by Anne Stuart
The net should have rebounded, sending him into a standing position. It didn’t. With an ominous rending sound it pulled free from one of its supports, sending Marco hurtling to the sawdust floor.
Throughout the tent, the laughter had been replaced by frightened screams. But Marco rolled into the sawdust, performed a somersault and ended standing, his arms held overhead in the age-old demand for applause.
He got it in spades. The crowd went wild, delighted at being tricked for a moment into actual fear. They seemed to have forgotten the figure still up on the wire, clinging with gloved hands, swinging over the broken net.
The silence fell, as one by the one the audience remembered and looked upward. Ferris could feel Blackheart, taut and sweating beside her, could hear his whispered words, part threat, part encouragement. “You can do it, you can do it. You stupid idiot, climb up there.”
Dany swung her leg around. The oversize shoe fell off, tumbling to the floor, and her leg missed the wire. She tried again, one hand slipping and then grabbing again, and the audience gasped. One more try and she was up, sitting on the wire, looking down at the cheering spectators with pantomimed surprise.
She then proceeded to crawl on her hands and knees across the wire, exaggerating every step to the delight of the crowd. When she reached the platform at the end of the line, Marco was waiting for her, a huge, toothy grin on his sweaty face, a murderous glare in his eyes.
Blackheart started toward the base of the pole, when McNab suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “I’ll take care of this,” he said in a determined tone of voice.
Blackheart let him go. “Do you think he’s a match for Porcini?” Ferris questioned, watching as Marco half dragged, half carried the penitent clown out of the tent, with McNab just behind them.
“I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”
“Maybe you can’t resist me?” she suggested lightly. “That certainly was a terrific act, wasn’t it? They had the entire audience going. I didn’t realize Dany still performed.”
“It wasn’t an act.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What you just witnessed,” Blackheart said in a glum voice, “was attempted murder. By my sister, of a man who doubtless deserved it. I just hope McNab didn’t catch on.”
“Patrick.” Regina Merriam joined them, perfectly dressed as always in blue silk, her mane of white hair neatly arranged, her face perfectly made-up. “And Ferris. I wondered where you two were. Wasn’t that simply marvelous? I had no idea the Porcinis were so talented.”
“They are quite different, aren’t they?” Ferris said, casting a worried glance at Blackheart’s troubled expression. And then she noticed Regina wasn’t looking terribly happy, either. As usual she’d put a calm face on things, but Ferris had known her long enough and well enough to realize something was wrong.
“Are you feeling all right?” Blackheart managed to pull himself out of his abstraction.
“As a matter of fact, I was a little worried about something,” she confessed with a contrived laugh. “I know you’ll think I’m silly, but I’m concerned about the Van Gogh. It moves to the museum tomorrow, and I can’t help thinking that this would be the perfect time to take it.”
Ferris felt her heart twist at the sight of her old friend’s desperate dignity. “Are you worried about the Van Gogh, Regina?” she asked gently. “Or about Phillip?”
Regina shut her eyes for a moment, leaning back against the grandstand. When she opened them, they were glittering with tears. “Does everyone know but me?”
“Only Francesca and I have guessed,” Blackheart said gently. “Don’t worry, Regina. We won’t let him do anything foolish. I promise you.”
Regina smiled through her tears. “I think I must have spoiled him. He was always so charming. It was easy to give him anything he wanted. He’s just used to having everything.”
“Maybe. I may just teach him a lesson or two tonight,” Blackheart said.
Regina nodded. “I think it might be long overdue.”
“You stay down here, Regina,” Ferris said, pressing the thin hand that suddenly felt frail. “I’ll make sure everything’s all right.”
“I knew I could count on you both,” she said simply. The grounds were almost deserted as Ferris followed Blackheart out into the night, heading toward the mansion. She had to run to keep up, and her high-heeled black sandals sank into the damp grass with each step. “Wait a minute,” she gasped, struggling along.
“I don’t want you involved in this,” he snarled, not slowing his pace. “I told you that. This thing could turn ugly, and I don’t want you in the line of fire.”
“Why didn’t you tell Regina that? She would have kept me with her.”
“I wasn’t about to tell an old lady her son might be dangerous. It’s hard enough for her to deal with the fact that he’s turning larcenous.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” She stopped for a moment, pulled off her shoes and threw them into the bushes, sprinting to catch up with Blackheart’s elegant figure. He was wearing evening dress, as were most of the men tonight, and Ferris couldn’t help but think that a tuxedo was the perfect outfit for a society burglar.
“Well, think of it. And know that if Phillip does anything to hurt you, then Danielle won’t be the only Blackheart capable of attempted murder.”
“I can go back.”
His arm caught her, tugging her along. “At this point I think you’re safer with me,” he said, resigned. “Just watch out for Nelbert. He’s even stupider than Phillip, and a great deal more ruthless. Keep quiet and do as I say. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
They went in through the terrace door. The house was dark. Most of the servants were down at the circus, and only Nelbert’s hired security guards were in sight. It was child’s play for Blackheart to move past them, the work of two seconds to go through the solid lock on the terrace door. And then they were creeping through the darkened house, up the long, curving stairs, Ferris fully as noiseless as the more experienced Blackheart.
