Arousing Suspicions

by Marianne Stillings

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she swiped them away angrily, as though they were burning her flesh. Taking another breath, she raised the barrel of the gun to Tabitha’s chest.

  “I expected to inherit the company,” she choked. “I adored my father, and I know he loved me. But he never saw me, saw what I did, the contributions I made. He only saw the pampered, beautiful trophy daughter he had created. That truth came home to me the day he died and I discovered he’d left everything to Peter. It was as though I’d literally been stabbed in the back.”

  Tabitha tried not to look at the gun, but her eyes kept drifting down to it, wishing it would point in some other direction.

  “So you decided to eliminate Peter, one way or the other.”

  Zoey sniffed, then blotted her nose on her sleeve.

  “Killing Peter outright would have raised all kinds of suspicions. I tried to get him to step down, convince him I was better suited to run the company. He could still party on…but no. No, he decided it might be fun to stand at the helm of my father’s empire, the empire I should have inherited.”

  Tabitha glanced around the room. The door through which they’d entered stood open. Behind her, there was another door, but who knew where that led…right into a closet, for all she knew. The door next to the bed was probably a private bathroom. Of course, there was always the broken window.

  “…slipped things into his drinks and food to make him sick, give him nightmares, sleepless nights,” Zoey was saying. She kept talking, as though she needed to tell somebody the whole sordid tale. She’d been holding all this in for a year, and now she literally had a captive audience. She could unburden herself with impunity, since she probably figured Tabitha would be too dead to pass the information along.

  “I tried to convince him it was the stress of taking over the family fortune, but instead of breaking him, it made him stronger. He worked harder, got better at running things. Imagine that! Who would have guessed my brother even had a spine, let alone known how to straighten it?”

  She paced the room for a moment, then turned again to Tabitha.

  “It started getting really good when he found the shoe. He was utterly convinced he’d killed her.”

  Tabitha’s pulse jumped. “Iris Reynaud’s shoe, from the Conservatory of Flowers.”

  Zoey moved to the window, drew the heavy curtain aside with the barrel of the gun, and looked out into the darkness. “From then on, I began getting more creative, making sure he had blood on his hands or clothes when he woke up. I made certain he saw the newspaper articles about that old bum in the alley and the guy in the fishing boat. I thought he’d crack any second, but he never did. Sit,” she ordered suddenly. “There,” she said, gesturing with the gun to a plush chair in front of the massive flagstone fireplace that took up the entire far wall of the bedroom.

  Never taking her eyes from the gun, Tabitha eased her trembling body into the chair. As soon as she’d settled in, Zoey moved to the desk by the broken window, opened a drawer, and with a gloved hand removed a long, thin blade.

  “My brother uses this as a letter opener,” she said with a laugh. “It has his prints all over it.”

  “Why’d you come to my house that day, Zoey?”

  “So you’d follow me, get my license, and give it to the police. Hell, I gave you every clue, practically drew you a map.”

  Tabitha raised her chin. “You wanted me to get your license number. Wanted me to give it to the police so they’d find Peter.”

  “Exactly. I drove away slowly enough for you to get my license number, but when nobody put two and two together, I decided to move things along a little more quickly. I think the professionals refer to it as escalating.”

  Tabitha tried to get a line on Zoey, a weakness, something she could use against her. Looking her in the eye, she said, “Where is your humanity, Zoey? Even people who are bad to the bone have some redeeming qualities.”

  “Maybe I used to,” she said on a high-pitched sigh. “A long time ago, but I lost it somewhere along the line, and I don’t care to get it back. When we were kids, I loved Peter. I guess I still do, but there are more important things in life than love. Love never got me anywhere, now, did it? Only money. Only power. And one day I decided I’d do anything to have as much of both as I could get.”

  “And now you think killing me will bring all this to an end. They’ll find me here, assume Peter murdered me, and you’ll get everything.”

  Instead of answering, Zoey glanced at her watch.

