A Dagger Cuts Deep

by Kathy L Wheeler

  “Thank you, Esther. Lori, go with Esther and have some breakfast. I’ll be along shortly, okay?”

  Nodding, Lori latched onto Frizzle’s collar and disappeared from the direction Esther had come.

  Deidre spotted Mr. Guthrie sitting at a large mahogany desk as she approached. She stood in the arch and waited until he looked up. “Mr. Guthrie, you wished to see me?”

  He rose and moved from the behind the desk. “Good morning, Miss Spence. It is Miss, isn’t it? That was Charity’s maiden name. Please. Come in.” He closed the door and indicated for her to sit. She took one of the two chairs in front of the desk; he sat in the other.

  “You like our little island?”

  “It’s lovely,” she said. She kept a smile on her face while the skin at her neck prickled.

  “How long are you planning on staying?”

  His proprietary tone set Deidre’s teeth on edge. “I don’t know. But I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”

  “I can see I shall have to be more frank, Miss Spence.” Mr. Guthrie stood and moved back behind the massive desk. It struck her as the ultimate power stance. “There is a great deal of money at stake.”

  Deidre let out an insulted breath. “What exactly does that have to do with me?”

  A glacial glint in his faded blue eyes pierced her. “If you think to pick up where your sister left off, you are much mistaken.” He lowered into the chair behind.

  Deidre was at a loss. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain a bit more, sir. I have no idea what you are talking about.” She stood up and turned toward the door.

  “I see you are as adept at playing these dangerous games as your sister. Let me spell it out for you. Your attempts at blackmailing my son will not work.”

  She spun around, facing him. “Blackmail! Mr. Guthrie, I’ve never even met your son.”

  “That has no bearing on the matter, Miss Spence. Charity knew him quite well.”

  Little gossamer strands of information strung together through Deidre’s astonishment. She dropped back into her chair, dread rippling through her. What the devil had Charity been involved in? She stared at her hands interlocked in her lap. What was it Lori’s friend Ralphie had said? After a long moment, she raised her eyes to his. “Do you or your son happen to drive a red car, Mr. Guthrie?”

  He ignored her question. “I advise you to turn over the information you and your sister have on my son and vacate the island as soon as possible. I’m prepared to write you a check.”

  24

  Jackson spent his morning at the office on the phone with the 108th Precinct in Queens, that was located just blocks from Deidre’s apartment. They confirmed the only fingerprints found inside belonged to its inhabitants—Deidre, Mrs. Phillips, and Lori. The person who broke in had managed, quite nicely, to avoid leaving a single print, meaning he likely wore gloves. Jackson couldn’t squelch the feeling of time running out. But from what? The question nagged until his head ached.

  Deep in his gut, he was certain that Charity’s and Knox’s murders were connected—both stabbed, both had ties to the island—too coincidental to not be related. But how? The answers were as elusive as a man walking on the moon. He couldn’t quite picture old Simon murdering anyone. Jackson found him a cold controlling bastard, no different than Victor. But murder?

  Junior, on the other hand, was a slimy eel. No backbone. Sneaky, secretive, and—although he hated to admit it—he couldn’t leave out smart. An image of Penelope sifted through Jackson’s memory. The red lipstick she’d worn that night had been smeared, her dress torn, a portion of her breast exposed. Her death could have been an accident; it was definitely a possibility. Junior had a reputation for going after those weaker than himself. But could a spineless weasel kill? And why kill Penelope’s father? Was Knox’s death even connected to his daughter’s, some fifteen years after the fact? Jackson couldn’t come up with a single answer.

  Charity’s death was easier to imagine. She had the ability to turn on a person quicker than a flipped coin. The ups and downs of her personality kept those around her walking a tightrope over a deep gorge without a net.

  But someone had been looking for something. But who and for what?

  Jackson stared out the window at dark clouds brewing in the distance. The island was in for a summer storm.

