The front door seemed to be intact. I steeled myself and knocked… once, twice, a third time. Nobody answered. I tried the knob. Unlocked. Maybe Joshua wasn't home. If he was staying here, then he must not be too worried about burglars. Should I go in?
Trespassing wasn't high on my list of to-do-before-I-die activities, but if I didn't stay long, didn't touch anything…
I kept telling myself that Nancy Drew would have charged in without fear, but then again, Nancy had been a teenager who probably thought she was invulnerable, and more important—she wasn't real. I wasn't a teenager anymore and I knew I could get hurt. I weighed my options and then grabbed the knob. I had come this far, I might as well go a little farther. More importantly, Susan had given me the go-ahead. Maybe the secrets hidden within these walls would help her spirit find peace. With no cars on the street, no neighbors peeking out their windows whom I could see, I poked my head through the front door into the musty hallway.
The hallway was old, with faded pictures still hanging on the walls. There were none of Walter or his mother, but there were pictures of an older man, probably Bernard. In one photograph he was standing with Joshua. I could see the resemblance between the two, but there was a queer glint behind Joshua's gaze that was missing from Bernard's stern, ice-blue eyes.
A cabbage rose paper ran the length of the hall, under which paneling took hold—scratched and chipped in a number of places. A series of doors lined either side, broken by an archway leading into what I assumed would be the main living room. I took a deep breath and decided to start there. I quietly slid along the wall, then inched my head around the archway to peek in.
The room was grand, or had been at one time. Huge, lovely, filled with dusty antiques. Why had Walter's mother left all this to rot? Even at this distance, I could tell the furnishings were worth a great deal. So far the weather hadn't found its way into this room, but it was only a matter of time before the cracks in the windows let in the rain and snow. Other than a handful of icky-looking spiders, the only signs of life were a couple of take-out boxes from Teriyaki's Take-Home, and an empty pizza box. The dust on one sofa had been disturbed, but nothing else seemed out of place.
Back in the hall, I listened for a long time at the next door before I gathered the courage to push it open. The hinges protested with a tiny squeak but then swung open, and I found myself in the formal dining room. A thin layer of mold covered everything. A broken window had let the outdoors creep through; dormant ivy vines were trailing around the edges of the ceiling along with the rot and mildew.
The table could seat at least sixteen, if not more. The more I poked around, the more perplexed I became. When Walter's mother left, she hadn't taken anything. Not the silver, not the china, not even the knickknacks. Why would she leave such expensive items here? Why wouldn't she renovate the house and at least rent it out, if she didn't want to stay here herself? Thousands of dollars of antiques sat there, bounty for any thief who had the mind to come get them. So far, Walter's mother had been lucky, but her luck couldn't hold forever.
With a nervous glance behind me, I pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen. As ancient and clunky as the rest of the house, the room was a mess, but at least it told me somebody had made himself at home.
Dirty plates filled the sink. The garbage bin was packed with take-out boxes and half-empty booze bottles. A pile of soot-covered rags sat on the counter next to the stove, a big old gas model.
A quick search led to a utility room and a back porch. I leaned over the railing but pulled back sharply as the rail began to teeter. As I brushed the snow away, I saw that the wood was rotten all the way through. That nixed any idea I had of taking a walk down into the backyard. The snow on the steps hadn't been disturbed, and I was reasonably sure that Joshua came and went through the front door, unless there was some side entrance I didn't know about.
I cautiously peeked back over the edge, holding myself away from the railing. Directly below the balcony, a rusted iron gate—one of those old-fashioned ones with spiked railings that looked like minarets—opened into a series of gardens. The snow covering the lawn was undisturbed as well.
Back in the hall, I was left with one door I hadn't examined. The "room" was actually a small, windowless alcove with two sets of stairs—one leading up, one leading down. I dug my flashlight out of my bag. If I had to leave in a hurry, going down would be faster than going up. I looked up the uninviting passage. Was all this worth it? And then I remembered the image of Diana, cut down so young, and Susan—possibly murdered as well. Nope, I didn't have a choice. I had to find out whatever I could to help both of them. I began my ascent, turning at the landing with apprehension, but there was no one there.