  “Look, it’s been lovely chatting with you, but it’s getting late. I need to kill you so I can leave. When the servants arrive in the morning, they’ll find your dead body on my brother’s bedroom floor, your blood on his hands.” She glanced at Peter’s prone form. “He should be awake by then. He’ll think he actually killed you, so I’m sure he’ll go willingly—”

  “No, Zoey, I won’t.”

  Tabitha spun around in her chair in time to see Peter sit up on the bed, a revolver in his hand, rage in his eyes.

  As Zoey stared in shock at her brother, Tabitha leapt out of the chair and bolted for the open bedroom door, slamming the light switch as she ran, plunging the room into darkness.

  The sound of a gun blast made her cover her ears and scream as the wood in the doorjamb next to her face splintered into a thousand pieces. Another shot exploded behind her, but she didn’t stop to see who’d fired it or whether it had found its mark. She just kept running.

  Nate finished calling for backup and shoved his cell phone into its holster on his belt. Two more shots exploded from somewhere upstairs. Running for the wide staircase, he and Ethan reached the bottom step at the same time. Without so much as glancing at each other, weapons drawn, they started up the stairs, taking two at a time.

  As Nate reached the top step a little ahead of his brother, a shadow appeared in the darkened bedroom doorway about ten feet down the hall to his right. He caught a glint, and realized the figure in the doorway was armed.

  “Police!” he yelled. Clutching his .38 in both hands, he raised it straight in front of him. “Drop your weapon!”

  His eyes glued on the figure in the doorway, he began to inch forward when he felt fingers coil hard around his collar. Ethan jerked him off balance, then stepped in front of him.

  From the shadows at the opposite end of the hallway, a shot exploded, and a split second later, Ethan lurched against Nate’s shoulder, knocking him down, trapping Nate’s gun hand between them.

  Another shot from the shadowy hallway went wide. Ethan raised his arm and squeezed off a shot, then slumped against Nate.

  As Nate wrestled himself out from under his brother and stood, the figure in the doorway stepped into the hall—Peter O’Hara. A gun dangled loosely from his limp arm, a wash of red blood smeared his shoulder. His face was pale and haggard as he slid to the carpet.

  “Zoey. The back stairway,” he managed. Raising his arm, he pointed down the hall. “There.”

  Nate spun to face his brother.

  “Goddammit!” he shouted, grabbing Ethan by the arm, yanking him up, shoving his back against the wall. “What in the hell were you doing—”

  Instead of glaring back at him, Ethan blinked slowly, his eyes gone dull and sleepy. As Nate watched, Ethan’s lips curved into a smile, then faded as his legs seemed to go out from under him.

  Nate caught Ethan in his arms just before his body hit the landing. Easing his brother onto the rug, he drew his hand away and realized it was sticky with blood.

  “Ethan? Shit, no…God, what…”

  Ethan’s eyes pinched opened. “You didn’t see her. I did.”

  “So you stepped in front of me to take a bullet, you stupid son of a bitch! Why?”

  His voice harsh, his breathing labored, he whispered, “You’re…my brother.”

  The two men stared at each other for a long moment, then Nate blinked.

  “I’ve gotta go,” he rasped. “You gonna be okay?”

 
“Sorry, pal. I’ll live.”

  Nate squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “Asshole,” he choked.

  “Prick.”

  On the floor in front of the bedroom doorway, O’Hara let out a long moan.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Ethan said. With a flick of his gaze down the hall, he bit out, “Go get that bitch for me, will you?”

  Tabitha knew she had a good head start, but the house was so dark, she was losing valuable time just trying to figure out where she was and not bump into any of the furniture—or Zoey’s gun.

  Having been brought onto the estate inside the trunk of a car put her at a disadvantage. She hadn’t seen the road, landscape, or even what the house looked like until she’d walked into the back of the house from the garage.

  After fleeing Peter’s bedroom, it had been just pure dumb luck that she’d found a staircase leading down to what appeared to be a workroom just off the kitchen.

  Keeping low, she crept along as quickly as she dared, heading toward what appeared to be a door. Light coming from somewhere else in the house eased the shadows a little, helping her find her way. All around her it was deathly quiet; any noise she made could bring Zoey down on her in an instant.

