by Arlene Kay
Sorrel leaned back against the bergere and closed his eyes. “That`s okay. You`re very kind—both of you—but this thing must end. I will not let that girl suffer for something she didn`t do.”
“Who then?” Deming asked. “Gabriel Mann is still in play, and he`s not the only one.”
I bit my tongue, a painful but effective deterrent to an ill-advised comment. Defending Gabriel was never a smart move with Deming at my side.
Sorrel shook his head and spoke in a whisper so faint that I strained to hear. “Gabriel is guilty of many things but not this. I know who murdered Duff. I always have.”
I loathe passivity, especially in men. Had Deming not pinched my side, I would have shrieked at Sorrel to spit it out!
“Have you told Keegan?” Deming asked. “He needs to make an arrest.”
Another vague smile from Sorrel. He seemed to be enjoying this cat and mouse game. “Not necessary. The perpetrator is beyond his reach.”
“Who is it?” I cried. “We deserve the truth for once, Sorrel.”
Deming’s face was set in stone, a sculpted beauty worthy of Michelangelo. When he touched me, his hands were ice-cold.
“Why did she do it?” he asked. “Why did Sonia kill her friend?”
I reared back against the cushion, too stunned to speak. Sonia murdered Duff? Surely I misheard.
“It must have been an accident,” I said, “poison intended for Sonia.”
Deming put his arm around me. “Hush, Eja. Let him tell us.”
“I loved Sonia from the first time I saw her,” Sorrel said, “but I had no illusions about her either. She had everything others dream of—beauty, brains, charisma—but she lacked something. A moral compass, empathy for others, self-restraint, call it what you want. Sonia was a willful child who would stop at nothing.”
Aunt Vesna had said the same thing, and Branca echoed the sentiment. Some detective I was. I hadn`t really listened.
“But Duff adored Sonia,” I said. “Why would she hurt her?”
Sorrel held up his glass for a refill. After Deming poured the Glenlivet, he took a swallow and continued his tale.
“Duff lived by principles. Integrity was hardwired into her being, and when she found out, she couldn`t, wouldn`t, stay quiet.”
Something didn`t make sense. According to Nadia, Duff caught Sonia in flagrante delicto with Gabriel. Surely a minor sex-capade didn`t prompt a murder. It was too banal.
“All this about Sonia’s personal habits?” I asked. “It seems so trivial.”
Sorrel laughed, a loud, genuine sound. “No, Eja. You`ve got it wrong. This wasn`t about sex. I knew all about Sonia and Gabriel. Nothing out of the ordinary about that. No. Duff discovered something much more damning. She was puttering around my home office, fetching something for Sonia, when she found the draft for Worm in the Apple. It was careless of me to leave the file open. Most people wouldn`t notice, but Duff knew right away.”
I took a deep breath. Of course. Sorrel wrote Sonia’s school papers—Branca told us as much. Why would he stop once she became a professor?
He was watching me closely, daring me to state the obvious.
“You wrote Worm? No wonder Duff got cut in for ten percent. It was a bribe.”
“True. Unfortunately, Duff’s conscience prevailed. She planned to expose Sonia as a fraud.” He stared down at his hands. “Ridicule was something Sonia couldn`t take, even though it was really no big deal. I wrote the damn thing, but the plot and ideas were all hers. It was so unfair.”
Deming kept his tone neutral as he asked his questions. “I assume she filched some cyanide from your tintype supplies.”
Sorrel nodded. “I didn`t realize it until it was too late. She confessed right away and begged me to help her. Naturally I agreed. I could refuse her nothing.”
Despite the room’s mild temperature, I shivered. Sonia was cunning and very persuasive. She probably urged Duff to use her throat spray, faked a concern for the girl, and watched her die.
“Zarina must have figured it out,” I said. “She finished the job that Nadia started. It has to be.”
“You are quite the detective, Ms. Kane. Unfortunately, you`re also wrong.” Sorrel’s smile showed a touch of arrogance.
Deming drew me close and clutched my arm. “Why?” he asked.
Sorrel’s chin trembled as he answered. “Oscar Wilde had it right, you know. All men kill the things they love. I saw what needed to be done and did it.”
Chapter Thirty
I TRIED UNSUCCESSFULLY to speak. Twice. All that emerged were the cawing sounds of a crow. Deming’s reaction was far more subdued. He shrugged as if homicidal acts were a normal part of his lawyerly routine. Perry Mason would have loved his aplomb.
“You waited long enough,” Deming said. “What made you finally act?”
Sorrel’s pale cheeks bloomed with color as he told his tale. He was reminiscing, addressing his memories more than his audience.
“I couldn`t save Duff,” he said. “Her death shocked me, but there was nothing I could do. Sonia’s reaction was quite troubling. She shrugged it off as if it were a small matter—no big deal.”
