by Jenna Ryan
Reaching down, Tobias drew her upward. “They’re dead, Mary. It’s over. You’ve killed Margaret and those who led you to her. Be happy now. You’ve succeeded.”
“I am happy,” she shouted. “Of course, I am, you old fool. It just wasn’t right, is all. They—she didn’t do it right.”
“Nevertheless, it’s done.” As he spoke, Tobias wrapped her cloak around her thin shoulders. “Margaret Truesdale is gone. You’re number one now. You can relax at last, Mary. Relax and start to heal.”
Sam saw her head come up, her chin jut at a regal angle. “Don’t be an ass, Tobias,” she said haughtily. “You’re the one who needs to heal. You and your crazy schemes to undermine my plans. Ha! You thought you could fool me, didn’t you? But I’m the best. I’ve always been the best, and soon the world will know it. I’ll make them rewrite The Three Fates, and do it my way, the proper way. We’ll shoot around Margaret. I’ll take her place, the way I was supposed to originally. I’ll play both parts. Or they can make it The Two Fates. Yes, omit Margaret entirely. Let her crawl into hiding with her gambler husband. Dorian’s got enough clout to keep them under a rock for years. Forever, maybe.” She blinked owlishly at Tobias as he began to lead her out. “Did I ever mention my friend Dorian Hart? I’ve known him for years. I think he likes me. He says a dame with balls is hard to find. He did, Tobias, he really did. Are we going to do a retake now or not?”
“Tomorrow,” Tobias assured her. “Open the door,” he said to some person Sam couldn’t see.
She waited until they’d exited the living room before cautiously raising her head. “Aidan?” she whispered, fearful that he alone had been hit. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” He sounded disgruntled, a good sign, she thought with a relieved grin.
The grin faded as her anxious eyes fell on the woman in front of her. “Margaret?” she asked tentatively.
The woman stirred. “I’m fine, dear, just a bit creaky. Aidan, do you think you could…Thank you. Are we all intact? Oh, no, Aidan, Sam, don’t go there. She’ll see you.”
But Aidan had already drawn Sam to her feet and started for the door. Just inside, looking guilty and conspicuous, stood Alistair Blue, shoulders hunched as his sullen gaze darted from Tobias and Mary on the sidewalk to the pair in the hall.
“The old goat made me do it,” he defended, pouting.
Sam watched Mary ‘being led away by a solicitous Tobias and set her hand on the door frame. “What did he make you do, Alistair?” she asked, her tone distracted.
“Scare you at first, then when Mary started in with her own scare tactics, follow you and make sure none of them backfired.” His hands balled in defense of his actions. “No one wanted you dead, you know. Granddad was just being an old fusspot. He said my broken brake line tactics were too rough that first time, but I knew you’d bail out. And Mary didn’t really want you dead, either, did she? You had to find Margaret for her. So you see, everything was under control. Well, until Granddad got sloppy and Mary got hold of the paper where he’d written how to get to Anthea’s place.”
A right cross to the jaw sent him staggering into the papered wall. Mouth gaping, he slid down until he was seated straight-legged on the floor. Eyes wide and unbelieving, he stared at Aidan who was rubbing his knuckles.
“You’re nuts,” he said, his tone awed. Then he scrambled to his feet, backed away and shouted, “My God, you’re a bigger loon than Mary Lamont.” Rounding his shoulders, he dismissed them both. “Forget it. I’m outta here. If he asks, tell my grandfather I’ve gone to Arizona. Better rattlesnakes and scorpions to the weirdos in this phony town.”
Sam watched him half swagger, half scurry down the sidewalk, then she shifted her attention to Tobias who was in the process of bundling Mary into a car across the street.
She touched the hand Aidan had laid across her shoulders. “Should we follow them?”
He kissed her temple, a small but infinitely tender gesture. “He’ll take her to Oakhaven. I think it’s what he wanted to do from the start.”
“But she murdered Anthea Pennant And Randy Paliss. She needs more than Oakhaven.”
“John’s no fool,” he assured her. “She won’t be there for long. The story’s bound to break wide open. He didn’t want that, but he’ll deal with it. If we both call in a few favors, maybe we can keep Oakhaven from coming out of this too badly.” He turned her gently to face him. “I do have a question for you, though.”
She hesitated, then because she was so happy that he was alive, hooked her arms around his neck. “Shoot, Brodie.”
His green eyes narrowed in mistrust. “What the hell just happened here?”
“THE BULLETS WERE BLANKS,” Margaret explained, though not till forty minutes and several arrivals later. “Tobias must have replaced the real bullets with fakes so she’d believe she killed us. You see, I knew Mary was a crack shot, and the way that gun was pointed, she couldn’t have missed me. So I did what any actress responding to her cue would have done. I ‘died.’ I’m so pleased, dear,” she added to Sam, “that you’re such a quick study. It’s in your blood. You should consider acting. You, as well, Aidan. Matters could have gotten much uglier had we not reacted as we did. And of course, Tobias helped greatly by turning down the lights. No blood is a sure sign of no death where gunshot wounds are concerned.”
“Too damned close if you ask me,” Stan grumbled from the sofa.