  When she reached the door, she turned the handle and opened it only as far as she needed to inch through, then silently closed it behind her.

  She stood on some kind of deck surrounded by gigantic redwoods. The already dark grounds were made even darker by the branches swaying high overhead and the dense fog that lay on the earth like a damp blanket. Faint moonlight tried to shine through the fog, but it was a losing battle.

  A few feet away from the deck, she caught sight of a lighted path that led away from the house and into what looked like a garden, but beyond that the mist obscured everything. She could be running into an open field, or off a cliff.

  She knew what lay behind her; what lay ahead couldn’t be any worse.

  As she plunged into the fog, she heard the door through which she’d just exited being flung open. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes were met with only gray mist.

  She quickened her pace, keeping her attention focused on her feet, hoping the brick pathway would lead to some kind of safety.

  She considered trying to make her way back to the garage to get a car, but it was unlikely any of the cars had their keys conveniently dangling in the ignition. Besides, that was something Zoey would probably anticipate. Best steer clear of the garage.

  As she stumbled her way along, her eyes grew used to the darkness. Throwing another glance over her shoulder, she left the path and slid behind the trunk of an enormous redwood, flattening herself against its rough trunk.

  Slowly, she eased herself down into a crouch as far as she could, held her breath, and listened.

  Nothing. Zoey must be doing the same thing.

  It was so cold, she was afraid her teeth would begin to chatter and she’d give herself away. Rubbing her arms, she tried to warm up a little, but it was no use. The mist dampened her hair, her skin. Her clothing felt wet and uncomfortable.

  Shifting her position a little, she felt something in her front pocket dig into her thigh. What in the world…

  She extended her leg, then shoved her hand deep inside until her fingers curled around the cell phone Nate had given her.

  My God, she’d forgotten all about the damned thing! She’d turned it off for class and had absently stuck it in her pocket.

  Her heart raced for a moment, then hit a wall.

  Okay, she had a cell phone, but if she turned it on, it would make that little musical noise, which would tell Zoey exactly where she was. There must be some way to mute it. Oh, why hadn’t she read the whole owner’s manual Nate had left her? She’d only read enough to learn how to make calls. Well, the minute she got home, she was going to dig that thing out of her junk drawer and read the whole damn thing!

  The snap of a twig a few feet away made her heart jump. She wasn’t wearing white, but her jade-colored top was light enough to be seen in the fog, and Zoey was dressed all in black, rendering her nearly invisible.

  She looked around. Eerie shapes, tree branches dipping low to the ground, rocks, thorny bushes, all became barriers to her freedom.

  In the distance she could hear the sounds of waves crashing hard against the shore, and the mist had a briny snap to it. She couldn’t be too far away from the beach. Maybe the hillside rolled gently down to the shoreline. That would be good. Once she hit the wet sand she could run until she came to another house.

  But if the estate stood on a cliff, she was trapped.

  “Tabitha-a-a-a,” Zoey’s voice taunted her from a few yards away. Dammit. She was much nearer than Tabitha had anticipated. Staying put was the only option now until Zoey either moved off in another direction or walked by.

  Footsteps in the dark, receding, it seemed, in the opposite direction.

  She shivered, but whether it was from the cold or sheer terror, she couldn’t have said.

  Clutching the cell phone, she decided to risk turning it on. Even though it might do that little musical start-up tune, at least it would be on, and she could punch the autodial and talk to Nate one last time…just in case Zoey got off a lucky shot.

  But first she needed to put as much distance between her and Zoey’s gun as possible.

  Easing herself into a standing position, she backed away from the tree and headed toward the sound of the ocean.

  As soon as she got far enough away, she flipped open the phone. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the button. Musical notes trilled loud and long, sounding like a tinny version of the San Francisco Philharmonic on opening night.

  Damn. Tabitha rolled her lips together. Zoey had to have heard that, but if she moved quickly enough, she could be somewhere else by the time the woman reached this spot.

