The Arms of Death

by Maggie Foster

  “Sleep, Ginny. I’ll wake you when he gets here.”

  * * *

  Chapter 50

  Sunday

  Ginny was dreaming. Not the same as before. In this dream she was falling. Someone had pushed her off a cliff into an endless black hole. She was screaming.

  “Ginny, wake up!”

  She dragged herself toward consciousness, the sound in her throat too much like a sob.

  “It’s all right, Ginny. You’re safe. Wake up.”

  She pulled her eyes open to find Jim leaning over the rail, a tissue in his hand.

  “Himself called. He’ll be here in twenty minutes. I thought you might like a little time to get ready. What were you dreaming?”

  Ginny shook her head, not wanting to share the misery with him, with anyone.

  He sighed, then helped her into the bathroom. When Ginny emerged, he settled her into a wheelchair, elevating the sprained ankle, then located her hairbrush and went to work. Between them they got her hair brushed and braided and Ginny had to admit she felt a good deal better. No makeup, of course, but Jim would just have to overlook that. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. Nothing would ever matter again.

  Part of Ginny’s brain stood aside and laughed at her. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross had been right. How many times had Ginny helped patients or their families through a loss? She knew the steps by heart. Depression was step four, but they didn’t always go in order.

  She’d been struggling with believing that the worst had happened (denial), with trying to shrug it off (acceptance), with flashes of fury at Hal, at Jim, at the world in general (anger). She hadn’t tried bargaining, though. She was pretty sure God wasn’t going to be sympathetic this time.

  She’d been so stupid! She should have seen Hal didn’t love her. He hadn’t behaved like a man in love. She should have suspected him, but one didn’t want to believe that someone one actually knew could murder people, innocent victims whose only crime had been — what?

  Ginny was suddenly aware Jim was talking to her, trying to get her attention.

  “Ginny? What’s going on? Talk to me.”

  She looked up and met his eyes. He had pulled over a chair and was seated facing her, leaning toward her.

  Ginny blinked. “We still don’t know why he did it. I don’t know. Do you?”

  Jim shook his head.

  “There has to be a reason.”

  Jim nodded. “I agree. He’s been planning this for years. Something must have gone wrong.”

  Ginny dragged her mind out of the swirling muck of her emotions. “Professor Craig.”

  “What?”

  “Professor Craig is what went wrong. That article. That has to be the trigger.”

  “I thought you told me losing the coat of arms was a matter of vanity, nothing more.”

  Ginny frowned. “It should have been. Maybe I’ve missed something.”

  Jim’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve got some things I want to show you, some new information about the victims, and Hal. Maybe you can see something I didn’t.”

  They were interrupted by a knock. The door opened to admit the Laird of Loch Lonach.

  Jim rose and Ginny would have, if she’d been able. The old gentleman exuded a warm comfort that made his presence a balm to her wounded soul. She would have liked to throw herself into his arms.

  “Ginny.” He came over and smiled down at her, taking her hand, holding it in both of his. “I’m verra happy tae see ye.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  Himself sat down in the chair Jim had just vacated. “Wait a bit, Jim.” The younger Mackenzie had made for the door, clearly intending to leave the two of them alone. The Laird looked hard at Ginny.

  “I’ve a favor tae ask o’ ye, lass.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’d like my grandson tae sit in on this discussion, if ye will?”

  Ginny looked over at Jim. He looked surprised, then a bit uncomfortable, then suddenly stoic. It was training, she realized. Part of what he would have to do, when he became Laird. She nodded.

  “I’ve no objection.”

  “I thank ye, lass.” He let go of her hand and settled back. “Now, tell me what’s amiss.”

  It took Ginny the better part of an hour to go through all the story, front to back, explaining what had happened, what was suspected and known, what was still left unresolved. During the whole thing Jim sat quietly in the window, just listening.

  “So my question is, should I see Hal again before he dies?”

  The Laird pressed his lips together, his brow furrowing. “Has he asked tae see ye?”

  Ginny shook her head.

  The Laird looked over at Jim. “Is he able tae talk and in his right mind?”

  Jim nodded. “He was, as of an hour ago.”

  The Laird turned back to Ginny. “Have ye anything ye wish tae say tae him?”

  She looked down at her bare hands. They had taken all her jewelry off when she came into the hospital yesterday. “I should return his ring. It’s a family piece. It should go into his estate.”

  He nodded, his voice softening. “What will ye say, lass?”

  Ginny swallowed hard. “I don’t know. Normally I would say thanks, but no thanks, but I can’t see myself being rude to him, especially since he’s dying.”

  “He was more than rude to ye.”

  Ginny’s mouth settled into a grim line. More than rude. All of her current injuries were his fault. And he’d tried to kill Jim. “His bad behavior does not excuse my own.”

  The Laird studied her face for a long moment. “Are ye no angry wi’ him?”

  That caught her off guard. “Angry?” She felt the blood rise in her cheeks. “Angry? Of course, I’m angry, but I’m a nurse. Nurses don’t yell at dying men.”

  “He’s no yer patient.”

  Ginny’s mouth opened, then closed with a snap. No, he wasn’t.

