Now, the question was whether the fact that Marc Reardon was probably Cameron Darr had anything to do with Aunt Belinda’s murder. To what lengths would he—or anyone—go to keep a changed identity a secret?
Diana thought the answer wasn’t too difficult: if he’d changed identities illegally, he’d probably go to any length. If not, then the two facts were probably not related. So far as she knew from the cursory research she’d done, Cameron Darr had only been accused of assisting Marjorie Gaunt in a premature death—and she’d found nothing that indicated he’d been brought to trial. So, then, perhaps he’d just settled the case, then moved across the country to escape the bad publicity.
But why was Belinda seeing two doctors?
That thought came from nowhere. Diana turned it over in her mind for a moment. She needed to find out the name of the physician in Portland, and then perhaps she’d know the answer. Of course, she could ask Marc if he’d referred Belinda...but for some reason, she didn’t like that option.
I’ll look in the phone book tomorrow and see if I can find the doctor’s name.
She crawled back into bed, pulling the light goose down comforter over her in protection against the chill Maine night. Diana turned out the light and willed herself to sleep.
* * *
Diana was up and dressed by seven o’clock—an unusual feat for her while in Damariscotta. Her dreams had been filled with warped images of snakes climbing trees, and newspaper clippings...along with a grinning, half-illuminated Marc and an angry Jonathan standing on her porch. Aunt Belinda had made an appearance, beckoning with her wrinkled hand toward some unfamiliar room, and, of course, the Tarot cards had fluttered onto the scene, lightly batting at her arms and face.
As she flipped through the Portland area phone book looking for the phone number for Aunt Bee’s Portland doctor, Diana found the answer to another question.
She drew in her breath sharply. The name of Aunt Bee’s physician was Clancy Harbaugh...and he had a small, block advertisement on the page with a symbol that could be mistaken for a snake climbing a tree if it were clumsily embroidered on a quilt block. It was a caduceus—the symbol for the medical profession—and she stared at it, kicking herself for not recognizing it from Aunt Belinda’s amateur stitches.
She thought again about the quilt block that had bothered her. Now she knew that at least part of it had to do with a physician...and as she mulled over the rest of the images, she guessed that the Pisces symbol was an indication of someone’s birthday—perhaps Marc Reardon/Cameron Darr’s. The stars and moon meant nothing to her; but it was possible, Diana realized, that they indicated some astrological sign. At any rate, she felt she knew enough to make a phone call to Clancy Harbaugh, and then, perhaps to pay a visit to Marc to see what she could learn on the sly. Maybe there’d be something in his office—a diploma, for example, that would help her identify him. Or something that indicated he’d lived in Oregon. Then, if she thought things were making sense, she’d head directly to Joe Cap’s office and tell him her suspicions.
And she’d call Ethan when she was in town and had service on her cell phone.
When she called Dr. Harbaugh, she explained who she was and used her reputation as a malpractice attorney to gain access to the physician himself. Within five minutes of conversation with him, she learned that Aunt Belinda had not been referred by Marc Reardon, and that she’d come to the doctor in Portland for a second opinion on a diagnosis. And that her Aunt Belinda had been in perfect health.
Diana’s heart bumped in her chest as she allowed the receiver to slip back into its cradle. Marc Reardon had misdiagnosed her aunt. And Aunt Belinda had known it.
* * *
Diana walked briskly along Main Street. She clutched her handbag to her body, trying to contain her nerves. It’s just a doctor’s appointment, she told herself firmly. Marc had told her to stop by to see him about her migraines, and she’d decided to take him up on it in hopes that she’d have the chance to peek at Aunt Belinda’s medical records, and perhaps find something else that could confirm her suspicions. Then, she could go to the police.
She passed the ladies’ quilt shop on her way to Marc’s little cottage office, and almost stopped in to let them know where she was going...just in case. But the sign on the door said ‘Closed’ and she was forced to walk on by.
