by Joanne Pence
Patsy’s head jerked up. “How do you know that?”
Angie was taken aback. She was just making things up—she had a propensity to do that, especially when crazy men were after her, wanting to kill her. “I just know it.”
The house shook as Martin slammed something against the closet. His shoulder? An ax?
“He’s coming! Please, Patsy.”
Patsy stared at her. “Jack! I miss him so.”
“Jack wants you to live, to tell the police everything you know. Come on, Susannah. We’ve got to find a place to hide.”
“Jack said that?”
“Yes.”
“All right. We can go this way.” Patsy stood up and ran into the storage room they’d been in earlier, where Danny had been held. She picked up a lantern, ran toward a corner, then seemed to disappear.
Angie stopped, dumbfounded.
Patsy stuck her head out—there was a narrow opening within the wall. “Come on. Jack will lead us out of here.”
At those words, for the life of her Angie couldn’t figure out if she would be better off following crazy Patsy or having a face-off with homicidal Martin.
The noise from the top floor made it sound as if the whole house were being ripped apart.
That decided it. She turned down the wick on the kerosene lamp in the cellar, casting the room in darkness, then ran into the opening after Patsy. The opening narrowed down till it was only about four feet tall. Angie was afraid to go into it. What if it dead-ended? They’d be trapped in there, with Martin coming after them. Why hadn’t she held onto Paavo’s gun? As it was, they were helpless.
“Patsy, darling?” She heard Martin cooing. “Patsy, where are you?”
A cold chill ran down Angie’s back. She scrambled after Patsy, who luckily had paid no attention, since she was convinced she was Susannah.
“Come here, Patsy, sweetheart,” Martin called. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
Crawling through the maze, following Patsy, after several twists and turns Angie found herself in a long tunnel.
“Don’t get me mad at you, Patsy. Come here. I’ll take you to Greg. Don’t you want to see Greg again?” Martin’s voice was sounding closer. “Maybe you can go up in smoke, just like Greg—or should I say, Fricasseed Spirit?”
“Hurry, Susannah,” Angie cried. She saw light up ahead. Daylight. She crawled faster, getting ahead of the slow-moving Patsy, then grabbing her arm and trying to pull her along at a quicker rate. Martin had to be getting close.
As they neared the mouth of the tunnel, it became wider, taller. The two of them were able to stand again. Now running and stumbling, they went as fast and hard as they could.
Just ahead was the end of the tunnel. They ran to it, hoping for safety, but instead came to a screeching stop.
Below them was a sheer drop to the ocean and the rock-laden cove; above them, the wall of a cliff, the top invisible in its shroud of fog. And not far behind them, working his way through the maze of cellars to the tunnel, was the clever, murderous Martin Bayman.
30
“Paavo!”
Paavo turned to see Danny running over the hill toward him. He and Reginald had passed Quint’s house and were heading toward the beach.
“Thank God,” Paavo murmured, relief flooding through him at the sight of the boy. “Where have you been?” he shouted. “You scared your mother half to death.”
“I know.” Breathless, Danny stopped in front of him. “Angie told me. She got me away from Patsy.”
“You were with Patsy?”
“She hid in the cellar ’cause she thought she killed Finley. Running Spirit told her she did. But then he was killed, and she, like, went nuts. She thinks she’s Susannah.”
“She what?”
“You got to hurry. Angie needs help.”
A dozen questions died unspoken on Paavo’s lips at the boy’s last words. “Where is she?”
“She’s going back to the house. She said to tell you Mr. Bayman’s the killer.”
“Bayman? Angie said Bayman?” Paavo repeated, incredulous.
“Where are the other women?” Reginald Vane shouted. “Where’s Chelsea?”
“I don’t know,” Danny answered. “All I know is Mr. Bayman’s going to the house after Patsy, and Angie’s trying to stop him.”
“Good Christ!” Paavo said.
“We’ll stop him,” Vane declared. “I’ve got to warn Chelsea and the others as well. I’ve got to find them.” He ran into the forest.
