Promise Not to Tell

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Don’t move, either of you,” Kate said. She kicked the alley door closed.

  She kept the barrel of the gun aimed at Jessica’s head, but she was wholly focused on Virginia.

  “Everything went wrong because of you,” Kate said. “Every damn thing. But now you’re going to pay.”

  CHAPTER 68

  “Killing me won’t bring back your brother,” Virginia said. “Besides, I’m not the one who shot him. Josh Preston is responsible for Tucker’s death. Or haven’t you been paying attention to the news?”

  Kate stilled. “You know?”

  “That you and Tucker were fraternal twins? It occurred to me that there may have been two babies who were given up for adoption.”

  “No one ever guessed,” Kate said. “Fraternal twins don’t look any more alike than other kinds of siblings. Tucker got the bastard’s looks. I got the brains.”

  Virginia’s phone rang, the sound muffled because it was in her handbag.

  “Ignore it,” Kate said through clenched teeth. “And just to be clear, Tucker and I were not given up for adoption. Rose Gilbert sold us in an off-the-books transaction. What’s more, she did the deal with two different couples. Tucker and I didn’t even know about each other until a couple of years ago.”

  “How did you and Tucker find each other?”

  “Shortly before she died, the woman who had raised Tucker told him the truth. She said there had been two babies offered for sale but she could only afford one. She had enough information to send Tucker in the right direction. He came looking for me after he learned the truth.”

  “He wanted to know his sister.”

  “No, he was just curious to see if I might be interested in going into business together. Figured he could trust family. He was already running low-level online cons. He taught me the tricks. We made a good team. Night Watch was going to be our big score.”

  “You and Tucker were the ones doing the embezzling, weren’t you?”

  “We took a lot of money out of that company and were getting ready to shut down the operation and move on. Josh Preston was getting too close.”

  “Was he the person who tried to run you down with a car the night you met with Cabot and me?”

  “No, that was Tucker, and he wasn’t aiming at me,” Kate said.

  “He tried to murder Cabot. Make it look like a hit-and-run accident.”

  “I told Tucker it was a risky idea, but he was right: if it had worked, it would have been an easy fix for at least one of our problems, so I agreed to go along with it. But Tucker screwed up, as usual. When I realized it had all gone wrong, I tried to point you at Laurel.”

  “When did Rose Gilbert come back into your lives?”

  “In December she contacted Tucker out of the blue and told him the truth about our parents,” Kate said. “Turns out dear Aunt Rose had kept track of us just in case we might prove useful someday.”

  “She waited until your mother was dead before she got in touch?”

  “She had no reason to contact us before Abigail Watkins died. She didn’t need us. But she knew that she was Watkins’s only legal heir, because, thanks to her, there was no record of Abigail having given birth or of the adoptions. Rose had no intention of becoming an innkeeper, but she rushed to Lost Island to take charge of the B and B because she figured she could make some money if she sold the place.”

  “She found the diary,” Virginia said.

  “That journal changed everything. Rose contacted us because she concluded that she needed help finding the missing money. Tucker and I agreed to get involved because it looked like there was a fortune out there somewhere and it belonged to us.”

  “All you had to do was find it. But that’s where things got complicated, isn’t it?”

  “We realized that Hannah Brewster knew what the key was and where it was hidden, but she was crazy. Rose was the one who came up with the idea of using Tucker to convince Brewster that Quinton Zane was still alive. Turns out Tucker looked a lot like the bastard back in the day. Brewster was panic-stricken when she saw him. She really did believe that Zane had come back from the dead. Rose and Tucker were sure they could control her, but they fucked up.”

  “They went too far, didn’t they? Hannah jumped to her death rather than risk falling under Zane’s control.”

  “I’m the one who realized that you were our only hope of finding the missing money,” Kate said. The gun shook a little in her hands. “According to the diary, your mother gave the key to you. But Abigail Watkins didn’t describe the key in her journal. We had no idea what we were looking for. And you, you stupid woman, didn’t even know you had it.”

  “Hannah never told me the truth because she thought it would put me in danger.”

  “Tucker made Rose give him the diary,” Kate said. “He went a little crazy then. He became obsessed with everything and anything that linked to Quinton Zane. He wanted to find the lost money to prove that he was as brilliant as Zane.”

  “Josh Preston discovered that obsession and pretended to be Zane.”

  “Tucker was always a little unstable, but believing that dear old Dad was alive and communicating with him pushed my brother right over the edge,” Kate said. “Still, he was smart when it came to the tech stuff. He even managed to get into your account through your computer, and your computer is connected to your phone through the cloud. He didn’t just install a tracking app. He was able to see some of your messages and your e-mail.”

  “Which one of you took the shots at Cabot that day when he and I went to the house?”

  “That was me. I’m the one who realized that Sutter was going to be a huge problem. Tucker took Sandra Porter’s gun the night I killed her, but he never bothered to learn how to use it.”

  “He liked fire, though, didn’t he?”

  “Oh, yeah. He was a real pyro.”

  “You’re the one who shot Sandra Porter.”

