by Jenna Ryan
“Nope. One day, R.J. got sick and Uncle had to go to Bangor for a check-up. I offered to drive him. I mean, a girl’s gotta suck up, right? We drove, I made a show of leaving the doctor’s office, and on a lovely spring day, I stood under an open window in an alley very much like the one where I shot the jerk and the bimbo and I listened to Uncle’s doctor tell him he needed tests. Of course, Uncle Lazarus always does what’s needed, including getting himself to a lab at some point. The next part was a guess, but a good one, I think.”
“He wanted to see the test results,” Amara said. “All of them, personally, so he had copies delivered by express mail as soon as they were available.”
“Exactly. I retract one ‘stupid.’ The results arrived. Uncle got uncharacteristically drunk and punched the courier—or you could say messenger—down at Two Toes Joe’s bar.”
Amara was so far beyond shock, her mind simply went numb. “Did you see the results or just go with your guess?”
“Uncle’s drunken punch spoke for itself. It validated my guess well enough.”
“So all this death, all these murders, are about money.”
“Whacks of money, Amara.”
“Did you kill Uncle Lazarus’s sister, too?”
“Aunt Maureen? Didn’t have to. The old girl smoked herself to death. Thank you very much, Auntie Mo. But I will admit, it was her death that planted the seed in my head. As the seed grew, I said to myself, ‘Wait a minute, Yolanda, the old guy must have a will.’ So I skulked and I lurked and eventually I said to hell with it. One afternoon, when I knew he and R.J. would be in Bangor, I did what you said and searched Uncle’s office. Jackpot.”
They clattered over a broken-up section of the road. Amara stole a glance behind them. There were no headlights. Did that mean Yolanda had seen McVey tonight? Seen and... No, not going there, she decided. “Obviously you’re named in the will,” she said instead.
“Number four on the list,” her cousin confirmed. “Good old Uncle thinks I’ll be thrilled to inherit the Red Eye. Woo-hoo. You, on the other hand, as number-two heir, were initially in line for Bellam Manor and an offensive amount of cash. I don’t remember Hannah’s bequest—she was number three—but I do know Aunt Maureen was slated to receive the lion’s share of his estate. Here’s the best part, though, and the reason I did what I did. According to the terms of Uncle Lazarus’s will, if one heir predeceases the others, whatever bequest he or she would have received goes to the next person in line. How cool is that?”
“Too cool.” Amara closed her eyes. “So after Aunt Maureen died, I became number one. If I’d died, everything would have gone to Hannah.”
“‘Would have’ being the operative phrase.”
“And with Hannah and me both gone, you’re the big winner.”
“Bigger than big, Amara. Oh, I’ll share some of my winnings with my brother, but for the most part Larry’s perfectly happy setting off controlled avalanches in the Rockies during the winter and hanging out with his too-cool-for-school sister—who happens to be a Bellam female and a teeny bit scary when she doesn’t get her own way—in the spring and summer.”
“For the record,” Amara remarked, “in the bitch-witch pecking order, you’re miles ahead of me.”
“Why, thank you, cousin.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“No? Huh. Guess I’ll have to make your death doubly painful. Should anyway.” She huffed out a breath. “I’m pretty sure McVey’ll have to go once I do you.”
Relief coursed through her. McVey was alive. Thank God, he was alive. “You’re not a witch, Yolanda,” she snapped. “You’re a demon from hell.”
“Maybe, but I’m a smart one.” Her cousin buffed hot pink fingernails on her jacket. “Wanna know how I waylaid McVey?”
Amara shot her a look, but Yolanda merely snickered and sailed on.
“I smucked him with the spare cane Uncle keeps in this very truck. Had to shoot R.J. first, of course. Not fatally, mind you, just enough to knock him off his feet. I know, I know, I should have shot McVey as well, but I’ve been trying really hard to think of a way to finish this without offing him. I mean, it kills me—pun intended—to think of the waste. The man’s smoking hot. Unfortunately, I can’t get around the fact that he’s also a freaking great cop. Too great.”
“Meaning you’re not an equally great murderer?”
“I’m getting the hang of it—but, no, I’m not a major league player quite yet.”
