At the time, Lily had dismissed the accusations as ridiculous. And they were.
Weren’t they?
Frowning, she watched the snow collect on the windowsill. From the beginning, Quinn and Paul had insisted that Miriam was alive.
But Quinn and Paul had lied about everything.
Thoughts racing, Lily sat up straight and rubbed her cold hands together. It didn’t make sense to insist that Miriam was alive if she was dead. If they’d told her that Miriam had died, so many of Lily’s questions would have been answered. She wouldn’t have wondered why they were not searching for Miriam. She wouldn’t have asked herself time and again: Where is Miriam now? How is she supporting herself? And why did she flee?
But she would have demanded to know how Miriam had died. She would have been curious about Miriam’s death and wondered why it had to be kept secret.
It was foolish and frightening to let these disturbing doubts enter her mind. At times, she had herself believed that Miriam must be dead. So why did the idea unnerve her now? Because she had assumed suicide. Murder had never occurred to her.
Marshall’s words rang in her memory. “I was certain the son of a bitch had murdered you in a rage of injured pride or because he feared a scandal that would destroy his precious campaign.”
Biting her lip, she stared out at the cold darkness. How far would Quinn go to prevent a scandal from ruining his political ambitions? Could he have weighed an image of himself as a bereaved husband against that of a cuckold and decided he preferred bereavement to being a laughingstock?
A chill shuddered down her spine as she imagined him and Paul discussing the Miriam problem. They would have speculated that Miriam’s affair with Marshall Oliver might resume. They would have wondered how much the Van Heusens knew, would have worried if Marshall would keep silent. They would have discussed the possibility of Miriam deciding to elope with Marshall once Susan was old enough to travel. They would have decided Miriam’s support of the campaign would certainly be halfhearted, considering she remained in the marriage only because she had no choice. The Miriam threat would have loomed very large.
Lily shook her head hard, desperately attempting to dislodge horrifying thoughts. No, no, no. Murder was not a solution. No.
But she could imagine the conclusion Quinn and Paul must have reached. The Miriam problem vanished if Miriam disappeared from Quinn’s life. And the best solution would be a permanent solution. Eyes wide and horrified, Lily recalled Quinn’s face when he’d told her there were things he could not undo, things he would have to live with for the rest of his life. He had looked soul-weary, angry, guilty. What awful things had he been remembering at that moment?
Standing abruptly, she crossed to the fireplace and knelt before it. She needed light and warmth to conquer the growing and unthinkable suspicions. But terrible thoughts poured into her mind like ice water, rushing with unstoppable force toward a horrifying conclusion.
Miriam had left her wedding rings behind.
She had left most of her clothing behind. Her furs, shoes, hats, undergarments, even her jewelry.
She had left Susan’s grave, a place that would have been almost sacred to her.
And equally unbelievable, she had left Marshall Oliver behind.
Rocking back on her heels, Lily frowned at the small blaze she’d built in the grate and extended her shaking hands to the warmth. If Miriam had decided to run away from Quinn, why didn’t she run away with her lover? Even if compassion for Marshall’s wife and family prevented an elopement, wouldn’t Miriam at least have sent him a message that she was alive? She had loved him, had borne his child. It didn’t make sense that she wouldn’t have opened some kind of contact with him. If she could.
All of these puzzling questions and situations could be explained by three words: Miriam is dead.
That’s why Quinn had insisted it was pointless to search for her. That’s why Quinn displayed no qualms about altering her portrait, and had no fear that Miriam might reappear. It explained why Quinn had stared at Lily so strangely in the beginning, as if he were seeing a ghost.
And if—she made herself think the words—if Quinn had agreed to Miriam’s murder, then it explained the despair she occasionally glimpsed in his eyes, and the nights she heard him pacing in his bedroom long after the rest of the household slept.