They stopped on the second-floor landing. Fitful beams of light were filtering downward from the third-floor landing, and Ferris could hear the muffled sound of voices. Without ceremony Blackheart pushed her against a wall and clapped a hand over her mouth. “They’re early.” Barely a trace of sound issued forth, and Ferris wondered if she was getting adept at reading lips. He removed his hand, still keeping his body pressed against hers, and the light in his eyes came from determination and an unholy excitement.
“What if they have guns?” She mouthed her response.
Blackheart shrugged. “Then duck.”
“How reassuring.” It was hard to be icy when you were speaking in something softer than a whisper, but her irony managed to reach Blackheart anyway, and he grinned.
“Listen, angel, you chose to come along,” he taunted her. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think either of them are armed. Phillip is too smart for that and Nelbert is too dumb.”
“There are just the two of them?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? Don’t you know?”
“Someone else just came in downstairs. One set of footsteps. It could be a maid, or it could be an accomplice. I’m not taking any chances.”
“I don’t hear a thing,” she protested, not making a sound.
“That’s because you don’t listen.” He tugged at her, pulling her under the curve of the winding stairs. “We’ll wait here. The Hardy Boys will be down before long, carrying their ill-gotten gains. They’re lucky The Hyacinths is so small. It would have served Phillip right if it was the size of a Bierstadt.”
“How big is a Bierstadt?”
“Room size.” The footsteps directly above them signaled that the thieves were on the move. “When they get
down here you stay put. I’ll confront them.”
“With what? The force of your personality? Blackheart, this is dangerous!”
“Sweetheart, just because they won’t be carrying guns doesn’t mean I’m similarly inclined.” Reaching down to his ankle, he pulled out a very small, very nasty-looking little gun. “And yes, I have a permit. It’s very legal.”
“I wasn’t going to ask that. I was going to ask if it was loaded.”
“There’s not much use in having a gun if it isn’t loaded. First rule of firearms, darling.”
“What’s the second?”
“Don’t brandish it, if you’re not willing to use it.”
“And the third.”
“I already told you that one. Duck.”
They stood there, huddled under the stairs for a time that stretched on endlessly, listening to the steady advance of the felons from the floor above, the accomplice from the floor below. In actuality it couldn’t have been more than a minute and a half, but the time stretched and pulled like a rubber band until Ferris was ready to scream.
Blackheart was in total control, only the glitter in his dark eyes betraying just how much he was enjoying all this, Ferris thought bitterly. He waited until the last moment, until beyond the last moment, when the shadowy figures were almost ready to start down the second flight of stairs.
“I think you’ve gone far enough,” he said calmly. His hand reached out and hit the light switch, flooding the landing with light, and as he stepped into the hallway, his nasty little gun was pointed directly at the center of Regina’s priceless painting.
Phillip swore, dropping the picture, frame and all, onto his toe. Nelbert backed away, an ugly expression on his ugly face, and began fumbling under his coat.
Ferris decided it was time to contribute to the situation. “He’s going for his gun, Blackheart,” she said, stepping out of her hiding place.
“Get back, damn it!” Blackheart swore, diving for Nelbert before his hand could emerge with the gun. The force of his one hundred eighty-some pounds, catapulted against Nelbert’s two hundred forty, was enough to knock the larger man off balance. He began to tumble down the stairs, grasping for Blackheart. Blackheart stepped neatly out of reach, watching with no reaction at all as Nelbert fell down a total of seventeen stairs to end lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom. He was moaning slightly, reassuring anyone who happened to care that he was still alive.
Regina was standing there, a rueful expression on her face. She looked up at the tableau above her, and an expression of utter sorrow darkened her faded blue eyes. She started up the stairs, holding on to the marble banister like a woman whose life had been shattered. In one day she’d aged twenty years, and Ferris was sorely tempted to toss down her witless son after his accomplice.
Blackheart looked up too, into Phillip’s expressionless face. “Put the painting back, you jackass,” he said mildly. “You’ve done enough harm for one night.”
“You don’t understand,” Phillip whined. Golden, handsome Senator Phillip Merriam whined. “It costs too much to get elected nowadays. I have to have the money.”
“I want you to withdraw from the race, Phillip.” Regina’s voice was cold, her tone determined as she reached the second-floor landing.
“Mother . . .”
“I want you to withdraw from the race, or I will turn you over for prosecution.”
“You wouldn’t!” He gasped.
“I would.” She cast a beseeching glance at Blackheart. “Can you dispose of that—that trash downstairs?” She gestured toward Nelbert’s lumpish, groaning figure.
“Certainly. Are you planning to file charges?”
“That’s up to Phillip. What’s it to be?”
“Can’t we talk . . . ?”
“No. Your decision.”
Phillip hung his elegant blond head. Ferris almost thought she heard a snuffle of misery. “I’ll withdraw,” he said sulkily.
Regina nodded, satisfied. “In that case, just dump his accomplice someplace and leave it at that. I doubt Mr. Nelbert will be interested in pursuing our acquaintance after this fiasco.”