  “Ye ken the difference?”

  She nodded.

  “And yer o’ the blood, whether ye will or no.”

  By which the Laird meant that Ginny was a Scot and the Scots had a history with the English.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. That was three hundred years ago.”

  The Laird smiled at her. “Ye need no tak revenge upon him. He’s done that tae himself.”

  No. Ginny did not need to take revenge for the insult done to her. Nor did her menfolk. What’s more, the Laird was reminding her that she had people who did care about her. She was not alone. She suddenly wondered if her mother would have approved of the match, if Hal’d had nothing worse against his character than that he was English.

  She squirmed in her chair. “I was at fault.”

  “Perhaps.” The Laird eyed her with interest. “Did ye deserve what ye got?”

  Ginny scowled. “No.”

  She had let herself be persuaded, because she was enjoying the attention. Because she wanted to be loved, to believe in love. Because men are fallible and women have to make allowances. She felt her stomach clench.

  “He lied to me.” A real whopper. He had let her think he was a gentleman. Had he believed it of himself? Even after he’d murdered two men?

  “He made a fool of me.” No, she’d done that to herself. She clenched her fists. “Did he really think I wouldn’t find out?”

  The corner of the Laird’s mouth twitched. “There ha’ been murderers and fools since the dawn o’ time, lass, but not many like yerself. I think he didna’ appreciate yer mind sae much as he might ha’ done. Nor yer heart.”

  Her heart. Her heart was at the bottom of all this. Damn.

  “I’ll need to get the ring out of the business office safe.”

  She reached down and unlocked the brakes on the wheelchair. Jim rose and came over, taking his place behind her.

  “Will ye hae me go wi’ ye, tae see the man?”

  Ginny took as deep a breath as her cracked ribs would allow. “Yes, please.”

  The business office gave her no
trouble about retrieving the ring and Ginny found herself in short order facing Hal, his eyes on her, hers taking in his condition.

  “Hello, Ginny.”

  She nodded without smiling. She saw his eyes travel from her to Jim, then to the Laird, then back to her. Somehow Jim’s presence at this interview had been a forgone conclusion.

  “I have come to return your ring.”

  She handed the ring to Jim who walked over and placed it on the bedside table then returned to his place behind Ginny.

  She looked up and met Hal’s eyes. “I loved your mother and wanted to please her. I hope she will understand.”

  She saw him take a breath, looking as if he was struggling with something; maybe the virus, maybe his conscience.

  “I’m sorry, Ginny. Sorry I hurt you.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide if he meant it, then nodded slowly and motioned for Jim to take her out. “Goodbye, Hal.”

  She found her eyes wet and put a hand up to hide them. Jim knew, though. He plucked tissues from the dispenser on the nurse’s desk as they passed and slipped them into her hand. By the time they had gotten back to her room, she had herself under control.

  The Laird took his leave, bending down and planting a kiss on her head. “Get well, lass. We need ye.”

  * * *

  Ginny studied the genealogical information Jim had uncovered. He had been quietly waiting while she read through his work. She looked up now to find him asleep in the recliner. Poor thing. He looked exhausted, and no wonder. Well, she didn’t need to wake him. It was clear which society he wanted to ask her about.

  She was using her own computer, which meant she had access to all her genealogy contacts. Ginny considered the problem. Who was likely to know about that society? She scrolled down the lists, looking for a name, and found one.

  Julius. If anyone knew about that obscure organization, it would be Julius. He was the consummate historian and genealogist. She zapped him a quick email inquiry asking about the Honorable Society of Armigerous Immigrants and asking him to contact her. She had no idea when she might hear back. It was Sunday afternoon and he was quite likely nose down to some dusty tome in some dusty genealogy library. She added her cellphone number, then closed the programs and computer, and set them aside.

  It had been hard to face Hal, but it had been the right thing to do. She still hurt, in so many ways, and she still felt ashamed of herself for her part in the affair, but her conscience was appeased. He had meant that apology. She had accepted it. The rest was between him and God.

  * * *

  Just before dinner, there was a tap on the door followed by Officer Michel’s head.

  “May I come in?”

  “Please do.” Ginny smiled at him.

  “Do you have any idea how hard it was to find you?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s been an eventful weekend.”

  He settled into the chair, facing her, then crossed his long legs. “When you and I last spoke, we were going over your list of suspects.”

  Ginny nodded.

  “Investigation revealed someone who didn’t seem to fit any of the people on your list. It took me some time to eliminate the other leads and focus on this one.”

  “I did say I could have overlooked someone.”

  “You did and you had.”

  The corners of Ginny’s mouth tightened. “Forgive me. I’m new to the business.”

  Officer Michel gave her a smile. “I did not mean that as a criticism.” He opened the folder he was carrying, pulled out a photograph, and handed it to her. “Do you recognize that man?”

  Ginny looked down at a rather fuzzy picture of Hal Williams in profile and nodded. The image gave her a pang. There had been a night, more than a year ago, when they had slipped off for a weekend in the woods together. She had seen him then, his face serene in the firelight, and thought she loved him.

  “It’s Hal.”