Paavo had started toward the inn when he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his ears. He stopped and took a deep breath. Nothing like that had ever happened to him. He tried to go on, but his whole head was pounding so hard he could scarcely see. Ignore it, he told himself; he had to reach Angie. He stumbled forward, but it was no good. Blindly he put his hand out, groping until he found a tree for support. Leaning against it, he fought the dizziness that overwhelmed him.
“Are you all right?” Danny asked.
“Cellar’s too far,” Paavo said, breathing hard. “Bayman will reach her long before we get there. Is there any other way?”
“There’s the tunnel from the sea.”
“What tunnel?”
“Old Ezra dug it. Where it starts, he used to have a rope ladder to the beach. But it’s just a hole in the cliffs now.”
The cliffs weren’t very far. “This tunnel leads back to the house?”
“To the cellars. That’s where Patsy’s hiding.”
“Show it to me.”
“Okay, but we’ll need a rope to get down to the opening. Grandpa’s got one.”
“Let’s go.” They ran back to Quint’s shed for the rope, then to the cliffs. With each step Paavo’s headache lessened.
Desperate, Angie and Patsy huddled at the mouth of the tunnel. The swirling fog lent a murky dampness to the air, a surreal quality to the setting. But this wasn’t some avant-garde movie. It was life and death.
A few feet away, the cliff dropped off, ending in jagged rocks and raging surf. Above them, the cliff rose just as steeply. The top, covered with fog, wasn’t visible. Angie clutched Patsy’s hand tighter.
“Elise—” Patsy stepped closer to the edge.
“No!” Angie jerked her back. She searched her mind for an answer—up or down? If they went down, they could be trapped there. One slip, one tall wave, and they could be swept into the ocean. Angie could imagine Martin’s sneering laughter as their bodies floated out to sea.
Going up was the only way to safety—if they could make it in one piece.
A little way from the tunnel’s mouth, a deep crack in the rock face angled upward. It looked wide enough for her and Patsy to wedge their feet in, and along it were the scraggly roots of small scrub. They could hang onto them and work their way up.
“Come on!” She had to shout to be heard over the sound of the wind whipping against the cliffs and into the tunnel. “We’ve got to get over to that little ledge.”
Between the tunnel and the crevice they needed to reach was a small expanse—only about four feet wide—of sheer, slick rock. Just wide enough that they’d have to jump to reach it.
Patsy looked at the cliff. “Over there?”
“You’ve got to.” As best she could, Angie maneuvered Patsy to the side wall of the tunnel. “Don’t look down. Aim for that spot. You can do it.”
“Jack will help us,” Patsy said.
“I’m afraid we might be meeting him a lot sooner than I ever expected,” Angie murmured.
Patsy was taller than Angie. Pressed against the cliff face for balance, she was able to stretch her legs enough that her foot reached the crevice without the need to jump. Loose rocks fell, bouncing to the water, but Patsy maintained her toehold and was able to pull herself onto the cliff face, her feet wedged in the protection of the crack in the rock.
“Go up,” Angie said, her heart still in her throat from the sight of those loose rocks. “I need room.”
“Up?”
“Up! Hurry.”
Patsy pulled herself up a little way, leaving enough room for Angie.
She looked at the crevice Patsy had stepped into. It was too far for her to reach. She’d have to jump.
But then she made the mistake of looking down. Her nerve failed her. It was too far. Too frightening.
“Angie?” Martin sounded surprised.
She spun around to face him.
“Angie. What are you doing here? I was looking for Patsy.”
She racked her brain for something to say to talk Martin out of harming them. She’d talked her way out of plenty before. If Patsy would climb up, while she talked, Patsy would be safe and so would she. Martin wouldn’t try to harm her, would he?
If Martin thought she suspected him he would. And why else would she be running away from him? “I was looking for Patsy, too,” she said finally.
“Oh? Why? You knew where she was.”
“To help you. Patsy’s a murderer. Killed her own husband. How could you stand a chance?”
“He knows,” Patsy called.
“What?” To her dismay, Angie saw that Patsy hadn’t gone very far up the cliff at all, but had stopped and was watching them.
