* * *
From outside, the shadowy figure had crept as close to the doors as possible without giving himself away. Even from a distance, it was a serious place, not one to take for granted. A cold building that took on its own formidable air, as if what happened inside seeped into the very walls. Hambro was careful to keep his distance.
He watched Donagan and his partner enter the establishment, overhearing a smattering of words here and there. Enough to know that he was finally going to make a move with that pawn. And from the arrogant remarks he overheard, Donagan seemed certain he was about to retrieve Rex’s fortune. This, he thought darkly, was the beginning of something terrible. Then he moved into the recesses of a niche in the wall, listened intently, and waited.
Just as his feet felt like they might freeze in place, after countless times of stretching and flexing his legs to keep the circulation going, he heard from within the building a horrible scream of anguish. He shrunk down deeper into the shadows, bracing himself for whatever happened next.
The door burst open and Donagan erupted from within, stumbling from the assistance that came in the form of two huge men, pushing him out. Another man came out, that partner of his, strangely steady in comparison to Donagan. His only movement was pulling his hat down farther onto his head, a little over his eyes. He didn’t so much as nod in Donagan’s direction, just walked off, disappearing into the darkness of the night. Donagan seemed oblivious, trapped in some kind of loathsome world of his own. One hand was plastered to his forehead in shock or disbelief, the other loosely clasping a piece of paper. He started to stumble off in the opposite direction of the other man, the piece of paper fluttering to the icy ground, left behind.
After he got far enough away, Hambro, still in the deep shadows, slowly emerged and picked up the lost piece of paper, one corner of it already iced to the frosty ground.
We are either kings or pawns of men.
Hambro took the paper, stowed it in his inner coat pocket, and quickly slipped away.
CHAPTER 67
The next night Finn and I walked hand in hand as I appreciated the glowing buildings overhead, their golden eyes peering down at us and out at the world around. The lone star that was bright enough to shine despite New York City’s brilliance was out, as well as the pure white, almost full moon, lighting the streets for us. I looked at Finn, catching his eye, and smiled. He nodded up ahead to our friends we were following.
Fio was practically running alongside Hambro, who had just delivered the news to us of Donagan attempting to retrieve the fortune a mere hour before. Rex had the last word apparently, even from the grave. Delight in Donagan’s mortification made me rather cheery inside. But I knew Rex would leave nothing to chance; just who was the heir, then?
Reading my thoughts, Finn interjected, “Maybe there never was an heir. Maybe he wanted his legacy to die with him, no one benefiting from his work.”
“It would make sense. It seems like he’d rather his followers play hide ’n’ seek the rest of their lives. Like Captain Flint in Treasure Island. A kind of torture, really.”
Before we could delve into more theories, we arrived. As we came up the walk, the front door was flung open, the yellow light from within bursting out upon us like a lighthouse in the midst of the Atlantic. A blur of white and tan came running out and leaped into Hambro’s waiting arms. The reunion of the Hambros was something I would long remember. Their obvious delight and joy in being together again was palpable. Fio was bouncing on his toes, smiling ear to ear.
Mrs. Hambrow squeaked, “The chestnuts?” Hambro just nodded, unable to speak as he embraced her.
Finn’s arms came around me from behind and the three of us watched and then were suddenly folded into the hug as well. Mrs. Hambro and Fio were wiping their eyes as we all went into their home for a hot coffee and a little chat.
We sat in that inviting soft room of cream and rose with all the luscious textures. The strain that had been in Hambro’s eyes and around his mouth loosened and he smiled his old smile. We all sat in a circle and then the door to the parlor opened again. It was Robbins, the butler.
“Hello, Robbins,” said Mr. Hambro.
“Hello, sir,” Robbins replied.
I was waiting for more . . . something. Something more. Anything. My eyes darted back and forth in confusion from the dignified stare of Robbins to the amused smirk of Mr. Hambro.
I blurted out, “Well? Is that all you got?”
