by Ellery Adams
They stared at each other.
“What if he’s not a guest at all?” Jane asked the obvious question. “What if he works for me? Or lives in the village and attended the rare book events over the past few days?”
“Then our search will be far more challenging. We’ll have to . . .”
Sinclair continued talking, but Jane wasn’t listening.
Several Cover Girls were heading her way, including Eloise and Betty, but Jane had eyes only for Anna. As her friend approached, Jane mentally reviewed the sequence of events since the conference started.
“Jane!” Eloise cried. There were black mascara tracks on both of her cheeks and her lips quivered. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“We’ll find Fitz and Hem,” Betty said, her eyes damp with tears. “And if not us, someone will. I just know it!”
Anna was about to utter her words of encouragement when Jane cut her off with a look. “Anna, this is very important. Do you remember when I mentioned that the twins might have seen Kyle pocket something from the dig site?” When Anna nodded, Jane went on. “Did you repeat this story to anyone?”
Unlike Mrs. Pratt, a self-professed gossip, the other Cover Girls were more discreet when it came to sharing details about their private lives with customers. At any other time, Jane’s question might have rankled Anna. However, heat flooded her cheeks and she said, “I did. I told my mom. I didn’t think it would matter, seeing as she’s in a nursing home in another state.”
“What phone were you using?” Jane demanded. “Where did you make the call?”
“I—I was at work,” Anna stammered in alarm. “In that closet that passes for a break room. Why? What does this have to do with what’s happening?”
Jane held up her right hand, which was balled into a tight fist. “Randall Teague. He’s been a figure in the background since the beginning. He attended every conference event open to the public. He was close enough to Bart several times during the garden party and could easily have overheard him telling the Robert Harley members what he’d discovered about the book found with the skeletal remains.” As she spoke, she emphasized her points by raising her fingers. “He was at the Cheshire Cat the night Kyle was killed. Betty, do you remember when he left?”
Though Betty looked distressed, she took a moment to think about the question. “I’m not sure. I assume he took part in Trivia Night, but I don’t remember him being there to answer the questions he’d usually answer.”
“Call Bob and ask if he remembers more,” Jane said. “If he doesn’t, we’ll call Sam or one of the Hogg brothers.”
Betty was so accustomed to Storyton Hall’s technology policy that she didn’t even open her handbag to remove her phone until she’d stepped out of the public hallway and entered the Henry James Library. Sinclair followed her at a polite distance.
Normally, Betty’s respect for the house rules would have made Jane smile, but she was incapable of mustering one. Turning back to Anna, she asked, “Did you see where Randall went after tonight’s meal? Did anyone notice him in the ballroom?” She glanced at Eloise, including her in the question.
Neither of her friends had.
Beware of false Fin, Edwin had written in a hidden message. Whom was he talking about? Had he been referring to a man who acted like a Fin, but was really a Templar? That didn’t describe Randall. No one had acted like a Fin. And how would Edwin be aware of what was going on at Storyton Hall in the first place? Wasn’t he supposed to be abroad?
She shook her head in annoyance. She needed to organize her thoughts. The twins needed her to be sharp.
“Anna. Where does Randall live?”
Anna rattled off an address.
Jane knew the neighborhood. It was located up a curvy road overlooking the village. Each house was surrounded by at least an acre of woods. It was a lovely and secluded spot.
The perfect location for a person with something to hide.
But what would Randall have to hide, exactly? Was Randall a small-town pharmacist during the day and a Templar assassin in his spare time?
As Jane was processing these thoughts, Betty finished her phone call to Bob. “Bob helped me remember. The night Kyle was killed, Randall walked outside with another customer because he hadn’t finished whatever lecture he’d started inside. He never came back inside to finish the trivia game, but I guess no one noticed.”
“Or they were relieved,” Eloise said. “That’s Randall’s effect on people. Other than a few hypochondriacs who’d gladly discuss their symptoms with him all day, most folks try to avoid him. He’s insufferable.”