“Well, well,” Martin said, stepping out far enough onto the edge of the tunnel’s mouth that he could see Patsy. “What do we have here? Our own little Lizzie Borden.”
“He saw me,” Patsy said slowly, “when I killed Ezra. Ezra fell and hit his forehead, and when I was running away, I remember he was there. Who is he?”
“He…he’s Martin.” Tongue-tied, Angie prayed Martin couldn’t figure out what Patsy was talking about.
“Ezra?” Martin’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Patsy. “And what’s your name?”
“Susannah.”
Martin’s eyebrows rose. Angie tried to diffuse his suspicions. “Patsy doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
Martin ignored her and called to Patsy. “What about Running Spirit?”
“His name is Jack,” Patsy insisted.
“And if Moira is Elise, Finley must be Ezra,” Martin said thoughtfully. His face filled with sudden anger as he realized Patsy had seen him nearby when Finley was killed.
Angie knew then that he would try to kill her and Patsy. Too easily, he could make it appear that they had an unfortunate slip on the rocks. He would literally get away with murder.
He wasn’t going to. She wouldn’t allow it. Using all her strength and courage, she leaped for the crevice. The foot she led with slid into the spot perfectly, and she pressed her body against the cliff, holding on for dear life. Then she brought her back foot forward. As she stepped onto the cliff with it, the rocks broke loose. Her foot jerked downward, finding only air, pulling her down with it.
She screamed, her body rocking back away from the cliff, but Patsy reached down and grabbed her sweater at the shoulder, holding on as she steadied herself and found a new place to put her foot.
“Okay?” Patsy asked.
Barely able to breathe, Angie whispered, “Okay.”
“Look at you fools!” Martin shouted. He tried to stretch his foot into the crevice, but Angie kicked him. He reached his hand toward her, but she picked up a loose rock and smacked it hard against his fingertips.
“Climb, Patsy!” she screamed. “Get away from him.”
“Wait, Susannah!” Martin shrieked. “Jump! You’ve got to jump—just like Elise.”
Patsy stopped and looked down at the ocean.
“I hear voices out on the cliff,” Danny said, running back to the pine where Paavo was tying the heavy rope.
“They’re outside the tunnel?” Paavo asked.
“I can’t see. It’s too foggy.”
“Hell.” Paavo gave a heavy tug to tighten the knot, then ran to the cliff. Danny was right—the fog was so thick he couldn’t see what was below. Wrapping the rope under one thigh and over the opposite shoulder, he hoped the training he’d had years ago in the army wouldn’t fail him; then he stepped off the edge, dropping quickly into the foggy mist.
He could hear Bayman’s and Angie’s voices before he saw them, but nothing prepared him for the sight of Angie clinging so tenuously to the side of the cliff. He was afraid to call out, afraid to do anything that might cause her to lose her concentration.
As much as anything, he had to worry about Bayman and hope that Angie, in her usual headstrong way, hadn’t challenged and accused him. Cornered, Bayman might try to take others down with him. It was the kind of cowardly, cruel thing he’d seen murderers do before.
Forcing his voice to sound calm, he called out, “I see them, Bayman. I’ll help. Just hold on tight, ladies. I’ll get you off there.” His eyes never left Angie’s hands as he quickly rappelled down to her and Patsy.
“Paavo! Oh, God, Paavo, be careful,” Angie cried. “Martin’s—”
“I know, Angie. He’s trying to help. Now, I’ll get you off the cliff, then we’ll get Patsy off. Thanks, Bayman.”
“Sure,” Martin said.
Paavo climbed down to Angie’s level; then, with her pressed flat against the rocks, he wrapped his body behind her so she couldn’t fall, and holding her with one hand, the rope with the other, he helped her back into the tunnel’s mouth. “Go on,” he whispered. She tried to hurry out of Martin’s reach, but her body trembled so badly she could scarcely move.
“Let go of me!” Patsy screamed. “I want Jack!”
Angie turned back to the mouth of the tunnel. “Susannah! Come on, we’ll find Jack. Let Paavo help you.”
Listening to Angie, Patsy stopped struggling and let Paavo help her off the cliff.
