“Why my mother?”
“Why not your mother?” He spun her against the wall in a rush, the gun now in her face. “Don’t you know what she was?”
“No, Jon. Why don’t you tell me?” she whispered.
“She was Jezebel, right out of the Bible.” His voice dropped. “She was the most beautiful woman in the world. She was … everything.”
“She was a married woman with children.”
“She would have walked away from all of you, to be with me.”
“Did she tell you that, Jon?”
“Every time she looked at me, I knew.”
“So you killed her? You killed the woman who loved you? That makes no sense.”
“I didn’t plan on … that wasn’t supposed to …” He appeared suddenly confused. She used the moment to swing the door into his body, hoping to slam his gun hand into the jamb.
She missed.
“Bitch!” he screamed at her, and twisted her arm behind her back.
Her hand struggled to get the small handgun from the small of her back. It caught in the waistband of her jeans and she cursed loudly as he tried to pin her against the wall. His gun was in her face, his finger on the trigger.
From somewhere outside, a car door slammed.
His eyes darted to the front of the house; the brief hesitation was all she needed. She wrenched her hand free and jammed the gun into his chest. And fired. Once, and the gun dropped from his hand. Twice, and he slumped against her. Three times, and his body began to fall.
The door crashed open on the floor below, and she pushed Jonathan Wainwright to the floor.
“Cassie?”
“Rick? I’m here. I’m here …” Her voice caught in her throat. “I’m here …”
He took the steps two at a time, slowing only when he reached the top.
“Wainwright … ?”
She pointed to the floor.
“Are you all right?” He went to her, put his arms around her.
“I am now.” She wanted him to hold on, hold on and on and make this nightmare go away. But … “Lilly Carson is over there. She’s alive, but I don’t know for how much longer. I don’t know what he’s done to her.”
They moved farther into the bedroom and he snapped on the light. Lilly lay on her side, her dark hair spilled across the carpet. Cass’s knees went weak.
“Lilly.” Rick knelt down next to her. “Lilly, can you hear me?”
Slowly the woman opened her eyes and blinked against the light.
“We’re going to get help,” he promised. He reached for his phone just as cars pulled up outside. He looked at Cass. “Go tell them she’s here. Tell them to get an ambulance ASAP.”
Cass nodded, and willed her legs to move to the stairs.
“Up here,” she called down with a shaky voice. “She’s up here …”
Cass sat on the bottom step and watched the activity around her. Once again, the home she had shared with her family had turned into a crime scene.
Tasha Welsh arrived, as did the medical examiner. Both stopped to squeeze her shoulder and offer congratulations on their way up the steps. Cass couldn’t bring herself to go up with them, not right then. She still didn’t trust her legs to take her anywhere.
“How did you know?” Cass asked Rick when he sat down next to her and took her hand. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Annie said he’d take you back to where it all began. At first, I thought that meant the sanctuary, where he met your mother. When I got there and realized he hadn’t been there tonight, there was only one other place he could have taken you. This is where the killing began. I’m only sorry I didn’t catch on sooner.”
She sat as if still in shock.
“Not that you needed my help,” he told her. “You did just fine without me.”
“I’ve never killed anyone before,” she said simply. “I’m glad it was him.”
“I didn’t hear you say that.” Chief Denver approached the steps. “I need you to hand over your gun, Cass.”
She handed it to him without comment.
“You know the county will investigate, as they do every time an officer is involved in a shooting.”
She nodded.
“The shooting was totally justified,” Rick interjected. “He had a gun on her. He was going to kill her.”
“No doubt in my mind about that. No one’s questioning the justification, Agent Cisco. It’s just a formality.”
Denver knelt before Cass and studied her face. “Cassie, are you sure you’re all right?”
“I can’t believe it’s over. It’s over. He’s really dead?”
“He’s really dead,” he assured her.
“All of my life, I was haunted by what happened here.” She looked around the living room at furnishings that were at once both strange and familiar. “I thought about coming home that day, about him being here. I thought about stopping him in time.”
“Well, this time you did that.” Denver patted her knee and stood up. He went past them to the steps to the second floor.
She and Rick sat in silence for a long time. He looked to the top of the stairs, where the lights had all been turned on and brown stains marred the pale carpet.
Old blood, not new.
Her blood, not Wainwright’s.
“When you said you dreamed of stopping him, you meant that first time. Not this time, now. But then.”
She nodded.
“I wanted to save my parents. My sister.” Her eyes filled with tears, and Rick knew the dam was close to bursting.
“You were six years old.”
“I know that. I do. And I don’t blame myself for not saving them, Rick, I swear I don’t.” She swallowed hard, her bottom lip trembled. “I just wish I could have …”
“Come on, Cass, let’s go.” He stood and tugged at her hand. He wanted to put his arms around her and comfort her, make all the pain go away.
“Go where?”
“Anyplace but here.”
