by Sofie Kelly
“Good catch,” I called.
She quickly untied my two knots, fastened the bowline and gave the rope to Syd. The child slipped it over her head and Olivia explained how to tighten the loop.
“Okay, kiddo,” I said. “I need you to crawl to the edge of the platform and roll off.”
“No! I’ll fall,” she cried.
“No, you won’t,” Olivia told her. “Kathleen has the other end of the rope and she would never let you fall. You’re going to swing and she’s going to let you down. To the ground.”
Sydney lifted her head. “You promise?”
I put a hand on my chest. “I swear.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Hold on to the rope with both hands,” I said. The rope was over the middle of the beam. The other end was tied to the chain. I was holding on with two hands. I could minimize the swing. It would work.
Sydney crept over to the edge. She grabbed the rope with both hands. And rolled off. The rope jerked in my hands, and the sudden movement almost pulled me off my feet.
Almost.
She swung out farther than I’d intended, but I got control of the swing and was able to ease her down to the ground. I knelt beside her and she threw her arms around me. “It worked!” she exclaimed. “You’re really smart.”
“And you’re really brave.” I gave her a hug. “Now we need to get Olivia down.”
She was already pulling the loop of rope over her head. I took it from her. “Okay, Olivia, here it comes.”
It took me two tries before she caught the rope. As she pulled it over her head I showed Sydney where to stand. I’d need her help to control the swing with Olivia’s weight at the other end of the rope. “Hold tight with both hands,” I said, “and when I say ‘pull’ you pull as hard as you possibly can.”
She nodded, a determined set to her face.
“We’re ready,” I called.
Olivia crab-crawled to the edge of the platform. She eased up into a sitting position.
“Go,” I yelled to Olivia. “Pull,” I told Syd.
We both yanked on the rope as hard as we could. Even with my two feet on top of it, for a moment I thought it would slip through my hands, but I managed to keep my grip. Even so, Olivia swung out in a long arc. “Okay, start to let the rope out,” I said to Sydney.
Sydney nodded and we eased Olivia down to the floor. Her injured leg touched the ground first and the leg buckled, so she fell the last foot. Sydney ran to her and my hands let go of the rope. My arms had stopped working. I couldn’t even push my hair back off my face.
The side door to the carriage house swung open. Marcus was standing there.
At the same time, as if in slow motion, the hayloft began to fall forward. The sound of splintering wood filled my ears. Marcus covered the space between us in seconds. Olivia thrust Sydney at me, and somehow I found enough strength to catch her and scramble forward. Marcus grabbed Olivia by the shoulders and pulled her toward him. The hayloft made one last, desperate groan and fell in a heap of twisted, splintered wood. Jagged pieces of wood and dust rained down on us, sticking to our hair, our clothes, our skin. But we were all clear.
Sydney’s face was against my shoulder. I’d folded one arm over her head. She lifted it now, pushing her hair back out of her eyes.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded, coughed a couple of times and looked around. “Olivia?” she said.
Marcus had literally folded his own body over Olivia. He straightened up and Olivia leaned around him, stretching out a hand. Sydney caught it, gave me a smile and then crawled to Olivia, who wrapped both arms around her, resting her chin on the top of the child’s head.
“Are you all right?” Marcus said to her.
She nodded. “Are you?”
“I’m fine.” He made his way over to me on hands and knees and pulled me against him. “Tell me you’re okay,” he said.
I leaned back against his chest. We were safe. Scraped and bruised and very dirty, but we were all safe. “I’ve never been better,” I said. And I meant every word.
chapter 19
We stumbled out of the carriage house and Marcus called for the others. Roma and Eddie came running, and when I saw their faces I had to keep swallowing so I wouldn’t cry.
We made our way back to the house, where Maggie and Rebecca were waiting. Maggie brushed slivers of wood out of my hair. “Oh, Kath, your hands,” she said. The rope had scraped the left one in particular, raw.
“You need to go to the hospital,” Marcus said.
I shook my head. “I don’t need a hospital.”
“Yes, you do,” Roma said. She looked at Olivia, who was sitting on a kitchen chair, her leg propped up on another. “And that leg needs stitches.”
“I’m all right,” Olivia said.
“Neither one of you is in a position to argue,” Roma said.
She was right.
In the end it was decided that Roma and Eddie would drive Olivia to the hospital and Marcus and I would follow them. Rebecca offered to stay with Sydney. “Bath first,” she said to the child. “After that, brownies.”
“What could I do to help?” Mags asked.
“We’re having a wedding in three days,” Olivia said. “You better get going on that living room.”
When we got in the car, my arms were so wobbly Marcus had to fasten my seat belt. After he’d finished, Eddie stuck his head in the open door. “I don’t know how to properly thank you,” he said. His eyes were suspiciously bright.
My throat was suddenly tight and for a moment I couldn’t speak. “I know it’s corny, but just be happy,” I finally said.
He nodded. “I can do that.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. Then he walked back to Roma’s car.
Marcus reached across me and pulled the door shut.
