by Ellery Adams
Parrish chuckled. “I’m surrounded by weaklings. Shall I panic now or later?”
“I will shoot you,” Michael said with icy calm. “I’d gladly go to prison as long as Robin is safe.”
“He’ll never be safe,” Parrish scoffed. “His fate is sealed. As is yours. Put that gun down. This isn’t one of your silly reenactments.” Turning his back on Michael, he advanced on Jane. “Give me those pages.”
Jane drew herself to her full height. “No.”
Pushing past her would-be assailant, she took cover behind the side of a mammoth bookcase pressed against the back wall. She heard the blast of gunfire and let out a cry as a bullet tore through the wood an inch from her face. Suddenly, the doors to the room burst open, and the Fins rushed in. Butterworth, Sterling, and Lachlan leaped behind pieces of furniture while shouting at Parrish to freeze.
Jane crept along the wall, intent on making it to the fireplace.
“The game is up, sir,” Butterworth said to Parrish. “Lower your weapon.”
Parrish complied. Even though she was now on the other side of the room, Jane could see his face. He didn’t look the least bit defeated. In fact, he still wore that maddeningly smug smile.
“My business with Ms. Steward isn’t over. Storyton Hall will never know peace until I have all of Hemingway’s papers.”
“Oh, our business is definitely over!” Jane called to him. “Do you know why? Because we value human life more than these.” She shook the pages in her hand. “Friends. Family. They’re more precious than Hemingway’s undiscovered work.”
Jane crumpled the top page into a ball. What she threw on top of the blazing fire was paper from the eland head, but Parris wouldn’t know that.
“No!” he bellowed and lunged forward, his face contorted with rage.
Butterworth and Sterling moved to intercept him. Suddenly, they stiffened mid-stride. With grunts of surprise, they dropped to the ground like stones. Seconds later, Michael followed suit.
“That’s how it’s done!” cried Nandi from the doorway and shook her blowgun in triumph. Next to her, a man dressed all in black with a baseball cap pulled low over his brow reloaded his blowgun and fired a dart at Lachlan. He missed, and the dart struck the side of a leather chair. Springing forward, he reloaded again.
Jane stared at the two figures.
“William? Nandi?” she muttered, too flabbergasted to manage anything else.
Parrish began making his way to her side of the room. The movement shook Jane out of her trance. She showed Parrish another balled-up another sheet of paper. Again, it was from the eland head. Again, Parrish believed it was a page of Hemingway’s writing.
“Don’t!” Parrish commanded.
“I’ll throw in the whole stack if you don’t stay where you are!” she warned. “If burning our literary treasures takes Storyton Hall off of your order’s radar, then I’ll build the biggest bonfire you’ve ever seen!”
Jane tossed the wadded page into the fireplace. It landed on a log and was immediately swaddled in flame.
“Burn one more page, and I will kill you and everyone you love.” Parrish’s body was practically humming with rage. He raised his pistol again, and his dark, furious gaze bored into Jane.
She darted a glance at William. He gazed back at her with a blank expression.
“He doesn’t know you,” said Parrish. “I wasn’t lying when I said that he’d sustained brain damage. After his accident, he was a clean slate. The perfect soldier. Fit, strong, obedient, and lacking emotion. Unfortunately, his training damaged an already damaged brain. He developed chronic traumatic encephalopathy. In other words, he has an incurable brain disease. He’s been degenerating rapidly over the past few months and is plagued by tremors and micro seizures. That’s why I decided to show him to you. I wanted him to complete this final mission before he died.”
“You turned him into a murderer!” Jane spat. “William killed Tuck, didn’t he? And Ray. But he’s not the monster in this room. You are.”
Parrish moved his shoulders in the ghost of a shrug. “He would kill you too if I commanded it. He’s an emotionless drone who’s of no more use to me. Why not let a dying man take the blame for my decisions? It’s incredibly convenient. But my patience has come to an end. Put the papers on the ground and keep your hands where I can see them. Do it now, or I will shoot you.”