Once safely in the second-story hallway, I chose a room at random. Bingo! Someone—my guess was Joshua—had nested here. The bed had been stripped of old covers and a sleeping bag was spread across it, along with a couple of new pillows. Two suitcases rested atop one dresser, both open, and a kerosene lamp sat on another. The curtains had been opened as far as they would go. I closed the door behind me and examined the open luggage. The tag on the handle had two initials: J. A. Joshua Addison. It had to be.
Should I look? I valued privacy. I'd never once thought of reading Miranda's diary, even though I knew exactly where she hid it. But considering the circumstances, considering that both Diana and Susan were now keeping time with the worms, I decided to make an exception. I took a deep breath and began a quick search of the first suitcase. Men's clothing, a razor kit, a couple of porn mags, and a carton of cigarettes. The second, though, was filled to the brim with files, papers, and notebooks.
I bit my lip, then decided to go for broke. With trembling hands, I opened the first folder. A marriage license. Was Joshua married? Nobody had ever said anything about that. I adjusted the flashlight so I could read.
Joshua Reed Addison and Susan Virginia Walker.
Susan! Good God, he'd been married to Susan! I calculated the dates in my head. They had gotten married in Seattle when Susan was barely seventeen. It must have been shortly after Joshua ran off. A sudden chill raced down my back. "I was murdered by my husband but nobody knows.…" Could Joshua be the husband Susan's spirit was talking about? I worked quickly; the feeling that I was in danger loomed heavily, and I knew that I'd better be done and out of there before he showed up. I shuffled through the rest of the bag.
A sheaf of papers from Western State Hospital caught my eye, and I flipped through them. Photocopies of psychiatric records, including a commitment order for Joshua signed by Susan and Bernard. A release order… dated a decade later. Violent behavior, psychosis… lovely. There was a note attached to one of the papers—a copy of an official decree granting Susan Addison a legal annulment, along with a notarized document certifying her name change back to Walker. They had been married less than a year.
And then I found it: an authorization signed by Joshua at the same time he'd been committed, releasing any parental rights he might have to the child Susan was carrying. Susan had been pregnant when she returned to marry Walter, but it hadn't been his child. Diana was Joshua's daughter.
Flabbergasted, I sat down on the bed. The hatchet poked into my side, so I slid it out of my belt and set it on the nightstand next to me. All this time, everyone assumed Diana was Walter's daughter, but all along, she'd belonged to his stepbrother. Joshua knew, Susan knew, Bernard had to know, Walter knew. And nobody said a word. And if Joshua was so off-kilter, maybe that's why Diana was so unstable. Maybe it was in her genes.
I dropped the order and quickly rifled through the rest of the suitcase. Bank statements, all in Diana's name, and letters. Under the pictures I found a crumpled Father's Day card from Diana to Joshua, and then another sheaf of letters.
So she'd found out; somehow she found out that Joshua was her father. Had he looked her up, told her he was her real father and not Walter? Had that been what caused the fights between Diana and her parents?
A
note scribbled on floral stationery stood out among the rumpled papers—something seemed familiar in the handwriting, and then, I knew. Those looping letters were all too recognizable.
I can't believe that you actually dared to contact me. Walter will kill you if he knows you're back in town. So you've been snooping around, have you? I got your package and burned it, but I suppose you have more where that came from. Get your ass up here next Thursday. I'll make sure the house is clear. We'll talk, but I warn you—I'm not a good person to make an enemy of. You'd better have the goods if you expect me to pay the price you're asking. Susan
The letter was dated a few days before the date of Susan's death. Clipped to the letter was a picture of Susan. She was kissing some man, but it wasn't Walter. They were going at it pretty hot and heavy, by the looks of it. I flipped the photo over. Someone had jotted down two names on the back: Susan M. and Ned Cantrell. I studied the picture. Where had I seen this man before? Cantrell … Cantrell… Now I remembered! He'd played the lead in Obsidian.