  “I knew she was stalking Tucker, so I followed her that night. When I saw her go into your gallery, I knew we had to get rid of her. She had discovered the embezzlement, you see. She actually had the nerve to try to blackmail Tucker. He really freaked out after I got rid of her.”

  “You shot Rose Gilbert, too.”

  Kate snorted softly. “We had the diary. We didn’t need her. Why split the money three ways? When you made the ferry reservation online, we realized you and Sutter were headed to Lost Island. Tucker and I decided that we had to get rid of both of you. It was obvious you didn’t know any more than we did. We decided we might have a better chance of finding the money if both of you were out of the picture. I was raised on the water. I know how to handle a boat. We used one to get to Lost Island that morning, hours before the ferry was due to arrive. We took care of Rose. Tucker wired the house and then we waited for you and Sutter to show up. We figured the locals would just write it off as a drug gang hit.”

  “But things went wrong. Again.”

  “Nothing worked out,” Kate said, her voice rising. “Everything went wrong because of you and that damned Cabot Sutter. But this is where it ends.”

  “You’re risking everything now for revenge?”

  “It’s all that’s left,” Kate said.

  “You’re going to kill me and then disappear, is that it?”

  Kate’s mouth curved in a humorless smile. “I’m willing to negotiate. Give me the key to my inheritance and I’ll think about letting you and your very helpful clerk live.”

  “Now why would you do that?”

  “Because I don’t need to kill you. I’m very good at disappearing, you see. I’ve had lots of practice. In fact, I’d just as soon not get rid of you. Dead bodies are always a problem. Give me the key to the money and we’ll call it a day.”

  This was probably not the time to tell Kate that she was a lousy liar, Virginia thought.

 
; “I’ll do better than that,” she said. “I’ll let your mother give you the key to the money.”

  Kate stared at her, her jaw unhinged in shock. After a second or two she managed to pull herself together.

  “What are you talking about?” she hissed.

  “This afternoon it finally dawned on me that your mother had the key all along. It’s in the portraits that Hannah Brewster painted. I was going to take a closer look at them when you showed up with Jessica.”

  “What portraits?”

  “There are two of them. I wondered about that from time to time. Why did Hannah paint two very similar portraits of her good friend? But now I understand. There was one for you and one for Tucker. Each contains a portion of the information needed to find the missing money. I suppose poor Abigail wanted to leave something to the children she had never known. The only thing of value that she knew about was the missing cult money.”

  “You’re lying. Why would she commission portraits for us, let alone leave us the money? She never wanted us. She told Rose Gilbert to get rid of us. She let Gilbert sell us.”

  “I think Quinton Zane made Abigail give you up for adoption. She did it because she was totally under his control. Rose no doubt promised her that you would both go to a loving home. I’m certain that Abigail never knew that Rose sold you.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Virginia thought about Anson’s advice on running a con. Come up with a good story, one with just enough truth in it to make it sound real.

  “I think that, deep down, Abigail always hoped that someday her children would come looking for her,” she said. “When she was diagnosed with cancer, she commissioned the portraits so that if you and Tucker ever showed up asking questions, you would have something of her—a portrait and the key to the money.”

  “That’s a touching story but I don’t believe it. If you knew about the key, you would have used it to get hold of the money.”

  Virginia shook her head. “I told you, I only realized the truth tonight when I took another look at the portraits.”

  “You’re lying,” Kate said.

  But she wanted to believe. It was there in her eyes. Time to close the sale, Virginia thought.

  “See for yourself,” she said. She motioned toward the open door of the storage closet. “The two portraits of Abigail Watkins are in there at the very back. Your mother embroidered your real names on a wall hanging and also the name of an offshore bank. There’s a string of numbers on each portrait. I think they go together to form the key to a numbered account. The money has been sitting there all these years waiting for someone to claim it.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Kate moved the gun in a jerky fashion. “Get the portrait that you say has my name on it.”

  “All right, but it’s big and heavy. I’m going to need Jessica’s help to drag it out here.”

  Kate hesitated and then she gave Jessica a shove.

  “Go on,” Kate ordered. “Get the picture. Try any tricks and I’ll shoot both of you. I can be blocks away before anyone comes to investigate.”

  Jessica steeled herself and fixed her attention on Virginia. “How do you want to do this?”

  “There’s not a lot of room in there,” Virginia said. “I’ll go first. You follow me. We can get the portrait out lengthwise if we each take an end.”

  “Right.”

  Virginia moved into the closet. With one last, nervous glance at Kate, Jessica followed her.

  Kate took a few steps closer to the closet, stopped and peered into the space. A strange excitement burned in her eyes.

  When Jessica reached the back of the closet, she stopped beside Virginia. They both looked at the covered portraits.

  “Which one?” Jessica asked.

  “I think the picture on the left is for Mary.” Virginia raised the drape partway. “Yes, this is it.”

  “Mary?” Kate said. “She named me Mary?”

  “Yes,” Virginia said. “She embroidered your name very clearly on the needlework in the picture. For my beautiful daughter, Mary Elaine.”