  The investigator breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Miss Forbes. That gives us the evidence we need for a search warrant.”

  “Does this mean he’s the one who set the fire?”

  “I believe so.”

  Ginny blinked, suddenly remembering what Mark had told her. “Is this from the video that child took?”

  Officer Michel’s eyebrows rose. “Yes. How did you know where it came from? We didn’t release that information.”

  “Mark Craig told me.”

  “Oh.” His brow furrowed. “When?”

  “Friday night, but he didn’t tell me what it showed and I forgot to ask you when we spoke later that night.”

  He nodded slowly. “As did I.”

  Ginny frowned. “Forgive me if this is an improper question, but if you had this photograph on Saturday, the day the fire was set, how come you didn’t arrest Hal before—” She stopped. Before he sabotaged her skate. Before he proposed to her. Before he infected Jim.

  “We ran the photo on the evening news Saturday and Sunday nights, without results. It got picked up by social media and eventually someone came forward. That was Thursday afternoon. He gave us a tentative identification. That made Mr. Williams a ‘person of interest’ in the investigation, but it was not enough for an arrest.”

  Ginny was finding it hard to breathe. If she’d seen that photo sooner, if she’d asked the right question— She put her hand up to her head, feeling a bit dizzy.

  “Are you all right, Miss Forbes?”

  “Yes.” She lifted her eyes to his. “Was there anything else?”

  He shook his head. “Not at the present time. You will be asked for a statement, but it can wait until you feel better.” He rose, his expression troubled. “I’m sorry to have grieved you further, but I’m indebted to you for your help. Thank you.” He let himself out.

  Ginny watched him go, then curled up on her side in the bed and closed her eyes. It was easy to understand why ancient peoples had come up with spirits that didn’t like human beings. They served as explanations for misery like this.

  If she had thought to ask about that photo, had seen it on Friday night, she wouldn’t have opened the door to Hal on Saturday morning. And she wouldn’t be back in the hospital and Jim wouldn’t have had to fight for his life and Hal wouldn’t be dying. Not today, anyway.

  * * *

  Chapter 51

  Monday

  Jim had been sent home to sleep in his own bed, returning to the hospital and Ginny’s side on Monday morning looking almost cheerful. His most recent scan had shown no trace of the tagged virus. When questioned, he admitted to not enjoying the side effects of the antivirals, but asserted his determination to continue with them until there was no chance he still needed them.

  Ginny had been roused by the respiratory therapy department at regular intervals through the night and, as a result, it was easier to breathe this morning. Her wounds were healing, her mind was clear, her mood was improving.

  Hal lingered on, but had slipped into a coma. It had been decided there would be no extraordinary measures since there was no hope they could reverse the course of the disease. He had completed his arrangements for the disposition of his property. There was just one thing still unresolved. He had not told anyone why he had killed.

  * * *

  Ginny was alone when the call came through. Jim had expressed himself dissatisfied with the hospital food and had gone out to get something else. Ginny picked up the phone on the second ring.

  “Ginny? It’s Julius.”

  “Hello Julius. Long time no hear. Thank you for returning my call so promptly.”

  “I was intrigued. What do you want to know about that society and why?”

  Ginny found herself being cautious. “I know someone who’s in it, but he won’t tell me what it’s all about and you know how curious I am.”

  She heard a chuckle on the other end of the line. “I’m not surprised. That is one closely guarded secret.”

  Ginny sat forward in bed. “Secret?”

&
nbsp; “Oh, yes!”

  “Tell me.”

  Again the chuckle. “I shouldn’t, but under the circumstances, I will.”

  “Julius!”

  “Okay. Hold your water. The Honorable Society of Armigerous Immigrants was founded in 1790 by a group of Revolutionary soldiers, all of them officers, who had fought side by side through the conflict.”

  “A men’s club.”

  “Oh, it was a lot more than that. These men all came from good families. They were all gentlemen within the meaning of the act. Their families were armigerous in Great Britain. Good genetic material and proud of it.”

  “Go on.”

  “Patience girl. This is worth waiting for.”

  Ginny bit her tongue.

  “So. Here comes the Rev War and they get cut off from their privileges, because they fought on the wrong side, the winning side. But they decide not to let that stop them. They form this little club and, to keep it exclusive, they have a requirement. You have to buy in.”

  “Umm?” Ginny tried to express interest without interrupting him.

  “Uh huh. There were originally fifteen of them and they each contributed one hundred pounds British Sterling, which was a tidy little sum in those days. They took that money and invested it, wisely.”

  Ginny had a sudden empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. She thought she knew where this was heading.

  “Membership was by invitation only and restricted to male descendants in the direct line. Each son or grandson had to contribute an equivalent amount, which, most recently, was around $10,000, to join up.”

  “Ahh.”

  “You may well say so. Anyway, the group flourishes for a hundred and fifty years, then the lines start dying out. Well, not so much dying as daughtering out. That’s what happened to me.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, deary. My grandfather was a member. But all he had was daughters so none of us is eligible. You’re allowed to skip a generation, that was to accommodate men whose fathers had died without actually joining, but if there are no male heirs, the line daughters out.”