Was he the man she'd hinted at in her argument with Andrew? News like this could disrupt her position as the "Dragon Lady of Romance," that was for sure. Her happily married readers might not look too fondly on their inspiration if they knew what was going on in her private life, with the abuse, affairs, and counteraffairs. Drop in a child fathered by a madman and it worked out to the makings for a Victim of the Week movie.
Next to where the letter had been thrust rested a bottle of Valium. I picked it up. The pills were prescribed for Joshua Addison. Confused, but positive I was on to something, I scrambled in my pocket for my cell phone and punched up Harlow's number. Joshua had been married to Susan. And just what had happened during their meeting? Had Joshua blackmailed Susan, then killed her when something went wrong? Had murder been the plan all along and blackmail a ruse? Did Diana find out what had gone on? Was that why she'd been killed?
Harlow answered on the third ring. "Harl, listen to me. I think I've found proof that Joshua killed Susan. He was married to her, Harl… married to her! She was supposed to meet with him on the day she died."
She was all ears. "Oh, my God! Where are you right now? What should I do?"
"We've got to call the police, get them over here. I'm in Joshua's bedroom on the second floor of the old Addison place. Man, it's creepy. I need to get out of here before he comes back and finds me. Walter's right: The dude is dangerous, very dangerous. Susan and Bernard committed him to a mental hospital for violent behavior—" I paused as a creak sounded in the hallway. "Hold on."
I held my breath as I tiptoed over to crack the door and peered out. Nothing—nobody there. I let out a deep sigh and leaned against the wall. God, I longed for the security and safety of my little shop, of my home. I wasn't cut out for sneaking around. I stuffed the letter from Susan in the pocket of my skirt along with the picture and returned to peek out the window, trying to see if there was a car anywhere on the grounds.
"Harl, I better—"
Another creak made me start, and as I headed for the door, it flew open. Joshua Addison stood there, his eyes glimmering with an icy light. He was wearing a black duster and a hat that made me think of Crocodile Dundee. But no good-natured smile creased his face, and that big old knife he was carrying wasn't nearly as sexy as the one Paul Hogan had waved around.
"Put the phone down. Turn it off and drop it." He held up the knife. Every finger sported a thick silver ring. I turned off the phone and tossed it on the bed as he demanded, "Who are you? What do you want?"
Maybe I still had a chance. Maybe I could get out of here with my skin intact. I cleared my throat. "I've always liked this house. I wanted to see what the inside was like."
"Just like that, huh? You broke in to see what it looked like? No thoughts about the police catching you? No thoughts that maybe somebody lived here?" He took another step closer, and a wave of Calvin Klein's Obsession overwhelmed me.
I nodded. "Yeah… stupid, I know. But I thought that the house was abandoned. It's not like I was going to take anything." He had to know I was lying. I couldn't pull off an innocent ingenue act if my life depended on it, and right now, it did.
Joshua reached my side and glanced down at my bag. He pulled it off my shoulder, and I didn't object with that wannabe machete waving in my face. I leaned against the window, praying that Harlow had heard something of the exchange.
He dumped the contents of my purse onto the bed and thumbed through them. With a glance at my driver's license, he stopped short and stared at me again. "Emerald O'Brien, eh? So you're one of the pretty ladies who found my daughter, so cold and pale and dead."
His eyes shifted from gray to blue, and the temperature in the room dropped a good ten degrees. My blood froze into a river of ice as the hairs on my arms began to stand at attention. Something was very wrong. Shivering, I tried to edge toward the nightstand where I'd left the hatchet.
Joshua was quicker than I could hope to be. He leaped between me and the hatchet, shaking his finger at me as if he were scolding a child. "Don't even think of it. You don't need that nasty old hatchet; not where you're going." He picked up the file I'd been leafing through. "Why are you nosing around in my business?" He tossed the documents back in his suitcase.