Angie reached out to take her hand, but Martin suddenly snatched Patsy away and pulled her to his side. He stepped to the edge of the cliff.
“Let’s get her inside, Martin,” Paavo said. “She might be a danger to herself.”
“Patsy’s a killer,” Martin declared.
“Is she?” Paavo asked, trying to sound innocent.
“She killed Finley and kidnapped Danny.”
“How did she do it? How could someone as slight as she is toss Finley off a cliff?” Paavo asked.
“She could have just rolled him off the edge.”
“Why would she?”
Martin grimaced. “She wanted his place for her husband. Tay wouldn’t sell. Everyone knows it.”
“Tay wouldn’t sell to you, either,” Paavo said.
“Bethel and I had this dream, but no more than that. I mean, this was no big deal to us. If it didn’t pan out, we’d be okay.”
“I thought Bethel said it was your last hope,” Angie said. “She was the one who always had to figure out everything, but this is the one time you took an interest. She was proud of you, Martin.”
He stared at her a long moment before he began blinking hard. “No.” The word was whispered.
“This Disneyland idea of yours was your big dream; then you found out you weren’t the only one here with plans. That made you mad, didn’t it, Bayman?” Paavo asked.
“No!” His grip tightened on Patsy. White, tense lines appeared around his mouth. “It didn’t matter.”
“Even after Finley was gone, you saw Jeffers moving in on Moira, making himself even more influential. You saw yourself as being pushed aside. To these people, Bethel was no more than a crazy old lady, and you were her drunken sot of a husband.”
“Shut up!” His eyes reddened.
Paavo slowly eased closer to Bayman. He dropped his voice, making it now seem friendly—a ploy often used in homicide interrogations. “What happened, Martin?”
“Nothing!”
“Finley was no good. I know it, just like you do,” Paavo said. “His own sister told me as much.”
“Finley laughed when I told him about my plans,” Bayman said bitterly, taking a step nearer the edge. Paavo stopped moving toward him. “Finley had the money, he had the inn, and he had a bunch of people so busy bickering with each other over how to run the dam
n place, he could make all the decisions. He screwed all of us. Not just me! I’m glad he’s dead. He deserved to die. I’m glad Patsy killed him.”
“With Finley gone, I guess Moira would have sold you the place; but then Jeffers messed it up for you, didn’t he?” Paavo asked. “He was as bad as Finley.”
“I would have convinced Moira to listen to me.” Bayman spat out the words. “I can be very charming, you see. I would have convinced her, if it wasn’t for Jeffers. He confused her. He was scum. He deserved to die, too.”
“And Patsy killed him?” Paavo asked.
“Yes!” Bayman’s face was flushed; perspiration dripped from his forehead. Patsy just stood there, rag-doll limp, lost in her own world.
“What about Miss Greer?” Paavo asked. “What made Patsy kill her?”
“She just—!” Martin stopped. His gaze darted from Paavo to Angie, then seemed to deaden as the enormity of his crimes struck him and he realized that they knew. He shut his eyes for a moment before speaking. “She saw me in her kitchen the night Finley disappeared. I had just finished hiding the dead rat. I didn’t think anyone had seen it, but I was wrong. Angie had. That night my shoes were caked with wet sand, my clothes and hair damp from the night mist. The next night, the cook asked why I’d been in her kitchen, why I would have moved a rat. She said that if the rat was there for Finley, how did I know he wouldn’t come home to see it—unless I knew what had happened to him. They were all good questions.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “And I had no answers.”
The calm in Bayman’s voice chilled Paavo to the bone. Angie tried to step closer, probably hoping to grab Patsy, but Paavo put out an arm to stop her. He’d seen too many Good Samaritans get hurt or killed in situations like this. He didn’t know what Martin was planning; all he knew was it would be bad.
“Bring Patsy back in the tunnel, Martin. Let’s go and talk about this.” He reached for Patsy.
“Don’t! No closer.” Bayman rocked precariously on the edge, Patsy with him.
“Come on, Martin,” Paavo said. “Let’s go inside.”
Bayman shook his head, looking down at the rocks. “God, I wish I had a nice stiff drink.”
