CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
1
“You really should lock your front door, Diana,” Lenore said. “Or were you so excited when my husband appeared, you forgot?”
Diana and Blake stood still, both holding Willow who had finally opened her eyes although she wasn’t fully awake. I did forget to lock the door, Diana thought. I was so frightened about Glen that when Blake came back from talking to the police, I was too distracted to think about the door.
“Well, nothing to say? Either of you? Aren’t you going to offer me tea or some of that wonderful lemonade and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Diana?”
Finally, Blake asked evenly, “Lenore, how did you get here?”
“Jeffrey is at the hotel. I gave him a couple of tranquilizers and left in the Lincoln—the nice car he got for himself. I drove straight here.”
“Why?”
“To end my pain.” Her voice was loud, her blue gaze slightly wild and unfocused. “Penny’s pain is over. Why shouldn’t mine be over, too?”
Her words struck Diana dumb. Blake’s voice remained calm and smooth. “What are you talking about, darling?”
“I’m talking about you, darling. You and your affairs. Ever since we married, I’ve put up with them because I loved you so much. I told myself I could bear them if you just stayed with me. But this is too much. I’ve known for years you were having an affair with Penny, no matter how many times you denied it. Yet she hasn’t been dead an hour and here you are, wooing another woman, kissing her while the two of you hold Penny’s child, for God’s sake! Don’t you have any shame? Either of you?”
Blake gently shifted Willow into Diana’s arms. The child murmured sleepily, “Wha’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing, honey. Just be still right now,” Diana almost whispered. “Don’t say anything.”
“No, don’t say anything, Willow,” Lenore snarled. “I won’t call you Cornelia because that’s my mother’s name and you have no blood relationship with my mother! Now Blake’s mother is a different matter. You’ve never met your Grandmother Wentworth because she’s in an insane asylum!”
“Lenore!” Blake’s voice cracked like a whip. “Are you saying Willow is my child?”
“I know she is. I’ve known since Penny gave birth to her. It was all I could do, but I always made a fuss over her because she is your child whereas I can’t give you one. Barren. That’s what I am. My mother always told me that was my cross to bear for being the child of Morgan Cavanaugh.”
“For the love of God, Lenore, your mother belongs in a mental hospital more than mine does.” Diana heard the tightly controlled fury in his voice. “Barren? I knew when I married you that you couldn’t have children. It didn’t make any difference to me.”
“No, because you married me to secure your place in the business. You could always find other women to bear your children. Women like Penny. And Diana? She looks like good breeding stock to me.”
“Stop it, Lenore.” Blake’s voice had turned to ice. “Willow is not my child. Nothing romantic is going on between Diana and me. We’re barely friends. You, on the other hand, have been my wife for twelve years. I’ve done my damnedest to make you happy, but I can’t make you happy because of all your crazy suspicions.”
“They aren’t suspicions!” Lenore shouted, coming closer, waving the gun. “They’re true!”
Willow, wide-awake, had begun to cry. Diana jiggled her as if she were a baby and told her everything was all right, which was absurd. The child could hear.
“Diana is lying to you even now, Willow!” Lenore yelled. “Everything isn’t fine for you. Penny is dead! Your mother is dead!” Lenore took two more steps toward them, the gun shaking. “You will never see her again, Willow. Never!”
Willow let out a piercing cry of sheer agony and suddenly the gun went off in Lenore’s trembling hands. Diana felt nothing for a moment. Then pain erupted in her left shoulder and seared down her arm. The shock of pain loosened her hold on Willow and they both crashed to the floor. Lenore screamed, and with catlike grace, Blake lunged at her and grabbed the gun.
Diana watched as Blake pointed the gun at Lenore. She stood white-faced and shuddering, and Diana thought, Thank God. Blake has saved us. Lenore could have shot Willow next. I’m only injured. Everything will be all right as soon as he calls the police.
“The cell phone is on the table behind you, Blake,” Diana said. “You can’t leave us to get the surveillance guys at the end of the driveway.”
