"Did you tell the police this?” Simon asked.
"No. Jason was my friend. Friends stick together. We were together for the evening. No one asked me if Jason left at any time. After all, Eva deserved it. She was seeing another man."
"Was she?” Simon said coldly. “Wouldn't divorce have been less messy? I understand Jason came within a millimeter of being charged with murder."
"If they divorced, Jason wouldn't have gotten her money. No, the only way he could inherit was if she died.” He sighed. “Poor Eva. If only she'd kept her mouth shut. We could have been happy."
Leslie stared at him in horror. “You can't be saying you're the man Eva was seeing?"
"Why not?” he asked, cool as fresh snow. “They were both my friends."
Leslie grabbed Simon's arm, suddenly afraid she would throw up on Cecil's polished hardwood floor. “Simon, let's go. It's too hot in here."
"Please come again,” Cecil said, following them to the door, the perfect host.
* * * *
"You don't believe him, do you?” Simon said. “It's too crazy. I had someone check the police records. There truly was no evidence to indicate anything but an accident in Eva's drowning. And her housekeeper was there until ten minutes before the men came home. Wouldn't she have noticed if Jason had been in and out earlier?"
"I'd like to believe that,” Leslie said, pressing a hand against her stomach, where the iced tea she'd drunk churned miserably. “But I don't know what's the truth any more, and what are lies."
Jimmy met them by the back door of the house. He shook his head in response to Simon's inquiring look. “Nothing. Just dead leaves and trampled grass. Not even a cigarette butt."
"What will you do now?” Leslie asked.
"Wait, I guess. That's all we can do. If someone comes after those crates, or even snoops around the house, we'll haul them in for questioning."
He headed toward his Land Rover. “There will be two men on duty here at night, one in the basement and one outside.” He shrugged. “It'll leave me shorthanded, but it can't be helped. Tomorrow I have extra people coming in from Kerkira."
"Anything we can do?” Simon asked.
"Keep your eyes peeled. If you see anything at all suspicious, call me.” Halfway into the car, he paused. “How did you make out with old Cecil?"
A dozen thoughts spun in Leslie's head. Before she could sort them out, Simon answered. “Nothing very useful, I'm afraid. Allegra once stayed in the house—that's where the name came from."
"Any chance that Cecil might be Leslie's secret admirer?"
"Offhand, I'd say unlikely."
Leslie cut in. “I don't know, Simon. His obsession with my hair is pretty strange. And Allegra was blonde, too.” She frowned as another thought hit her. “And so was Melanie."
"Speaking of Melanie, the forensics report said there were traces of feathers in her throat,” Jimmy said. “She was likely smothered with a pillow."
Leslie shuddered.
"It doesn't look as if she suffered,” he added. “She was probably unconscious from dehydration at the time. She wouldn't have felt a thing. And then her killer put her in the trunk and boarded up the space."
"But who?” Simon said. “Even if what Cecil said about Jason killing Eva is true, I can't see him killing his own daughter."
"He didn't,” Jimmy said. “I had a phone call a little while ago. Jason was on his friends’ yacht the night Melanie supposedly died. When they got back to the house in the morning, she was gone and her robe was on the beach. Jason's in the clear."
"What about Eva?” Leslie asked. “Was she having an affair with Cecil?"
"Could be,” Jimmy said. “It would explain his falling out with Jason. They were friends before. After Eva's death, they no longer spoke.” He stepped up into the Land Rover. “Jason was away a lot when they stayed here during the summers, and Cecil was the nearest neighbor. Who knows what she did in her spare time?"
Leslie woke abruptly, pushing aside the sheet that had covered her. Her clothes were stacked neatly on a chair. Simon must have brought them up.
Heat flooded her body as she remembered how they had practically fallen on each other after lunch, so eager to make love that they'd left clothes scattered from one end of the house to the other.
She'd never done anything like that before, making love in the bright light of afternoon. Simon had awakened a capacity for passion she'd never dreamed lived within her.
For a moment, she closed her eyes as pain clenched her heart. How could she leave when the time came?
