by Patti Larsen
Footfalls behind me freed me, but not in time. Though I did have just enough to recognize him before his gun rose and fell, striking me in the temple, the blow making me see stars and darkness. But not before I made out the bitter desperation on Robert’s face.
And enough guilt to eat a man alive.
***
Hard not to groan as pain woke me, impossible not to shed a few tears from the agony in my head. Hands grasped me, gently held me down when I tried to rise. Something soft beneath me, the scent of whoever supported me so familiar, so dear, I whispered his name without opening my eyes to be sure I was right.
“Crew.”
His lips brushed mine and I did look then, that darling face above me, a trail of blood running from his right eyebrow to his chin. So much blood, enough to make me gasp and cry all over again from the pain, in my head and my heart, that someone did this to him.
I looked again, the world wavering around me. Why was the ceiling so far away? Wait, I was outside, in the rain, at the dock. What was I doing on what felt like a sofa, in, I realized, a giant and rather palatial—if old fashioned in décor—room that reminded me enough of Vivian’s house I almost guessed we’d been taken there?
Had Crew found me, fought off Robert, rescued Viv and I? But no, as I turned my head, I realized I didn’t know this place, bigger even than Vivian’s sitting room. And that, to my surprise, there were more people I knew and loved gathered here.
Where was here?
“Sit her up.” Was that Vivian’s voice? Her hands, gentle like they had been with her grandmother, tidy and quick, tucking a pillow behind my head as Crew slowly lifted me to an upright position, the aching increasing a moment, dizziness washing over me while I gasped for breath. “Fee.” Vivian looked pale while she entered my sphere of vision, darkness closing in around the edges while I panted past the pain. I’d suffered a concussion a few years ago. This felt far too familiar. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, though I wanted to shake my head in denial, then wished I hadn’t moved at all. “Where?” I licked my lips, forced my eyelids to part, squinting at Crew, at my parents hovering behind him, Mom terrified, Dad grim, then to Malcolm and Siobhan on the sofa across from us. I blinked, looked to my right, Daisy tucked in next to Vivian, all of my favorite people. Minus Dr. Aberstock, apparently.
“Patterson mansion,” Crew said, soft and low. “I’ve been here since we…” he didn’t mention our fight but I knew what he meant, shaking his head before he licked his lips. “They jumped me when I was heading out of town. Turned out it wasn’t a client who called after all.”
Who was he talking about? Took another minute to realize we weren’t alone in the room, that several of those aforementioned black-clad and mirror-glassed guards were standing statue-like at the two doors.
I sat forward a bit, the pain ebbing and my wits returning, but knowing I was far from okay. Robert. I whispered his name, must have, because Vivian grasped my hand, squeezed it. When I glanced at her, she winced, touched the back of her neck, nodded.
“Me too,” she said.
The bastard. I’d long joked about committing murder, but this time?
This time, if I got the chance, I was going to kill him and screw the consequences.
“Why are we here?” I touched Crew’s cheek where the crusted blood had congealed. He cupped my hand against his face. “What’s going on?”
“We don’t know,” Dad said, gruff voice angry. “They won’t tell us anything.” He had a deep bruise on his left cheek, had clearly been struck, too. Mom didn’t look harmed, at least, or Daisy from what I could tell, and Malcolm and Siobhan were calm and collected enough.
“They can’t just keep us here.” Right? There were laws and things. Clearly, I was still struggling with reality. “Liz?”
“No sign of her,” Crew said, faint relief in his voice. So maybe we had a chance after all.
I almost said as much, except one of the doors opened quietly and we all shifted our attention to it immediately. The woman who entered nodded to the guard who stepped back instantly, giving way to her. Tall, slender, iron-gray hair in a perfect coif, face lined, heavy with makeup. She kept her distance, yet, hands folding in front of her pale blue dress.
“Marie,” I said. I knew this woman. I’d caught a glimpse of her from behind, while she exited the barn the day of Alicia and Jared’s wedding. But, as I got a better look, I realized it couldn’t be Marie Patterson. Too young. More my parent’s age, this woman, despite her hair color.
