by Vicki Delany
I studied myself in the mirror, seeking Omar lurking behind my eyes. No sign of him. As usual, whenever I’d gone a day without headaches, I began to hope I was on the mend. If Omar stayed away, I might be able to take over some of the management tasks. Perhaps soon I’d be able to follow a row of numbers on a computer screen and concentrate long enough to help with the bookkeeping and the banking.
I studied my face. Something was niggling at the back of my mind. Something I needed to remember.
I’d made a mistake. I’d said something wrong. I needed to make it right
But I couldn’t’ remember what that was.
It was so, so damned frustrating.
Thoughts dangled in front of my mind, remaining just out of reach. Like a child playing peek-a-boo, a flirt in a bar, teasing and then drawing away.
I tried to concentrate. I needed to remember. Something important.
It was gone, and I could not call it back.
I gave up trying and knocked on Lily’s door.
“Come in.”
She was sitting on her bed in a nest of fluffy pink and white stuffed toys and pillows. The book on the treasures of Afghanistan open on her lap.
“Hungry?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s see what’s in the fridge. If we can’t have pizza I’m sure we can rustle up something to see us through.”
“Aunt Hannah?”
“Yes, dear.”
“I need to tell you something.”
I smiled. “Let’s start dinner first, and then we can talk.”
She jumped off the bed and wrapped me in a hug. I touched my lips to the top of her head. She smelled of citrus soap and lemon shampoo and clean water. Of good health and innocence and plenty of love. Her hair was wet, and she was dressed in her pajamas, yellow and white with short pants and smiling cartoon characters. “I love you, Aunt Hannah.”
“I love you too, my dear.”
“Dad’s going to be fine, right?”
“He said so himself, didn’t he? Don’t worry. He has a bad cut on his leg, and they’ll have to sew it up. Then he’ll be able to come home.”
I hoped I was right.
“It’s a good thing Connor was there,” she said. “So he could call for help.”
I lifted my head. Connor. That was it. Something about Connor. Something I’d done wrong about Connor.
But what?
Nothing I could do tonight. I’d worry about all of that in the morning.
We went downstairs.
I hadn’t bothered to lock the door after Liz and Allison. We never locked the doors in this house, except when it was time to go to bed.
Connor O’Leary sat at the kitchen table. He looked up as we came in. He did not smile. A gun rested on the table in front of him.
“Where is it, Hannah?” he said.
Chapter Thirty-five
I remembered.
I’d told the police Jake had stabbed himself with the pitchfork. But that wasn’t right, was it? Connor had done it. He’d said it was an accident, and accidents happened around a farm all the time. Big animals, big equipment, hard physical work. Jake was fully conscious, although in pain, so Connor couldn’t lie to me in front of him.
But I’d forgotten that, and when the cops asked me what had happened, my mind, which sometimes made things up to try to fit in facts it couldn’t remember, told me Jake said he’d stabbed himself.
Did it matter?
Yes, it did. If I’d mentioned Connor, the police would have questioned him. Tried to find out exactly what had happened.
Where had Connor been since I went into the barn and found Jake, anyway? I’d sent him to the greenhouse for the first aid kit. Liz had brought it. I hadn’t seen Connor since. He’d made himself scarce when the authorities were poking around. Unlike Liz and Allison and just about everyone else in the world who gathered at the sight of an ambulance and police cars and flashing blue and red lights, he’d slipped away.
Until now.
“Where is it?” He repeated. His fingers, still encrusted with farm dirt, caressed the gun. It wasn’t a toy, but solid and substantial. Black and shiny and deadly. A Glock, if my memory could still be counted on.
Rain spattered on the French doors leading to the deck, the wind whipped tree branches against the house, the old wood shifted and groaned. Outside, the sky was as black as midnight, and inside the only light came from the clocks on the oven and microwave. The electric green glow was behind Connor and his eyes were black pools in an empty face.
I put my body between him and Lily.