There was a scuffle by the doorway. Nandi let out a small cry and was yanked from the room into the hallway.
Parrish looked at William. “Find out what’s happening.”
“William!” Jane cried before he could leave the room. “You’re my husband. We met in college. In one of the library reading rooms. I was supposed to join a study group, but I went into the wrong room. You and I ended up studying together. We both bombed our test because we talked and laughed more than we studied.”
Parrish told William to go, but he didn’t listen. His eyes were locked on Jane.
“The twin boys you met at the mews? Those are your sons, William. You’re a father. I was pregnant when you drove off that bridge.” Jane spoke as fast as she could. She knew she couldn’t suddenly make William feel. His brain was clearly too damaged for that. But a small part of her hoped that the truth might make him question Parrish’s authority.
“My sons?” William asked. Something like wonder crossed his face.
“William!” Parrish barked. “You will find out what happened to Nandi or I will send you back to the facility.”
William rushed out of the room.
“You’ve been using him this whole time,” Jane said. She felt utterly defeated. “You made him your slave.”
“More like a trained dog. If only you were half as obedient.” He gestured at her to lower the pages to the floor.
Jane ran through several scenarios in her head, but none were prudent in the face of Parrish’s gun. Her Fins were paralyzed by the same darts they’d used to incapacitate Parrish, and her martial-arts skills were of no use at this distance.
I need to lure him closer and try to kick the gun out of his hand.
It was a maneuver Sinclair had made her practice again and again. Believing it to be her last option, Jane did as Parrish asked. She put down Hemingway’s papers.
“You’re a tiresome woman,” Parrish said, carelessly stepping over Butterworth’s outstretched arm.
“Spoken by a man who knows nothing about women. My Jane is exceptional in every way,” came a clear, strong voice from the doorway.
“Edwin!” Jane was overjoyed to see him.
He wasn’t alone either. Archie was by his side, and both men were armed.
Edwin looked at Jane. “Let him take the papers and go. It’s either that or we kill him. There isn’t a third option.”
After a moment of hesitation, Jane gathered up the papers. She looked at the fire and considered how much anguish she could cause Parrish by burning Hemingway’s work. However, she remembered her college English classes, the books she’d read, and the hours she’d spent researching Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and many of the same authors Parrish admired. She thought of the day her sons were born, and of how the friendship between Hemingway and Fitzgerald had influenced her to name her twins after the two writers.
Turning away from the fire, she walked over to Parrish. As he reached out to take the papers, he flashed that smug smile of his. Rage pulsed through Jane, and she slapped Parrish’s cheek. Hard.
“That’s for abducting my sons and destroying my husband’s life,” she seethed. “Hemingway would have despised you. He would have called you a fascist and a coward. You aren’t worthy of touching his work. Those papers are all you’ll ever take from Storyton Hall. Take them and never return.”
Before Parrish could respond, Edwin gestured at the hall. “You’ll be leaving without William or Nandi, so don’t bother waiting for them.”
Parrish threw one last venomous glance at Jane before exiting the room.
When he was gone,
Jane felt like she could breathe again. She rushed to Butterworth and dropped to the floor beside him.
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “We’ll put you on the sofa.”
After she repeated this assurance to Sterling, Lachlan, and Michael Murphy, Edwin and Archie moved each man. With their paralyzed limbs, they sat like slumped ragdolls.
“We’re locking the door behind us,” Jane told the sorry-looking group. “I’ll be back to check on you as soon as I can.” To Edwin, she said, “Where are William and Nandi?”
“Nandi’s in a conference room,” said Edwin. “Tied and gagged. We should find William and be sure Parrish is truly gone before we deal with her.”
Jane had a terrifying vision of Parrish heading to her house.
My boys!
“Archie, will you stay with Nandi? I need to make sure my sons are safe.”