  His thoughts moved to Lori. Did Deidre truly plan on telling Lori that Jackson was her father? He hadn’t even considered the possibility of Charity carrying his child. He’d been a fool. In retrospect, he realized she’d pegged Victor to a T. Victor would never have shoved her away had he known she was carrying a future generation Montgomery. Charity had managed to pull one over on his father. The thought almost made him laugh.

  Deidre was Charity’s opposite in every way but looks. But even then when he looked at Deidre, Jackson knew exactly who he was seeing. He’d only known her a week and he couldn’t imagine himself with anyone else.

  The sound of the outer office door latching brought Jackson back from his musings.

  Dorothea’s voice rang through the office. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet with you.” Her chair squeaked as she rose, her heels clipped on the wood floor. She tapped on the opaque glass partition and peered around the door. “Mr. Guthrie to see you, Jackson.”

  Jackson bit off an oath. If he’d been alone, he’d tell Simon where to stow it. But he wasn’t alone. “Send him in,” he said grimly.

  Simon walked in but Jackson didn’t bother rising. He couldn’t stand the man and certainly wouldn’t stand up for him. It wasn’t just because he treated Jackson like a wayward child. He didn’t like how Simon bailed out his son at every turn. Everyone in town knew what Junior had done to Penelope, and everyone in town knew Simon had used every resource at his disposal to protect the lout.

  That was the one difference between his father and Simon. Victor hadn’t protected Jackson, but in a rare insight to his own plight, Jackson saw how his mother had over indulged him. Jo had once pointed out that very fact to Jackson. He’d resented it at the time. But now he could see how right Jo had been. His mother, by covering up Jackson’s misdeeds, hadn’t done him any favors.

  Jackson met Simon’s gaze, but didn’t offer him a chair. “Is there something I can assist you with?”

  “I offered Miss Spence a check to leave the island. It’s clear the money Charity received from your father is just about depleted.”

  A red haze clouded Jackson’s vision. Not because of Deidre. She was nothing like her twin. Still, his gut twisted with doubt. “Get out.”

  “I thought I should let you know, she’s packing to vacate the island.”

  “I said, get out.” If anyone could commit murder, Jackson thought, it was him at that very moment.

  The door slammed behind the old man. It took twenty minutes for Jackson to calm down enough to remember Simon’s last words: She’s packing to vacate the island.

  ~~~

  Deidre found Mrs. Phillips at the dining room table with Lori and Esther. She mustered as calm a demeanor as she could under the circumstances. For a short instance, she understood a fraction of what Charity experienced on a regular basis. The extreme anger her twin would exhibit that could quickly morph out of control. “We’ll be leaving the island later today.” That tremble in her voice was not encouraging.

  Mrs. Phillips frowned.

  It was Lori’s crestfallen features that broke Deidre’s heart. “No! Mama, I-I like it here. I-I want to see more fireworks.” Lori wasn’t one to raise her voice, and she didn’t now. But there was an unusual stubborn resolve coming from her that she had never resorted to before.

  Deidre took the chair next to her. “I’m sorry, darling, but it’s time for us to go home.” An image of the broken mirrors and shattered furniture she hadn’t been able to clear away rent through her. She forced her thoughts to the now, because if there was one certainty, it was that she would not be leaving the island
without Lori.

  Her daughter’s mouth firmed, but she turned back to her food. It was as much rebellion as Deidre had ever witnessed from her.

  She looked at Mrs. Phillips with a sense of helplessness. “The ferry leaves in two hours. I’ll pack our things.”

  Mrs. Phillips nodded.

  Deidre managed to keep control of her emotions until she reached her bedroom. Just thinking of the violation of their apartment sent chills of terror over her. She dragged her case from beneath the bed, went to the closet, yanked her dresses from the hangers, and tossed them in without bothering to fold them.

  She brushed away a never ending onslaught of tears. After that horrid offer of paying her to leave Mr. Guthrie had thrown at her, Deidre had gathered her dignity and lifted her chin. “I’m not my sister,” she’d said quietly. “Donate your funds to something more useful, like a food bank.”

  It was impossible to stay after his insulting insinuations. Every day, she fell more for Jackson, and every day she realized the hopelessness of making a future with her sister’s ex-husband. She stalked over to the vanity, took up a tissue and blew her nose.

  “Deidre?” Jackson’s voice, behind her, sounded hard.

  “It’s time for us to leave,” she said without turning around. “We’re catching the next ferry.”

  “So you took the money,” he sneered.

  Outrage flooded her, she spun around. “Who said I took money?” She went to the wardrobe, grabbed her shoes and threw them in her bag. She stomped over to the dresser and yanked open a drawer and scooped up Lori’s nicely stacked clothes and tossed them on the bed. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Mr. Guthrie. I am not my sister.”

  Jackson was instantly behind her, wrapping her in his arms. “Deidre. Please. I’m sorry.” His lips touched the side of her neck. “He told me he offered to write you a check. Then he said you were packing. He was very clever in his wording, being careful that he didn’t lie.”

  She shrugged him away. “That doesn’t say much for your trust in my character, does it?” She glanced at him over her shoulder.

  He’d shoved his hands in his pockets and he appeared to be studying the carpet. “You have every right to take offense. Please stay. I’d like to get to know my daughter better.”

  Her whole body deflated. His daughter. “Right, Lori.” Deidre turned around and dropped to the edge of bed unable to meet his gaze. This was what it boiled down to, wasn’t it? He was Lori’s father. She was Lori’s aunt, not really her mother at all. Of course, no one knew that but her, Jackson, and Mrs. Phillips.

  Her vision blurred. She blinked and a tear fell from her lash onto her cheek. Jackson was on one knee before her. He dashed his thumb, wiping the dampness away. “Please, Deidre. Don’t fret. I don’t wish to take Lori from you. What would she do without you?”

  “Will you swear that to me?” she whispered.

  He took her hand, set his lips against her knuckles, and promised. “Yes. I swear.”