He parked on the street that she’d directed him to and turned off the ignition. He took off his shoes and socks while she did the same, then together they set off on foot, taking care to keep to the narrow boardwalk that led over the unlit dunes.
In silence they followed the sound of the ocean across the dark beach to the waterline, then walked a half mile up the beach, the tide swirling at their feet. Cass paused at the foot of the jetty.
“This might be a little tough to maneuver in the dark.”
“I have a flashlight in the car.”
“That’s the easy way.”
It was too dark to see her face, but he could almost feel her smile.
“Go on, then.” He took her hand.
They picked their way slowly through the smooth rocks until they reached the end. Cass lowered herself carefully to perch on the end of the jetty, and Rick did the same. He put both arms around her and pulled her close.
“I want you to know I would have ripped him apart with my bare hands if he’d hurt you,” he told her.
“I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”
He wanted to say that he thought it was best that she had been the one to kill Wainwright, but it was stating the obvious. Instead, he tightened his hold on her and just held on. When she turned to him, he leaned down and kissed her mouth. She tasted of tears, and she kissed him back, so he kissed her again. And again.
“I meant it when I said I felt as if I’ve known you for a long time,” he whispered.
“I thought that was just a line.”
“A line?” He frowned. “You thought that was a line? I don’t do lines.”
She laughed softly, and he tried to remember when he’d last heard her laugh.
“I swear—”
“Shhh. I was just teasing you. You looked so serious, so earnest for a moment.”
The clouds that had covered the face of the moon drifted aside, and light spread in rivers across the water. The tide lapped against th
e rocks, and she stuck out her foot to catch it.
“It’s really over, isn’t it, Rick?”
“It’s really over.”
She leaned against him and sighed.
“Do you want to go back to the Inn?” he asked.
“In a little while.”
“How do you feel, Cass?”
“I feel at peace, Rick. For the first time I can remember, I feel at peace.”
He couldn’t have asked for more than that.
Cass came out of the kitchen carrying a large spray bottle of water and a scraper, when she heard a car pull into the drive. She went to the dining room window and watched the driver of the Camaro get out. She tapped on the glass and pointed to the front door.
“Hey,” she said as she opened it.
“Hey, yourself.” He kissed her, then stepped inside and looked around. “What are you up to?”
“A lot can happen in three weeks.”
“I’m sorry. I was out of the country. I couldn’t get in touch. I figured rather than call and try to make excuses on the phone, I’d drive up here and make excuses in person.”
“Apology accepted.” She closed the door behind him. “You know, I never thought I’d step back inside this house, let alone ever consider living here. But it was the strangest thing, after that night … I don’t know, I just wanted to be here. I thought if I got rid of the …”
She motioned in the general direction of the second floor and the kitchen.
“You know, the telltale signs. If the walls and the floors were cleaned up, maybe it could be all right. I had someone come and clean out the bad stuff—take out the old carpets and clean the walls and the kitchen, and it’s as if all the bad karma is gone now.”
“I have to admit I was surprised when I stopped at the police station and Denver told me you were thinking about living here again.”
“Lucy wants to live in Gramma’s house, which she is totally entitled to do. She wants to move down here with her boys for the rest of the summer, once they finish up at camp. She isn’t going back to David. I could certainly stay there with them, but it’s going to be a bit crowded. I got to thinking that I have another place to live. I wasn’t sure I could do it, but once I came back, it seemed the ghosts were gone. The bad ones, anyway. I can live with the others. I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I want to try. I thought giving the rooms a new coat of paint would be a good place to start.”
“Well,” he said, looking around, “you have your work cut out for you. Fortunately for you, I’m an expert at home repairs—and a whiz at painting. Did I ever tell you that I paid for a summer in Vienna by painting houses? No? Well, remind me to tell you about that sometime. For now, I’m all yours. You just tell me where to start.”
“Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish, Agent Cisco.” She poked at him with the wallpaper scraper, then started up the steps to the second floor.
“Don’t you worry, Detective Burke.” He grinned and followed her up the stairs. “I’ve got two weeks’ vacation saved up. More than enough time to finish whatever it is you’ve got in mind.”
Epilogue
Regan lifted the last box and hoisted it against her chest before starting down the basement steps. She figured her father’s old papers had rested quite comfortably in the basement for all these years, they could remain there for a few more. She’d hoped to get more sorted out, but she was running out of time. She had promised her editor a first draft of the book about the Bayside Strangler in ten weeks. She’d have to go through the remaining boxes another time—right now, they were proving to be a distraction.
She slid the box onto the storage shelf and turned to go back up the steps, when her foot caught on the edge of a smaller box that must have fallen from a nearby shelf. She tripped over it and landed on her hands and knees.
“Damn.”
She picked herself up and leaned over to lift the box. The bottom, having apparently spent too much time on the damp basement floor, fell out, spilling its contents.