“How did you know we were in the carriage house?” I asked.
“Lucy,” he said.
I looked at him. “The cat?”
He nodded as he put the SUV in reverse. “She came across the yard and she wouldn’t stop meowing. I knew it had to mean something. I just didn’t know what.”
Lucy. I’d always felt I had a connection with the little cat. I was going to make her a batch of sardine crackers as soon as I got home.
“There’s something special about the Wisteria Hill cats,” Marcus said as we followed Roma down the driveway.
“Yes, there is,” I agreed. And it was long past time that I shared exactly what that meant.
* * *
An ER nurse cleaned both of my hands and bandaged the left one. Part of my palm had been rubbed raw, but overall my injuries weren’t as bad as they’d seemed at first glance. In fact, I was able to head into work at lunchtime the next day, over Marcus’s very strenuous objections.
“I’m fine,” I assured him for what seemed like the tenth time as he stood in the middle of my kitchen, arms folded over his chest, flanked on each side by his furry sidekicks.
“I’m driving you,” he said.
“I’d like that,” I told him, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before heading upstairs to get dressed.
“You’re stubborn,” he called after me.
“I never said I wasn’t,” I countered.
* * *
It felt like half of Mayville Heights came into the library to check on me. It was midafternoon before I had a chance to look at my e-mail.
There was one from Ruby with photos attached.
I forgot to send you these. They’re some possible sites for more photo shoots. Let me know what you think.
I scanned quickly through the photos. They had been taken earlier on the night we’d been at the marina taking photos. The night Ruby had found Miranda’s body. No wonder she had forgotten to send them.
The outside terrace at
the hotel was promising. So was the exterior of the bank. Tourists were always taken by the stonework on the old building, especially the gargoyles on the corners of the roof.
In one of the bank images I saw a figure I recognized: Nora Finley. She was standing at one of the ATMs. Based on the lighting it looked to be early evening. No, that had to be wrong. Nora was Emme’s alibi. What had she said? We went home at about four thirty. We didn’t even go out for supper. We ordered in.
I rested my head against the back of my chair and closed my eyes. Nora was her sister’s alibi.
I opened my eyes again, and the first thing I saw on my desk was a flyer that had promoted Michel’s talk here at the library. I remembered our last conversation. He’d told me he’d left the theater at about six thirty, stopping to offer Miranda a ride. But before that he’d said good night to Nora and the others in the office.
No.
I didn’t want to believe that Emme had killed her best friend. But for at least part of the time that night Nora Finley had been at the bank, which meant Emme had no alibi. Unless . . .
I didn’t stop to think about it. I just grabbed the phone and punched in the number. It rang half a dozen times before Emme answered. “Emme, it’s Kathleen,” I said.
“Oh, hi,” she said.
I cleared my throat. “I need to ask you a question about the night Miranda was killed.”
“Okay,” she said.
“I know you weren’t with your sister. Where were you?”
For a moment there was silence, then I heard her sigh. “With Derrick at the same hotel where you found us. We were”—her voice broke—“together, and my best friend was dying.”
It was what I’d suspected. “Did Nora know where you were?” I asked.
“I told her. She said it would look bad if anyone knew I was with Derrick after all the uproar over the photos and the Don’t Drink and Drive campaign that went wrong. She offered to say I was with her all evening and . . . and she did. Please don’t blame Nora. She only lied to protect me. I’m sorry.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“I understand,” I said, and really I did. “You need to call Detective Gordon and tell him the truth.”
“I will,” she said. “I promise.”
I hung up the phone and stared at the ceiling. All Emme had really done was trade one alibi for another. I thought about what Nora had done. Would I lie like that to protect Ethan or Sara? I didn’t think so.
Nora Finley was extremely invested in her sister’s life, I realized.
I got up, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck, and my cell phone rang. It was Gavin.
“I found the person who sent the e-mails to your friend,” he said. “The same person sent all the e-mails.”
I’d pretty much guessed that. “It didn’t take you very long,” I said.
He laughed. “I’m that good. And she didn’t do a very good job of covering her tracks.”
“Her?”
“Uh-huh. I tracked everything back to an account belonging to a Nora Henry Finley. Does the name ring a bell?”
I sank onto a corner of the desk. “It rings all sorts of bells,” I said. “Thanks for your help, Gavin.”
“Hey, anytime, Kathleen,” he said.
We ended the call and I set my phone on the top of my desk.
It was Nora. It was the only explanation that made sense.
I tried to sort out what I knew. I could see why Nora might want to keep Emme close. She was more of a mother than a sister, and Emme’s life was her life. It was Nora who had the most to gain if Emme broke up with her professor boyfriend and gave up the idea of going back to school. I remembered Emme saying that this would give her sister a chance to have her own life. But what if Nora liked the life she already had?
But why had Miranda helped her? That didn’t make sense.
I paced around my office. Marcus’s former partner, Hope Lind, used to say that in the end someone’s motive for committing a crime came down to one of three things: love, hate or money. I didn’t see how love or hate applied in Miranda’s case. That only left money.