Anna was staring at her friends as if they’d lost their collective minds. “This is Randall we’re talking about. Do you really think he’s capable of killing someone? Of abducting two children? The don’t-forget-your-flu-shot-monotone-ofa-man I’ve worked with for five years?”
Jane believed it to be quite likely. “Can you think back to the day leading up to Kyle’s hit-and-run, Anna? Did Randall take a longer break than usual? Did he leave early or mention needing to have his car serviced? Was there anything out of the ordinary? Anything at all?”
Anna gave Jane a strange look, but answered readily enough. “No, he was his normal, maddening self. He—” She stopped and her eyes widened. “But the next morning, well, he was different. He whistled while he filled scripts. I have never heard him do that before. And he whistled like a songbird. It was beautiful. He didn’t give a single lecture to a single customer and he even told me that I was doing a good job and that he was lucky to have me as his right-hand person. That was the first and only compliment the man has ever given me.”
“So it was almost as if he acted out of character,” Eloise said.
Anna nodded. “That’s exactly what I’d say. He acted completely out of character. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. By lunchtime, he was himself again.”
“Thank you, ladies.” Jane turned toward the library.
“Where are you going?” Eloise reached out in a plaintive motion. “Can we help?”
Jane hesitated long enough to say, “Please continue your search for my babies. That’s the best help you can give me.”
She entered the library and, seeing that Celia was seated at a reading table on the opposite side of the room, gestured for Sinclair to join her near his desk.
“Alert the Fins,” Jane commanded. “We’re driving to Randall’s house right now. And we’re going armed.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jane ordered Sinclair and Lachlan to remain at Storyton Hall.
“This could be an attempt to lure us off the premises,” she said while pushing a folding knife into the back pocket of her jeans. After Ned had raced upstairs to collect the tiny carriage clock key, Jane had sent him to her house to fetch a pair of pants and a T-shirt from her closet. Clever Ned had returned carrying these and her tennis shoes as well.
In the privacy of Sterling’s office, Sterling and Butterworth strapped on holsters and armed themselves with several other weapons from a locked cabinet. Sinclair accompanied Jane and his fellow Fins to the Silver Shadow and opened the back door. “Good luck, Miss Jane.”
Jane didn’t want luck. She wanted revenge against the man who’d kidnapped her sons. If that man proved to be Randall, she wanted him to know the same level of fear her boys had known before she turned him over to Sheriff Evans.
“Our biggest advantage is surprise,” Sterling said as he drove through town. “And we’ll achieve that only if he isn’t monitoring our every move.”
Jane gazed at the black hills. “If Randall is a Templar, he’s been cultivating his small-town pharmacy persona for years in order to collect information about Storyton Hall and my family. Is that really possible? Would a person invest all that time just for the chance of discovering our secret library? How fanatical is this sect?”
Her questions went unanswered, so she continued to stare out the window. She avoided looking at the shadowy trees, for they reminde
d her of the night they found Kyle’s body. Instead, she looked up and searched for stars.
Just one, she thought. One to wish upon.
The hills seemed taller than usual. Jane felt like they were occluding the stars until Sterling crested a rise and parked the car. Here, above the somnolent village, the sky was rich with stars.
At Randall’s mailbox, Sterling unslung his backpack and distributed pairs of night vision goggles. Though Jane had practiced wearing them before, it took her a moment to adjust, and she had to touch the mailbox to get her bearings.
It struck her that Randall’s mailbox, like everything else about the pharmacist, was incredibly ordinary. He had done such a successful job in blending in that no one would have considered him a villain.
Sterling waited for Jane to signal that she’d adjusted to the goggles, then passed her another device. It looked like a small walkie-talkie.
“RF detector,” he whispered. “It’ll vibrate if it senses security cameras, listening devices, or cellular or Bluetooth signals. If Randall’s tracking our approach, we’ll know.”
