Delicious Torment

by Linsey Lanier

  He wiped his mouth with the napkin. “It was fine, Delta.”

  “Perhaps you’ll enjoy dessert better. It’s blueberry cheesecake. Freshly baked.”

  He forced a smile. He’d always hated cheesecake. Delta didn’t know him as well as she liked to pretend. Nonetheless, he allowed the servant to place a slice before him.

  He lifted his fork and picked at it. “So what was it you wanted to tell me, Delta?”

  “Tell you?” Her eyes glowed with faux innocence that annoyed him.

  “You said you wanted to talk. You said you had your courage up.”

  Her face grew sullen. She nodded. “Yes.” She waited a moment for the servants to leave the room, then leaned toward him. “Wade, it’s been a long time.” She looked down at her hands. “I was wondering. After all that’s happened—Laura, Sylvia, my two husbands, my sister, and now Ferraro. They’re all gone from our lives.”

  She raised her chin, her eyes watery with emotion in the candlelight. “Is there any chance for us? Any hope of regaining what we once had?”

  He swallowed hard, but didn’t answer right away. He hadn’t expected this. Was she still in love with him after all these years? For his part, he felt the same as always for her. Nothing but pity mixed with a tinge of revulsion.

  “Delta, I—”

  “Don’t say it.” She raised a hand, then put it to her mouth. Her lips trembled as she shook her head. “I didn’t really think it was possible. I just had to ask.”

  With an elegant move, she rose and moved to the decanter table. Silently, she poured two sherries. She turned back, handed him one.

  She sat down and stared out the window with the saddest look he’d ever seen. “Delta, I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head slightly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  With a heavy sigh, he lifted the sherry to his lips. He had to get out of here. He’d been wrong. Delta wouldn’t be any help to the investigation of Desirée’s death. She was too disturbed, too wrapped up in her own troubles. He swallowed half the sherry, hoping that would be enough to placate the woman.

  He set the glass down and looked up at Delta, intending to say good-bye.

  “I had wanted…I had hoped…” Her lips moved, but suddenly, he couldn’t make out her words.

  He tried to stand. The room swayed. He caught himself on the table before he fell.

  Too late, he sensed the warm liquid on his tongue and knew the taste of it wasn’t right. What could be so fast acting? Have such a kick? “What did you put in that drink, Delta?”

  She smiled bitterly and waved a hand. “Oh, a pain prescription the doctors gave my father after his knee surgery last year. Oxycodone, I think.”

  Ground oxycodone would work fast. And could be fatal if there were enough of it. Irritation prickled at the back of his neck, but it was a dreamlike sensation.

  Blinking hard, he raised his head and saw Delta through a hazy cloud. She was pointing something at him. A handgun. Through sheer force of will, he brought his mind to attention. He stared at the barrel, made a deductive leap. “The gun that killed Ferraro Usher.”

  “Why, whatever do you mean, Wade?” Her voice echoed as though she were standing in a tunnel, but he could hear the viciousness reverberate in her tone.

  Slowly he forced his hand into his pocket and turned on the recorder on his cell phone. “Are you going to shoot me as well, Delta?”

  “You hurt me so much, Wade. You broke my heart.”

  “You broke mine, too. You took my first love from me.”

  “She took mine.” She put both hands on the pistol. “We can’t do this here. Besides, there’s something I want to show you. Raise your hands, turn around slowly and head through the door.”

  He did as she said, relieved that she seemed to be in no hurry. With time, he could catch her off guard. If he could stay conscious. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Out to the stables.”

  * * *

  Miranda raced down I-20 toward Conyers, cursing her old beater and wishing for the speed of Parker’s Lamborghini. After an eternity, she turned off the exit and followed the country road to the white wooden sign reading “Aquitaine Farms.” Giving the Lumina the gas, she sped up the long dirt path under the rows of trees, hoping that her clunker didn’t blow a gasket.

  As she reached the house, she realized she was shaking with rage. She had it all planned. She would tell Delta she had a lead on her sister’s case. She’d tell her what she knew. Delta would see that the evidence pointed to her. If she didn’t, Miranda would point out that fact.