“Is that your goal, Yolanda? To make the big league?”
“Only in the money column, cousin. Once the killing’s done, it’s done. If R.J. can’t identify me, he can live. He’s in the will, but lower on the list than me.” She widened her eyes. “I don’t need absolutely everything. Just most of it will do.”
All Amara could think right then was that Yolanda hadn’t killed McVey. She’d knocked him out, but he was alive.
And they were getting very close to Bellam Bridge.
She tried not to notice the baleful looks Yolanda cast her. Fear was an endless slither in her stomach. Her cousin wouldn’t be talked out of her plan, and Jake’s handcuffs were holding fast.
“I watched you the morning after you got here,” Yolanda said at length. “Took some binoculars and Larry’s old .30-30 and climbed a tree outside Nana’s house. There was a moment when I was tempted to shoot all of you—Uncle Lazarus, McVey and you—when you were together in the kitchen. But it crossed my mind that if I missed, especially if I missed McVey, I’d be screwed. And, well, hey— superhot cop.”
“I’ll have to remember to thank him for the reprieve.”
“You won’t be thanking anyone, Amara. My tiny lapse of confidence and lust only gave you a few more days to be scared out of your wits.” She waited a beat before asking, “So tell me—because I can’t help being curious—was the cute creep with the knife one of Jimmy Sparks’s people?”
“No, he was an old enemy of McVey’s people.”
“I’d say tell McVey he’s welcome from me. Unfortunately...yada yada.” She jumped on the brake pedal with both feet and almost flung Amara through the windshield.
Grinning, she set the brake. “Road ends here, Ammie.” Plucking the Luger from her lap, she straight-armed it so the tip was less than an inch from Amara’s forehead. “Now we walk.”
Amara forced her lips into a humorless smile. “Or in my case, hop.”
Yolanda matched her smile. “If you piss me off, yes. You might actually prefer to hop when you discover where we’re going.”
“Not Bellam Manor?”
“That would be too cliché, cousin. No, word’s out on the sorry state of Bellam Bridge. Why on earth you tried to cross it, no one in either town will ever understand, but you did—or soon will. Tragically, you fell through and died.” Eyes gleaming, Yolanda leaned forward to stage-whisper, “Or soon will.”
* * *
MCVEY DIDN’T ASK Brigham how he’d gotten to the motel or why he’d come. He only knew, if it was the last thing he did, he was going to get Amara back before Yolanda harmed her.
Sweeping a dozen large spiders from McVey’s truck, the raven tamer tossed a bulky pack onto the floor and plunked his own bulk in the passenger seat. “Go,” he said, and pointed. “That way.”
McVey wanted to ignore him, but the big man gripped the steering wheel and matched him stare for stare.
“She’s common, McVey. And I know that mountain better than anyone alive.”
McVey’s curse promised more than pain if Brigham was wrong. He gave it another second, then shoved the truck in gear and spun the wheel—in the opposite direction to the one Yolanda had taken.
* * *
YOLANDA DIDN’T FORCE her to hop, but after untying Amara’s ankles, she knotted the rope to the handcuffs binding her cousin’s wrists and wound the other end around her own hand.
“On the very likely chance you decide to make a break for it,” she said, giving the rope a tug that sent pain singing along Amar
a’s arms.
She wouldn’t panic, Amara promised herself. Her cousin was clearly crazy. She was also overconfident. And crazy, overconfident people made mistakes.
She hoped.
The wind whipped up as they closed in on the bridge. Not enough to disperse the fog, but enough to stir it around and create patches of white that tended to envelop without warning and vanish the same way.
“I wouldn’t waste my energy screaming,” Yolanda advised. “I whacked McVey plenty hard with Uncle’s cane.”
Amara watched for the bridge. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself, Yolanda?”
“Got my gun. Got you. If McVey shows, I’ll get him, too. That’ll leave Jake in charge until Ty gets back from his honeymoon, and by then... Evidence? What evidence? I might have to lower myself and convince Jake that I’ve really been hot for him all these years—eww—but needs must in a situation like this, don’t you agree?”