Jane gripped the black gadget and made a hurry-up gesture. She understood the need for caution. She knew that her sons’ lives might depend on caution, but it was killing her to sneak around the back of Randall’s house, threading around trees in what seemed like an agonizingly slow pace.
When they were facing the rear of the house, Butterworth motioned for Sterling and Jane to wait while he approached the door. As always, Jane was amazed by how swiftly and gracefully he moved.
She watched him point to the door’s upper right-hand corner.
“Alarm system,” Sterling whispered. “Your device will vibrate. Don’t worry. I can jam the signal between the alarm and the door. Randall will undoubtedly have his system set up to detect jammed signals, but I have a solution for that too. Home security systems aren’t very secure. Dogs are better.”
Sterling fished around in his bag and produced more gadgets. Because Jane was wearing her goggles, she couldn’t tell what he was doing. However, when Butterworth picked the lock on the door and pushed it open, no alarm bell sounded, which was all that mattered.
Fitz! Hem! I’m coming! Jane was dying to shout.
Butterworth held out his hand for them to halt and cocked his head. Jane heard nothing beyond the night noises coming from outside, but Butterworth had clearly detected a sound.
As he turned to track the source of the noise, he removed his pistol from its holster and carried it by his side. Sterling replicated the movement while Jane frantically glanced around, expecting someone to jump into her field of vision at any second.
Butterworth crept forward until he reached an interior door that looked like it might lead down to a basement.
The door was locked.
Butterworth did not produce his lock pick tools. Instead, he put his ear flat against the door and listened intently for several seconds. Drawing back, he turned to Jane and Sterling. Holding up his right hand, Butterworth used his left hand to quickly cover the tips of the fingers of the right hand. The gesture reminded Jane of an animal being bitten by a snake and she remembered that this was the sign for “trap.”
You’re no pharmacist, Jane thought, glaring at the doorknob. Pharmacists don’t booby-trap their houses.
Suddenly, she heard something overhead. The noise could have been the settling of boards or the scratch of a thin branch against a pane of glass. But Jane had the distinct feeling that they weren’t alone.
Jane pointed in the opposite direction and Sterling nodded. He’d heard it too.
They quickly ascended the stairs to the second floor. The stairs were carpeted, which allowed them to move silently. Still, Jane had a strong sense that Randall would not be taken by surprise. She believed they were dancing to his tune, and it was a tune without melody or rhyme. It was the steady tick of a metronome—a metaphor for all the time he’d invested in this scheme. And he wanted a return on his investment.
After hurriedly checking the bedrooms, they came to the end of a hallway and found another locked door. Not only was the knob locked, there was also a deadbolt. This time, after Butterworth listened, he didn’t indicate the presence of a trap on the other side of the door. However, he pointed at Sterling and made a climbing motion with his fingers.
Sterling disappeared into one of the spare bedrooms.
As Jane waited for Butterworth to pick the locks, it occurred to her that most of the rooms in Randall’s home were unfurnished and that he’d likely chosen the house for its location. It felt like they were in the middle of nowhere—that the rest of the Fins weren’t minutes, but hours away.
Butterworth touched Jane’s shoulder and she snapped to attention. He nodded and, after she nodded in return, indicating that she was ready to face whatever was on the other side of the door, he raised his booted foot and kicked the door an inch below the knob.
There was a loud crunch as his boot made a ragged hole. Butterworth reached through the hole, popped both locks, and opened the door.
Jane didn’t pause to wonder why he’d thrown discretion to the wind. Now that the door was opened to a narrow staircase rising into darkness, she heard a whimper. Her boys!
Butterworth bounded up the stairs with Jane a heartbeat behind. At the top, Butterworth turned in a swift circle and whipped off his goggles. Jane did the same, and waited as the butler snapped a green glow stick and tossed it on the floor. He pivoted and repeated the motion, raising his gun after each toss. After the third toss, his stick illuminated two shapes tucked into a corner where the rafters met the wall.
“Fitz! Hem!” Jane cried.