A block further down, she turned onto the short, neat sidewalk that led up to the office. When she opened the door to go in, she saw a pleasant-looking receptionist on the other side of a desk and Diana relaxed. She didn’t have anything to be nervous about.
“Hi, I have a noon appointment with Dr. Reardon,” she told the woman.
“Ah, yes, Diana Iverson, Belinda’s niece? Dr. Reardon told me to make sure I fit you in if you called, even during the lunch hour if necessary.” She smiled to reveal two chipmunk-sized teeth with a quarter-inch space between them. “Dr. Reardon asked that you fill out these new patient forms, and he’ll be with you as soon as possible.”
Diana took the clipboard and perched on one of the wicker chairs in the waiting room to complete the paperwork. She was just finishing when the receptionist came out from behind the desk, carrying her purse. When Diana looked up at her inquiringly, the woman explained, “Got to run out for lunch today, dearie. But don’t you worry—Dr. Reardon is almost finished with his last patient. Patty’s in there with him and she’ll come out for you when he’s done.”
“Patty’s the nurse?” Diana asked, feeling a bit nervous.
“Oh, yes,” called the receptionist as she bustled out the door.
Diana gave a small sigh of relief, then silently berated herself for her nerves. What was going to happen to her in a doctor’s office in the middle of town?
With the receptionist gone, though, this was as good a time as any to try to take a look at her aunt’s medical records. Diana rose slowly from her chair, and, carrying the clipboard, slipped through the door to the back room. If anyone came in, she’d say she made a mistake on the forms and was looking for a new one. That, she thought, was as good an excuse as any—and if anyone caught her, it would likely be Patty.
It took only a quick moment to ascertain that Belinda Lawry’s medical records were not filed with the rest of Dr. Reardon’s patients. No sooner had Diana learned this than she heard approaching footsteps and she hurried back into the waiting area. She was just in time to be found examining the quilt that hung on the wall when the door opened.
“Diana!” Marc’s smooth voice caused her to start and turn. “I’m so glad you decided to take me up on my offer. Come on back.”
“Hello,” she smiled. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice—and on your lunch hour, too.”
“Not a problem—never a problem for Belinda’s niece. We’ll be in the last examining room on the left. I’ll be there in just one moment.”
Diana looked in vain for signs of the nurse Patty but could hear no one else in the office. She went into the examining room a bit reluctantly and found that she was too nervous to sit on the table. Instead, she looked out the window and tried to relax.
The click of the door opening behind caused her to whirl. “I’m sorry, Diana, but it’s going to be just the two of us. My nurse has gone to lunch already.” He shut the door behind him without turning.
When Diana looked at him, she knew he knew. The flare of understanding must have shown in her eyes, for Marc’s austere face cracked into a chill smile.
“Ah, you’ve figured it out, then.” He stepped closer to her and Diana tried to move out of his way, frantically looking for something with which to fend him off. The countertops were cleared of anything she might use as a weapon.
Marc chuckled. “Come now, Diana, you don’t think I’m that foolish, do you?” With a swift movement, he snared her arm and yanked her so hard that she stumbled and hit her head against the storage cabinet.
“What are you doing?” she managed to gasp as he imprisoned both of her arms behind her, pulling up
on her elbows with such violence that she cried out in surprised pain.
A cloth-covered hand groped at her face and she struggled to kick backward at him, to avert her nose and mouth from the sick, sweet scent of the drug, to shrug out of his grip.
“Couldn’t you have left well enough alone?” he said breathlessly as he struggled to subdue her. “Wasn’t the money from your aunt enough?”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked desperately, knowing she was losing the battle. The cloth found her nose and mouth and his fingers pinched into her face as he held her immobile.
“I have no choice,” he said in that cultured voice. “You would upset my apple cart too much to let this pass.”
The scent was sweet and cloying, clogging her nostrils and drying the inside of her mouth. Diana gave one last futile twist even as she felt her body weaken, succumbing to the numbing sleep forced upon her. Everything went dimmer, then dark, then black.