Lightning flashed, a streak against the black sky, and a brilliant white flash filled the kitchen. Thunder followed immediately, the sound waves rolling inside the house. Lily and I jumped and the edges of Connor’s mouth lifted.
The thunder was dying away and the light had gone when the office door opened. I almost shouted a warning, but Connor didn’t move and his face reflected no fear of being discovered. He didn’t even take his unblinking stare away from me.
A man came into the kitchen in a rolling swagger. He was tall and muscular, with thick wet lips, small eyes, shaved head, and a ragged goatee. Black jeans, black T-shirt, black Doc Martin boots that tracked mud and water across Joanne’s clean floor. A thick belt was around his waist, a shiny silver and turquoise buckle in the front, an inlaid leather sheaf holding a knife at his side. It was the man I’d seen driving Connor to work. His cousin, supposedly.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked. No one answered. “Now look here, Connor, I have not the slightest idea what you think you’re doing here, with that gun in this house. Nor what you’re looking for.”
Connor got to his feet. He picked up the Glock. “Step away from the kid, Hannah.”
“No.”
His friend crossed the room in three steps. He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Lily. Omar moved.
Not now, please, not now. I needed my wits about me. I needed to be able to see. To think.
Lily cried out.
I forced myself to concentrate, to pay attention, to be aware. If my mind shut down, we were finished. Slowly, reluctantly, Omar stepped back.
“Sit down, Lily,” Connor shouted.
She looked at me. I nodded, and she dropped into a chair, her eyes big and round in a pale face framed by long wet blond hair.
“That’s a good girl. If your aunt will be just as good, we can finish this up and go.”
“Why did you hurt Jake?” I said, “What’s he ever done to you except give you a job?”
“Jake’s of no consequence. I needed to get rid of him for a few hours, and if his wife left too, all the better.”
“You couldn’t wait until they went to a movie or something?”
“No, Hannah, I couldn’t wait until they went to a movie or something. They never fuckin’ went out, did they? I’ve been sitting in that damned trailer, hot as Hell, waiting for the house to be empty. But there’s always someone around. Jake, your sister, you, those stupid giggling girls who think they want to be farmers. Marry farmers is what they really want. Besides, I’m sick and tired of working on this two-bit operation. Taking orders from a couple of fucking farmers? Selling vegetables in the market? I don’t think so.”
“Cops were getting too interested in this place,” his pal said. “The longer we hung around, the more likely they’d take a bead on Riley here.”
“Your name’s Riley?”
“Never the fuck mind. And you,” he threw the words at the big man, “can shut the fuck up.”
“Who are you anyway?” I asked. As Omar retreated I felt myself moving with him. Away from my body. Standing to one side, watching these people. It hadn’t occurred to me to be frightened. Maybe they’d shoot Omar and I could have m
y head back.
“Never mind,” Connor said. “No more games, Hannah. I’m sick and tired of this business. I’m fed up with this fucking farm and that fucking small town. Give me what I want and we’ll be out of here.”
“Connor, or Riley, or whatever your name is. I really, really do not know what you’re talking about.”
“She gave it to you, Hannah. I should have realized that earlier. We’ve been wasting our time at Harrison place. I saw the book the other day and wondered. Then again this morning, and I knew.”
“Book? What book? I can barely read these days. You mean Lily’s books on the archeology of Afghanistan?” I sucked in air. “Oh, no. Hila? You think Hila gave me something? She didn’t. You have to believe me.” Hila. They’d killed Hila looking for…what? From where I stood, to one side, watching the proceedings, I saw anger boil up inside my body. After all that I’d seen, all that I’d experienced. All that Hila had lived though. To be hunted down in the one place she’d found safety. Killed. Murdered. For some object.
“You killed Hila, I assume,” I asked. My voice stayed calm.
The man grunted. Connor glanced at him. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. Jackson doesn’t know his own strength sometimes. She didn’t want to give it up, so we knocked her around a bit. Took off her pants, pulled her legs apart. Had a good long look and told her what would happen if she didn’t tell. Like I’d want to get close to that mess of a face. They’re terrified of rape, Afghan bitches, but I guess you know that.”