What the hell was going on?
The woman paused a long moment, her gaze drifting to Malcolm and Siobhan. Before she lifted both hands and tugged at her hair, pulling free the wig and protective cap beneath to shake out long, red locks.
“Well, Da,” she said in perfect generic American English, not a trace of an Irish accent left. “Tell me. Are you proud of your little girl?”
***
Chapter Thirty Seven
Okay, so I don’t know what I was expecting. But after everything that happened? I was absolutely and utterly floored by the fact the tall redhead who took a casual seat, crossing her knees with grace to rival Vivian’s, her green eyes locked on mine, was alive.
And well.
And… what?
“Fiona,” I whispered. “You’re Fiona Doyle.”
She laughed, a soft but rich sound, and it carried as every single person in the room stared in complete silence.
“I’m so disappointed,” she said when her amusement retreated, though she continued to smile at me as if this were some grand joke and I was the butt of it. “I was positive you’d figure things out. I suppose I overestimated my namesake.” She winked at Dad whose jaw had apparently become unhinged because his mouth hung open. “You did well with her, though, I admit it. Nice to see you, John. Lucy.” Her gaze twinkled, freckled nose wrinkling. “I really should have done away with you both when I realized you wouldn’t stop looking for me. But nostalgia has more of a hold over me, I suppose. And it really has been fun watching you mourn me all these years.”
She laughed again, and this time the evil in her shone through. Pure, unadulterated. I thought I’d run into real darkness before. I’d seen flashes of it from Robert at times, knowing now that deep hate and vitriol had to be sourced from the death of Victor French. And even some of the men and women I’d caught for murder had shown their own flashes of nasty.
But here? Sitting before me in a pale blue designer dress, sat the devil herself.
“A pity, really,” she said, focused on me again. “We could have worked well together, given the right circumstances. But you came along far too late for that, Fee, dear. I’d already taken what I wanted and was busy building my empire when you ran away from home, crying over Daddy not wanting you to be a police officer just like him.” More laughter. Seriously. My shock was transmuting into disgust and the beginnings of rage.
And I wasn’t the only one. “Fiona.” Dad finally managed to speak, big hands shaking before he grasped his own knees and squeezed until his knuckles turned white. “We were your friends.” So much agony from my father, he sounded lost, almost broken.
Fiona’s smile held pity, gaze flattening out. “I learned from the best how to get what I want,” she said, not even looking at her parents. “Isn’t that right, Mum? Da?” She flicked at an imaginary piece of lint on her skirt. “I was raised by the mob. Are you really that surprised?”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be,” Malcolm said, voice thick. “Well played, lass.”
She ignored her father, green eyes never leaving mine. “You have spunk, my dear. I admire that. But far too often you’ve interfered with my plans. I thought perhaps I could keep you confused and off the trail. Thanks to that meddling grandmother of yours, however, you’ve been getting closer and closer the last year or so.” Fiona sat forward, almost eager. “The treasure hunt. When you found out it wasn’t real, did it hurt?” She sat back then, hands grasping the arms of her chair. �
��I have no idea what your grandmother was thinking.”
“The bodies,” I whispered. “The grave.”
Fiona started, paled as if slapped. Spun and gestured abruptly to one of the men guarding us. He joined her, leaned in as she hissed a whispered command before he spun and left the room. She seemed to regain some of her composure, but her true nature was showing through that dark amusement of hers at last, the evil surfacing to make its presence known.
“I see,” she said. “Well. How disappointing. However, I’ll have everything wrapped up here before the lab is able to identify the DNA Dr. Aberstock submitted. If I had known it was from those two, I would have had the evidence destroyed before it even left the morgue.” She shrugged, settled back into Fiona Doyle, Demon Queen. “A minor setback.”
“The bodies,” I said. “Whose?”
Her expression emptied to nothing. “You know who,” she said.
“Marie Patterson.” Of course. Sisterhood. “And?”