“What about the painting?” Ferris asked. It was lying facedown on the carpet, no way to treat a masterpiece.
“Do you suppose you could put it in the museum on your way home? Just leave it inside the door. If someone else comes along and takes it, they’re welcome to it.”
“Certainly.” Blackheart gingerly picked it up, eyeing the glowing colors with a mixture of admiration and distrust. “Come along, Francesca.”
For a moment she didn’t move—she stood there staring at the shell of what had once, years ago, seemed her most attainable dream. With a tiny, imperceptible shake of her head she followed Blackheart down the stairs, passing Regina’s upright figure with a brief, sympathetic touch on the arm.
Trace Walker materialized from the shadows, a questioning look on his bland, beefy face. “Take care of Nelbert, would you?” Blackheart requested of his partner. “We’ve got something to do.”
“Sure thing. Do I have to be gentle?”
Blackheart grinned. “Use your judgment.”
They were halfway across the lawn, almost at the circus area, when Ferris spoke. Blackheart had grabbed a raincoat from a hall closet to drape around the masterpiece, and he strode along carrying his burden, seemingly lost in thought.
“What’s going to happen to Phillip?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t been so precipitate about tossing her shoes. The grass beneath her stockinged feet was damp, sending a chill up her back.
“Do you care?” Blackheart didn’t slow his pace.
“For Regina’s sake. And yes, for his sake. I was once rather fond of him.”
“Pretty tepid emotions to base an engagement on. Do you always agree to marry someone on such mundane grounds?”
“Not always.” She wasn’t about to offer anything more, and he wasn’t about to ask.
“I expect Phillip will run in the next election, and probably win it,” Blackheart said, answering her previous question.
“Patrick, the man’s a sleaze with no moral judgment whatsoever, a liar, and more than willing to frame someone else for his misdeeds.”
“Yup,” said Blackheart. “At that rate there’s no telling how far he’ll go.”
“You’re such a cynic.”
“I know,” he said, unrepentant. “There’s just one thing that’s worrying me.”
“What’s that?”
“Where the hell is McNab?”
Chapter Eighteen
Rope
(Warner Brothers 1948)
IT TOOK BLACKHEART less than a minute to crack the heavy locks that guarded the entrance to the Museum of Decorative Arts. He clicked his tongue in professional disgust as he undid the final bolt. “We’re going to have to do something about these locks,” he muttered.
“We? I thought Nelbert Securities was in charge of the museum.” Ferris shivered lightly in the breeze that was picking up. There was only the barest sliver of a moon that night, a good night for going a-burglaring, Blackheart had always told her. The noise and lights from the circus seemed far away, almost on another planet, and Ferris devoutly hoped everyone that mattered was down there, including Marco Porcini, McNab and Dany. She had the unpleasant suspicion that they were all much closer than that.
“You don’t seriously think Nelbert’s going to keep the job, do you?” Blackheart countered, following her into the darkened main hallway. “Even without formal charges, word will get out, and very quickly. Nelbert’s washed up in this town, as well he should be.”
“And you think you’ll get the job?” She shivered again. She’d never liked the museum. Regina’s robber baron father had constructed it to house his collection, and it had been designed after an I
talian castle dating from the early fifteenth century. It was built of massive stone, cold and damp and eerie, and the entire feeling of the place was oppressive.
“We’re the logical choice.” Blackheart headed for the checkroom, dumped the raincoat-covered painting behind the half door and turned to face her. “Regina already had me double-check Nelbert’s arrangements for the Van Gogh, and I also did a once-over on everything else. Including the Faberge eggs.”
“Do you think they would have been able to take them?”
“I have no doubt at all they would. And I’m not sure we’re out of the woods yet. I won’t rest easy until I find out where McNab and my sister have gone.”
A strange noise had been worrying away at the back of Ferris’s brain. For a moment she’d been considering large, evil rodents, then she realized what the sound was. “I don’t know about Dany,” she said gloomily. “But I think we’ve found McNab.”
He was propped up against a massive marble column just inside the Egyptian room. There was blood on his forehead, and he was moaning groggily.
“What happened?” Blackheart demanded with more tension than sympathy, pulling him up by his lapels.
McNab slapped his hands away. “What do you think happened? Porcini blindsided me. I followed them in here and just when I was about to arrest him, the lights went out. Damned fool.”
“Porcini?”
“Me. I should have paid more attention. But he was hurting Dany, twisting her arm, and I got so mad I couldn’t see straight.”
“They’re here?”
“They’re here. They’ve gone after the eggs. He was dragging Dany, and she was putting up a hell of a fuss, but I imagine he was able to make her do what he wanted. Dammit, she was crying.”
“Well, if she’d tried to push me off a tightrope, I might want to twist her arm, too,” Blackheart said fairly.
Ferris glared at him in the shadowed room. “What are you planning to do about it?”
McNab struggled to his feet, swaying slightly. “I’ve got to find Dany.”
“First you need to call in reinforcements,” Blackheart corrected him. “There’s a crime being committed, and someone’s going to have to arrest Porcini.”
