by Patti Larsen
Fiona rose then, abrupt and swift, as though suddenly bored with us. She glanced at her watch before gesturing to one of the two remaining bodyguards. He joined her immediately while she spoke with an air of distracted disinterest.
“It’s been lovely to catch up,” she said, “to finally share all of this with you, my dear Fee.” Forget everyone else, apparently, including her parents, and mine. “But I’m afraid your remaining questions will go unanswered. It’s almost time.”
“For what?” I perked, not liking the sound of that, head still aching but at least feeling like I could stand and maybe fight or something, anything, to wipe that smile from her face.
She didn’t answer, leaving the room as silently as she’d arrived and, when the door closed behind her, the two bodyguards resumed positions, rifles in hand, while the silence in the room descended in a smothering crush of defeat.
***
Chapter Thirty Eight
It was Daisy who broke the silence, huge gray eyes wide and full of confusion. “This was never about the treasure?”
Oh boy. “Sorry, Day.” At least my head was a bit better. I was even able to sit up and not feel like the world was spinning and closing in around the edges in dark patches. “This was about Grandmother Iris knowing something was up with Marie but not having proof and doing her best to lay a trail for us to follow.”
“For me to follow.” Dad interrupted, shaking his head, frowning and angry. He looked like he wanted to pace but was thinking better of it, considering our babysitters and their threatening weapons. “She hinted over the years things weren’t right. And the sudden end of her friendship with Marie…” He wiped at his face with both hands. “Maybe I should have known something was really wrong.”
“How could you, John?” Mom patted his knee, her own composure helping not just me, but all of us from the apparent circle of calmer expressions and faint nods that came with her statement. “We already knew the Patterson family was up to no good. Fiona’s takeover didn’t raise flags because she only amplified the problem. She didn’t start it.”
Truth in that. Enough Dad seemed willing to stop beating himself up at least and focus on the here and now.
“Why didn’t Mom just tell me?” He’d turned his anger on Grandmother Iris. Thing was, I hardly blamed him for that. I was feeling a teensy bit out of sorts with the old lady myself. And in teensy bit I mean heaps of blame and frustration, Fleming style. “Why the elaborate plan?”
“And,” Crew said, voice shaking with his own emotional turmoil, though the hand that held mine showed nothing of it, steady and strong, “why did my grandfather get involved?”
“Because he loved her, silly.” Fiona had returned, none of us noticing as she rejoined us, sitting in the chair she’d vacated, contented smile returned. “The old fool. He came looking for the treasure of his ancestor.” She clearly found that hilarious, eyes sparkling as she taunted my husband with a flick of her fingers in his direction. “I was here, in the house, when he came to interview Marie about it. I heard all the stories, all the arguments he had that the hoard was real. Trust me, I know a con artist when I hear about one and Captain Reading wasn’t very good at lying. Anyone with half a brain would know his story was nothing but bunk.” She snorted softly, another finger wiggle making Crew twitch as she dismissed everything his father and grandfather led him to believe. “That ridiculous book of his only found him ridicule. Did you know Iris never let him in on her suspicions? He clung to that fantasy of his until his death. I know. I asked him personally.” She winked at Crew who flinched, paled. “I had to know what he knew. I wonder if he realized who I was? Not that it matters. The irony that he loved the old bat and she lied to him, too. All to protect him, like she tried to protect you, John. And dear Fee.” She seemed highly amused by that. “How unhappy she would be. I only wish she was still alive and well to see no matter what she did, I still win.”
I had no proof, but I was positive, in that moment, Grandmother Iris flipped over in her grave.
Fiona’s fingertips tapped on the arms of the chair. “All this despite the fact Marie insisted there was no treasure here.” Fiona’s forehead creased a moment as she leaned forward, focused on me. “I was curious, I must say. I understood you found a map, a doubloon, other bits and pieces outside that empty collection of half-truths and stories Alistair published.” Another quake from my husband but he held it together. “I needed to know Iris’s purpose for leading you on such a wild goose chase.”