I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to convince myself I was wrong. I didn’t call Marcus to tell him what I’d learned from Gavin, because I wasn’t sure he’d take it seriously given how he felt about the man.
Maggie showed up after work to drive me home.
“I have to go out to Roma’s to change a string of lights,” she said, “but if you need anything, text me.”
I promised I would.
I made pasta salad with sun-dried tomatoes I’d gotten from Harry Taylor for supper. I had just finished the dishes when I got a text from Ruby asking me to bring Hercules down to the Stratton Theatre. She wanted to take some shots of him on the piano, and Michel had given her the okay to do it while everyone else was out of the building.
My right hand felt fine and the left just stung a little. There was no reason I couldn’t drive downtown. I knew Marcus would easily be able to come up with five or six reasons, which was why I decided not to tell him.
I found Hercules upstairs in my closet nosing around my shoes. “Ruby needs to take a few more pictures,” I said.
He immediately dropped his head and began washing the large white patch of fur on his chest. I knew a yes when I saw it.
I pulled my hair back in a ponytail, added lip gloss and tucked my wallet in the pocket of my shorts. I grabbed the carrier bag from its hook and lifted Hercules inside. He poked his head out and looked around the kitchen before turning to me with a questioning meow.
“I’m perfectly safe to drive,” I said.
He studied me for a moment, seemed to decide I was telling the truth and settled in the bag.
Ruby had told me to use the main entrance. There was no sign of her in the lobby but I could see lights inside the auditorium. We stepped into the main space of the building, and I walked past the six rows of seats in the back section of the theater. I lifted Hercules out of the bag and set it down on the floor at my feet.
“Hey, Ruby, where are you?” I called. She wasn’t onstage. “Maybe she’s backstage,” I said to Hercules.
“Ruby isn’t here,” a voice behind me said.
I felt as though I’d been punched in the chest. I turned around slowly. Nora Finley was standing there, pointing a gun at me. Miranda’s bracelet was around her wrist.
“Hello, Kathleen,” she said.
“Emme told you I called her.” My hands were shaking. I tightened my grip on Hercules, hoping Nora wouldn’t notice the trembling. “She told you that I asked about her alibi and that she told me the truth.”
“Emme is a very trusting person.”
“You didn’t offer to say she was with you to give her an alibi. You did it to give you one.” It was hard to keep my focus on Nora’s face and not the gun.
“We’re family. We take care of each other,” she said.
“That’s how you figured out I was onto you.”
Nora gave me a cold smile. “I pay attention to details. Like where people set down their phones, for example.” She pulled Ruby’s cell phone out of her pocket, held it up and then dropped it onto a nearby seat.
“This won’t work,” I said. I glanced over her shoulder, hoping Michel might have decided to come back and do some work.
“You’re wasting your time,” she said. “The door is locked and no one is coming.” She took a step toward me and I took one backward. The gun gave her a big advantage, but I wasn’t going to let her get close enough to grab me.
“How did you get Miranda to impersonate Emme and drug her and Derrick so those incriminating photos could be taken?” I asked. If I kept her talking long enough, maybe someone would show up or maybe Marcus would miss me and come looking for me.
“You figured that out.” She spoke as though she were almost i
mpressed by my efforts.
“She drew on the beauty mark. It wasn’t quite right.” I touched my cheek. “It wasn’t obvious at first glance.”
Nora gave an elaborate shrug. “It’s hard to get good help.”
“What did you give them?”
“Did you know if you tell your doctor you’re suffering from anxiety, there are a number of drugs he or she can prescribe?”
I looked at her without speaking.
“You have to be careful, though,” Nora went on. “Some of those drugs make you forget things.”
“How did you force Miranda to help you? It had to do with money, didn’t it?” The wheels were turning in my mind. Both Emme and Ruby had mentioned Miranda’s affinity for numbers and how she was always a soft touch for her freeloading stepbrothers. I took a leap. “She took money from her last job.”
She nodded approvingly. “Very good.”
“Because of her brothers.”
“The older one got arrested for driving under the influence almost a year ago. Miranda bailed him out and found him a lawyer. Those two weren’t even her real family.” It was impossible to miss the disdain in Nora’s voice.
“She didn’t get caught?”
“Miranda was always good with numbers. She managed to put it all back with no one the wiser.”
Hercules was watching Nora just as intently as I was. “No one but you,” I said.
“I pay attention,” Nora said, just a hint of a smile on her face. “One month, Miranda was a little short.”
I gestured at the hand holding the gun. “That’s Miranda’s bracelet.”
“My bracelet now,” she said. “A reminder that silly sentimentality will get you nowhere in life.” She glanced at her wrist. “This is actually worth quite a bit of money. But Miranda would never sell it. It was all she had from her father.”
She waved the gun at me. “All I got from my father was this.” She favored me with a cold smile. “Which has actually turned out to be quite useful.”
Part of me ached for her; she was so hurt, so bitter. I was trying to slip all the puzzle pieces into place and keep her talking. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t Miranda just tell Emme the truth about the money?”