And she would have to leave. The house might have given her a reason to stay, but the huge mortgage made it impossible to keep it. Once the debts were paid, there would be nothing left.
No, she couldn't stay
What if Simon asked her to? a little voice taunted in her head. Tempting, but it would be complicated. And so far, Simon had uttered no words of commitment, no sign that he saw this as anything but a brief summer romance.
To her, it was much more. But could she trust that the happiness she'd found with Simon would last forever? Was she in love with him, or only in love with the delicious sensuality she felt in his arms?
Shaking off her unproductive musings, she got up and went into the bathroom. A note was stuck on the mirror.
Back in an hour. S.
She smiled at the big, flourishing initial, so evocative of his self-confidence. A self-confidence she wished she had.
Locking the bathroom door, she took a quick shower. The shivery feeling she got when she remembered the black-gloved hand hadn't entirely left her. Who had it been? Jason? Or some other person who wanted her out of the house?
She was safe now, wasn't she?
In the kitchen, she paused. An elusive memory nagged her, something that had drifted through her mind just as she had awakened.
Outside in the garden, the mynah whistled. Leslie looked out the window. He had escaped again, and sat now in the crook of the large tree where she'd found his treasures. Below the tree, the gray cat eyed him.
She snapped her fingers. Keys. That was what she'd been dreaming of. The first keys the mynah had brought her—they'd never tried them. Now where had she put them?
She pulled out the cutlery drawer. Silverware lay in neat compartments, nothing out of place. The junk drawer. Every house had a junk drawer. Opening the next drawer, she rummaged through an assortment of old electricity and phone bills, finally dangling the keys in triumph.
One of them had to open the small room behind the armoire.
The basement door stood open, lights blazing, if one could use such a term for forty watt bulbs. She walked down the stairs and over to the coal bin. The ladder stood in place.
Leaning over the edge, she called down. “Hello, is anyone there?"
After a moment, the policeman appeared below her. “Can I get you anything to eat or drink?” Leslie asked.
"Perhaps a little later,” he said in careful English.
"Well, I want to check something out in the wine cellar. If Simon comes in, tell him where I am, would you, please?"
The young man frowned worriedly. “Shouldn't you wait for Simon to go with you into the wine cellar?"
"I'll be fine,” she assured him.
"Well, okay.” He still looked doubtful.
* * * *
Leslie muttered in annoyance. The armoire was locked. What did that mean? Had Simon found a key and locked it during one of his security checks of the house? Or had their basement prowler come back? She'd thought that problem had disappeared with Jason's death, but was it possible someone else also had access to the house?
Maybe Simon was wrong about the door leading to a bomb shelter. Maybe it led to another passage into the house.
She spun around, the hair on her arms prickling. Was that a sound behind her, on the other side of the wine rack? She stifled a rueful laugh. Probably a mouse.
She turned back to the armoire. If none of the available keys fit, she would get a scr
ewdriver or a hammer and break the lock.
"My, my, what have we here? A nosy little pigeon."
Leslie turned so quickly she bumped her head and saw stars. Harlan Gage stood in the aisle between the racks, a rifle in his hands. The wooden butt rested against his hip, the barrel pointed almost negligently at her stomach. The way he held the gun showed easy familiarity with it.
"Is that what you used to kill Jason?” she said through frozen lips.
Surprised flashed in his eyes. “Me? You think I killed Jason?” He gestured an abrupt negative with his free hand. “Don't try to lay that on me. It's true, Jason got cold feet. He didn't want to go through with the deal. But I didn't kill him. Someone else must have, and I have my suspicions, but they'll never prove it, so there's no use throwing accusations around. The people we're dealing with have some nasty tricks they love to try on those who betray them. Jason's number came up."
"So you suspect someone you did business with killed him.” Leslie filed away the information, some of her fear subsiding. At least she wasn't dealing with a killer. Not yet.
Gage glanced nervously around. “I'm not saying anything more. I'm going to deliver the guns. I don't want to end up like him."
"Did you forge the letter you showed me?"