“Which was why you send Gregg Brown to snoop on our hunt,” I said.
“Indeed.” Fiona paused then. “Unfortunate, how death follows you, my dear. We have that in common, it seems.”
I wanted to tell her we had zero in common, but that wasn’t true, unfortunately.
“Darius Smith,” I said. “My bodyguard.” I glanced at Malcolm. “Did you hurt him?”
In other words, was his dead body the next one I was going to find?
“On the contrary,” she said, waving one hand in a reassuring gesture. “I had him reassigned back to Chicago. By force, unfortunately. He didn’t want to leave. But I own the O’Shea family, and they own him.” Another smile pulled at her lips, a sly sideways glance at her father. “Delicious, if you ask me. That particular coup will never get old.”
I could imagine. “We’re now assuming for some reason Grandmother Iris didn’t think she could come out and openly expose what was happening, perhaps didn’t know the whole story, and instead set this entire thing up to give us the chance to figure it out.”
Dad grunted softly. “Knowing a Fleming would never abandon a mystery.”
Dogs with a bone. Sigh. Were we that predictable?
“The fact Alistair had no idea,” I said, squeezing Crew’s hand. “That Grandmother Iris simply used his hunt as a means to an end. You know, what?” I sat up a little straighter, meeting Dad’s eyes. “That makes total sense. She must have seized on the treasure at the time, as a means to an end.”
He nodded. “She could have just told me.”
“And risked putting you in a position where you could do nothing, or force you to risk your life over something she couldn’t prove.” Mom looked at Fiona. “You would have killed John, I’m assuming, if he’d interfered.”
Our captor smiled and nodded.
“How she knew about the burial site I have no idea.” Fiona sat back again, foot bobbing over her crossed knee, her first show of agitation in this iteration of our conversation. No way was I telling her Martha French was the source. “Clever of her to mark the grave with those ridiculous butterflies of hers.” She shrugged. “She’d clearly been adding to her evidence over the years. I do wonder why, if she found the remains, she didn’t uncover them and deliver them to the authorities herself. Though, I suppose, with her silly Sisterhood broken and Alistair gone, Iris had no one to trust with the knowledge she’d uncovered. Not without risking you, John, in the process.” Fiona glared at me a moment. “Perhaps it was her pending death and her choice to lure you back that allowed her to finally risk her precious family.” She might have been right. Was all of what Grandmother Iris assembled done in anticipation of my return? I found that hard to believe, but at this point, I wasn’t underrating the crafty old lady.
“It was a mistake to not properly dispose of the bodies, but, to be honest, I forgot they were there.” Fiona’s lips twisted. “An error I am correcting right now. All evidence will be eliminated as soon as we’re done here.”
Panic for Dr. Aberstock punched me solidly in the chest. “Don’t hurt him.”
I didn’t have to say who I was talking about. Fiona’s amusement at my quick command wasn’t doing much for my confidence.
“Lloyd Aberstock will be dealt with as well,” she said. “You aren’t in any position to worry about his future anyway, dear Fee.” Again she glanced at her watch. “Not long now.” She stood, gestured to her guards, the second leaving, only one remaining behind.
“Until wha
t?” My heartrate increased. “You kill us all?”
Fiona beamed a smile at me. “Of course, my dear. You expected another outcome?” I honestly had nothing to say to that. Didn’t matter, because she was already continuing. “It’s unfortunate, really. I’ve enjoyed my years here, pulling the strings of my empire.” She looked around the room, fondness in her expression. “But Reading is no longer secure and I’ve outstayed my ability to hide. Besides, the FBI are far too interested in who runs Blackstone, thanks to your Agent Michaud. She’s chasing ghosts, by the way.” She nodded to Daisy and Vivian in turn. “While you might have found Pierre Noir as a doorway into my holdings, I can assure you, Ranier and Donald weren’t nearly as clever as they thought. I’ve had redundancies built into the entire network for years now. Already I’ve shunted the majority of my controls to other corporations.” She laughed then, a belly laugh of utter delight. “Leaving what remains of the Patterson family holding the cards to the collapsing mess the FBI will ultimately unravel.”