  “Let me see the picture,” Kate said. “Bring it out here. Hurry.”

  Virginia let the drape fall back over the picture. She looked at Jessica.

  “You go first,” she said. “I’ll take this end.”

  Jessica was mystified but some of her panic was giving way to a desperate hope. At the very least she seemed to comprehend that there was a plan of some sort. It was always good to have a plan, Virginia thought, even a weak one. The plan she had in mind was as weak as they came.

  She thought about her late-night drill and the mantra that went with it. Any object within reach is a weapon.

  Jessica hoisted one end of the painting. It was unframed and, therefore, not very heavy, but it was a fairly large canvas. Virginia thought it would look reasonably hefty or, at the very least, awkward to handle.

  She picked up her end of the picture. Together she and Jessica slow-walked the portrait sideways down the aisle of Visions pictures. The closer they got to the entrance, the less hopeful Jessica looked.

  She edged reluctantly through the doorway. Virginia maneuvered her end of the portrait at an angle as if trying to avoid hitting the doorframe.

  For a critical few seconds Kate’s view was partially obscured by the large picture.

  Gripping the back of the portrait with one hand, Virginia reached toward the pile of heavy glass paperweights and picked up the nearest one. It was about the size of a baseball, but the blazing yellow-and-green-glass sphere was thick and heavy.

  She held the paperweight out of sight behind the portrait.

  “Put the picture down and take off the drape,” Kate ordered.

  She still had a tight grip on the gun but her attention was riveted on the painting.

  Virginia looked at Jessica. “Let’s put it down on that workbench.”

  Together they maneuvered the picture to the workbench and positioned it upright, the bottom edge resting on the bench, so that Kate could view it.

  “All right, Jessica, you can let go of your end,” Virginia said. “I’ve got it.”

  Jessica released the canvas. Virginia angled her head slightly, trying to signal her to step back. Jessica obeyed, edging away from the workbench. Kate did not seem to notice. She was wholly focused on the covered painting now.

  “Hurry,” she said. “Take off the cover.”

  “Why don’t you do it?” Virginia suggested. “I need both hands to hold the painting upright.”

  She had done her best to set the stage. Now it was time for the dramatic reveal. In the art world, as in so many areas of life, presentation was everything.

  “Keep in mind that you are about to see your mother as she was in the last year of her life,” she continued. “She was still lovely, but she was also quite ill. The message that she left for you is on the framed embroidery that hangs on the wall beside her chair. This is your inheritance, Kate. Or should I call you Mary Elaine?”

  Kate reached out, grasped a corner of the dust cover and tore it aside. She gazed at the portrait of Abigail Watkins, evidently fascinated.

  “That’s her?” she said. “My birth mother?”

  “Yes,” Virginia said. “She was quite beautiful.”

  Kate seemed to shake off some emotion she did not know how to express. Her jaw tightened.

  “She looks weak. No wonder Zane was able to manipulate her. Where is the embroidery with the name of the bank and the account number?”

  “On the left. See the framed wall hanging? That’s your name at the top. The smaller stitching contains some of the information you need to claim your inheritance. The rest is on the second portrait.”

  Kate leaned forward eagerly, trying to read the lettering on the embroidery.

  It was, Virginia decided, the only chance that s
he and Jessica were going to get. She released her grip on the painting. It started to topple forward.

  Kate yelped in dismay. Instinctively, she reached out with her free hand to catch the canvas before it could fall to the floor.

  Virginia slammed the paperweight in a short arc, aiming for the side of Kate’s head.

  Sensing the sudden movement, Kate started to turn, trying to duck and scramble out of reach at the same time. Her hand tightened on the gun. She got off a shot just as the paperweight struck.

  The roar was deafening. Virginia was vaguely aware that the world had gone eerily silent and that something was terribly wrong with the right side of her waist, but there was no time to process the information. Not that she could think rationally, anyway. She was on fire with a wild, elemental fury.

  It was as if the anger and frustration generated by years of nightmares and anxiety attacks had been channeled into this moment of cathartic violence.

  Revenge was all now. She was no longer fighting only to defend Jessica and herself. She wanted to maim, punish and destroy the woman who had helped drag all the darkness of the past into the present. She did not care if she died in the battle. It only mattered that Kate Delbridge died with her.

  The paperweight had found its mark, but because Kate had been partially turned at the instant of impact, the heavy glass ball had struck only a glancing blow on the side of her head—hard enough to draw blood and send her staggering but not hard enough to take her down.

  She struggled to catch her balance and aim the gun at the same time. But by then Virginia was charging straight into her. The violent impact took them both down. Kate landed on the bottom.

  Virginia managed to get both hands around Kate’s forearm and wrench it aside just as the gun roared a second time. Kate screamed as Virginia smashed her arm again and again against the floor.

  Kate screeched and finally lost her grip on the weapon. The pistol skittered across the floor.

  “I’ve got it,” Jessica shouted. “I’ve got the gun.”

  Somewhere a door crashed open. Virginia heard footsteps pounding across the floor but she ignored them. Kate was clawing at her, yelling in a panic-stricken voice.