Blake didn’t even look at her. He made no movement to pick up the cell phone. He simply stared at Lenore, a small, pleased smile forming on his face. “You are so incredibly stupid, Lenore,” he said calmly. “What did you hope to gain by this ridiculous show? Did you think you’d frighten me back into your arms? Because I know you weren’t going to kill me. You’d never set me free so easily. Maybe you only meant to cripple me, turn me into a paraplegic or, better yet, a quadriplegic. Then you’d really have me, wouldn’t you? You’d have me with you all the time, dependent on you, unable to escape you. That’s what you’ve always wanted, Lenore, but you won’t get it. You’ve never really had me and you never will.”
The Lenore of ten minutes ago had wilted like a flower hit by a blast of freezing air. “Blake, I’m sorry,” she said pitifully. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“A stunning defense, dear. No, you can’t talk your way out of this one by playing the innocent little girl. You will go to prison just like your father should have. People think Morgan and Jeffrey are two of a kind. They’re wrong. It’s you and Morgan who are two of a kind. You always were like him.”
“I’m not!” Lenore protested. “I know my father did awful things, but I haven’t.”
“Really? How about helping him make my father’s death look like suicide?”
Diana gasped. What was Blake saying? What in heaven’s name was he doing? He looked as if he were enjoying himself. With a stunning shock, she realized he had no intention of calling the police.
“I helped my father make your father’s death look like suicide?” Lenore repeated. “I don’t know what you mean. I was just a teenager. . . .”
“A teenager who wanted to get into Daddy’s good graces. And you did, Lenore. You were the son Morgan never had.” Blake looked at her with cold, black hatred. “Get over there and sit on the floor by Diana. Sit close to the woman you thought was your rival. She never was your rival, you know. Not that I don’t find her extremely attractive. Not that I haven’t fantasized about what she would be like in bed. Magnificent, I’m sure. But I’ve had a plan for years and I’ve never veered from it for simple sexual pleasure. Diana didn’t fit into my plan. And be sure to sit to her right side, Lenore. Diana’s left shoulder is bleeding rather profusely.”
Lenore crept toward Diana, not meeting her eyes, and lowered herself to the floor. Willow no longer sobbed. After hearing that her mother was dead, she’d gone still and quiet, withdrawing into a world of her own. Good, Diana thought. I don’t want her to see or hear any of this.
“What do you mean when you say Lenore helped Morgan make your father’s death look like suicide, Blake?” Diana nearly jumped at the sound of her own voice. She hadn’t planned to speak—she’d only thought she needed time until the surveillance police officers realized there was trouble at the house.
“My father? I thought everyone had forgotten about Charles Wentworth. They’d simply brushed him and his disgrace under the rug,” Blake said.
“His disgrace?” Diana asked.
“Father made some bad business investments. He lost a lot of money. He was desperate, or he would never have accepted Morgan Cavanaugh’s offer to go into business. He’d heard bad things about Cavanaugh—he didn’t trust him. But Father’s pride and his concern for his family got him into trouble. He joined Cavanaugh and, remarkably, the business was a huge success.”
Blake shook his head slightly, his eyes seeming to glaze for a moment. “But once Cavanaugh and Wen
tworth had exceeded even Morgan Cavanaugh’s expectations, he decided he didn’t want a partner anymore. I wouldn’t know all of this if my father hadn’t gotten extremely drunk one evening and told me everything. He said Morgan had fixed the books to make it look as if Father had embezzled over a million dollars from the company. He told me Morgan made a great show of trying to cover up for his friend, but of course, the board members saw right through Morgan’s sham cover-up because it was so deliberately clumsy.
“Father resigned. He talked about moving away because all of our friends—those fine society friends—had deserted us. Mother was beginning her nervous breakdown. He was worried about paying for my Harvard education.” Blake stopped. “But even that night, my father was not beaten. He was injured, but not beaten. He was already making plans for turning our lives around. Then he told me he had an appointment with Morgan. He was going to make some kind of deal. I was worried. It was pouring snow and he was drunk.” Blake’s eyes clouded. “He never came home that night. Lenore, I’m sure you remember the next day—someone found him in his car on a little side road about two miles from our house, where apparently he had shot himself in the head.”
“That’s terrible,” Diana said weakly.