Crazy or not, she had my kudos for planning ahead.
“They knew something was going on.” Vivian spoke up at last. “My father and Donald.”
Fiona’s flat stare spoke volumes now. I was getting used to reading her shifts in mood. They’d angered her, made her life difficult. “Both of them, yes,” she said. “Demanding meetings with Marie, poking into Patterson business.” Fiona’s eyes never left Vivian’s. “It was an unfortunate day when Ranier brought his children—and their little friends—to the house to confront me.”
Vivian flinched. And so did I.
“Victor,” she whispered, face so white I thought Vivian might pass out.
Fiona didn’t move, but it was almost like she loomed over the mayor, the two of them the only people in the room while tension built between them.
“Nosy, that one,” she said. “Far too curious for his own good. Ranier’s brat shouldn’t have been poking his little nose into other people’s business.”
“He saw you.” I interrupted, partially to relieve the pressure of their mutual focus and partially because I was never very good at keeping my mouth shut.
Fiona didn’t look at me, but she did respond. “Yes. Without my wig, my disguise. It was clear from his shock he recognized me, called me by name, even. And ran off before I could stop him.” Her own personal tension eased a bit, smile returning. “Fortunately, I had my own faithful follower in young Robert Carlisle.” She sniffed softly, head tossing. “He accepted Marie Patterson, his mother’s boss, knew best. Easily manipulated, like Doris.” Dad’s sister wasn’t my favorite person in the world, nothing like him. I could see how she could have been talked into anything. And her son didn’t fall far from the family tree. “Simple enough to discover from him, through gifts and special treatment, what weaknesses plagued the young French boy. Convincing Robert just how very special he was and how much it would mean to me to play a practical joke on Victor… well, simplicity itself.” Bright happiness woke in her face, Vivian crumbling under Fiona’s growing delight. “Robert didn’t fail me, nor did the wasp next I’d been told by the groundskeeper he needed to remove from the dock.” Fiona watched Vivian carefully as she went on. “So simple to convince him to lure your brother to his death. With the added bonus, of course, that I owned Robert from that moment on.” She jabbed a finger at Vivian suddenly, rage showing through the sunny expression she wore. “If Ranier had simply let things alone, his child wouldn’t have paid the price. But did he take the warning to heart? No.” She chopped sideways with the side of her hand, Vivian flinching though the blow was nowhere close to her physically. Clearly, however, it struck solid and true emotionally. “When I found out he was preparing to move on Blackstone, I took care of him permanently.”
Reinforcing to me Grandmother Iris’s reasons for keeping Dad out of it. If someone as wealthy and powerful as Ranier French could be targeted, what recourse would my father have had? I suddenly felt terrible for my grandmother, realizing she must have been desperate, in the end, to protect us but unable, like any good Fleming, to just let things go.
I didn’t get to dwell on it for too long. The remaining guard perked, touching one ear, then spoke.
“Ms. Doyle,” he said. “We’re ready.”
“Ah, excellent.” Fiona clapped her hands together, beacon of light all over again. “I love it when a plan comes together.” Her lips pursed then, cloud passing over the sun. “At least, for some of us. Namely, for me.” She let her hands drop to her sides. “I’m afraid tragedy is about to befall the rest of you, the kind of horrific event they’ll be talking about in Reading for centuries to come.” Fiona turned toward the exit, still speaking as her guard stepped aside to let her leave. “So unfortunate a rockslide triggered by blasting for new construction is going to bury Patterson House and everyone inside it.” She stopped, met my eyes, sad smile joined by a wink. “But that’s a possible consequence to living on a mountain. Isn’t it?”
***
Chapter Thirty Nine
Before she could make her triumphant exit, the guard perked again, concern flickering over his stoic face while my heart thudded in response to what we’d just heard. I almost missed the black-clad man’s sudden whisper to Fiona, her flash of a scowl in the turmoil of my fear.
Instead, I let my mind—threatening to descend into panic and despair—latch onto the word his mouth formed as he leaned toward his boss. Intruder.