Lily dropped her head in her hands and found tears on her cheeks. She loved him. Surely, if Quinn was the kind of man ruthless enough to murder his wife and her child, Lily would have sensed it. Or had love blinded her? Everything she was seeing now and thinking now had always been there. But she hadn’t let herself really see. She hadn’t pushed hard enough, hadn’t fought hard enough to learn what had happened to Miriam Westin. Because she didn’t want to face the truth?
Terrible thoughts continued to electrify her mind.
Quinn hadn’t been home the night of the fire. An alibi? He’d said no one knew how the fire started. But maybe he did know. Maybe the fire had been what Marshall believed it was. A murder weapon. Quinn insisted that Miriam had survived the fire, but in all these months, none of Miriam’s friends had mentioned seeing her afterward. When they made a remark about the fire, they usually added, “And then you seemed to vanish.” Or, “And immediately afterward you departed for the sanitarium.”
Quinn and Paul insisted Miriam was alive because they were covering up a murder.
Moaning softly, Lily hunched forward as horrifying images flamed in her mind. No, no. She desperately did not want to think these things.
But she did. And she also thought of Ephram Callihan.
Shuddering, she drew several deep breaths and tried to consider what she knew in a way to explain it differently.
But there was only one reasonable conclusion, Quinn’s problems had a convenient way of disappearing or dying.
And now, she was a problem.
Lily stared into the flames with wide, frightened eyes. There would never be a home for her and Rose. The promises were lies. Quinn and Paul would not take the chance that someday she might tell the story of her impersonation to a reporter. They wouldn’t risk an opportunity for blackmail. They would believe that as long as Lily was alive, Quinn’s reputation and his place in the history books was in danger.
But the Lily problem vanished if, like Miriam, she disappeared forever.
“Oh my God.” No one knew where she was. If Lily Dale disappeared, no one would search for her or even miss her. It would be ridiculously easy to dispose of the Lily problem.
If she hoped to see her daughter ever again, she had to escape. Tonight. Right now.
* * *
“Quinn you know what I’m saying is correct.”
He stood at the window, staring out at the thickening snow. “She thought she was helping. She used poor judgment, but I can’t believe she’s in league with the Van Heusens. And I don’t believe her intention is to ruin my chances in the election.”
Paul poured a splash of brandy into one of the glasses and took a long swallow. “Now that I’ve had a chance to think more calmly, I agree. And I concede that it’s possible Oliver was in the hotel the night of the ball, and we didn’t spot him. This incident could have happened exactly as Lily claims it did. But that doesn’t change my opinion. It’s time to get rid of her.”
“It’s still four weeks until the election.”
“That’s four weeks of worrying every time she leaves the house. Four weeks of waiting for someone to recognize her or realize that she isn’t Miriam. It’s four weeks of anxiety over whether or not she’ll make an embarrassing or revealing mistake.” He paused. “Four more weeks of worrying that she’ll learn about Miriam. It’s time, Quinn. You’ve established yourself as a family man, we don’t really need her anymore. If you lose your wife now, this close to the election . . . now, a sympathy vote could put you over the top.”
Quinn lowered his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Paul was right. Lily had served her purpose. There was no urgent r
eason to keep her with him until after the election, and many good reasons to move to the resolution.
Except he loved her.
“She’s willful and defiant, Quinn. She obeys instructions only when it suits her. The more I think about this, the more I think now is the time to get rid of her. Now is the time to play for the sympathy vote. Earlier, it wouldn’t have worked. But this close to the election . . .”
Lifting his head, Quinn listened and frowned. Sound carried in the empty house. They were talking loudly, but he still thought he’d heard something. Moving to the library door, he peered into the darkness beyond. Had one of the servants returned?
“We’ve made our point with the family-man image,” Paul continued. “Since it’s in our best interests to dispose of Lily immediately, you need to know that I believe we can swing rather easily to a portrayal of you as a tragic figure. The fire, Susan’s death, and then Miriam’s death. In fact, I like this plan a lot.”
“You’re a ruthless bastard, Paul.”
“We both are, my friend.”