She and Edwin rushed past the guests lining up for dinner. Pulling out her phone, Jane dialed Sinclair’s number and almost sobbed in relief when he picked up on the first ring.
“Miss Jane? Is everything all right?” he asked.
His calm voice was an instant balm. The twins were okay. “Parrish might be headed your way.”
As she and Edwin hurried across the lawn, Jane gave Sinclair the short version of the evening’s events. By the time she reached her garden gate, Sinclair was caught up.
All was well at her house. The boys were in pajamas, and a board game was set up on the kitchen table.
Hem smiled when he saw her. “Mom! You’re early. Wanna play Monopoly with us?”
Fitz picked up a game piece and showed it to Edwin. “You can be the dog if you want.”
Jane was touched by this offer, seeing as the Scottie was Fitz’s favorite.
“We can’t play, guys,” she said. “I just wanted to say good night.”
“It’s not our bedtime yet,” Hem protested, and Sinclair assured both boys that he planned to take all their money and property long before then.
“Challenge accepted,” Fitz said.
Jane mouthed a “thank you” to Sinclair, and she and Edwin left.
“Let’s take a Gator to the guest parking lot,” she said once they were outside.
They’d barely rounded the corner of the garage when she pointed at a pair of receding taillights. “There he goes! William’s in the passenger seat! But that isn’t Parrish’s car.”
“No,” said Edwin. “It’s yours.”
They watched the Rolls-Royce Phantom race toward the front gates.
“Sterling is not going to be happy about this. I can’t even report the theft. What would I say? That a deranged Templar stole one of our vintage cars?” Jane laughed. It was a half-crazed, weary laugh without a trace of humor.
“Come on, sweetheart. You need a drink.”
Edwin took her hand as they headed for the terrace entrance of Storyton Hall.
Night had fallen. A crisp breeze sent dry leaves tumbling over the grass, and the air was much sharper than it had been during the day. Few stars burned in a dark sky. The moon looked like a smudge of chalk dust.
“How did you know about William?” Jane asked.
“Ever since I left Storyton Hall, I’ve been watching him,” said Edwin. “He maintained his cover almost perfectly, but he made one mistake. He left the mews during the reenactment.”
A knot formed in Jane’s stomach. “To kill Archie. Only he killed Ray instead. It crossed my mind that William might be a killer, but since he was with Lachlan while the reenactment occurred, I dismissed the possibility.” She glanced at Edwin. “Did you witness the murder?”
“No.” Edwin lowered his gaze. “I saw William in the woods on the opposite side of the field from where you and the other spectators were sitting. I caught a glimpse before he vanished again. I suspected he was up to something.” Edwin stopped and looked at Jane. “I should have followed him more closely, but I didn’t want to reveal myself until I had concrete evidence that your husband was working for Parrish. He’s your husband, and the last thing I wanted to do was falsely accuse him. I didn’t want to hurt you. But if I hadn’t been so careful, I might have kept an innocent man from dying.”
“Mr. Pizzolato’s death is not your fault, Edwin. I’m responsible for my guests. His parents are here tonight. While everyone else is celebrating, they’re grieving the loss of their son. And I have no comfort to offer them.” Tears pooled in Jane’s eyes. She let them fall, unchecked. “How many lives has Parrish destroyed in the name of his maniacal collecting? And I just let him go. And what about William? He’s dying, but he’s still dangerous.”
Edwin wiped Jane’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Parrish’s order won’t be pleased with how things ended here. He’ll play a hefty price for disappointing them.”
Jane shook her head. “And then there’s Nandi. I can’t believe she’s in league with these zealots. I’ve known her for years! She drove to Storyton Hall to hand-deliver that postcard from you, though I still don’t understand how you got that card out during your imprisonment.”
“Parrish made me write those postcards,” Edwin said. “They were meant to deceive you and Eloise into believing I was out of the country. Thankfully, you didn’t fall for it.”