  She stepped back, her goal still the shoreline and as fast a getaway as she could manage. As she rounded a large, leafy fern, she skidded to a halt.

  “Don’t you just love cell phones?” Zoey cooed. The gun she held was pointed straight at Tabitha’s heart. “You know, you can download all kinds of tunes for them, even dirges, I’ll bet. I think a dirge would come in pretty handy right about now, don’t you?”

  Tabitha let her arms drop to her sides. There was nowhere left to run, and they both knew it.

  “Change of plans, Tabitha,” Zoey said, moving quickly forward. “Unexpected company. Instead of killing you, I need you as a hostage. C’mon.” She gestured with the barrel of her gun. “This way.”

  Tabitha felt for the button on the phone, the button that would send a call to Nate. Wherever he was, he’d be too late to help her, but at least he’d be able to hear what was going on and know she’d gone down fighting.

  She pressed the button. A moment passed, then another, then, from the mist behind Zoey, the twinkling sounds of “Take Another Little Piece of My Heart” filled the air.

  Zoey turned in the direction of the music and fired.

  Tabitha curled her fingers around her cell phone and leapt forward, slamming Zoey in the temple as hard as she could.

  The woman screamed and fell to her knees. A moment later, Nate emerged from the fog, grabbed Zoey’s arm, and flipped her onto her stomach. Pressing his knee into her back, he relieved her of her weapon. From his belt he yanked off a pair of handcuffs and snapped them first on one wrist, then the other.

  Out of the mist, uniformed men with flash-lights swarmed the area. Floodlights came on, washing the darkness with bright light. Blinking rapidly, Tabitha covered her eyes and turned her head away.

  When she looked back, Nate had risen to his feet and was coming toward her. Before she could move, his arms were around her, his mouth on hers, his fingers gliding through her damp hair.

  Grabbing her shoulders, he held her away from him and looked her up and down. “Tell me you’re all right.” His breath was gone; he was panting, sounding like he’d just run a thousand miles and more.

  Tabitha
swallowed. “‘T-take Another Little Piece of My Heart?’” she choked as tears ran down her cheeks. “When I call you, that’s what plays?”

  He adjusted his glasses. “Only because I couldn’t find a download for ‘Witchy Woman’ or ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic.’”

  She laughed, and started to say something, but no words came out.

  Then she looked up at him, at his smudged face, his rumpled hair, his glasses, his grin, and she threw herself into his arms. As he wrapped his arms around her and placed his cheek against her hair, she sobbed, “I love you! I love you! Oh, Nate. I should have told you before, but I…I…I—”

  “Tabby, sweetheart,” he soothed. “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do!” she cried. “I love you. I’ve loved you for days and days, but I didn’t know how to tell you. I was so afraid—”

  “It’s okay. Everything’s okay now. You’re just in shock—”

  “No, I’m not!” she yelped, lifting her head. “I love you. I love that you put a song on your cell phone just for me!”

  He chuckled, then lifted her face with his knuckle. His eyes grew serious. “Tell me the truth. Are you really all right? I’m so sorry about the trunk, Tabby. It must have been—”

  “I loved being in the trunk,” she sobbed, grabbing a fistful of his shirt in her fingers. Hot tears ran down her cheeks and into her mouth and under her chin, but she didn’t care. “I fucking loved it! I finally dealt with the last three decades of pain and remorse. I kicked my way out of the trunk this time, Nate.” The air all gone from her lungs, she squeaked softly, “I didn’t go to sleep and not wake up. Ellie would be so proud of me. I would have gotten away, too, but Zoey—”

  “Tabby,” Nate said, his voice warm and mellow. “Marry me. Please. I know it’s kind of soon, but I can’t imagine loving anyone else the way I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to figure you the hell out. Please don’t deny me the opportunity. Marry me.”

  Her arms slid around his waist, and she lay her head on his shoulder. Closing her eyes, she squeaked, “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  As the ambulance carrying a patched-up but definitely alive Ethan headed down the long drive, Tabitha and Nate stood in the quiet of the mists and shadows, listening to the waves crash against the shore somewhere over the horizon.