“I wouldn’t know, having never been in a situation like this.”
“Bitch.” Yolanda gave the rope a vicious jerk. “Ah, excellent. Bellam Bridge.” She reeled Amara in as she might a fish on a line. “What a wreck.”
Amara jerked away from the finger Yolanda stroked between her shoulder blades.
“I’m betting you won’t make ten steps without falling through.” Her cousin looked up. “Oh, nuts, the moon’s gone out. But no worries, I have a flashlight. Couldn’t risk missing the grand finale, could I? Although technically, McVey will be the finale—still pissed about that one—and R.J. if necessary.”
Unable to wrest her eyes from the bridge, Amara asked, “Were you born with no conscience, or did it die the day you killed Hannah?”
“I killed Hannah at night.” Yolanda poked Amara’s shoulder. “Walk.”
“You want me to die in handcuffs? Won’t that look suspicious, even to someone with Jake’s limited policing skills?”
“I am so going to enjoy watching you fall,” her cousin snarled. “It’ll be Christmas in May.” Visibly annoyed now, she used her left hand to shove the gun into Amara’s back while her right pulled out and inserted a small key in the lock.
The handcuffs fell away. The gun dug deeper.
“Have a nice trip, Ammie.”
Her push sent Amara to her knees on the rocky roadbed.
Without making a sound, a raven swished out of the fog. Its talons grazed the top of Yolanda’s head. When her cousin swore and waved her arms, Amara took advantage and rolled quickly sideways.
The raven swooped again, but this time Yolanda struck its body with her gun. The bird gave a raucous caw, spread its wings—and began to spark. It fell, beak open and smoking, to the ground.
Furious, Yolanda whipped her gun around while she scoured the trees. Amara sucked in a bolstering breath. Go big or go home, she reflected and, using her shoulder, went for her cousin’s knees.
If the bridge had been susceptible to sound vibrations, Yolanda’s shriek would have brought it down. She fell sideways but kicked out hard and caught Amara in the hip with the heel of her boot.
Wind swirled a thick patch of fog between them. Unfortunately that left only one direction for Amara to take. If she wanted to escape, she’d have to cross Bellam Bridge.
She knew there must be a raven tamer in the vicinity. There often was, and they hadn’t all gone down to the Hollow for the parade. If this one was smart, however, he or she would stay out of sight.
Behind her, Yolanda fired several bullets.
“Where are you?” she demanded. Her voice echoed into and back out of the chasm below. She fired again and again. “I’ve got tons of ammo, cousin. Come out where I can see you or I’ll keep shooting into the fog.”
Amara crouched behind one of the damaged supports. Her heart had long ago made a home for itself in her throat. Should she attempt to cross the bridge or go wide and circle?
She dipped as a bullet zinged off the support and whizzed past her ear. The near hit made the choice for her. She’d go with the bridge, where the fog was thickest and Yolanda might not think to look.
Uttering every prayer she knew, Amara started across on trembling hands and knees.
A hoarse caw tore through the damp air. Glancing up, she thought she saw a raven go into a nosedive. Several yards back, Yolanda screamed.
Grateful for the distraction, Amara crawled on.
The planks sagged and made dreadful noises, but thankfully none of them broke all the way through.
Her teeth were chattering¸ she realized. She had splinters in her palms and at least one nail had spiked her knee.
More caws reached her and too many shrieks to count. Then suddenly she heard a thud, like boot heels on wood.
Her eyes closed and her heart plunged into her stomach. Yolanda was on the bridge.
She needed to move faster. No time now to test her weight on the planks.
Squinting through a gap in the fog, she spied a support post. A raven sat unmoving on one of the pegs that jutted out of it. Unlike its predecessors, however, this bird didn’t dive. It simply sat and stared.
A watcher, she thought, and recalled Brigham’s words about emissary ravens. Breathing carefully, she offered a heartfelt “I hope you’re watching for someone good.”
“Its talons are caught in my hair!” Yolanda screeched. “Where are these stupid birds coming from? They’re in my freaking hair!”
She was close, Amara realized. Fear spiked—then shot off the scale as Yolanda’s frantic fingers trapped her ankle.
