Authors: Nora Roberts
Three Fates (60 page)
“Who?”
“Tia.” Malachi let the warmth pour into his voice as he got to his feet. “What a happy coincidence.”
“Malachi.” She stuttered a little, and it was the excitement of the moment as much as the part she was playing that brought the flush to her cheeks. “I didn’t know you were back in New York.”
“Only just. I was going to ring you later today; now you’ve saved me the price of the call.” He leaned in, pressed his cheek to hers and lifted his brows at Anita.
“I just came in to do some research on my book.” She clutched her briefcase to her breasts. “I never expected to . . .” Tia trailed off, looked startled. “Anita?”
“Of course, you know each other.” Malachi’s voice lifted, with just enough of a frantic edge to have heads turning irritably in their direction. “I asked Ms. Gaye to meet me here to discuss . . . ah, to discuss a potential purchase for my offices.”
“Oh. I see.” She looked from one face to the other, her eyes wide and hurt. As if she did see, and very well. “Well, I . . . I don’t mean to interrupt. As I said, I was just . . . Oh, are you reading about the Fates?”
She leaned over, a bit clumsily, to turn the book, and effectively blocked Anita’s view.
Rebecca strolled up, switched cases smoothly and continued by the table. She spared a quick wink for Gideon, gripped firmly the handle of the briefcase that held the Fates and walked out of the reading room, toward the stairs and down.
“Just passing the time.” Malachi tapped Anita’s phone when he saw the call light blinking. “I think you’ve a call coming in, Anita.”
“Excuse me.” She picked up the phone. “Anita Gaye.”
“I, ah, should get to work.” Tia stepped back. “It was nice to see you again, Malachi. It was . . . well, good-bye.”
“Shattered her maiden’s dreams.” Laughing lightly, Anita disconnected the call. “The transfer’s complete, so . . .”
She reached down for the case, and for the second time Malachi closed a hand over her wrist. “Not quite so fast, darling. I’ll just verify that for myself.”
He took out his own phone and, as if to confirm what Rebecca had already verified, called Cleo in the van.
“I need to confirm an electronic transfer of funds,” he stated curtly. “Yes, I’ll wait.”
“Rebecca’s just getting in the van. Jack should be at Anita’s with Detective Gilbert. They got the search warrant.”
“Yes, thank you. I’ll give you the account number.”
“Mal, Rebecca. Jack e-mailed me from his PalmPilot. His friend Detective Robbins is going to bring Anita in for questioning on the murders. He should be at Morningside by now. With the other cop at her house, she’s nowhere to go. And here’s Tia now, just coming out of the library.”
“Excellent. Thank you very much.” He tucked his phone back in his pocket. “That seems to be that.” He got to his feet, handing her the briefcase. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure.”
“You’re a fool, Malachi.” Anita rose. “Worse, you’re a fool who thinks small. I’ll turn what’s in this case into the biggest story in a decade. Hell, in a century. Enjoy your ten million. Before I’m done, that’ll be petty cash.”
“A nasty piece, that one,” Gideon commented as she clipped away.
“Oh well, ever since that house fell on her sister, she’s been out of sorts. Let’s give her a minute or two to start up her broomstick before we go see all our girls.”
THE BROOMSTICK MIGHT have been a New York City cab, but Anita was very near cackling. Everything she wanted—money, power, position, fame, respect—was tucked in the briefcase beside her.
It was Paul’s money that had brought her this far. But it would be hers that took her the rest of the way. She was, now, as far away from that row house in Queens as she had ever been.
Inspired, she flipped out her phone to call her butler and arrange for champagne and caviar to be waiting for her in her sitting room.
“Good afternoon, Morningside residence.”
“This is Ms. Gaye. Haven’t I told you Stipes or Fitzhugh is to answer the telephone?”
“Yes, Ms. Gaye. I’m sorry, Ms. Gaye. But both Mr. Stipes and Mrs. Fitzhugh are with the police.”
“What do you mean, with the police?”
“The police are here, ma’am. They brought a search warrant.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. I heard them say something about an insurance claim, and some items from Morningside.” The excitement in the girl’s voice was palpable. Anita couldn’t know the internal war being waged between admitting to listening at the door and risking being fired, or passing on the information.
“What are they doing? Where are they?”
“In the library, ma’am. They went into your safe and they found things. Things that were supposed to be stolen from the store.”