Robbins took a deep breath in, and as he exhaled, his shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. A tiny speck of a movement from the left side of his mouth caught my eye. “Good to have you home, sir. I’ll go get you something to eat.” And he left the room.
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” I muttered.
Mr. Hambro laughed. “Not a fan of the British stiff upper lip, Lane?”
“No, not really,” I replied.
Fio said, “Well, Lane, for Robbins, that ah, smile was an extravagant display of affection.”
“Indeed it was, Fio,” said Hambro. “So, Lane, we never discussed it, what made you realize I was the vendor? Well actually, vendors. I thought my disguises were quite thorough,” he asked, amusement lining his affable face. But I could tell he was also a touch disgruntled that I had seen through his ruse.
“Well, I have to admit it took me quite a while. Mrs. Hambro, when Roarke and I came back to see you, your peaceful demeanor made me think a little differently about it all. I’m good at thinking creatively, but this was ridiculously imaginative. And I was fascinated by those photographs of you both in your back office. There was something about them that I kept going back to but I couldn’t put my finger on it for a long time.
“Then one day it hit me. In all of the photographs, you, Mrs. Hambro, looked the same even after many years. But you, Mr. Hambro, you had different hats, different hairstyles, facial hair, even your clothes changed styles easily. Seeing them all in one place on the wall made me see your face in different lights and circumstances. Your face became familiar in a new way. When Finn and I had lunch with his contact Miles, I started thinking of how he had disguised himself as a millionaire. For some odd reason, all at once I thought of you, and I started to put together the faces of the vendor out here in Gramercy Park and the vendor outside City Hall.”
“And those were just the ones you remember . . .” said Mr. Hambro provocatively.
“There were more?” I exclaimed.
Finn added, “The delivery man that warned us we were being followed in Bryant Park . . .”
Fio said, “I saw you in a policeman’s uniform outside City Hall yesterday.” Finn’s head twisted to him in a flash, clearly wondering how he had managed that. “And you rang up my groceries once as the cashier at the market.” That did it, we all began laughing at his outrageous sense of humor as well as his comprehensive talent in disappearing and reappearing.
“How did you learn to do that?” I asked.
“I went to the library. I like to learn,” he said simply. “Then I went to a shop downtown that had the supplies I needed.”
“Speaking of disappearing,” said Fio as he wiped his eyes from mirth. “What do you think will happen to Donagan?”
I looked at Finn, who had considerable experience in figuring out the criminal mind. “What do you think, Finn?” I asked.
“I doubt he’ll disappear. He may have been outmaneuvered by Rex, but he’s built his own empire. Nothing to sneeze at, that’s for sure. And now he has more motivation to become greater than Rex.”
I asked, “Well, if he’s not it, do you think there really is an heir? Did Rex leave his legacy to someone?”
Fiorello responded, “We can theorize, but it’s basically unanswerable. Until we find more evidence, that is . . . Which is a scary thought.”
I took a sip of my coffee, wondering what Donagan would do next and how I hoped it wouldn’t involve me. I wished there had been a more concrete ending. It was unnerving having him out there still. An
d what would he do with all the pent-up rage, thwarted from his lost legacy? A shiver ran through me as I thought of that last meeting with him in the factory, what could have happened.
A knock at the front door interrupted my thoughts. After a few seconds of muffled discussion in the hallway, Robbins came in and announced that there was a policeman at the door needing to speak to Mayor La Guardia. All of us looked at one another expectantly. Fio rushed out of the room to the front door.
An hour later, Fio, Finn, and I stood on the cold pavement, the winter fog rolling in from the nearby water. I could hear the dock workers yelling to one another and working even at this late hour. My feet were instantly frozen, standing there immobile, unable to tear my eyes from the sight before me.
I got my closure.
Donagan lay on the ground, dead beyond a doubt from multiple gunshot wounds, his eyes still open and looking beyond us. His blood lay in a pool around him, grotesquely freezing to the ground. Around him, on top of him, and still fluttering in the wind were many hundred-dollar bills. Three remained on his chest, the black blood having seeped into them, gluing them into place. And on top of the bills stood a gleaming, bright gold pawn.