I recalled Anika’s comments about selfish, willful children who`ll do anything to get their way. Sonia Reyes had an air of entitlement, but I had never considered her homicidal. My mistake.
Deming sat silently, sipping his Scotch, fully engaged in this tale of mayhem. His eyes were a hazel blaze, focused on Sorrel’s every word.
“I waited, hoping things would settle down, but the murder emboldened her. When she threatened someone else I knew it had to end.”
This time I found my voice. “You mean, Sonia tried it again?”
He shook his head. “No, but she planned to. Her obsession grew until I knew what would happen.”
“Who was it?” I asked. “The target, I mean.”
Deming tightened his grip on my hand and scowled. Given his druthers he might have gagged me.
“I once said that Sonia envied you.” Sorrel gave that sly grin as if he were sharing a private joke. “Surely a mystery writer can find the answer.”
“Me? Sonia planned to kill me?”
He nodded. “I came into the office after Nadia hit her. Sonia was bleeding but conscious and in a rage. She blamed you and your book for her troubles. It was irrational, I know, but very real to her.”
I shivered, recalling Sonia’s pitch-perfect performance when Duff died. No one suspected her. She was most convincing.
Deming’s body was a coiled serpent, lean, lethal and ready to strike. “So you dealt with it.”
Sorrel folded his hands in his lap and looked down. “Yes. I kissed her goodbye and then I put my darling to sleep.”
AFTER SORREL LEFT, we sat on the sofa for some time holding each other. It was still early, barely ten o`clock when Deming leapt to his feet and beckoned to me.
“Come on, Eja. Grab the hellhound and follow me.”
I didn`t ask. I knew where we were going. Before long, we were gathered around the fireplace in the Swanns’ spacious library, sharing the news with Bolin and Anika.
“I don`t know what to say,” Anika gasped. “Sorrel loved her. I knew that right away. How tragic for him.”
Deming exploded. “Tragic! He killed her, Mom. For Christ’s sake, the man was deadly calm, quoting Oscar Wilde, if you can believe that!”
“Ah, yes,” Bolin said. “The Ballad of Reading Gaol, if I`m not mistaken. Very apropos. That line about all men killing the things they love.”
I thought about that for a moment. According to Wilde, the brave man kills with the sword. Others like Gabriel kill with a bitter look or even worse with a coward’s kiss. By that standard, Sorrel was a very brave man.
“He saved Eja,” Anika said. “I`
ll always be grateful to Sorrel for that.” She moved closer to Bolin’s shoulder. “What will you do, Son? Go to the police?”
Deming shook his head. “Sorrel will handle it. Without Sonia, he doesn`t care about living anyway. He`s perfectly willing to go to jail.”
When I asked why he hadn`t confessed immediately, Sorrel shook his head and gave me a look that mixed pity with scorn. It was all about Sonia. He wanted the others to think of her and suffer just a bit. The chaos at the Story Club forced his hand, and he had to act.
A score of unwanted visitors haunted my dreams that night. The antics of Duff, Sonia, and Sorrel swirled through my mind, banishing any hope of rest. Deming, that sensible, cynical soul had no such problem. He put his arms around me and immediately dropped into the land of Nod. That gave me plenty of time to reminisce and count my blessings unencumbered by logic or sentiment.
Not all love stories have happy endings like mine. I know how lucky I am. Some fizzle out and disappear while others end in sorrow, tears, and death. It took a long time for Deming and me to connect, but the outcome was well worth it. Sometimes the best things come to those who wait.
Epilogue
OUR HOUSEHOLD expanded in spring when Bernice Chan came to work for us. Afterward I wondered how we had ever survived without her. Like her Uncle Po, Bernice the Niece tackles every duty with great elegance, intelligence, and humor. She`s a fine babysitter, too. That summer we welcomed a hazel-eyed beauty named Cecilia Kane Swann into our lives. Our beloved CeCe lives on in the impish smile and blonde ringlets of this namesake niece whose antics drive her doting daddy quite mad. Occasionally that uncanny resemblance to Cecilia Swann catapults me into the past where three little children once frolicked, vowing to remain friends forever. Life is good.
The End
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About the Author
Arlene Kay spent twenty years as a Senior Executive with the Federal Government where she was known as a most unconventional public servant. Experience in offices around the nation allowed her to observe both human and corporate foibles and rejoice in unintentional humor.
Those locations and the characters she encountered are celebrated in a series of mysteries including Intrusion (2011) and Die Laughing (2012) both from Mainly Murder Press; The Abacus Prize (available now on Amazon); and the Boston Uncommons Mystery Series (Swann Dive; Mantrap; and Gilt Trip); now available from Bell Bridge Books.
Ms. Kay holds graduate degrees in Political Science and Constitutional Law.