Now his eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the corridor, and he spotted movement in the foyer. Heard a sound like a muffled sob of pain or frustration.
Striding into the corridor, he moved swiftly toward the front door and the shadowy movement. The snowy light from the flanking windows was dim but enough for him to identify Lily pulling and jerking at the door handle.
“It’s locked,” he said, frowning at her coat and hat. “Where are you going?” Why would she run into a blizzard?
She spun toward him, gasping as if he’d startled her badly, and he saw a gleam of tears wetting her cheeks.
“I heard you talking about getting rid of me,” she said in a thin, frightened voice. “Oh Quinn. How could you agree to kill me, too? I loved you.”
Her movements frantic and jerky, she spun to the door latch again, swearing under her breath.
“Lily—”
But when he touched her shoulder, she screamed and wrenched backward. Lifting her skirts, her eyes wild, she spun toward the corridor in time to see Paul emerge. Gasping for breath, badly frightened, she dashed toward the staircase and ran up the stairs into the blackness above.
Chapter 21
Lily skidded to a halt in the long, dark corridor just beyond the landing and collapsed against the wall. Her heart slammed in her chest, beating as fast and furious as a hummingbird’s. She couldn’t breathe.
“Damn!” she muttered, dashing at the tears in her eyes. She should have run past Paul and tried to reach the back door. Except that door would be locked, too, and Paul would have grabbed her before she got past him.
“Damn, damn, damn!” The corridor before her was inky, the only light a faint flicker of firelight glowing beyond her bedroom door. Pressing a hand over her pounding heart, she tried to think what to do, where to go. Fear fogged her mind, she couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus.
“Lily? Lily!” Quinn’s angry voice called up the staircase. “Come down here at once. We need to talk.”
Lily cursed herself. She had badly bungled the encounter at the door. She shouldn’t have blurted that she’d overheard them talking about disposing of her. She might have gained time to plan an escape if she’d been quicker-witted. Instead she had revealed that she knew they intended to kill her. Now they had to capture her; they couldn’t let her leave the mansion tonight.
She had to elude them, but how?
“We have to find her. Paul, you take this staircase, I’ll take the servants’ stairs.”
Struggling for breath, feeling as if she were strangling, Lily blinked hard and peered down the corridor. In the darkness she couldn’t see the doorway to the servants’ staircase, but in minutes that door would open, and Quinn would start down the corridor toward her; Paul would come up the stairs behind her. And she would be trapped. Gasping and wringing her hands, she tried to think. What to do, what to do? Jump out a window? The two-story fall could injure her badly, and she might freeze to death before someone found her. Besides, Quinn and Paul were likely to be the ones to find her.
Oh Quinn, my darling. How did this happen?
She had to hide. But where? Choking, a sob of fear burning her throat, she tried to think of a place where she could conceal herself. But that’s what they would expect. They would search all the rooms on this floor.
A light flared behind her, and she sucked in a frightened breath, then slid along the wall, moving deeper into the dark corridor. Paul had lit the jets in the foyer.
“Lily? You’re being a fool. Come downstairs right now,” he shouted. Any second he would pursue her up the staircase.
She could lean out a window and scream for help. But the houses were too widely spaced and the nearest neighbors would have their windows closed on a night like this. The falling snow would muffle her cries in any case.
Quinn. Quinn.
Fear overcame reason. She couldn’t think. She knew she was trapped in the locked house, and they would catch her. There was no way out. But by God she wouldn’t make it easy. They’d have to work for their prize.
Lifting her skirts, and reacting instinctively, she ran down the black corridor. She had to find a place where she would be safe for a few minutes. She needed to think. The warm light and familiarity of her bedroom drew her, but that was a dead end, and she raced past it.
When she reached the door to the servants’ staircase, she thought at first it was locked, but the difficulty was her shaking hands. Once she had fumbled the door open, she saw light shining up on the first landing and froze as she heard Quinn’s boots on the stairs.