I debated whether to speak, and decided it might buy me some time. "Susan told me her husband killed her. She asked for my help. I just didn't realize it was you and not Walter."
He jerked his head up. "What are you talking about?"
"Her ghost. She came to me the night after she died and told me she'd been murdered and asked me to prove it, since everyone thought she took an overdose. I assumed that Walter had killed her. I was wrong."
"You're asking me to believe that Susan's ghost appeared in your house and asked you to help her? You're crazier than I am. Those quacks at the hospital should have a go at you. They'd have a real field day." He held up the knife as he circled me warily, smiling—a lion gauging the fight left in his quarry.
I turned with him, never letting him leave my line of sight. "You were married to her. You were going to meet her on the day she died. Tell me about it."
Without warning, he lunged, grabbing my arm. Startled, I shouted as he threw me onto the bed. I gasped as I hit the mattress and, before I could twist away, he straddled my chest, gently waving the knife in my face. "I bet you were one of Walter's pretty Pollys. One of his conquests? I have to tell you, he'd be an extremely bad choice for a husband." He leaned closer and whispered, "Did you know that he's never been faithful a day in his life? Even when he first married Susan, he was still playing the field."
I shifted, trying to avoid the blade that hovered so close to my throat. I had to be prepared, ready to take advantage of any mistake he might make. Forcing myself to remain calm, I said, "Walter wasn't my lover. And I know he was unfaithful. Susan knew about it. That's why she cut him out of her will and assigned all her money to her daughter. She stayed with him too long. She made a lot of mistakes."
Joshua brought the knife down hard, and I screamed as it whistled past my ear and plunged into the mattress. Before I realized what he was doing, he had both my wrists over my head, pinning me to the bed by brute force. He leaned close and nuzzled my neck, his nose and lips cold against my skin. I thrashed, trying to avoid his touch. His energy enveloped me, a dangerous combination of leather and blades and glistening insanity.
"Oh, I wouldn't call it a mistake, not from where I'm sitting. Diana's money goes to me. Since we didn't want questions, we made it simple. She left a will, naming me as her beneficiary. I encouraged her to make nice to Mama, you know, told her it wasn't fair to lose her rightful inheritance just because Mama and Daddy never told her she had a different father, just because they bounced her from school to school like a dodge ball. Susan and Walt played right into my hands."
Cold sweat dripped from every pore in my body. "How'd you get Diana to make a will without her being suspicious?"
"Nothing to it. We made our wills a
t the same time, and like a good father and daughter should, named each other as beneficiary. My sweet little idiot was what you might call gullible. Too bad she was so stupid; she might still be alive. But then again, I'm not the paternal type. Now, to matters at hand." He leaned close and forced his lips over mine.
Panicking, I fought, trying to throw him off. He reared back and, crazy strong, his smile never wavering, backhanded me. Startled by the force of his blow, the slash along my cheek burned where his rings grazed the flesh, leaving a trickle of blood to wend its way down toward my ear.
He gave me a smug grin. "You know, you're not my type, but I find myself strangely attracted to you. I'm going to enjoy this." He laughed and ground his pelvis against mine. Even through the layers of clothing, I could tell he was aroused. "Oh, yes, you're the icing on the cake. I'm a very rich man, thanks to my dearest Diana, and I got my revenge on both Susan and Walter after all these years, and now I get a bit of fun on the side."
Abruptly, he grabbed the knife as he stood, dragging me along with him. He whipped me around and slammed me up against one of the dressers, knocking the wind out of me. My stomach felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer as I doubled over the chest of drawers.
Joshua slashed the back of my parka and said, "Take off that coat."
I struggled to keep calm as I slowly unzipped my parka and tossed it on the bed. I could tell that he'd reached the end of his interest in talking. I had to do something. I whirled, heading for the door. Joshua sprang over the footboard. I tried to push him away, but he was terribly quick. In one swift move, he grabbed me by the throat and held the knife to my jugular.
Ghost of a Chance Page 24