“I’ll tell you what’s terrible,” Blake snapped. “My father didn’t commit suicide. Morgan Cavanaugh killed him because he was afraid my father was going to keep telling his story and eventually someone was going to believe him!”
“Wasn’t there a police investigation?” Diana asked, feeling the silent Willow beginning to tremble beside her. “Didn’t Morgan tell the police he and your father were supposed to have a meeting?”
“No, he did not. He said he didn’t know anything about a meeting. His wife and Jeffrey were not home that night, but Lenore was. Our little Lenore, who swore on a Bible her father had not left home all evening. They’d watched television together, she said, as if Morgan would ever sit and watch television with one of his children.”
Diana stole a look at Lenore, who huddled on the floor, head bowed, and she knew what Blake said was true. Lenore had provided her father with an alibi for that night. Diana wondered how much pressure a man like Morgan had exerted on her to do so. Blake obviously didn’t care.
“My parents were deeply Christian,” Blake went on. “My father actually believed. He would never have committed suicide because then he couldn’t be buried in consecrated ground and he couldn’t go to heaven. My mother was convinced he was burning in hell—that’s what broke her mind. So Morgan managed to kill two birds with one bullet, shall we say. And what was his punishment? He got Cavanaugh and Wentworth all to himself.”
“But Lenore said something about Morgan taking you in, giving you the same education he gave his own son,” Diana said desperately.
“Of course he did. People thought he was a saint. His trusted partner steals from him then kills himself leaving no money and a crazy wife, and Morgan becomes poor Blake’s salvation. What a prince of a man!”
Diana heard scuffling, gasping, and muttering in the hallway before Clarice stumbled in through the rear door of the library. Diana had forgotten the woman was in the house, but there she stood wearing the horrible billowing, flounced, ruffled pink robe that Diana had loaned her on her first night in the house. She glanced blankly at Blake then looked at Diana. “So much noise! What’s happening?”
Blake pointed the gun at her. “And if you want to stay alive, you will keep your mouth shut.”
“Oh! There’s so much blood!” Clarice slurred. She wavered, a tiny woman lost in a mass of pink satin, holding her hands behind her. “I’ll be quiet,” Clarice whispered, her eyelids fluttering, her violet eyes rolling before she sank to the floor beside Diana.
2
“I think she’s had a heart attack!” Diana exclaimed.
“She just fainted. If not . . .” He shrugged. “She just saved me a bullet.”
Diana wanted to scream at him, but she knew that would probably mean instant death. She swallowed, glanced down for a moment, then raised her eyes and asked softly, “Blake, I know you’re doing this because of Jeffrey. Why? Jeffrey is your friend.”
“Jeffrey Cavanaugh? My friend?” Blake laughed without mirth. “I am a Wentworth. Who is he? No more than a man of common intellect, manners, and birth whose only redeeming feature is his money. He’s just a gutter-born, ruthless thug like his father. And I had to be beholden to him, just like I did his father! I hated owing Jeff anything even more than I hated his father, so I decided I’d make Morgan and Jeffrey pay for the destruction of my family and the humbling of our pride.”
“I give myself a great deal of credit for waiting as long as I did, for planning as carefully as I did. It wasn’t easy, but it worked. First, I romanced the less-than-lovely Lenore. She had boyfriends, but she knew they just wanted her money. What else was there to want? Besides, she’d been in love with me since I was twenty. She couldn’t hide it. When I asked Morgan for her hand in marriage, he could hardly contain himself. His plain, ordinary Lenore married to a Wentworth!”
“Oh, Blake, please don’t say things like that,” Lenore begged. “You cared for me.”
“I tolerated you. And don’t ever think I didn’t love you because you can’t have children. I would never allow you to be the mother of my child. You’re not worthy.”
Lenore bowed her head and began to cry. In a gesture of disgust, Blake rolled his eyes and threw back his head with its thick black hair. At that moment, Clarice moved just a fraction of an inch closer to Diana. Diana almost glanced at her before she realized the woman’s eyes were still closed as if she was unconscious, and from the folds of the hideous pink robe she was pushing something hard and cold against Diana’s left hand. Diana moved her hand slightly against the object. It was a gun.