CHAPTER 68
Later that night, I reclined on the chaise longue near the Christmas tree looking up into the sparkling, glittering branches. The pine scent was all around me, the colors and lights making me think of far-off memories and feelings. The house was empty, Evelyn and Kirkland were out for the night. Ripley was over by the front door, waiting.
Eventually, restless, I wandered out to the dark kitchen and lit a couple of candles, wishing for a thunderstorm to keep me company. I put on some music, a deep cello playing soft Christmas jazzy tunes. I took out a bottle of wine and brought down a glass.
There was a knock at the door. Finally.
I opened the door to Finn, who’d had to go back to the precinct after we discovered Donagan. Snowflakes danced down from the sky, showing bright white on his dark head.
“Finn. I was waiting for you.”
We went into the kitchen and I brought down another wineglass as Finn opened the bottle of dark red cabernet. The cello played its tune, the delicious tension rising between us. I wore a deep green, soft velvet dress from a work party earlier that day.
He poured our wine, we each took a glass of the deep red liquid and took a drink. I put my glass carefully down and went toward him. I raised up on my toes and brought my face toward his neck, his arm pulling me toward him as he brought his head down into the nape of my neck.
After a long, hot kiss, Finn and I sat on the floor in front of the fire talking, laughing, and making plans for Christmas in just a week. I took a good long look at him and suddenly smiled, realizing I hadn’t told him something I had discovered.
“Hey, Finn. I had a thought the other day about the clues we found in Rochester. I forgot to tell you. Take a look at this.” I got up and retrieved my dagger from a drawer in a small side table. He had a funny look on his face like he was still a little disconcerted at my extensive abilities in wielding that dagger. “Look familiar?”
There was nothing new about it. It was the same glossy, sharp blade. Ebony handle with inlaid mother-of-pearl curves and scrolls. Very beautiful, yet deadly, too.
“Take a look at it from afar,” I said. I walked a few paces away from him and held it at a forty-five-degree angle.
“Good Lord, it’s the sword from the molding in your father’s study. It’s the pearl dagger.”
“Yes! That’s what I think,” I said. “I had been scrutinizing it up close, looking at every little curl in the handle. But when you take a step back it’s the exact shape of what we thought was a sword carved into the woodwork.”
“We’ll have to ask Mr. Kirkland exactly where he got it,” said Finn.
“It’s very intriguing. And I finally looked up pulchritudo ex cinere.”
“You did? What does it mean?”
“Beauty out of ashes.” I held the beautiful dagger in my hand, the interplay of the black ebony mixed with the pearl swirls. Darkness and light. Beauty out of ashes. I wondered just what ashes this came from. It was the same feeling I got every time I gazed at the Chrysler Building. The beauty and the art of Right Now was so yearning and reaching and oh, so poignant. It’s because it came out of ashes. Between the end of the war, the awful wounds and so many lost loved ones . . . Then the crash and resulting depression . . . This era was a soul-crushing one, to be sure. But my God, there was an unspeakable beauty that took my breath away.
After more talking and more laughing, it was quite late when another knock came at the door.
“We’ve really got to get working on our own place. And not tell anyone where it is,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes.
“Already working on it, love,” said Finn, chuckling to himself.
“Oooh. That sounds interesting.”
I quickly opened the door and was surprised to see a messenger standing there. He thrust a note into my hand, saying, “Message for Lane Sanders.” He immediately ran down the stairs and off into the night.
“This can’t be good,” I said, turning back to the parlor. “A message from someone this late at night? And the messenger didn’t say anything about who sent it. Just handed it to me and raced off.”
“Oh boy,” said Finn.
He came to my side as I opened the cream-colored piece of paper, his hand on the small of my back. We both noticed a smudge of what looked like dried blood on the outside of the message, along with my name. We exchanged a glance and I opened the note. I read out loud,
It was on this side that my new power tempted me until I fell into slavery.