He’d shown up shortly after Tobias had driven Mary away, squealing his BMW to a halt at the curb. Barely in Park, he’d piled out along with Freddie, Leo and a tipsy Thurman.
“Ah, Glenlivet,” the actor had exclaimed after staring goggle-eyed at Margaret for five minutes. “Don’t mind me, people.”
Now, on the sidelines of the tearful reunion, Sam leaned her back to Aidan’s front and drank in the happy scene. Margaret had made her revelation about the bullets, but she and Aidan had had it all figured out anyway—or most of it at any rate.
“Tobias really does love Mary, poor man,” Margaret sympathized, patting Sam’s cheek en route to the old-fashioned radio. She switched it on, gave the rounded top a thump with her palm and heaved a sad sigh. “Perhaps he was the father of her child. Ah, well, I suppose we’ll never know, will we? What were you saying earlier, Sam?”
“Asking actually,” she said, blushing a little at the inanity of her question. “I was just wondering who, uh, was locked in the attic in The Three Fates.”
Margaret smiled. “Oh, that. It was our leader. Our mentor, if you prefer. The idea was that we all knew he held the key to great powers and each of us wanted that key. But it was really nothing more than a test on his part. I was going to pass. Mary was going to fail. And Anthea, who was to have died midpicture, was going to remain a question mark.”
“That was the revised version,” Stan put in gruffly. “Originally, their prisoner was supposed to die along with Margaret and Anthea. Only Mary was to have survived and she was going to pretend to be Margaret’s character.”
“It would have made for an interesting ending,” Aidan remarked. The hand circling Sam’s waist stroked her midriff in such a natural, easy fashion that it felt suspiciously like a gesture of affection. Sam smiled and settled more securely into him.
Her gaze on Stan across the room must have transmitted a silent message for he held his glass of sherry up to her and offered a brief acknowledging smile. Her family ties still firmly intact, Sam nodded at her blood grandfather, then placed him into the same mental niche as Margaret. Blood, to her, was far from being the only tie that binds.
The radio crackled as the volume came up. The announcer’s voice proclaimed two hours of comedy, drama and science fiction with “Suspense Theatre,” “X Minus One,” “The Shadow” and “The Jack Benny Show.”
“Nostalgia,” Freddie said, hugging her old friend. “I love it.”
As Margaret turned to beam at the young pair, Aidan arched a polite inquiring brow. “Tell me, Margaret. Did your husband ever pay Doria
n Hart the money he owed?”
The old radio broadcast music played above the storm. Margaret dipped her head. “Not all of it, I’m afraid. It was a very large sum with high interest. We did try, but we became fearful of giving ourselves away.”
“Fear not, fair lady,” Thurman called from the bar. “Your old friends will help you pay your debt. We’d have done it forty years ago if you’d let us. But then we males have pride, not to mention egos the size of New York. No doubt Frank wouldn’t have heard of it”
“No doubt,” Aidan murmured. A pair of headlights swept ghostly white through the room. Most of the occupants huddled around the radio chatting didn’t notice. “Looks like more company,” he observed.
“Or Margaret’s husband,” Sam suggested.
Thirty seconds later, the doorbell rang. Aidan frowned into the shadows to their left. “What now, I wonder?”
Curious, Sam took his hand and approached the door. The dark-haired man who stood there dripping on the welcome mat was the same one she’d banged into at the cemetery.
“It’s, uh, Jimmy Visey,” Margaret announced, her trepidation apparent. “Dorian Hart’s grandson. I—Come in, won’t you, Jimmy?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said a female behind him. Pushing past the man’s arm, Evelyn Mesmyr marched in and shook her umbrella vigorously. “Don’t look so shell-shocked,” she said to Margaret. “He isn’t here to collect.”
“You’re not?” Sam echoed, surprised.
Jimmy shook his head. “It’s an old debt, more than paid to my satisfaction. Grandfather’s very old, and unfortunately very sick. He feels, and so do I, responsible to a degree for Mary Lamont’s mental condition. That in turn led to the attack on Miss Truesdale and yourselves. We’re not murderers in my family, Ms. Giancarlo. We do only what we must when we must.”
“I knew that, of course,” Evelyn remarked, checking her makeup in the hall mirror. “So when Mr. Hart contacted me via Jimmy here, I figured it couldn’t hurt to try and help them track Mary down.”
“Track Mary down?” Sam repeated. When Margaret and Aidan both gave her uncomprehending looks, she summoned a small smile and said, “Would someone mind explaining what’s going on here, please?”
Jimmy dipped his head. “Yes, I’m sure you must all be rather confused at this stage. The straight truth is that my grandfather, and laterally myself, as well, wanted to insure that Mary was returned to Oakhaven unharmed. Ms. Mesmyr and I followed her butler here tonight. By the way, Ms. Giancarlo, it was me who bugged your home. I’m sorry, but Grandfather was insistent. He wanted Mary caught before she could cause any real trouble. We arrived, I regret to say, too late to save Anthea Pennant’s life and, too late, as well, to capture Mary.”
“But why?” Sam asked.