  Oh, but she knew she was innocent. All she needed was for Delta to explain the details that incriminated her. With any luck at all, she’d either get a frank admission or a cover-up with enough contradictions to hang her. And she’d be recording every word. How was that for objectivity? Too bad Parker would have to read about it in the newspapers.

  She pulled her car under the same row of azalea bushes where Parker had hidden his Mazda the day they drove out to the place. She got out and looked up at the building. Had Delta been watching them that day? Had she seen the nose of the Mazda? Surmised Parker was with her?

  Miranda didn’t know, but something made her hesitate.

  And then she saw it around the corner.

  Parker’s Mazda. What was he doing here?

  With the smell of honeysuckle and hay in her nose, following instinct, she strolled around to the side of the house and stood on the rise overlooking the barn where she had questioned Kennicot.

  The sun had almost set and in the dusk, she couldn’t see much. She shaded her eyes and squinted. Finally, two figures came into focus, lumbering along a dirt path, heading toward the barn. They stepped into the light of one of the overhead lamps and at last, she could make them out.

  Shock ripped through her. No. She had to be imagining things.

  Parker? Going out to the barn with Delta? Why?

  Then she saw that Delta seemed to be forcing him along. He had his hands in the air. Was that a gun she was pointing at him?

  God, no.

  She stood, holding her breath as they shuffled to the barn and went inside. Her heart hammering in her chest, she reached for her cell and punched in the number Chambers had given her. It rang. Thank God, she had service out here.

  He answered right away. “Yeah?”

  “Chambers,” she whispered, muffling her voice with her hand.

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  She turned around and dared to speak a little louder. “Chambers, it’s me. Miranda Steele.”

  “My old buddy. Heard you got sprung last night. How are you liking your freedom?”

  “Shut up and listen.”

  “Lookie here, you—”

  “Chambers, this is an emergency. I’m out at Aquitaine Farms.”

  “Aquitaine Farms? The Langford estate near Conyers?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a problem. Someone with a gun. If I don’t get help fast, there could be another murder.”

  That got Chambers’s attention. Stopping a murder would be a feather in his cap. Not to mention his pledge to serve and protect. “Conyers is out of my jurisdiction, honey.”

  “What can you do?”

  “I’ll get hold of the local yokels and tell them to bring backup. How many you need?”

  “As many as you can spare. Send EMTs, too.” She had a feeling this wasn’t going to be pretty.

  “I’ll work on it.”

  “Move your ass. Otherwise the next victim could be Wade Parker.”

  “Wade Parker?” he gasped. “Why didn’t you say so? I’ll get right on it.” He hung up.

  Miranda put the phone back in her pocket and raced up the slope toward the barn. By the time she reached the structure and slipped through the big, open door, her whole body was shivering.

  Her eyes took a moment to get used to the darkened space. There was light in the distance, but she didn’t see anyone. She stood a moment, listening hard, catchi
ng her breath.

  Then she heard voices coming from one of the stalls.

  “I’m so sorry things had to turn out this way.” Delta’s voice.

  Quickly, Miranda took in the area. Behind a pole, there was a wooden staircase leading to a platform that ran over the stalls. Some sort of hayloft or storage area.

  “If only they had played out differently.” Delta again.

  She moved quietly to the wooden stairs and began to climb.

  “Why couldn’t you make things turn out differently, Wade? Why?” The woman sounded like she was about to cry.

  Parker wasn’t saying anything.

  At last Miranda reached the top. There were bales of hay and boxes piled high on the platform. A narrow wooden handrail ran along the border of it. She grabbed onto the railing and inched along the ledge. Slowly, she slinked as silently as she could, praying that the floorboards wouldn’t creak.

  “Delta,” she heard Parker say. “How long do you think you can get away with this?”

  Hay rustled below as Delta shuffled her feet. “I don’t care about getting away with it. Not anymore. If I can’t have you, my life is over.”