“That’s ridiculous. That’s impossible. That’s . . .” And the pieces began to fall, to shuffle into place. “The son of a bitch. The son of a bitch!” She tossed the phone aside and, with trembling fingers, unlocked the briefcase.
Inside were three puppets. Even through the haze of fury, she recognized Moe, Larry and Curly.
“SHE WON’T APPRECIATE the full irony of the Three Stooges.”
Gideon reached over and stole the slice of pizza out of Cleo’s hand. “It’s a pie in the face. That point’s clear enough, even to her.”
“I never understood the humor. I’m sorry,” Tia said when all three men stared at her. “All that eye-poking and head bashing.”
“It’s a guy thing,” Jack told her. “They should have her downtown by now,” he added, checking his watch. “Her lawyers can dance till they drop, but they’re not going to tap their way around the insurance fraud.”
“And Mikey?”
Jack looked back at Cleo. “Jasper gave them chapter and verse. The courts may look dubiously on a guy with his sheet, but the phone records will back up the connection. Start welding those links together, you’ve got a hell of a chain to wrap around her neck. She’s accessory before and after the fact. She’ll pay for Mikey. She’ll pay for it all.”
“Thinking of her in that really ugly orange jumpsuit—nasty color with her hair—brightens my day.” Cleo lifted her beer. “Here’s to us.”
“It was a hell of a party.” Gideon rose, rolled his shoulders. “I’ve got to go out.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’re not invited.” He leaned down to tap Cleo’s nose. “I’m taking Mal and Ma so I can have both male and female advice on a proper ring.”
“You’re getting me a ring? Aw, you traditional sap.” She leaped to her feet to kiss him. “Then I’m going, too. I should pick it out since I’m the one who’s going to wear it.”
“You’re not going, and I’m picking it out, as I’m the one giving it to you.”
“That’s pretty strict, but I think I can live with it.”
“We’ll walk down with you.” Jack took Rebecca’s hand. “We’ll head downtown, see what we can wheedle out of Bob on the status. He might be able to resist me, but he won’t be able to resist Irish face-to-face.”
“A fine idea.” Rebecca snagged her jacket. “When we’re done, we’ll make reservations at some hideously expensive restaurant. We’ll have the mother of all celebration dinners. We’ll just help Tia clean this mess up.”
“No, that’s all right. I’d rather know what’s going on quicker. And I want to see Cleo’s ring.”
“Me, too.” Cleo stretched on the sofa. “Enough that I’ll help clean up. Don’t be afraid to go for gaudy,” she told Gideon. “I can live with it.”
When she was alone with Tia, Cleo rolled over on her stomach, crossed her legs in the air. “Sit down a minute. Those pizza boxes aren’t in a hurry.”
“If I keep busy it won’t seem like so long before everyone’s back. You know, I’ve eaten more pizza in the past month than I have in my whole life.”
“Stick with me and you’ll discover all the joys of fast food.”
“I never thought I’d enjoy having crowds of people in my apartment. But I do. It never seems quite right when they’re not around.”
“I was just wondering if you and Mal were going to go for it, too.”
“Go for what?” She looked at the Three Fates, even now standing among empty bottles and pizza boxes. “We’ve already gone for it, haven’t we?”
“No, I mean, you know, ‘till death do us part.’ ”
“Oh. We haven’t talked about it. I imagine he’s anxious to get home, to get back to the family business, to figure out what to do with his share of things. Maybe after . . . maybe in time he’ll feel more settled and we’ll talk about it.”
“Time’s part of it, isn’t it?” Cleo lifted Clotho. “Seems to me for all the fate and destiny stuff, sometimes you have to do the job yourself. Why don’t you ask him?”
“Him to what? To . . . to marry me? I couldn’t. He’s supposed to ask me.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s the man.”
“Yeah, yeah. So what? You love him, you want him, so you ask him. Then we can plan a triple wedding. Strikes me like that’s how all this was meant to shake down.”
“Ask him?” The idea rolled around in Tia’s brain before she shook her head. “I’d never have the nerve.”
When the phone rang, she carried empty boxes into the kitchen and picked up the nested portable on the counter. “Hello?”
“Doing research, you bitch?”
A whipsnap of ice slapped up Tia’s spine. “Excuse me?”