  ~~~

  “I’m an ass,” he said with a deprecating smile. “I let the past almost dictate my future. I’ll get better. I promise. Won’t you please stay? You can’t take Lori and Mrs. Phillips back to Queen’s. The apartment is still a wreck.”

  More tears trekked down her cheek and he wiped them away as fast as they dropped. “I know,” she said, hiccupping. “Oh, Jackson. Everything feels so hopeless.”

  “We’ll figure it out, darling. I’m a mess, myself. But meeting you, knowing you—” He swallowed hard. Loving you. “—makes me want to be a better man.”

  The palm of her hand wrapped his neck. “You’re a good man, Jackson. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

  He took both her hands and brought them to his lips, reveling in her praise. “Thank you. Thank you for having faith in me when I have so little in myself.” He rose to his feet. “I’d better get back to the office. I keep coming back around to the fact that Knox’s and Charity’s deaths are related, though how they are related still escapes me.” He drew Deidre to her feet and put his lips to the frown between her furrowing brows.

  “I just remembered something earlier,” she said, frowning. “It was something Ralphie said yesterday. The man who came out of my apartment got into a red car.”

  Jackson shook his head, his lips tipping. “There are lots of red cars, my dear.”

  She pushed away from him and went to the window. “Yes, but when I first got to the island, a man almost hit me with his car when I stepped off the curb. His car was red.”

  Every hair on his body stood on end. “Did you get a look at the driver?”

  Her shoulders dropped. “No. His hat covered his face. He came to a screeching stop. I suppose that’s in his favor. Wait. There’s something else. Ralphie said the same thing. The man he saw was wearing a hat that covered his face.”

  This was important. It tied Charity’s murder to the island. He pushed a hand through his hair. He leaned in and kissed her lips. “I’ll see what I can find. The problem is you arrived at the height of the island’s tourist season. If there’s one red car, there’s likely fifty.”

  “It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” She moved to the window and looked out. The view was of the sea.

  He strode over up behind her, wrapped an arm across her sternum from behind, and looked out the window over her shoulder. The clouds were growing darker. They were in for a heck of a storm. “Nothing is ever hopeless, my love. Our meeting is proof of that.”