I gasped.
Finn asked, “What does that mean?”
“Well . . . That’s . . . That’s a quote from the book I’ve been reading, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” I shook my head, baffled. “I’ll keep reading.”
Lane. It’s the only thing I fear. In an effort to keep it from devouring me, here is a piece of information that I know will not exonerate me, nor do I wish it to. But God help me, more than death or pain, I am afraid of this sentiment. Rex set up the assassination on your parents. At the time, I didn’t know it was an assassination. I was an arrogant teenager and pleased to get Rex’s attention. I wanted to impress him. I thought it was just a scare tactic and I was certainly happy to scare my father. I set up the explosion on the lake. But Rex arranged the hits and I had no idea the whole plan would involve a child—you. I can guess that it was Donagan who had been sent to shoot them. You might still find casings near an old oak tree to the east. He was an excellent sniper, so it was farther away than anyone would think to look. If I’m honest, I’m not sorry I helped kill the Lorians. But I am sorry that they were your parents.
—Tucker
I sat down hard, almost missing the chair. “That’s it, then,” I gasped. “It was Rex and Donagan. They did it. They killed my parents and Rutherford.”
Finn nodded. “Seems to be.”
“So, do you think the Red Scroll gang is officially done? Eliza and Tucker have seen the light about Rex and Donagan, Rex has used up all his tricks, and now Donagan is dead. It would have all died with him, right?”
Finn nodded as he contemplated. “We don’t know who killed Donagan yet. But it was someone who didn’t take the pawn. And someone who didn’t need those hundred-dollar bills, which is odd. But one thing we know beyond a doubt: Donagan’s done. He’s gone.” Finn stroked his chin, deep in thought. “But I don’t get it. What is this fear that Tucker is talking about? What does that line from Jekyll and Hyde mean? What is a fear that is worse than pain or death?”
I blew out a soft exhale and recited that line, “It was on this side that my new power tempted me until I fell into slavery.” I looked intently at him. “Control. That line is the pivotal point of the whole book. As life plays out, the good and the bad commingling, both making their mark . . . His fear, I think, is losing control, beco
ming a slave to something uncontrollable. One side conquering the other without the ability to restrain it. You see, Jekyll had to choose. He continued to give in to that dark power that made him a brutal killer, made him Mr. Hyde. Eventually, there came a time when he was no longer able to choose. The choice was gone, because it consumed him. He became a slave to it.”
That night as we talked into the small hours of the morning, a great revelation dawned on me. I too had made a choice back in Rochester. But in that choice was something else profound. It wasn’t just about finally dealing with my past, it was more than that. I had felt what Tucker was talking about. The lack of control that was half-seductive and half-terrifying. I understood that fear. And I, too, made my choice.
The hair rose upon my neck as I wondered what would it look like for someone who continued to choose that evil? Someone who didn’t care if they were utterly controlled by darkness even to the point of becoming enslaved? I had a feeling we would find out.
Well, now. The silver gun and the gold pawn did indeed have a destiny of their own.
So did I. And I’d be damn sure to make it a good one.
EPILOGUE
In a burst of rage fueled by the ultimate betrayal, Donagan shoved his way out of the building into the frigid, damp night. The lights were a blur to him, his seething anger making his vision go red. The small piece of damnable paper slipped from his fingertips, floating along. Donagan turned his head toward the river as he stumbled on a cobblestone, oblivious of his subordinate who crept away into the darkness, nor the shadowy figure who had been tailing them.
He cleared his throat, just barely getting a grip on himself. He shook his head, wishing to clear away the sting of duplicity. He forced himself to just keep walking, stumbling along farther into the deep night. Maybe there was more to this . . . Maybe Rex was sending him on another mission of sorts. It just wasn’t possible. It was unthinkable. He had to be the heir! That fortune was his.
The Gold Pawn Page 34
