She zeroed in on the remaining name. Greg. Paddy's attorney seemed attentive and caring toward Claire. A friend of her first husband, he'd come to her aid, protecting her interests and looking with disdain at the long line of men who used her and left. He'd urged her to forget about Fabian and stressed the fact that he was a loser and womanizer. Greg obviously cared a great deal for Claire.
Helen shivered. Had he somehow caused Claire's other husbands to leave? Was he waiting in the wings, hoping that one day she'd pick him? Greg had easy access to Paddy's files and could very likely have access to the security system. He could have falsified the reports from Trace Peterson and faked a marriage license. Perhaps he'd even set up the "other woman" scenario knowing Trace was following Fabian. Or maybe he took the photos himself and planted them in Peterson's car.
His initial goal may have been to get rid of Fabian and win Claire. Perhaps he hired the woman and the detective to gather fake evidence against Fabian, then killed them. Helen shook her head. No, he was not the type of man to resort to murder in order to marry Claire. Was he? He'd been a longtime family friend. A confidant. "What would his motive be?" Helen murmured. "Love? Greed?" Marriage to Claire would have made him a wealthy man.
Helen Bradley, you're letting your imagination run wild again. Greg seemed much too intelligent and self-assured to waste his time getting rid of Claire's husbands. He had a successful practice and Paddy trusted him. Earlier she'd thought about looking at Paddy's will to determine whether or not the lawyer stood to inherit anything when Paddy died. He'd been with Paddy a long time.
As if her feet had a mind of their own, she found herself descending the staircase and going to the first floor to Paddy's suite. Sitting at her uncle's desk, Helen felt a new blanket of grief spread over her. She tossed it aside and began rifling through the files on the desk and in his private drawer.
She found an unpaid bill from Greg for the monthly retainer fee of two thousand dollars. The due date was today. She set it aside along with a couple of other unpaid bills. Something she'd have to deal with later.
It took only minutes to find the will. Even knowing she was to inherit a third of the fortune, the written word stunned her. She'd never particularly wanted to be rich, but suddenly she was a multimillionaire. Helen wasn't certain she wanted to be. So much responsibility. On the other hand, she could do a lot of good with it.
She sighed and continued looking for the lawyer's name but didn't find where he benefited at all from Paddy's death. If anything, Paddy's dying would give him two thousand dollars less a month, not to mention legal fees he'd have received over and above that. If Greg had anything to do with Paddy's death, it probably would not be for the money.
Hearing voices in the kitchen, Helen went to investigate.
"Oh, Helen, look who's here." Judging from the cake cooling on the rack near the oven and the sink full of bowls, Hillary had been working hard to overcome her grief. Martha sat at the table, drinking a cup of coffee. Sarah was sitting beside her, staring at something on the opposite wall. Martha must have told her what had happened.
The domestic scene took her aback. Except for Sarah's shock, one would never know Martha had been arrested. "How did you get out?"
"Greg came. They asked me a lot of questions and let me go, just like that."
"So Greg did get my message." He must have gone directly to the jail. Helen poured herself a cup of coffee.
"Yes, and I can't thank you enough for calling him. He isn't planning to charge me any lawyer fees. Says it's the least he could do."
Helen took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. It was old and bitter. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Does he owe you something?" She vaguely remembered Martha's comment as she'd boarded the boat earlier. Something to the effect that she'd known him a long while.
"His mother and mine were best of friends," Martha offered. "They grew up together. Worked out here for the Werners until the family abandoned the castle. She was a good woman. Didn't have much but managed to scrimp and save enough to put Greg through law school. She was proud of him. She died shortly after he graduated. Lived for that boy. He's done her proud. Greg and I were friends back then. I guess maybe we still are."
Martha sighed deeply and took a long sip of her coffee. "I used to think maybe we'd end up together somehow, but it wasn't meant to be."
"So Greg was here as a youngster." Helen digested this last piece of information. "Did he know about the tunnels and the secret passageways?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Bill never said anything about him knowing."