But only for a moment. Amara was tugging on her foot when one of the planks gave a long, low groan—and snapped.
Yolanda warbled out a sound between a scream and a sob and fought to grab the broken wood. One moment her fingers were clawing at the splintered end; the next they were gone and only slithering coils of fog remained.
Amara stared at the empty space for several shocked seconds, unable to move or to think. Stared until the raven watching her released a startled caw.
Her head shot up. The wood beneath her protested. It didn’t snap as it had for Yolanda. Instead it pulled away from the side of the bridge.
Her scrabbling fingers found a rusted metal bar. But the bar was pulling away as well, and it was too narrow for her to hold in any case.
Overhead, the raven cawed again. And again and again. When it stopped, a strong hand grasped her wrist.
“I’ve got you, Red.” McVey’s voice reached her from the girder above. “Just hold on tight and don’t look down.”
A dozen emotions swamped her, but the one that stood out, that caused her breath to hitch, was that Yolanda hadn’t lied. McVey was alive!
Half a lifetime passed in Amara’s tortured mind before her knees touched solid wood again. Although solid was a questionable description for the worn plank that currently held not only her weight but also McVey’s. Risking it, she threw her arms around his neck and crushed her mouth to his.
“You came,” she said between kisses. “How did you know where to come?”
Taking her face in his hands, he looked into her eyes. “Once I figured out who the killer had to be, only the manor made sense. We took a roundabout route.”
“We?”
“Brigham’s here.”
A sigh rushed out. “He brought his ravens, didn’t— Oh, my God, Yolanda!”
She pivoted, heard the plank beneath them groan.
Catching her arms, McVey stilled her. “Don’t bounce too much, Red. Even raven tamer ingenuity has its limits where ancient bridges are concerned.”
“So we lead you to believe.” Brigham’s growl came from a cloud of fog. “Yolanda’s right here. The rope she was holding tangled on one of the supports. I’ve got her now. Do you want me to haul the murdering witch up or develop butterfingers and end the problem tonight?”
McVey raised a brow. “Your call, Amara.”
Now that the worst of her terror had subsided, Amara could hear Yolanda’s combination of girlish squeals and vicious threats. �
�Well, damn.” Sighing, she glanced up at him. “You know, I’d love to be lofty about this and prove how much better I am than her, but I guess I’m only human in the end. Haul her up, Brigham,” she said. “She’s insane, and one day I might actually pity her for that. But for now? I want the witch to burn.”
Chapter Nineteen
The way McVey saw it, where there was crime there should be punishment. It didn’t always work that way, but when it did, there wasn’t a whole lot that made him feel better. Unless you switched gears and started talking sex. Specifically, sex with Amara, which he hoped would cap off one of the most gut-wrenching, yet strangely satisfying nights of his life.
Five long hours after he’d pulled her up onto Bellam Bridge, Amara pulled him to a stop on the main street of the Hollow. “How on earth can you call anything about this night satisfying, McVey? Uncle Lazarus is in a hospital in Bangor....”
“Resting comfortably, Red.” He held up two fingers at the raven tamer who was manning the street-side bar, which, in strict legal terms, didn’t exist. “You talked to his doctor. Your uncle’s day-to-day. Has been for quite some time.”
“A fact you apparently knew and I didn’t.”
“He told me the morning after I arrested him for punching the courier. He asked me not to tell anyone. You’re part of anyone.”
“I’m his niece, McVey. I’m also a physician. I could have...”
“What? Said, ‘There, there,’ and prescribed morphine for the pain? He didn’t want that. Private and proud’s the way he’s built.”
She blew out a breath. “Damn...him for keeping a secret like that and you for being right. Damn Yolanda, too, for being...well, Yolanda, and wanting everything for herself.”
Accepting two glasses of raven’s blood from the grinning tamer, McVey handed her one. “You know her lawyer’s going to plead insanity.”
“He doesn’t have to claim what’s perfectly obvious.” She watched animated ravens swoop and soar around a still-lively Main Street. “I’m not sure I think she was completely sane as a kid. And I’ve always thought her brother, Larry, was borderline.”