She rushed toward them, knife in hand. She was already on her knees beside the shapes when she realized that she’d mistaken burlap sacks for her sons. On the floor, in front of the sacks, a pair of men’s glasses and a false beard had been tossed on top of a Storyton uniform. Wade’s uniform.
Nearby, in the gloom, a man began to laugh.
Butterworth tossed another glow stick and Randall Teague’s face was illuminated by an eerie green light. He sat on a chair in the far corner of the attic like a ruler of the underworld awaiting the arrival of new souls.
“Lost something, Guardian?” he asked. His eyes were black pools with glints of green.
“Give me my sons, you bastard.” Jane lunged for Randall, but Butterworth grabbed her arm and held her in check.
Randall laughed again. “Is the butler in charge now? I thought you were the mistress of Storyton Hall.” He swung Jane’s locket back and forth like a hypnotist performing a stage act. “A pretty trinket. What’s worth more: this or the lives of your ill-behaved, precocious sons?”
“I gave you what you asked for,” Jane said. Her voice was a harsh rasp. “Tell me what you’ve done with my boys. And so help me, if you’ve hurt them, you will pay. I swear by all that’s good. You will pay.”
The mirth vanished from Randall’s features and he glowered at Jane. “This is just the beginning of our bargaining, Guardian. Even if you told me the truth, which I sincerely doubt, I can hardly stroll through the front door of Storyton Hall and start investigating this broom cupboard, can I? No. I need to keep your boys as leverage so that I can move freely around your ancestral home. Also, you left a pair of liveried bodyguards behind. You’ll have to order them to come join you here. Right now, if you would.”
Jane was too furious to formulate a reply. All she wanted to do was wrap her hands around this man’s throat and squeeze. He referred to Fitz and Hem as if they were plastic chess pieces—disposable, valueless objects to be used as he saw fit. Jane wanted to hurt him for his disregard of those she held most dear, but she couldn’t touch him. Not until her sons were safe.
“Assuming you’re about to utter a clichéd line about our not being able to kill you because we’d be unable to discover the location of Masters Fitzgerald and Hemingway, do not waste your malodorous breath,” Butterworth said. His tone was cool and haughty. “I once be
lieved that Mr. Alcott was a loose cannon of the Templar order. You, sir, make him look like a Prince of the Realm.”
Randall snorted in derision. “Alcott’s a Robin Hood. His order is a lost cause. Altruism has no place in the modern world.” He flicked his wrist. “But you need not concern yourselves over Alcott anymore. He was captured weeks ago. If he isn’t dead, he’ll never see sunlight again. Sorry to tell you this, Guardian, but it’s best for those with secret lives not to indulge in romantic entanglements. In my order, such foolish relationships are strictly prohibited.”
“That explains why you’re so uptight,” Jane snapped. “Maybe you should have stayed at the Cheshire Cat and finished the trivia game instead of running over Kyle Stuyvesant just to get your hands on Otto Frank’s ring. That was foolish.”
Randall resumed his glare. “I won’t explain my order or my motives to you. You wouldn’t understand. You Guardians are as outdated as rotary phones. You won’t stand the test of time. Now, call your dogs. Tell them to come here without delay.”
“No,” Jane said.
Randall was stupefied by her answer. His mouth opened and closed twice before he finally managed to produce a sound. “No? Do you want your sons to die? Is a library more important than your own children? What kind of mother would sacrifice her own flesh and blood for old books?”
“I’m not going to sacrifice anything tonight,” Jane said with a confidence she didn’t feel. “I now know where my sons are hidden.” She smiled at Randall. “You might not be aware, but we have an interrogation room at Storyton Hall. It’s below the garages and is uniquely equipped for men of your ilk. We could keep you there for weeks. No one would ever find you. No one would hear you scream.”
Randall didn’t respond. He silently studied her and Jane returned his gaze without flinching.
“I should just kill him now, Miss Jane,” Butterworth said, taking a step toward Randall. “The people of Storyton will certainly suffer when they learn that the man who pretended to care about their well-being also abducted two local children.”