“She didn’t tell you. Maybe she didn’t know what you were talking about. Just like I don’t know.”
“She knew. She was tougher than we expected, but she would have given it up. Unfortunately,” Connor shrugged and gave an almost imperceptible glace toward his friend, “accidents happen.”
“Yeah. When two guys are beating up a woman.”
“How about we have no more accidents, and you hand it over and we’ll be going. I don’t mean you any harm, Hannah. I don’t mind leaving you alive. I’ll be long gone and Connor O’Leary will be sound asleep in his bed in Smiths Falls when the cops break down his door. They can search for me all they want.” He smiled. Only half of his mouth lifted and I was reminded of Hila’s tortured twisted face. I’d happily hand over whatever they wanted. But I didn’t have anything.
Lily shifted in her chair.
My stomach rolled over. I returned to my body. I felt cold sweat on my arms and sheer terror in my heart.
Lily. Lily had it. Hila had given it, whatever it was, to Lily for safekeeping.
I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at her.
Her head was up and her back straight.
Connor followed my eyes.
“Hey, Lily. Do you have something you want to tell us, sweetpea?”
She looked at me through eyes as large as Black Beauty’s. She waited for me to tell her what to do.
“Hila gave you something, didn’t she?” I said. At last, too late, I knew why Lily had so many questions about inheritance, about what would happen to Hila’s property, the intense interest in the book about the Afghanistan museum. My stupid, useless damaged brain had been too sluggish to figure it out. “She asked you to look after something that was precious to her.”
Lily nodded. “She told me it was secret. I wasn’t to tell anyone. I didn’t know what to do when she died. I wanted to give it to the right person. But I didn’t know who that was.”
“What…” I began, but Connor cut through me.
“Now you can give it to me.”
Lily hesitated. Jackson took a step toward her. He fingered the hilt of the knife on his belt.
“Lily,” I yelled. “Tell them.”
She began to cry. Great racking sobs and streaming tears. I went to her and put an arm around her shoulders. The two men watched us, their faces as cold as the storm raging outside. “It’s all right, Lily. Hila wouldn’t want you to…be hurt to protect her secret.”
“It’s a box,” she whispered. “Things from Afghanistan. They belong to the people of Afghanistan. They’d been stolen, and she wanted to give them back.”
“That’s a good girl,” Connor said. A flash of lightning lit up his face. His eyes were pools of cruelty and his mouth twisted in contempt. How could I have ever thought him attractive? “Go and get me this box.” He tossed his head to Jackson, who threw me aside as if I were a used tissue and grabbed Lily’s arm. He hauled her to her feet.
“Get it.”
“It’s upstairs, in my room,” she said.
“Go with her,” Connor said. “Hannah and I’ll wait here.”
“No!”
Connor grinned. “No? Think you have a say in this, Hannah?”
“He is not going upstairs with Lily. Alone.” I grabbed Lily’s other arm and held on tight.
The man pulled. We were having a tug of war over my niece. He laughed. “I like to give it to the young ones. Make their first something they’ll always remember.” He looked down at Lily as if he were examining meat in a butcher’s window. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face. “Yeah, it’ll be her first. What’d you think, Riley?”
“Get the damned box, and we can get out of here. The longer we hang around the more likely we’ll be interrupted. We’ve no time for funny business.”
Jackson grunted and jerked Lily’s arm. I hung on. Connor’s mocking laughter followed us out of the room. The man hauled Lily up the narrow stairs. She stumbled and fell to her knees and I pulled her back up. My mind was a blur of terror, but not, thankfully, of pain.
All I had to do was stay calm. Give them what they wanted and let them leave. I believed Connor when he said he wouldn’t kill us. What would be the point? He had no reason to hang around here, and obviously no desire to. If he could disappear, the way he said he could, he might just as well leave Lily and me alive.