He shrugged, the gun barrel dropping slightly. “I didn't have to. I reminded Jason how easy it is for someone to die in a hot attic, or a burning house. He wrote it quite willingly. Oddly enough, he did care about you. He nearly had a heart attack when he heard you were living in the house."
Leslie's mind began to work again, her fear replaced by a cold fatalism. If she could keep him talking, the policeman below would wonder why she hadn't come back. Or Simon would return. After all, his note had said an hour. She didn't know how long he'd been gone when she found it; he could be back at any time. “Do you know where the guns are?"
"Yes, I made that fool Cecil tell me about an hour ago. I got the keys and I made him show me the passage into the house."
"Through the armoire,” she asked, gesturing toward the massive cabinet.
"Armoire? No, Jason tricked me there. The passage is where that blasted cop is standing right now.” He lifted the rifle, prodding her in the ribs. “I need those guns. My contact is picking them up on the beach tonight. You're going to help me."
"Like hell she will."
Leslie gulped in relief at the sound of Simon's voice, a relief mixed with renewed terror. He wasn't likely armed, nor would he have taken time to call the policeman up to help. Her only hope rested on the chance that the cop would become worried enough to investigate before it was too late.
She couldn't see Simon, but she guessed he was in the next aisle over. “Those crates aren't going anywhere,” Simon said. “I'd suggest you drop your gun, Mr. Gage."
Gage hadn't turned, hadn't removed his hard gaze from Leslie. He poked the gun barrel into her stomach. Leslie gasped and doubled over in pain, involuntary tears spurting from her eyes. “Come any closer, Korvallis, and she gets it. I've got nothing to lose."
Leslie slowly straightened, rubbing her stomach with one hand and using the other to clear her eyes.
A bottle slipped out of the rack and smashed at Gage's feet. Leslie was gratified to see him start. Even hardened criminals had some nerves left.
"Move toward the door, Leslie. He won't shoot you in here. The walls are thick, but a shot would bring the cop running. And he needs you to trade for the guns. You're no good to him dead."
She could only pray that was true, but Simon's confident words gave her courage. Pretending she was still weak from pain, Leslie took a step away from Gage, holding on to the wine rack beside her.
Another bottle fell. Pungent brandy fumes rose around them.
"Run, Leslie. I'll take care of him."
Two bottles at once shattered on the floor, the wine spraying Leslie's legs. Gage, looking rattled, swung the gun to the left, toward Simon's voice. Leslie took a deep breath and lunged away from Gage, down the narrow passage toward the open door.
In her haste, she forgot to allow for the wet wooden floor and her rubber-soled sneakers. She stumbled, slipped, and almost fell. Gage slammed into her. He yanked her arm around, bending it viciously up her back. She cried out at the agony that shot through her shoulder.
"Leslie, are you all right? I'll kill the bastard."
"Simon, get the police,” she gasped, biting back another cry as Gage's grip tightened cruelly. She twisted her body, hoping to get him off balance. Not a chance, she realized. His strength was far superior to hers.
"Move, bitch,” Gage snarled, prodding her with the rifle barrel.
Leslie's head whirled, and she staggered as he forced her to walk ahead of him. Dizziness fogged her brain, either from pain or from the brandy fumes. She sensed rather than heard Simon keeping pace with them in the adjacent aisle. Dimly, she hung on to the thought that he was nearby.
Why didn't Simon get the officer in the passage? Or was he reckless enough to try jumping Gage himself? With a sinking heart, she knew that was just what he would do.
He would have to be quick and clever to take Gage by surprise.
Gage must have anticipated such a move. They reached the last row, and Gage whipped her around the end of the rack, pushing her into Simon's path. Simon nearly beaned her with the wine bottle he held poised to strike Gage.
The two men glared at each other, their hatred palpable. Simon's fist was clenched so tightly around the bottle that she feared he would crush it.
"Drop it,” Gage said. “I don't really care which one of you is my ticket out of here."
Simon obligingly dropped the bottle. It shattered on the floor, sending jagged chunks of green glass skittering under the racks. The yeasty aroma mingled with the alcohol smell of the brandy.