Blake looked back at Diana suddenly and she was afraid he’d seen her move her hand. She quickly asked, “Was Morgan’s death really a mob hit?”
“No. I knew Morgan went to the same seedy little bar every Tuesday night. I made certain Jeff was occupied alone—no alibi—and I simply waited for Morgan to come reeling out of the kind of place that was his true home. I stepped out of an alley right beside the bar, and stuck the gun to his head, just like he did to my father, and I shot. Of course, Jeff had everything to gain by his father’s death. He and his father hated each other and everyone knew it, and Jeff had no alibi. I made certain there was no incriminating evidence, though. And I started the rumor of the murder being a mob hit. Couldn’t have old Jeffrey hauled off to prison and ruining my plans.”
“So he took over the company at age thirty, when you were fresh out of the Harvard MBA program he gave you a nice job at Cavanaugh and Wentworth, and later he married,” Diana finished for Blake.
“You certainly have your chronology down, Diana.”
“This family fascinates me. Were you jealous when Jeffrey married Yvette?”
“Jealous? She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—she married Jeffrey only for his money, obviously—but I wouldn’t have married her for a million dollars. She was a schizophrenic. I know some schizophrenics function in society quite well if they are careful to take their medication and follow doctor’s orders, but Yvette did only as Yvette pleased. She wouldn’t take her medicine because she said it made her drowsy. She drank more than I thought it possible for anyone to drink and stay on their feet. But she did have her good points. Aside from being stunningly beautiful, she was a fantastic lover. The best I ever had.
“But her illness was taking over. She couldn’t control her behavior or her tongue. She was going to tell Jeffrey about us. I saw it coming so I got her wound up at that party in San Francisco. I told her Jeffrey was going to have her institutionalized as soon as we got home. She caused a scene. As soon as she left the ballroom, I intercepted her and told her to go to their room and order some champagne. I went back in and maneuvered Jeffrey into a conversation with an incredible windbag I knew who would keep him busy for at l
east twenty minutes. I went to Yvette’s room. She was so drunk she was not aware of me opening the window. After a struggle in which I managed to tear off that fantastically valuable necklace, I tossed her out of that open window. Good-bye, Yvette. And once again, the police could almost make a case for Jeff’s guilt, but not quite. I didn’t want him to go to prison. I still had plans for him.”
Carried away with his boasting, Blake didn’t notice Diana subtly pushing the gun behind her. She cursed the wound in her left shoulder. It hurt terribly, and she felt as if she had little control left in the hand. Still, she had to keep subtly sliding the gun to the right.
“And then there was Penny,” Lenore said out of the blue. “I always wondered why you didn’t object more to that marriage. Now I understand. Penny was the next Yvette.”
“Right, Lenore. At first, I could tell she really did love Jeff. No one ever said Penny was smart. I bided my time. Then she had Willow and things began to shift my way. She was unhappy with the way Jeff responded to the baby. She didn’t see him crying like a baby himself when the kid was born—he wasn’t one of those men who watch the delivery. But she didn’t know how much he talked about the baby—on and on and on. I thought I’d lose my mind.
“Penny just didn’t understand that although he adored Willow, Jeff was almost afraid of her—afraid he’d hurt her physically if he held her, afraid he’d be a father like his was and damage her psychologically. So he decided to inflict himself on her no more than necessary. It was crazy—it was perfect. Penny started talking to me about the problem. Then Jeffrey began spending more time away from home. He treated Penny like a prisoner. The more unhappy she became with him, the better my chances with her.” He looked at the four faces in front of him. “I guess I don’t have to tell you what happened.”
“Penny ran away because she found Yvette’s necklace in Jeffrey’s office safe,” Diana said coolly.
“Ah, Tyler has been telling secrets. Penny had decided she was in love with me—that she was going to leave Jeffrey for me. I couldn’t have that! Jeffrey would have gotten me out of that company faster than I can imagine. I couldn’t kill her—a murdered father and two murdered wives might have finished Jeffrey. If he’d been arrested and charged with murder, the business would have suffered badly.
You Can Run... Page 32