“Lily! For God’s sake. This is insane. I love you!”
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, and she swayed on her feet. She had longed to hear those words. Now they broke her heart.
There was only one direction to run. Up. Even as she gathered her skirts and whirled up the stairs, she knew there was no place to hide in the spare servants’ rooms on the third floor. But it would gain her a few minutes while they searched the rooms below.
“Lily! Please. This is a terrible misunderstanding.”
No, it wasn’t. She knew what he planned for her. Holding her breath, she flattened herself against the wall of the second landing. Her heart was beating so hard and loud that she feared he would hear as he reached the second floor door and burst into the corridor.
Lowering her head, she touched violently shaking fingertips to her eyelids. Did he really believe she’d suddenly turn obedient and meekly emerge because he asked her to? Not when she knew he kept a pistol in the desk drawer in his bedroom. Undoubtedly, he was running to fetch the pistol right now.
She couldn’t bear this. Quinn.
A soft whoosh caught her attention as gas jets flared and a spill of light poured through the stairway door. He’d lit the gas lamps in the corridor.
“She’s not in the first two rooms,” Paul called.
“Lily!” Quinn shouted. “Darling, no one is going to harm you. Please, Lily, come out. We have to talk.”
She knew all about the talk, talk, talk, and where it would lead. Desperately trying to move quietly, she ran up the rest of the stairs and opened the door to the third floor. It was as black as pitch, and she was not familiar with this section of the house.
She stumbled over something, caught her balance, then sagged against the wall, shaking hard. It was hopeless. When they didn’t find her on the second floor, they would move upstairs. They had all night. They would catch her.
They would kill her as they had killed Ephram Callihan and Miriam Westin.
Letting her head drop back against the wall, she closed her eyes, feeling hot tears slip down her cheeks. What hurt like a dagger to the heart was hearing him say he loved her. Using the words she had ached to hear as a lure, as bait.
“Oh Quinn.” Agony lay in those two words.
There was nowhere else to run, nothing to do but stand here in the darkness and wait for them to close in on her. Sliding to
the floor, she drew her knees up under her chin and opened her eyes, expecting to see nothing but blackness.
Instead, she discovered she was looking at a thin bar of light shining beneath a door. For an instant she didn’t believe what she was seeing. Quinn had said all the servants were out of the house. Lies. So many lies.
Jumping to her feet, she ran to the door and frantically jerked at the handle, but it was locked. Banging her fists against the door and kicking at the bottom, she shouted. “Help me! Please! Open the door, please, please. I beg you! Help me!”
How many people would they sacrifice to the altar of Quinn’s political ambition? Was she saving herself or endangering someone else?
Pounding on the door, knowing Quinn and Paul would hear her, she screamed. “Please! Let me inside! They’re going to kill me! Please, please, help me!”
The door opened, and she stumbled inside, blinking and shielding her eyes against a sudden shine of light. Dimly she registered that she was inside the Blalocks’ third-floor apartment. And Quinn and Paul were not far behind her. She heard them shouting on the servants’ staircase.
“Please,” she said wildly, lowering her hand to see James Blalock standing in his living room staring at her. The lines in his face sagged with astonishment and dismay. “I have to hide, I have to—”
“James? What’s all the—” Mary Blalock stepped out of a bedroom and stopped abruptly. Her hands flew to her lips and her eyes widened. “Oh no!”
“Lily!”
She cast a desperate look behind her. They were on the third floor now. In seconds they would have her.
Tears blurring her vision, knowing it was hopeless, knowing it was over, Lily ran into the room Mary Blalock had stepped out of, whirled and fumbled her fingers over the latch, looking for a lock. Pushing the lock button, she exhaled a sharp breath of momentary relief. The lock would not hold against a determined assault, but she’d given herself a few more minutes.
There was only one thing left. She would crawl out onto the snowy rooftop. If she didn’t fall three floors to her death, she would scream and pray that someone heard her pleas.
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