“Because my grandfather wants her safe. He also wants to see her again before he dies. I must admit, I’m rather curious myself, in light of what he told me recently.”
“Which was?” Aidan asked when no one else did.
Jimmy’s hazel eyes glinted. “Apparently Mary’s child, the one everybody, including she believed had been stillborn, was very much alive after birth. My grandfather, er, took her. He’d always wanted a child. He would have wanted Mary if it hadn’t been for her consuming hatred of you, Miss Truesdale. So, as I said, he took the child and paid the doctors to tell her it had been stillborn.”
“Terrific doctors,” Sam muttered. Aidan nudged her into silence and Jimmy continued.
“That was the point when her decline into madness became apparent. I suppose, now, being so close to his Maker, whatever guilt Grandfather felt over that act has grown to rather large proportions in his conscience. He says it should end, now, all of it. Your husband’s debt is canceled, Miss Trues-dale, and Mary will be well taken care of.”
“Mary’s child was also your grandfather’s child then,” Ai-dan clarified. “He didn’t just take it because he wanted an heir.”
“Not at all,” Jimmy assured. “The baby’s name was Maria. She was my mother. I’m Mary Lamont’s grandson.”
“IT GETS CURIOUSER and curiouser all the time, don’t you think?”
A quick smile crossed Sam’s mouth as Aidan replied, “I’m trying not to think at all right now.”
The others were well out of earshot. For all intents and purposes Sam and Aidan were alone in their little corner of Margaret’s living room.
“What?” he asked at her stare.
“Nothing. Just looking. I thought you were hurt earlier. I’m glad you weren’t.”
“Yes, well, a similar thought crossed my mind.” His thumbs slid upward to caress her collarbone. “It was the longest few minutes of my life.”
Her gaze steady, she asked, “Long enough to exorcise your demons?”
He gave his head a slight shake. “I don’t know, Sam. It scares the hell out of me to love someone as much as I love you. I’m not sure I’m up to the responsibility.”
The fear and tension in her mind might never have existed so swiftly did they evaporate. A delighted smile lit her face. “An interesting choice of words, Brodie. I don’t think I’ve ever been called a responsibility before. A liability once or twice when I was a bratty kid, but otherwise I’ve strived for independence. I think—” she snuggled suggestively closer, drawing his forehead to hers “—that you should say to hell with your reservations and admit that you’re crazy about me.”
She saw him fight his amusement. Fight and lose. “All right, I give up. I’m crazy about you. Are you happy now?”
“I will be.” She rocked her hips into his more rigid ones and had the satisfaction of hearing his quick hiss of reaction. She glanced at the gathering on the far side of the room. “I think we can leave here, now, don’t you? I love you, you love me—and they’ll never miss us. I vote we make a toast to our happiness, and theirs, at your place.”
“Why mine?”
Eyes sparkling, she raised challenging brows. “Because I don’t have any elderberry wine, that’s why.” And before he could respond, she set her hungry mouth on his.
Epilogue
She glided through the lavish common rooms at Oakhaven like a queen, elegant and regal. A celebrity. A star. Her comeback was imminent, her place in Hollywood history assured. There was that one nagging concern, of course, but she could deal with it. She’d dealt with far worse in her life, had she not?
They were waiting for her in the lobby, half a dozen of them at least. Well, she was famous, after all. She deserved the very best protection. And there were so many unstable people on the loose these days.
In her mind, she played The Three Fates to its conclusion. A bit cloudy, but her character had survived. It always did. It always would.
The voices on the outside jarred but didn’t intrude. She would let nothing intrude on the grand finale.
“This way, Mary,” an elderly man dressed like a butler bade her. “Doctor?”
“The papers will be forwarded, Tobias. Take care of her, gentlemen.”
A white-suited attendant placed her arms into a ridiculous jacket with sleeves that went on forever. She sighed. The indignities one had to suffer for a role. He tied the sleeves behind her and stood back.
“Ready, Lieutenant.”
“Take her out”
Mary blinked, roused. “Take who out? Not me, surely. That’s not in the script, young man. Who do you think you are? You can’t ad-lib. I won’t allow it. I wouldn’t let Mary do it. Why should I let you?”
The lieutenant’s brows went up. “Excuse me, ma’am?”
“It’s all right,” John Christian promised. “These men will take good care of you.” To the lieutenant, he added, “She’s a little confused.”
Her head came up at an imperious angle. “I am” not confused. And they had better take care of me. I’m a priceless commodity. Ask anyone at the studio. No one’s as valuable as me.”
The lieutenant shuffled his feet. “Yes, well, let’s go then, Ms. Lamont.”
She stopped dead, nostrils flared, chin thrust out in anger. “How dare you call me that, young man.”
“Call you what?”
“That name. I despise that name. Despise it, do you hear me? I’ll eradicate it one day, see if I don’t.”
“What’s she talking about, Doc?”
“Don’t ask him,” she snapped. “Ask me. What I’m talking about is that name. I am not Mary Lamont. My name is, and always has been, Margaret Truesdale.”
eISBN 978-14592-6146-4
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Copyright © 1998 by Jacqueline Goff
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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