Helen dumped the remaining three-fourths cup of bitter coffee into the sink. "Did he mention whether or not he'd be coming out today?"
"No, he didn't. I suspect even if he does, it'll be a while. He's offered to represent Bill and Luis."
"I see." Turning to Sarah, Helen said, "I'm sorry about your dad."
Sarah glared at her. "No, you're not. You're not sorry at all. It's your fault he's in jail." She pushed her chair back and ran from the room.
"Sarah." Martha glanced apologetically at Helen and went after her.
"So, Hillary, what do you make of all this? Did you know Greg used to spend time out here as a child?"
"No. It's news to me. You don't suppose he had anything to do with Paddy's death?"
"It doesn't seem likely. I have to admit, though, I'm curious about his former link with the house."
Helen excused herself and headed up the stairs. On the second-floor landing, she paused and, instead of continuing up to her room, crept down the hall to Greg's suite. She knocked on his door just in case he'd come back without her seeing him. When she didn't get an answer, she stepped inside.
His suitcase lay on the bed, opened and partially packed or unpacked. She wasn't sure which. She quickly looked through the underwear, socks, a swimsuit, a sweat shirt, and a pair of shorts. Nothing unusual there, other than the fact that it was all very neatly arranged. Helen had no idea what she was looking for. or why she'd suddenly decided to search Greg's room.
Going to the closet, she checked the pockets of two dress shirts, slacks, and a suit jacket. There was another jacket as well, an expensive-looking leather bomber jacket. It had about four pockets. On the inside left breast pocket she found a book of matches from the Casino Royale and a small piece of paper with a phone number written in block-style handwriting. Helen fingered the matches. There could be any number of reasons for him to have the matches. It didn't prove anything. On the other hand, it might.
On a whim Helen picked up the phone on the bedside table and dialed the number on the scrap of paper. A machine answered. "Hi," the sexy female voice said. "This is Sherrie. I do so want to talk with you. . .." Helen hung up and hurried out of the room. It was a long shot, but she had to know. Back upstairs, she rummaged through her bag for Chad's phone number.
"Helen. What can I do for you?" Chad asked when she finally got him on the line.
"What was the name of the Jane Doe you found? The one who had her picture taken with Fabian?"
"Sherrie Palmer. Why?"
"Sherrie," she repeated the name on the paper. "Because I think I know who. . .."
She heard a click and turned. A snub-nose .38 was aimed at her head.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Greg grabbed the receiver and hung up the phone.
"What were you doing in my room?" He snatched the paper away from her, glanced at it, and shoved it into his pocket.
Helen did her best not to look surprised. "I was looking for you. When did you arrive?"
"That doesn't matter."
"No, I don't suppose it does. Martha told me you'd gotten my message. I wanted to thank you for. . .."
"Save it." He glared at her. "I should have made sure you were dead the first time."
"On the mountain? So that was you." She eyed the gun and took a step back. "Why did you do it?"
"Paddy seemed to think you'd find out who was behind the attempts on his life. I couldn't let tha
t happen. I've got too much at stake."
"Such as my finding out that you used to spend time here as a child and that you probably know all about the tunnels? And the fact that you, not Fabian, cleaned out Claire's bank accounts? Have you been skimming off Paddy's funds as well?"
He didn't answer, but the look on his face affirmed her suspicions. Had Paddy suspected him? "You falsified the letter from the detective. Killed him and set up a tight frame around Fabian."
He smirked. "Better Fabian get the blame than me, don't you think? He's a no-good womanizer."
"Which, of course, is far worse than being a cold-blooded killer."
"It's far more complicated than that. I don't expect you to understand."
"I'm not sure I want to."
"Let's go." He motioned for her to move out of the room.
"You'll never get away with shooting me, you know. Hillary and Martha are here."
"I don't plan on shooting you. Not here, at any rate."