  Miranda stopped in her tracks, dizzy at the words. Her life was over? Was Delta Langford still in love with Parker? Like she had been in high school?

  More hay rustled. “Tell me what happened.” Parker’s voice lacked the strong, confident force it usually had. What had Delta done to him?

  Biting her lip, she crept another few feet until at last she could see the tops of their heads. Peering over the handrail, she saw Delta’s flaming red curls, Parker’s sophisticated, salt-and-pepper mane.

  They were both dressed up, Parker in his usual debonair suit, Delta in a red satin knee-length dress. A string of pearls, heels. She sure wasn’t dressed for pitching hay.

  They stood facing each other inside a large, open stall, near the spot where Kennicot had bared his soul to her. A chestnut horse stood in the opposite corner blinking at the intruders.

  Calypso? Oh, my God. Just like Desirée. Delta turned. There was a gun in her hand.

  Miranda clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.

  “What happened to Ferraro, Delta? What will it matter if you tell me?” Parker was trying to get the truth out of her.

  Carefully, Miranda slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her recorder. Her heart thumping wildly, she crouched down and slid it onto the floor near the edge. She pushed the Record button, then grabbed onto the railing to watch the scene below.

  Delta wiped her forehead with her free hand. She took a step forward, a step back, rustling the hay again. Then her shoulders slumped and she let it out. “I fell in love with Ferraro Usher the moment I met him.”

  Delta? In love with Usher? Oh, man. Miranda’s heart was tripping like a machine gun. It all made sense now.

  “Then I made the horrid mistake of introducing him to my sister.” Delta said the word sister with such hatred, Miranda felt like she’d been shocked with a live electrical cord.

  “Of course, he immediately fell in love with Desirée. Everyone fell in love Desirée. He became obsessed with her. They married, but I knew Desirée didn’t love him.” Delta’s voice took on a high-pitched, pleading tone. “How could she do that to me? She was everyone’s favorite. My father preferred her over me. She was more popular in school than I was. She could have had anyone. Why did she have to take the man I loved?”

  “Delta,” Parker tried to soothe her.

  “And you,” she snapped. “You fell in love with that snippy little creature who wasn’t even good enough for you.”

  “Calm down, Delta,” Parker took a step toward her.

  “Get back.” She waved the gun.

  The horse whinnied.

  Delta shifted the gun and patted his neck. “There, there, Calypso. Not yet.”

  Now, Parker. She’s distracted. Now’s your chance to get the gun. He didn’t go for it. What was wrong with his reflexes?

  Delta glared at Parker. “I watched them together all those years they were married. They’d fight. They’d take drugs together. Ferraro was miserable. Why couldn’t he see I was the one who could make him happy?”

  She meandered away from the horse, coming closer to Parker. Hay rustled as he stumbled back, his hands up. “Ferraro was a fool,” he said, his voice a tad stronger.

  Delta didn’t seem to hear him. “And then she left him for Kennicot last Christmas. Of course, I was overjoyed. I went to see him in his loft. I told him I loved him. That he deserved better than the way Desirée treated him. He should have married me, not her.” She sniffed, as if about to cry. “He made love to me. Over the next few months, we had an affair. I was so happy, so insanely in love with him. And then, I realized he was only pretending to love me. All along he’d been pretending I was Desirée. He even painted it. He said I was like Medea and so was Desirée. His canvas captured both of us in one portrait. He was such an arrogant ass.”

  She had that right. Usher’s relationships were getting sicker by the minute.

  “Delta, how awful for you.” Parker risked another step toward her.

  Delta was too engrossed in the past to respond. “He wanted her back,” she moaned. “He’d do anything to get her back. She refused. But she used him to get the drugs she needed. She told me that was all he was good for.”

  She put a hand to her temple, steadying herself. “And then one night I saw that vial on his counter. I asked him what it was. He said it was a strong dose of PCP. I asked what it was for. He wouldn’t tell me, but I knew he was going to kill himself with it. And so I took it when he wasn’t looking. I couldn’t let Ferraro destroy himself for my worthless sister. That was when the idea came to me. Why not use it to destroy her instead?”