  25

  It felt as if Junior’s skin was on fire. It itched from the inside out. He couldn’t stand it. His father was adamant that he not leave the island. After pacing his bedroom for two hours, he moved downstairs to the drawing room and wore the carpet out there. Nothing helped. He’d like nothing better than to take his Bugatti on the open road, punch the gas, and race it to its limits. Only Montgomery Island wasn’t conducive to such an action, however. He felt like he was literally choking to death the longer he stayed in the house.

  He stalked out of the drawing room, to the foyer, forcing himself to walk, not run, out the front door. The lush grounds were shrouded by darkening skies and Junior found himself outside the gates and in the forest that led out to the bluffs. He briefly wished he’d grabbed a flashlight, but within moments he’d cleared the trees. He angled his direction to the Point. The tents had been removed and all that was left from the arts fair tourists was litter being tossed about in a brisk wind coming off the water.

  The briny air filled his lungs, easing his pulse. He looked out over the grassy knoll, then squinted in the distance. A huge black dog was pulling at a child’s shirt. He recognized the dog right away as belonging to Jo Weatherford-Smith but he had no idea who the kid was. Whoever he or she was, they were no match for that monster. Simon headed in that direction. Some of the shore was pretty rocky along that stretch. He knew that from his teenaged summers spent on the island.

  He slowed his steps the closer he drew to the duo.

  The dog caught sight of Junior and let out a sharp bark. The kid’s giggle filled the air. It was a girl. Her dark hair was plaited in two braids. She glanced over at him and seemed to huddle in on herself.

  He raised a hand in a wave. “You all right, over there?” he called out. He moved cautiously closer. Junior stopped some distance away and asked again. “Do you need help?”

  “No, sir. We’re just waiting for the fireworks to start.”

  Junior looked up at the blackening sky pointedly. “Don’t think there’s going to be fireworks tonight,” he said. “It’s going to rain. Are you here by yourself?”

  “No, sir. Frizzle is with me.”

  A lucky thing. From what Junior could tell, she was safe enough—because of the dog. If it started to rain, things could turn dramatic in a heartbeat.

  “Where’s your mother?” Who’s your mother is what he wanted to ask. He was close enough to read the obstinance in her face.

  She ignored the que
stion and disappeared around a thicket of trees near the lighthouse. It sat at the peak of a small incline. In the rain, that incline turned into a mudslide that ended in the water just below.

  Shit. Hadn’t anyone told her how dangerous the water was down there. Waves would crush a tiny thing like her.

  Junior took off in a run. Just as he reached the lighthouse, he found Ruth Knox sitting atop a large boulder, her hands braced on either side of her hips. His fear for the kid subsided upon seeing Ruth. “I’m glad to see there is an adult here looking after her.”

  Ruth glanced in his direction, then back to the scene below. “That dog will keep her safe enough from you.” There was no inflection in her voice. Just a matter-of-fact countenance.

  “Good God, Ruth. Everyone knows she is much younger than my usual sort.” His sarcasm fell way short. “Your sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired.”

  Her bitter laugh filled the air. “That’s right. I remember. You prefer fourteen year old girls, don’t you?”

  “I was fifteen when I liked girls that young. Who are you to judge anyway? You’re just a dried up prune, aren’t you, Ruth?”

  She didn’t react to his less than honorable jab. “I haven’t been to Serpent’s Point in fifteen years,” she said. “I saw you, you know.”

  The hair lifted at Junior’s neck. Were Charity and Ruth scheming together. Was she one of his blackmailers. His gaze narrowed on her. “Saw me when?”

  “That night. The night Penelope died.”

  His stomach dipped. “Perhaps you ought to explain what it is you thought you saw.”

  “You took her. Against her adamant protests. You covered her scream with your hand. She struggled mightily, as I recall.”

  “Your sister was a little tease,” he growled. “She wanted what she got.” Junior `chanced a look below. The dog was doing a bang up job keeping the girl safe… so far.