Helen walked toward the door at his prodding. "Where are we going?"
"We're flying to the mainland to see Megan's baby."
"What?" The man was definitely missing a few screws.
"Mrs. Bradley, despite what you might think, I'm not a cold-blooded killer. I'm a businessman trying to protect my interests. But if you don't cooperate, I'll be forced to kill Hillary, Martha, and Sarah. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?"
"No." Helen clenched her teeth as he pushed her into the hallway. "I don't suppose I would." She'd go peacefully, for now. Besides, she told herself, going along with him would help her build a stronger case against him.
"What about the security cameras?" Helen asked. "They'll show you taking me as a hostage." She glanced up at one as they passed, but it wasn't working. "How did you disarm it?"
Without answering, he pushed her ahead of him down the stairs to the second floor, then into his room. With his left hand he reached into his pocket, drew out a remote control device, and pressed one button, then another. On the first nothing happened, at least not that she could see. The second button opened a panel in the wall. He touched another button and a light came on in the passageway.
"So you do know about the tunnels," Helen said. "Martha said you might."
"Martha needs to learn to mind her own business."
"Is that how you killed my uncle? You let us all believe you hadn't arrived on Paradise until after Paddy's death. But you were here all the time. You came into his room through the secret passageway."
"I rarely use the passages to go from room to room. It's usually unnecessary. I wouldn't use it now, but it's a straight shot to the airstrip." He pushed her inside, stepped in, and used his remote to close the door.
"How did you kill him?" Helen asked.
"I put the cyanide into his inhaler while you were on your way to the island."
"But how? Hillary was here."
"There are ways of avoiding people here. It's a big place, or hadn't you noticed?"
"How did you get onto the island without being detected?"
"It isn't hard. I have an ultralight. Doesn't make much noise. And I have this." He padded the pocket where he kept his remote. "One touch and I can shut down the entire security system. It's like creating a power outage. Modern technology is great, isn't it? This little gadget is programmed to get me anywhere on the island I want to go without being detected."
That explained why the cameras weren't working when Hillary went into Paddy's room the last time. Greg must have been leaving the island. "I'm impressed. First man rules the television set from his recliner. Then he rules the world." Helen wasn't especially fearful of Greg Curtis. He was too cocky for his own good. She'd been around men like him before. No wonder Claire had never married him. He was the kind of man who liked to be in control. Helen would play along for a while, and when he least expected, she'd nail him. She just hoped he hadn't had martial arts training.
They descended the long, narrow flight of stairs to a landing on the main floor, then turned a corner and went down again. Helen rubbed at her bare arms to keep away the chill. Every few steps he prodded her with the gun, urging her to go faster. "Take it easy, will you? Do you want me to fall and break my neck?" She cringed at the stupidity of the remark.
He laughed. "I like you, Mrs. Bradley. It's just too bad Paddy brought you in as executor. But, no, I have other plans for you. I'd rather not have you die on the island."
They descended three flights of stairs and passed through a series of tunnels and rooms that apparently networked under the castle and away from it. The darkness disoriented her, but knowing they were headed for the airfield helped her keep her sense of direction intact. Thanks to Ted and Patrick, she knew the landmarks and felt she'd be able to easily make her way back. They came to a large room with the gated entry Ted and Patrick had told her about and the tunnel beyond it. The gate creaked as a gust of wind tore through the tunnel, shifting it on its rusted hinges. She could hear the water splashing against the rocks. The dark tunnel lead to the sea. What chance would she have if she ran for it now? She was a strong swimmer, but could she hold her breath long enough to get through the tunnel? Call her a coward, but she didn't want to risk it. Instead, she prayed for another opportunity.
"Is this where you hid Fabian? Did you know he'd escaped?"
His expression soured. "I heard. Claire is a fool for believing him."
"Is that why you did it? You wanted Claire for yourself and hoped eventually she'd pick you? When you couldn't have her, you set out to make life miserable for her and her husbands?"
