasp, backing away to the cliff. "Stay away!" Then Dev and Bentley were standing next to each other, several feet away from her.

"It's time to stop acting, Maggie Biddles," Dev said in a loud, firm voice. "I know all about you. Did you really think you'd get away with this?"

Maggie stared at him with a puzzled look, unable to comprehend that fact that his voice had cleared, that there was no hint of a drugged look in the eyes staring so accusingly into her own. She was dazed for a few brief moments. Then her facile mind began examining the alternatives available, trying to discern the best way to extricate herself from guilt in the aborted plot. She must shift the blame to Bentley!

"It was all his idea," she insisted, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. "He found me, taught me how to act like Cathy would, he ... he insisted that I become her! I ..."

Her voice actually sounded perplexed and frightened as she continued, "I think he'd have killed me if I'd ruined his plans and admitted the fraud!"

"Ask her about the murder plot," Bentley broke in with a nervous, defensive bark of laughter. Even he was almost convinced she was sincere! "Why should I come to you, Cantrell, and betray myself, eh? Ask her that and see what lies she can devise."

Dev turned his face away from Bentley, watching Maggie's expression lose some of its confidence. "Yes, Maggie, why would he? Unless, of course, he was afraid you'd turn on him once the deed was accomplished?"

"Because he ... he ..." Maggie didn't have an answer, and suddenly she was sick of acting.

Her full mouth twisted in an ugly, mocking sneer. They couldn't prove a thing against her, it was Bentley's word against hers, even if Dev did know about the plot. "Yes!" she cried out in a dramatic voice that carried well in the cold, crisp air. "Yes, of course I planned it all. Do you think he would have had the courage, or the intelligence, to think of all the details?"

Pretense no longer needed, she cast a contemptuous glance at Harper, revealing her latent hatred and disgust for his weaknesses, for, the cowardice that had ruined her ambitions.

"And I'd have succeeded, too, if he weren't such a ... such a snivelling worm, instead of a man!"

That was all the admission of guilt that was needed. Even before Devcalled out to the police, the hidden officers emerged from their assigned listening posts. Five uniformed men crossed the lawn, heading for the three people at the cliff's edge. Maggie stared, open-mouthed with shock at their approach, automatically retreating a step from the arrest that was now imminent. Dev reached out to grasp her arm, even though there was nowhere for her to run.

Her eyes, glittering a feral green in the moonlight, were set with a desperate, determined look as she jerked her arm away from Dev and stepped back to the cliff's edge.

Dev was immobile for seconds, unable to believe she meant to jump rather than surrender.

Thinking he could break the hold of hysteria that had obviously seized her, he ordered,

"Maggie-stop!" He kept talking in a soothing tone of voice, even as he edged his right foot forward, hoping she wouldn't notice until he was close enough to make a rush for her.

"Maggie ... you don't want to die; you're a fighter, a scrapper! It's all up to me, I don't have to press charges ... you'll be free. Maggie?"

The feral look left her eyes then, replaced by an irrational bewilderment as she faced Bentley and asked, "Why does he keep calling me Maggie? My name is Cathy ... not Maggie ... Cathy

... "

The name was drawn out, wrenched from her lips in a prolonged wail as her slipper-clad feet danced on the smooth pebbly surface at the edge. It hung on the chill night air in an echo as she lost her balance and tumbled backwards into the dark void above the winding, black ribbon that was the Hudson.

Dev had made his move a fraction of a second too late. His gut lurched as the momentum of his lunge toward her almost carried him to the same fate. Time seemed drawn out as he poised at the edge, watching the almost graceful fall of her body and the flash of white organdy as she hit and bounced lifelessly against the jagged rocks below. His body swayed with vertigo, poised inches from death, and only the quick reflex action of one of the officers, pulling him back, saved his life.

Dev sat slumped in a large, wingbacked library chair, a nearly empty snifter of brandy loosely held in one hand as he stared blindly into the mesmerizing flames dancing in the fireplace.

Neither the strong drink, his second, nor the blazing heat of the fire had warmed a chill that was more of the spirit than body. Over and over again, he kept seeing the same set of images: himself, reaching out for Maggie's hand; then the grotesque, skating motions of her feet as she slipped backwards; then the splash of white as she hit the rocks.

The door opened and closed without his noticing. Only when a hand gently touched his shoulder did he start nervously and glance up to find Erasmus beside him. He looked as though he'd just been awakened from a deep sleep, with that dazed, unsure expression before recognition of familiar surroundings and reality set in. "It's all over, son," the lawyer reassured him with a paternal pat on his arm. "They've gone." Taking advantage of his age and position to pour himself a brandy and ease some of the night's stress, Erasmus returned to the fire and took the seat opposite Dev, wearily sinking onto the padded upholstery with a sigh.