THIRTEEN
Diana became aware of voices and felt herself being lifted and moved. Jolted, none-too-gently, and then all at once she was falling.
She managed to peel her eyes open as she landed on the edge of a sofa, then weakly rolled off onto the floor. As she struck ground, she noticed the rug with a shock of recognition and lifted her throbbing head to look around.
Aunt Belinda’s den. She’d been dumped carelessly onto the settee on which she’d spent so many hours.
“Well, look who’s returned to the living,” said a familiar voice.
Diana looked up to see Marc Reardon smiling down at her with a thin-lipped, supercilious expression. The room tilted and spun, and her muscles felt like jelly, but she dragged herself up, using the settee as a brace. He watched in amusement as she crawled with agonizing slowness onto the narrow sofa, and sat, clutching its arm.
“What …” she tried to speak, but her mouth was so dry she couldn’t even swallow. What had he drugged her with? And how long ago had it been? From what she could see, daylight still streamed in through the windows of the den.
“What am I doing? What am I going to do with you? What are we doing here? Which very unimaginative question shall I start with?” he said mockingly. “I thought you might have been able to do better than that. Perhaps something like...how did I connect with my partner in crime?”
Diana shook her head in confusion, but any coherent thought she might have had was caught in the cobwebs of the drug. Then she heard noises from the kitchen.
She and Reardon weren’t alone. But who was with him? Something icy slipped down her spine and her heart began to pound. Who was it?
She must have formed the question with her lips, for Reardon’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Do you mean to say, you haven’t figured it out? I thought for certain ….” He smiled with genuine humor. “You aren’t as smart as I thought you were, Diana darling. You obviously figured me somehow—it was written all over your face when you walked into my office today. I’m not sure how you ever got to be so good at hiding your thoughts in court—for I understand that you are, indeed, quite an excellent attorney. It’s a shame I didn’t know you back in Oregon, or it might never have come to this. I don’t really care for Maine, you see,” he said, settling conversationally on the edge of the settee next to her. “I much prefer the cosmopolitan cities and the lifestyle they offer. But here I am, stuck in this tiny little shit-town because Marjorie Gaunt’s son got too damn suspicious and I had to disappear.”
Diana could hear a low voice from the kitchen; it sounded as if someone was speaking urgently on a telephone. She couldn’t even tell the gender of the speaker, let alone discern the words. “Who is it?” she managed to croak out, glancing in that direction.
“Oh, let’s not do that quite yet, shall we?” Reardon said with a smile. “Let’s talk about other things first. I’d like you to fully understand my position and where I was before I met up with my partner. That will make it all the more delicious when you see who it is, darling Diana.”
She glanced around, looking for a chance to escape, but she knew her legs wouldn’t hold her. And even if they did, he’d catch her before she got far. And so she swallowed again, hard, trying to think, trying to clear her mind. But her thoughts buzzed like a swarm of flies, confused and random, and in the end all she could do was listen as the megalomaniac continued to speak.
“I made quite a lot of money back in Oregon,” he was saying. “Getting rich ladies to pay me loads of money to help them into a dignified, painless death—all before they lost their hair and memory and succumbed to the intense pain I told them would be inevitable. I didn’t want them to suffer like that, the poor darlings. Most of them weren’t even terminal, but they believed me and allowed me to help them end their lives on their own terms, in their own ways. And then Marjorie’s son got suspicious, and I had the DA and then the Attorney General looking at all of my records...and so I knew it was time to disappear. Not that I’d done anything wrong—they couldn’t really pin anything on me. After all, it was suicide. I just provided the tools. And the motivation.” He smiled calmly.
“I’d intended to go to Costa Rica,” he continued, “but I wasn’t able to get a good enough fake passport for Marc Reardon. And so here I am. On the opposite coast in a little po-dunk town, and hating every minute of it.”