Had Liz found us?
Fiona spun back toward us, though she only had focus for her parents. Darius, then? Had he somehow raised the cavalry and was rushing to our rescue? Didn’t matter. Fiona paused near her mother and father, freezing in place a long moment before bending, swift and precise, to kiss them both on the cheek. Neither attempted to stop her from the act of passionless goodbye, Siobhan staring up at her daughter with contempt.
“You asked if your da was proud,” the old woman said, Irish accent thick with her disdain. “That’s all you ever wanted, was it, dearie?” Siobhan spit on her daughter’s high heel. “You can go to your own grave, Fiona, no daughter of ours, knowing you are nothing but scum to both of us.”
I was hoping that rejection might shake her. Instead, Fiona smiled. And slapped her mother so hard across the face blood flowed from Siobhan’s lip and down her chin.
Malcolm half rose with a growl of fury, but Dad was faster, lunging for him across the coffee table, the black-clad guard already leveling his gun at the old Irishman.
“No.” Fiona waved off the weapon. “No bullets. He’ll die in the rockslide like the rest of them.”
It had to have been coincidence. Surely no one could have such perfect timing. But, to my shock and, honestly, faint amusement because my brain is weird, the instant of the loss of attention for the rest of the room created the perfect moment for the previously mentioned intruder to make her appearance.
But not Liz, not that formidable FBI agent I hoped would save us in the nick of time. Nope. Instead, as Fiona hovered over her mother’s bleeding face, Dad pinning Malcolm’s shaking body to the sofa, the guard’s gun slowly lowering from its threatening aim in their direction, a whisper of motion caught the corner of my peripheral vision, drawing my attention away from the tableau of familial discord to the soft and swift opening of a panel next to the fireplace.
A secret passage? Apparently, and not my first experience with such, thanks to my adventure on Black Mountain, Blackstone part of that mess too, weren’t they?. This particular covert entry disgorged the grinning, stooped but oddly threatening form of Peggy Munroe. Not just because of the gun in her hand, aimed at Fiona, in itself a clear and present danger despite the distracted guard. But there was something about her aura, about the way she strode into the room like some supervillain whose master plan to destroy the world had finally reached its moment of truth, that lent her an air of utter and complete terror.
So, she’d tried to kill me twice. Maybe all I was sensing was my own remembered fears. Then again, maybe not.
>
The gun went off, the sound so loud I was actually floored by the act of Peggy pulling the trigger. I’d expected some kind of conversation, standoff between her and the guard. No one just walked in and shot someone, did they? Surely there was some kind of honor code among crazy people who thought they were better than everyone else and didn’t deserve to be put in jail for their acts against humanity. Somewhere written they had to warn each other and pontificate on those same acts, revealing truths, disgorging their version of events before the good guys rode in and saved the day.
Apparently Peggy didn’t get the memo. And I was wrong, it turned out, where that gun was pointed. I should be forgiven for guessing it was Fiona who Peggy targeted since I was still suffering from a head wound and, from their positions in the space, the guard’s location could easily be in the same sightline.
I figured the crazy old lady would shoot the other crazy lady. Instead, the bullet bit through the back of the guard’s neck and dropped him instantly to the floor.
He fell behind a chair, disappearing from view, that truth sparing me the sight of bleeding and dying and all that. Not that I was focusing on the fallen man at the moment. Not when two things happened in exactly the same instant to blur the line between someone else’s death and dear god, I’m going to die.
First, Fiona spun, mouth agape, to face the woman who killed her guard. And second, the floor under my feet rumbled as the sound of an explosion—far too close for comfort—shook the house down to the bedrock.
Peggy cackled, doing a little jig dance of happiness, the business end of her revolver never wavering despite her antics. Fiona’s hands slowly rose in response and,for the first time, I saw fear on her face. Nice to see the tables turned for once. Not that Peggy was our saving grace or anything. She’d be happy to see me dead. But with the woman holding us hostage now a hostage herself, we had a much better chance of surviving. Right?