It was a standoff. Leslie forced herself not to struggle. Simon, run, she silently pleaded. Why didn't he go while he had the chance?
"Because I couldn't leave you,” he said distinctly.
Startled, Leslie gaped at him, momentarily forgetting the pain in her twisted arm. Had she spoken the words aloud without noticing, or had he read her mind?
The question fled as the lights went out, plunging them into dense blackness.
Everything seemed to happen at once. Gage's hands loosened on Leslie's wrist. A heavy body struck her, and she fell to the floor, her hands skidding on the wet wood. Curses rang in the pungent air.
Realizing she couldn't help Simon in the dark, Leslie flung herself away from the two men rolling amid the bottle shards. She groped in her pocket for the small flashlight she'd carried down. Gone. It must have fallen during her struggle with Gage.
She ran her hands over the floor, searching for it. A sharp piece of glass sliced into her palm. She clasped the other hand over the wound, shuddering as blood dripped between her fingers.
The meaty thump of a fist striking solid muscle, accompanied by a long groan, made her flinch. Simon or Gage? She couldn't tell, nor could she see.
The fight ended, just like that, the silence broken only by rapid, noisy breathing. Holding her breath, unable to move, Leslie waited.
And exhaled in relief when she heard Simon's voice. “Leslie, quick, run up to the fuse box and turn on the lights. I've got him."
Adrenaline lent her speed and she flew up the stairs. The main breaker was in the off position. She flipped it back into place, and saw the light over the stairs blink on.
* * * *
"Okay, here's the plan.” Jimmy said a while later as he sat at the kitchen table. A rough diagram of the area around the house lay in front of him.
Simon glared at a much-subdued Gage who sported strip bandages on various parts of his hands and face. Simon had a couple across his cheek, attesting to the inadvisability of rolling around on broken wine bottles. Except for the lingering ache in the muscles of her arm and shoulder, and a bandage across her cut palm, Leslie felt ready to take on the next battle.
"The passage comes o
ut in Cecil's storage shed, which he swears he never uses. He says he had no idea the tunnel was even there."
"Do you believe that?” Simon asked.
Jimmy shrugged. “It hardly matters. I suggested Cecil go down to the village for dinner. I wouldn't want him to be hurt while we stake out the beach."
"Cecil knew Jason was alive long ago,” Gage said sullenly.
"We'll talk to him about it,” Jimmy said. “Now, Mr. Gage, since you've decided to save your skin by cooperating with us, here's your chance."
* * * *
By midnight, it was all over. Gage signaled his contact, who drove a jet boat close to the shore. The crates, filled with rocks as insurance against something going wrong, were loaded onto the boat. As soon as the boat made its wide loop out to sea, toward the yacht anchored off shore, coast guard spotlights trapped it like a spider in a web.
Another coast guard vessel trained a light on the yacht's deck. Through the binoculars Simon lent her, Leslie could see Wheeler, his mouth moving as he argued with the officers boarding his boat.
Jimmy was justifiably proud of the night's work. And pleased to have Gage and Wheeler in custody. Especially Wheeler, who was wanted in several countries for various offenses including gunrunning and drug smuggling.
* * * *
Leslie frowned as she got ready for bed. “Allegra. We still don't know who Allegra is. Or who sent me the gifts and flowers. Did Cecil think I was her, or did Jason know she was a former tenant of the house and used her name to try to drive me away so he could complete the business with the guns?"
"Maybe we'll never know,” Simon said, lying on the bed, taking a quiet pleasure in watching Leslie brush her hair. “Unless Cecil decides to give us more details."
"If we can believe anything he says. Do you think he helped Jason?"
Simon stacked his hands behind his head. “Probably. Gage is still adamant in denying he knew Jason was alive until a couple of days ago. And I'm inclined to believe him. Otherwise, those crates would have been picked up long ago."
He glanced at her dresser. “By the way, where did you put that necklace? I'd like another look at it. In all the excitement, I'd almost forgotten about it."
Killing Her Softly Page 19