She sniffed, tossed her head. “The child was only necessary to snare Teddy, though I was forced to carry to term.” She seemed annoyed by that. “Once I had him under my control and Marie dead, his offspring was no longer needed.”
Oh. My. God. “You murdered her.”
Fiona’s expression didn’t change. “Strangled the little wretch in her crib. Satisfying, if I do say so myself.”
Evil. I’d called her evil. But there was no name for what she was.
“That grandmother of yours.” She chuckled, but this time in anger. “She was a thorn in my side from the moment I set my sights on the Patterson fortune.” Fiona glanced at my parents, shrugged. “I don’t know how she knew, but she figured it out. She and that writer friend of hers.” She nodded to Crew. “Alistair Markham. Your grandfather. You have no idea how infuriating it was to have you, of all people, become sheriff of Reading. And then, amusing.” Fiona’s mercurial being flickered from angry to titillated in an instant. “I did everything I could to get you to quit, Crew Turner. Even contemplated having you killed.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully with one manicured index finger before sighing deeply. “But, you brought so much frustration to Fiona’s life, not to mention your own self-torture, I let things be. Now, I get to destroy both of you, and so soon into this love affair of yours.” She tsked. “Silly me. I thought killing Marie and taking control of the family would be the end of things, but Iris’s nosiness forced me into hiding. And so, you see the result at last.” She spread her hands wide. “Fiona Doyle died. And in her place, the reclusive Marie Patterson retreated into her domain. Where I built the empire I deserve.”
“You’ve been masquerading as Marie this whole time.” Mom sounded utterly dumbfounded.
“Of course, Lu. Don’t be thick.” She seemed to take delight in Mom’s hurt reaction.
“Who knows about this?” Vivian’s voice trembled, just enough I knew she was fighting her own fear but doing a better job of hiding it.
“A choice few.” Fiona steepled her hands in front of her, switching crossed legs in a slow and graceful motion. “I was careful, pretended to be ill for many years, emerged once the old guard had been carefully relocated, still with limited exposure to the family.” That’s why most of the family no longer lived in Reading. The sheer scope of this entire process had to impress. No, I wasn’t admiring her. Wasn’t. Still. Wow. Could I have shown that level of commitment? Well, considering I wasn’t a lying sociopath, likely not. “It has become necessary to include certain members of the family into the secret. Though, some of them weren’t intentional and had to be silenced when their ambitions became their priority.”
“Lester Patterson,” I said, thinking about Doreen.
Fiona winked at me. “Very good, Fee. He should never have been let in on the truth. I had one of Marie’s Sisterhood take care of him.”
“And Geoffrey?” But no, his death had been all Barry’s desperation.
Fiona shrugged. “You be the judge,” she said. “I can tell you, though, if it weren’t for Patterson greed, I would never have succeeded.” She looked around her, arms wide. “I might have walked into this, but I built so much more.” That flat look again. “I took the pathetic attempts they’d made at corporate domination and turned Blackstone into a force to be reckoned with.”
“You played us.” Dad couldn’t seem to get past that fact, his arm sliding around Mom’s shoulders. “Played all of us.”
Fiona shook her head, false pity behind her smile. “With parents like mine, are you really surprised?” She finally shifted and looked at her mother and father who stared back, faces pale and creased in agony. “My own father turned his back on me. Didn’t you, Da? When I wanted to join the family business, what did you say to me?” Anger was escaping her control, the more she talked, the more vivid its presence, until she was shaking with it by the time she jabbed a finger at Malcolm. “Care to tell them what you said to your only child when she came to you with her desire to be just like her dear old da?”
“I said no.” He was barely audible.
He might as well have slapped her. She leaped to her feet, rage overwhelming her, entire tall body shaking from it as she screamed in response, spit flying from her mouth.
“YOU SAID I WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH!” If she’d had a gun or another kind of weapon in her possession in that moment, I’m positive both of her parents would have died instantly. Instead, she used the one weapon she did have control of. “You said I would never amount to anything in the business. Women didn’t have the balls to do what was necessary.” She pulled herself under control as she wound that out, smile returning, red hair wild around her. “So I ask you again, Da. Did I make you proud after all?”