"Is that how you see me? The proverbial lover, driven insane by the other men in Claire's life? Helen, I'm disappointed in you."
"It was an obvious conclusion. You care for her."
"I loved her once. But after she rejected me for all those playboys she ended up with, I decided it wasn't going to happen. My motives are pure and simple."
"Money."
"Right again. Paddy paid me fairly well for his services, but I needed more to meet my obligations. You see, he was kind enough to sell me his resort and casino in Las Vegas. Gave me a good deal on it. It was a good deal all right. What he failed to tell me was that with all the new casinos on the strip, his was falling behind. It needed renovating and, let's just say, I only took back what I had coming. Easiest way to do that was to start with Claire."
"So you followed Fabian back to the island when he returned to look for his ring. You knocked him out and let everyone believe he'd taken off with Claire's jewelry. But what about the ring? I wondered at the time why it would still be there."
"Ah, the ring. The last nail in his coffin. You see, Mrs. Bradley, that ring has blood caked in it, Peterson's blood. I planted it there so you and Claire would find it."
He stopped walking and talking at the same time. They'd gone past the gated room down another long tunnel and now stood in another large room. This one had apparently been used as a storage area once. Bare shelves hung haphazardly on two walls.
"Where are we?"
"Under the hangar."
He reached up and pulled down a ladder, then sent her up ahead of him, instructing her to push open the cellar door.
This was her chance. If she could move fast enough once she reached the top of the stairs, she might be able to shove him back down. On second thought, maybe that wasn't the best idea. He'd have a straight shot at her. Better to just get away. If she didn't move now, she might not get another opportunity. One thing was certain, she had no intention of boarding his plane.
She timed her escape perfectly, ascending the ladder slower than she normally would have. When she got to the top, she pushed open the trapdoor and stepped out. Helen took off running.
He must have anticipated her move. She'd only gone a few feet when she felt his steely arms wrap around her legs, driving them both to the ground.
She lay there thinking she'd never breathe again. As the shock wore off and her lungs managed to inhale,
the pain began in her arms and knees.
"Try that again and I'll not only kill Hillary and Sarah, I'll go after your husband." He hauled her to her feet.
"Why don't you just kill me now?" she gasped. She lifted her arm and picked imbedded grass and dirt out of her skinned forearm.
"Because it doesn't fit in with my plans. You and I are going for a plane ride. Somewhere between here and the mainland we'll develop engine trouble. We'll go down. Neither of us will survive."
"You're committing suicide?"
"Hardly. They'll find your body but not mine. We'll both parachute out, but yours won't open because you'll already be dead. They'll never find my body because it won't be there. I'll resume my new identity as the new owner of Paddy's resort on the French Riviera."
"Paddy didn't sell. . .. Ah, I see, you falsified the papers."
"Good guess. I figure it's an even trade. It's all legal. With my death, the Las Vegas resort will go back to Paddy's estate. I'll end up with his best moneymaker."
"You're sick. You'll never get away with it."
"Watch me." He spun her around and brought the butt of his gun down on the back of her head.
Chapter Thirty
Helen heard an engine start. Her head felt as though it had been used as a battering ram. Her arm stung where she'd scraped it in the fall, and her shoulder hurt. She inched one eyelid partly open. They were just leaving the ground. Greg had strapped her into the seat beside him. The plane lifted gracefully off the ground and headed toward the water. Helen let her head loll to one side, keeping her eyes closed. She peered through narrow slits at the water below. The RCMP boat was heading toward the island. Other boats dotted the blue water.
You have to stop him now, she told herself. Do something now before it's too late. You can't let him get away with this.
As much as she wanted to listen to her own advice, she had no idea what to do. She turned her head, looking at her captor through half-closed lids. He was intent on piloting the craft and had both hands on the wheel. The plane rocked as they hit an air pocket. His grip tightened as he pulled up.
A Haunting Refrain: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 4) Page 24