“What did he promise you? True love? Devotion? You won’t get it.”
“I don’t understand.” She walked quickly back into the living room, signaled Cleo. “Is this Anita?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. Game’s over. I want the Fates.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tipped the phone so Cleo could bump heads with her and listen.
“If you don’t, it’s going to be very sad about your mother.”
“My mother?” Tia jolted up straight, instinctively gripping Cleo’s hand. “What about my mother?”
“She’s not feeling well, not well at all. Are you, Alma?”
“Tia.” The voice was weak, and thick with tears. “Tia, what’s happening?”
“Tell her what I’m doing right now, Alma dear.”
“She’s . . . Tia, she’s holding a gun to my head. I think, I think she shot Tilly. Oh God, my God, I can’t breathe.”
“Anita! Don’t hurt her. She doesn’t know anything. She’s not involved in this.”
“Everyone’s involved. Is he there with you?”
“No, Malachi’s not here. I swear to you, he’s not here. I’m alone.”
“Then come, alone, to your mommy’s house. We’ll have a nice cozy chat. You’ve got five minutes, so you’d better run. Five minutes, Tia, or I shoot her.”
“Don’t, please. I’ll do anything you want.”
“You’re wasting time, and she doesn’t have much.”
Even as the phone clicked in her ear, Tia was tossing it aside. “I have to go now. I have to hurry.”
“Jesus Christ, Tia, you can’t go over there. You can’t go by yourself.”
“I have to. There’s no time.”
“We’ll call Gideon, Malachi. We’ll call Jack.” Cleo muscled Tia away from the door. “Think, damn it. Think. You can’t go rushing over there. We need the cops.”
“I have to. She’s my mother. She’s terrified, maybe already hurt. Five minutes. I only have five minutes. She’s my mother,” Tia repeated, pushing Cleo aside.
“Stall her.” Cleo rushed out the door behind Tia. “Stall her, I’ll get help.”
Tia called out her mother’s address and ran. She hadn’t known she could run that fast, that she could streak through the rain like a snake through water. Drenched, terrified and chilled to the bone, she hurled herself up the steps to her parents’ door and, desperate, lifted a hand to beat on the wood. Her fist pounding, she pushed the door, already slightly ajar, open.
“Mother!”
“We’re up here, Tia.” Anita’s voice floated downstairs. “Close and lock the door behind you. You just made it, you know. Thirty seconds to spare.”
“Mother.” She hesitated at the base of the stairs. “Are you all right?”
“She struck me.” Alma began to weep. “My face. Tia, don’t come up. Don’t come upstairs! Run!”
“Don’t hurt her again. I’m coming.” Tia gripped the banister hard and started up the steps.
At the top, she turned and saw Tilly lying in the hallway, blood seeping into the rug beneath her. “Oh God, no!” She rushed forward, threw herself down to check for a pulse.
Alive, she thought, nearly weeping. Still alive, but for how long? If she stalled Anita long enough for help to come, Tilly might bleed to death.
You’re on your own. She ordered herself to get to her feet. And you will do whatever needs to be done.
“Tilly is badly hurt.”
“Then your father will just have to call the agency and find another housekeeper. Get in here, Tia, before I start splattering your mother’s blood in this overly rococo bedroom.”
Without taking time for one last prayer, Tia stepped into the doorway. She saw her mother, tied in a chair. And behind her, Anita holding a gun to her already bruised temple.
“Hold your hands up,” Anita ordered. “Turn a slow circle. Look at this,” she continued when Tia obeyed. “She didn’t even take time for a raincoat. Such daughterly devotion.”
“I don’t have a gun. I wouldn’t know how to use one if I did.”
“I can see that. Soaked to the skin. Come all the way inside.”
“Tilly needs an ambulance.”
Anita lifted her brows, pushed the barrel of the gun more firmly against Alma’s temple. “Want to make it two?”
“No. Please.”
“She came to the door,” Alma sobbed. “Tilly let her in. She was coming up to tell me, and I heard that terrible sound. She shot poor Tilly, Tia. Then she came in here, she struck me. She tied me up.”
“I used Hermés scarves, didn’t I? Stop complaining, Alma. I don’t know how you stand this woman,” Anita said to Tia. “Seriously, I should put this bullet in her brain and do you a favor.”
“If you hurt her, I won’t have any reason to help you.”
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