He didn’t respond. She didn’t seem to care, retaking her seat while I chewed on the truth of all of this before spitting it out in her face.
“Your daddy hurt your feelings,” I said at my most disdainful, “and so you had a temper tantrum and a hissy fit and murdered people so you could show him. Wow, Fiona. You should have stopped talking. I was starting to think you were some brilliant genius. But you’re just a spoiled child whose father told you no.”
I didn’t think before I spoke, realized as the words left my mouth there was a very good chance Fiona’s reaction would be to order one of her guards to put a bullet in me.
Instead, face pale, eyes intent and full of madness, she hissed at me. “Everything I’ve done up to this moment has been carefully planned to the finest detail. I have been pulling your strings, Fiona Fleming,” she spun on Dad, “and yours, John,” then my husband, “and yours, Crew Turner, for years.” One hand sliced through the air.
“Why call Dad about your suspicions about the family?” Seemed like a dumb thing to do.
Superiority worked for her, unfortunately. “I had to lay false trail, of course.”
“Marie’s murder was premeditated.” Dad sounded like he was going to be sick.
“Don’t judge yourself too harshly, dear John.” Fiona was laughing again and I wondered if she was actually cracked down the middle. Trouble was, even if she had gone around the bend into Crazytown, she didn’t seem to have lost control of her sense of reality. “I won over you and Lu, your mother, Iris, with my Irish charms, oh so easily.” She ended that sentence with a healthy accent, as if letting out the young woman she’d been for just a moment. “When I realized the Pattersons were easy targets, I seduced Teddy. So simple. The poor man was starved for affection.” Okay, gross. “Unfortunate he didn’t last much longer than his dearly departed wife, but I needed to maintain the story going around town, the story I seeded.”
“That you were pregnant and the two of you ran away together.” So Oliver’s lie had been created on purpose.
Fiona didn’t reply because there was no need. “You know, I do regret the loss of Geoffrey.” She seemed genuinely disappointed. “He discovered my identity himself, so clever. Actually wanted to help, the dear man. Came up with some rather clever ideas of his own. I’ll mis
s him.” She settled in her chair again. “Remind me to do something permanent to Barry Clement before his trial in recompense for my loss.”
She really was nuts. “All the sideways steps with Blackstone,” I said. “Making it look like conflict. All part of your plan to keep us from finding out the Patterson family controlled the corporation?”
That got her back up. “I control Blackstone,” she snapped. “I am Blackstone.”
Whatever, crazy lady I was named after.
Fiona wasn’t done, clearly, settling in visibly to pontificate, her amusement back in place, her composure collected and genteel. “Imagine. A criminal enterprise that encompasses most of the eastern seaboard, including,” and here she paused to giggle, “my own father’s crime family because, honestly, how could a girl resist such an opportunity?” She shook her head at her own cleverness.
“Grandmother Iris knew, found out about Marie.” I prodded Fiona. “The Sisterhood knew.”
She tsked at me. “Iris had an inkling, came to try to see Marie many times. I had her sent away, finally created a rift with her using Peggy Munroe’s husband. Simple enough to create strife in the so-called Sisterhood without Marie there to keep them in line.” Fiona turned a heavy gold ring on one hand, admiring the big diamond set there. “Doreen was easy enough to manipulate. In fact, I was the one who gave her Lester’s bank account information, the very paperwork she needed to blackmail him.” I’d always wondered where the bank statements came from. Now I knew. “That’s what happens to Pattersons who don’t toe the line.” Fiona returned her gaze to me. “I destroy them. Until the rest do as they are told.” She seemed satisfied with the conversation, enough to continue. “As for Martha, she’s been lost in dementia for years, long enough I stopped worrying she might be a threat. And Peggy Munroe? Had her own small criminal enterprise keeping her busy.” Fiona seemed pleased with that fact. “I own Reading, I have since the night Marie died when I smothered her with her own pillow.” Her hands twitched and I wondered if she remembered the action, was reliving it. “I will not let anyone take away what I have built.”