He smoothed the starched shirt he wore, adjusting his monogrammed cuffs and frowned. “I began to get bored with General Practice about two months after I got here and decided it would be best if I could find a way to leave the country as I’d originally intended. But there’s not a lot of money to be had here in Damariscotta, except from a few wealthy individuals. And so I began to diagnose a few cancer cases and one terrible aneurysm that was ready to pop at any moment. And then I got to know your aunt. She had a lot of money. She was elderly. If she had a heart attack, no one would think anything of it—especially if I had already been treating her for heart disease. All I had to do was charm her into changing her will. And that shouldn’t be hard, since her closest relative was a career woman in Boston who had neglected her for years. Or I could somehow attach myself to said relative.”
The rumbling voice from the kitchen had ceased speaking, and now Diana heard footsteps coming from that direction. Her stomach curdled with fear and apprehension as Reardon caught her gaze and gave her an arch smile.
“My partner is about to assuage your curiosity, darling,” he said.
But she wasn’t listening, for he’d already walked into the den.
Diana couldn’t breathe. Her vision flashed dark, then bright, and then she went numb. Hardly aware of her fingers digging into the settee’s upholstery, she felt her entire world falling away, caving in around her.
“Or,” Reardon was saying with a smile, “I could find the man the heiress was going to marry.”
“Jonathan,” Diana managed to whisper.
He stood over her, wearing an expression she’d never seen before. It was calm and yet laced with chagrin at the same time. Almost as if he were embarrassed or ashamed to be here—but not enough to change his mind.
“Christ, Reardon, this isn’t a damned movie recap,” Jonathan said, running a hand through his hair. “This is business and we don’t have a lot of time for chatting. Let’s finish this up so I can get back to Boston. I’m supposed to be in New York and my office keeps calling me. Damned cell phones don’t work up here.”
“What are you doing here?” Diana managed to say, anger and pain forcing the words out clearly. “Are you really involved with this, Jonathan?”
His smile was weak but his eyes cold. “I needed the money, Diana. I thought after we were married I’d have access to whatever I needed—or, if worst came to worst, something could happen to you so I’d inherit. I didn’t really want it to go that way, but I don’t have any more time. No more choice. If I don’t pay the money, or at least prove I have access to it in three days, I’m dead.”
Diana shook her head hard and seemed to dislodge some of the remnants
of fog. “Money? To who?”
“Gambling,” Reardon interrupted. “Your fiancé has a terrible gambling habit. He’s in deep, past his elegant ears, and he’s borrowed so much that there isn’t any more to borrow. Now his benefactors are getting impatient, and they need funds. What? You didn’t know he gambled?”
She shook her head blankly, simply unable to assimilate what was happening. Impossible. It just couldn’t be. “But...how did you—”
“How did we meet up? That’s the amazing, serendipitous part about it,” Reardon said congenially. “It was at a convention, about a year ago. In Vegas, of course,” he added, glancing at Jonathan, who had the grace to look away. “He was commiserating about his bad luck at the blackjack table, and I happened to be listening. One thing led to another and I mentioned I hated living in Damariscotta, and he recognized the name of the town. Apparently, you’d just recently met but hadn’t started to date, or somehow he knew about your connection here. From that initial conversation, we managed to put everything together—even to get your aunt in touch with you again, just by accident. All by accident.” He smiled, so very pleased with himself. “And of course, with a large inheritance on the horizon, your friend Jonathan became very motivated to get you locked in with a wedding ring.”
Diana actually curled her fingers into a fist and would have punched him in his supercilious face if Jonathan hadn’t been looking out the window and made a sudden noise of alarm.
“What is it?” Reardon asked, and Diana stiffened, ready to use the distraction as an opportunity to escape.
But she’d barely had the thought when Jonathan moved suddenly, out of view of the window, and all at once there was a silver gun pointing at her. A gun! “It’s your new boyfriend. What’s his name—Tannock. He’s just pulling up the driveway.”
Diana’s heart leaped—he was two days early!—and then at the same time, it plummeted, leaving her cold and shaken. Oh, God, what if he walked into the house? Which was just what he would do. He’d walk right into this.
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 27