"They didn't want a statement from me?" Dev's voice was emotionless, still dulled by shock.

"No, Devlan, not tonight. I . . uh, convinced the Captain you'd been through enough. Bentley was there. His story was vividly descriptive and, for once, accurate. Captain Myers will be back in the morning, not too early, to take a brief statement." The old man cleared his throat, then remembered, "Oh, I took the liberty of asking the man's cooperation in keeping the night's events quiet. No sense in inviting scandal."

Dev's mouth twisted to the side in an ironic smile. "No, we don't need any more of that.

There's always the family reputation to consider! Dealings like this are better swept under the rug, eh?"

For a few minutes, as he sipped the warming liquor, Erasmus studied Dev's brooding profile.

The poor boy blamed himself, despite the fact that Maggie BiddIes had tried to kill him. Dev had put that out of his mind, though. All he remembered was the tragedy of reaching out, too late, to save a woman from falling to her death. The old man frowned. This had all been a such a tiring ordeal, from the first moment Bentley had come to betray the plot until its rather unexpected finale.

"Still have plans to go back to Montana, m'boy?" he asked now, trying to draw Dev into a conversation. "I can't say as I blame you, but I think it'll be best for you to try and ... patch things up with that dear little wife of yours."

"What ... ?" Dev shook his head, clearing it of visions again. "Oh, yeah ... I think so, too ...

should have gone back sooner." He glowered into the bottom of his empty glass, as though someone had swallowed the last of his drink when he wasn't looking. "Maybe I never should have left."

"Then you'd never've known how much you missed the lady!" Erasmus replied with calculated optimism. "See here, now, Devlan-you're not to dwell on what happened tonight.

Life's too short for that; look forward, son, always look forward! Take it from an old man who knows." He chuckled to himself, and Dev's frown deepened at the inappropriate laughter.

"I'm sorry, Devlan, I know your mood is somber but I was just thinking to myself. When I was but a lad of nineteen I fell madly in love with a sweet young thing by the name of Anabel."

He shook his head fondly at the memory. "She was all pink and white perfection, was my Anabel, and I was determined to marry her."

Dev's irritation started to slip away. Erasmus was worried about him and was trying to take his mind off useless brooding. "But you're still a bachelor," he said, "I thought, at least Peacock gave me the impression, that you were never married."

"Never was, Dev-and I don't regret it ... regret's for old codgers, anyway! At any rate, my father came between us, insisting I go off to law school. When I returned, Anabel was Mrs.

Arthur Jackson." He shook his head at the memory. "Oh, how I brooded and cursed, all the while I took my bar examinations and even when I joined my father's firm. For years I thought he'd ruined my life with his interfering."

"And what made you change your mind?"

Erasmus started to laugh. "The sight of Anabel, fat as a toad, waddling down the street after poor, brow-beaten Arthur and screeching like a fishwife as she repeatedly pummeled his back with her parasol! All those years I'd spent looking back ... looking back." He smiled at his own foolishness and then looked up at Dev. "Learn by my experience, Devlan. If I'd been able to change the past by wishing it so, I'd have been the one getting the beating!"

The moral of Paisley's story was beautifully apt. The lawyer's personal experiences had underscored the wisdom in accepting life as it was dealt one. Dev regretted what had happened to Jenny in Denver, but if it had been different, perhaps they wouldn't have been drawn to each other. "I understand what you've been trying to tell me, Erasmus-and I thank you for the effort," he said now, feeling much more positive about his plans for the future, as he stood and stretched his tired muscles.

"You know, when I married Jenny, I had the feeling I wasn't being entirely selfish, that I did it because I knew, even then, that she was what I'd always wanted,"

Dev confided, looking a little sheepish at the admission. "Now that I know it for sure, it'd be one hell of a note to find I couldn't convince her of itl"

There was a twinkle in the old retainer's eyes as he winked at Dev and replied, "Tell her what you've just told me, son, and she'Li listen. I'd be willing to wager on itl"

Dev grinned, feeling even more positive. Erasmus was as conservative a man as you'd ever meet-if he was willing to bet on Dev's chances for success, it was, indeed, a sure thing.

Fourteen

Jenny pushed the nearly untouched portion of beef stew around her plate one last time and frowned. Why should she feel uncomfortable in her own home? Why, indeed! she thought irritably and laid her fork aside. But that was the effect of Beau Stanner's presence on her.

Thank God, he was leaving after supper. The ten days he'd been here seemed more like ten weeks.

"You're not hungry, Jenny?" The question was asked facetiously; Beau knew the reason for her loss of appetite and it was a small triumph to him that she couldn't conceal her agitation.