All I had to do was to keep everyone calm and try to ensure there were no further ‘accidents.’
Jackson hesitated at the top of the stairs. He pulled Lily up the last step and shoved her ahead of him. “Where?” he said.
She led the way to her room. She dropped to her knees in front of the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. The stuffed animals on her bed, childish innocence personified, watched her. She moved aside her underwear, folded and stacked neatly, and took out a small wooden box. She cradled it in her hands for a moment. It was a rectangle about twelve by six inches, made with stripes of alternating types of wood. Brass hinges, dull with age, secured the lid. She pushed herself to her feet, cradling the box.
The man gave it a long look. He licked his lips, jerked Lily’s arm so she cried out in pain, and said, “Let’s go. You first, lady.”
I returned to the stairs. I had my foot on the topmost step when he said, “Get downstairs. Tell Riley I’ll be along in a minute.”
I turned and looked up, into his face. His eyes were glassy and his lips wet and slack. “Back to your bedroom,” he ordered Lily.
“No.”
He grinned at me. “What, you want it first? That can be arranged.” He shoved Lily aside as though she were a rag doll and reached for my arm. He pulled me up the step and swung me around so my back was to the landing.
I stood outside of myself, watching. Lily’d hit the far wall and fallen. She lay there, a bundle of yellow cartoon pajamas, crying. The man teetered at the edge of the steps. The knife hung loose at his side. This was an old house; the stairs were narrow and steep. A wooden bench, unused as no one ever came in the front door, was at the bottom. Under the window at the landing a set of sturdy iron candlesticks sat on a small table. They were kept there, with matches in the drawer, in case the power went out in the night.
His mind was on sex. No, not sex, on pain and terror and on being in control.
Not on protecting him
self.
His gaze flicked toward Lily. I grabbed one of the candlesticks and lifted it high. He blinked, not quite understanding. Then, realizing too late he was in danger, his hand reached for his knife. I brought the candlestick down, hard, against the side of his head. He yelled. His eyes rolled back. I kicked out, slamming my bare foot into his right knee. He staggered, began to lose his balance. I kicked again, and he fell. Arms windmilling, he crashed onto the steps and rolled down in a mad jumble of legs and arms. He came to a stop at the bottom. I gripped the candlestick. He lay still. The back of his head had hit a corner of the bench. The occipital lobe. I let out a howl of triumph. I would be his Omar.
“Didn’t think you had it in you, Hannah.” Connor stood at the bottom of the steps, the Glock in both hands, pointing up at me. He glanced at his pal. He kicked the man’s legs. “Not dead. But I don’t have time, or the inclination, to carry him out to the truck. Mission creep. Always fatal. Do the job and get the hell out. Discipline, that’s all that counts. Put that candlestick down and bring the box to me. And don’t try any funny business. Easy enough for me to shoot you and then Lily and help myself.”
I bent over Lily and gently took the box from her hands. It was heavy for its size. Inside nothing moved. She mumbled in fear, and I said, “He won’t hurt you now.” She struggled to her feet. We descended the stairs, me in front, clutching the box in both hands. I held it out to Connor like an offering. “Take it and get the fuck out of our lives.”
“My pleasure. I thought you for a wimpy civilian,” he said, with something approaching admiration. “So traumatized. So sorry for yourself. But you’ve got guts when you need them, Hannah. Sorry I can’t hang around to get to know you better. Before I go, I need to make sure what I want’s in the box. Turn it around so the hinges are toward you. Then open it.”
I did so. Connor sucked in a breath. I couldn’t avoid glancing down, and my heart almost stopped beating.
Gold. Gold and turquoise and pearls and lapis lazuli. Several pieces of jewelry, small, the work detailed and exquisite, were tucked around a bronze statue of a man. He was naked, well-muscled, heavily bearded, holding a spear in his right hand. The contents nestled in a bed of tissue. The box was crammed full: not only the statue and the jewels, but also what looked to be old coins.