  Miranda glanced down at the floorboards. The recorder was still going.

  “The Steeplechase was the following weekend,” Delta continued. “It would be the perfect opportunity. And so I wrote a suicide note for my sister, mimicking her handwriting. Our writing was always similar. I was good at imitating it.”

  Like she had imitated Parker’s handwriting in high school when she put that note in the oak tree for Laura Turner.

  “On the morning of the Steeplechase, I had second thoughts and decided I couldn’t go through with it. But Desirée was so cruel to me when I saw her. She brushed me aside. She scoffed at our tradition of dressing alike for the Steeplechase. She ridiculed the outfit I’d had made for her. She said she hated the thought of being identified with me. I thought of the suicide note I’d tucked under the bow of her hat.”

  Delta closed her eyes, shook her head. A second opportunity. Wake up, Parker. He rocked on his feet, as if about to fall into the hay. What had that bitch done to him?

  Delta spun toward the horse. He snorted, pawed the ground. With Parker in that condition, the animal could tear him apart with his hooves if the crazy woman riled him.

  “I was so hurt, so angry, that morning. When Desirée’s back was turned, I slipped the vial I’d taken from Ferraro’s loft into her drink. She drank it all. She didn’t even notice it.”

  Miranda stole another look at the recorder to make sure its light was still green. It was. At last, she had the confession she’d wanted so badly.

  “At first it seemed as if the drug had no effect. Desirée told Ferraro she was going to check on Calypso and headed for the stables. She seemed fine. Ferraro got up and left, but he left his riding crop behind. I picked it up and followed Desirée to Calypso’s stall.”

  “You were wearing gloves,” Parker said. Miranda felt a wild rush of relief to hear his voice again.

  “Yes, we both were. They were part of our outfits.”

  That was why only Usher’s prints showed up on that riding crop.

  “I watched Desirée go into the stall. The trainers were away on a break. No one noticed me. By then, she was staggering. The drug was taking effect, but I couldn’t be sure it was enough. And I wanted to pun
ish her for her cruelty to me. I watched her stumble to the back of the stall. She didn’t even know where she was anymore. I raised the crop and beat Calypso’s head, the way I wanted to beat her.”

  She took the horse by the halter, patted him again. “You always were excitable, weren’t you, boy?” She clucked her tongue.

  Then her voice took on a dreamy, faraway tone. “Calypso reared up, went into a frenzy. I remember the sound of his hooves against the wall. The dull thud came right away. His hooves struck Desirée’s body, her face. Once, twice. She went down. I took one look at her crushed face. That face she’d used to take Ferraro away from me. She never would again.”

  She moved her head, as if reliving the scene. “Calypso became uncontrollable. People would start to notice. Before anyone saw me, I ran from the stall and hid the riding crop in the bushes. I realized Ferraro’s fingerprints were on it. That I could frame him for Desirée’s murder. That’s why I asked your assistant to take the case. I read about her history in the papers. I knew she would sympathize with my plight.”

  Miranda clenched her teeth. Be a pushover, she meant. Bitch.

  “I told Ferraro if he would marry me, I would call off the investigation. But he refused.”

  No wonder he’d acted so violently when Miranda grilled him. He knew who the murderer was all along but was afraid to tell the truth. He was terrified of Delta.

  “After that awful party, he told me he was going to the police and tell them the truth.”

  “And?” Parker said quietly. Did she hear strength returning to his voice?

  “And so I killed him. With this very gun. I went to the loft to beg him to take me away. He wouldn’t do it. He said I belonged in jail. His words made me wild with grief. I had this gun in my handbag. I always carry it for protection when I go into town. I pretended to look for my keys. My fingers slipped around the handle as if they had a mind of their own. I couldn’t stop myself. I pulled the gun out and shot him.” She started to sob like a little girl who had lost her favorite doll.

  Parker didn’t move. Where were those local yokels Chambers promised?