“Shit,” she muttered, and knelt down to gather the papers that littered the floor.
She scooped them together, stuffing them back into the file they’d slid from, then she realized what she was looking at.
She took the file to the light, and read the name. Puzzled, she gathered the rest of the papers and carried them upstairs, where she deposited them on the top of her desk.
Old elementary school report cards, all bearing the name of Edward Kroll.
Odd …
The doorbell rang and she left the file on the desk while she went to the front hall. She opened the door, to find Mitch Peyton on the other side.
“You’re late,” she said. “I thought you’d be here a couple of hours ago.”
“Oh, sorry. I got caught in traffic on I-95. Is now a bad time?”
“No, it’s not a bad time. Come in.” She stepped aside to permit him to enter. “I have the items you were looking for, they’re all ready for you.”
“I can’t believe I left all those reports here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
They went into the office and she handed him a fat brown envelope. “Everything’s in here.”
“Thanks, Regan. I appreciate it.”
His gaze fell onto the papers that were stacked upon the desk. “You started the book already?”
She nodded. “I did, but that file isn’t part of it. I don’t know what that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I found a box downstairs that held some old report cards. Look, they’re all for someone named Edward Kroll, who, back in the forties, attended St. John the Baptist Elementary School in Sayreville, Illinois.”
“Who’s Edward Kroll?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never heard the name before.” With a finger, she drew out first one, then another of the report cards. “I can’t imagine why my father would have had them.”
“Maybe Kroll was someone your dad was investigating.”
“Maybe.” She picked up one of the report cards and read a written comment aloud. “’Eddie is an asset to the class. He has an aptitude for math, is inquisitive, and is an excellent reader.’ Signed by Sister Mary Matthew.” She flipped the card over. “Second grade.”
“Well, his name is sure to turn up again, if your father was interested in him enough to keep his report cards from grade school.”
“That’s what I thought, too. I’m sure there must be other files. But …” She dropped the report card on the desk.
“Right. With your dad’s filing system, who knows where they might be.”
“Same old story.” She laughed. “It certainly makes going through his papers an adventure. I never know what I’m going to find. Sometimes I wonder if he didn’t plan it that way, just to keep me intrigued.”
“I guess I’ll get this to my car.” Mitch patted the envelope and headed for the door. “Thanks again, Regan. I appreciate it. I don’t think my boss would be too happy if he knew I’d left some of my investigative reports here.”
She walked him to the door, and watched him open the trunk of his car. He dropped the envelope in, then walked to the driver’s side.
Closing the front door, Regan wished she could think of something to say that would bring him back inside, if only for a while. She’d been thinking a lot lately that the house seemed so quiet, so empty, since the Strangler case had been wrapped up and Mitch had returned to Maryland, and she was once again alone.
The doorbell rang.
Wondering what Mitch could have forgotten, Regan opened the door.
He stood there, a dark blue blazer slung over his shoulder.
“I was just wondering—now that we have work completely out of the way—if you’d like to go out to dinner with me. If you don’t have other plans for tonight, that is.”
“You mean, like a date?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “Like a date.”
“Oh.” She smiled, waved him inside, and clo
sed the door behind him. “Give me a minute to change.”
“You don’t have to change. You look perfect.”
“Well, I’ll need my keys …” She disappeared into her office and returned with her handbag.
“So,” she said as they walked to the door, “what did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking about this Mexican place outside of Princeton. I had dinner there one night and thought maybe you’d like it. They have one of those sort of traveling trios that roam around the restaurant, singing to the customers.”
“I know the place. It’s one of my favorites, actually.” She locked the door after they both stepped outside.
“Mitch.” She grabbed his arm when they were halfway to the car. “Did you really forget to take those files?”
“Of course not.” He grinned. “I made copies of a few reports and left them on the desk. You don’t really think I’d leave my files someplace, do you?”
“I thought it would be out of character.”
“I just wanted an excuse to come see you.”
“I’m glad you did. I’ve been dying to tell you about this old case I found in the bottom desk drawer last week …”
By Mariah Stewart
(published by The Random House Publishing Group)
DEAD END
DEAD CERTAIN
DEAD EVEN
DEAD WRONG
UNTIL DARK
THE PRESIDENT’S DAUGHTER
“Mariah Stewart is fast becoming a brand-name author.”
—Romantic Times
Praise for Mariah Stewart’s Dead Trilogy
DEAD WRONG
“Fast-paced and intricately plotted … [a] chilling, creative tale … Stewart excels in writing romantic suspense.”
—Library Journal
“Mystery master Stewart kicks off her new interconnected trilogy with a bang. Nail-biting suspense and emotional complexity make this launch irresistible.”
—Romantic Times ( 1⁄2)
DEAD CERTAIN
“Stewart’s Dead trilogy crackles with danger and suspense. Great characterization and gripping drama make Stewart’s books hot tickets.”
Cold Truth Page 30