Wrapping her fingers around the door handle, Jane whispered, “How will I ever make things right? The death at Biltmore. The death here. Nandi. Parrish and William driving off, free as two birds. It’s too much for one person to manage.”
Edwin put his arm around her shoulders. “We’ll sort it out. Together.”
Jane leaned into Edwin’s chest. He put his other arm around her and held her for a long moment.
Eventually, Jane asked Edwin to bring Nandi to the Safari Room. She took the staff corridor to the reading room, where she found the Fins exactly how she’d left them.
Nandi was brought in, bound and gagged. Her dark eyes shimmered with anger. Muffled shouts came from behind her gag, and when Edwin removed it, she spat curses at Jane.
“If you can’t calm down, I’ll duct tape your mouth shut,” Jane threatened when she could get a word in. Nandi tossed out another insult before mercifully going quiet.
“Were you against me all along?” Jane asked. “Or is this betrayal recent?”
Nandi gestured around the room. “I was never against you. I’m against this! I remember the first time I saw this room. How could I feel anything but rage? These aren’t souvenirs to be hung on your walls or stuck in your cabinets. They’re sacred relics! The masks, drums, necklaces, and baskets. The weapons. This is my people’s history, pilfered by your ancestor and put on display for your family and your guests!”
Jane saw the room through Nandi’s eyes and reddened with shame. “You’re absolutely right. The animal-head trophies have always made me sad and embarrassed, but I never stopped to consider the cultural items. I never looked around and had the sense to realize that religious objects shouldn’t be used as decoration. Nandi? Will you help me return these items to your people? Will you help me fix this?”
Nandi gaped at her. “Are you for real? I helped the bad guy, remember? And now you expect me to believe that you’ll do what should have been done decades ago? After I used a blowgun on your people?” She snorted. “I am not that gullible.”
“You know me, Nandi.” Jane used her knife to cut the other woman’s bonds. “And I know you. You’re a good woman. No one could tell stories the way you do if you weren’t. We can move past this night. We can learn from it. Both of us. Please, my friend. Help me.”
Nandi covered her mouth with her hands as if trying to hold back a sob. “I am so sorry. I got caught up in righteous anger. But that’s not how you solve problems. It only creates new ones. I know better than that.” She took both of Jane’s hands in hers. “Can you forgive me?
In reply, Jane hugged the other woman. After promising to talk more about returning the artifacts, she let Nandi go.
With one assailant out of the way, it was time for Jane to co
nsider what to do about William. William, her husband. William, the father of her sons. William, the killer.
Though Jane was in the same room as Edwin and the Fins, she felt completely alone. There wasn’t a person alive who could know what she was going through at this moment. No one could understand how she was being pulled apart. Loyalty warred with justice. Memory fought with anger. Her wedding vows threatened her reason. When she considered reporting William to the authorities, she was as paralyzed as her Fins.
Jane looked at Edwin. “Would you ask Aunt Octavia and Uncle Aloysius to join us? I have something to say, and I need them to hear it.”
Edwin shot her a worried glance but left the room without a word.
While she waited for her family, Jane called Sinclair and asked him to have Ned, Butterworth’s assistant, take over guarding the boys. Sinclair promised to arrive without delay. He appeared ten minutes later carrying a handful of loaded syringes.
“Mr. Sterling wisely created a serum to counteract the effects of the poison,” he said. “It was easy to find in such an organized lab.”
At that moment, Aunt Octavia entered the reading room. She took one look at the slumped Fins and screamed. Uncle Aloysius turned chalk-white and leaned on the wall for support. Jane explained what had happened as quickly as she could, but it took several minutes and several sips of whiskey before her great-aunt and great-uncle recovered their strength.
Their reactions reinforced Jane’s decision. Aunt Octavia and Uncle Aloysius were too old to deal with this kind of strife. Their golden years shouldn’t be filled with imminent threats and murder investigations. Their days should be peaceful, with worries limited to which book to read next, which fishing fly to use, or which of Mrs. Hubbard’s pastries to eat.
