And keep the gun trained in her direction.
“You shouldn’t have broken things off,” he told her in his smooth doctor’s voice. “I needed you to marry me so I could set things right. I planned it. I planned it all. And then you fucked things up.” His voice went harsh and tight, and fear skittered down her spine.
Though her heart was pounding wildly, and her palms had gone sweaty, Diana managed to rein in her scattered, shattered thoughts. She was a lawyer; she’d learned how to work—to think, to interrogate, to analyze, to switch gears—under pressure.
Not this kind of pressure, but still…
“Set what things right?” She kept her eyes on the gun even as he began to dig around in the pack with his free hand.
“I need the money, Diana. I owe some unpleasant people a lot of money.” He pulled out a bottle of wine and a glass. “A little change of plans, but this will work out just fine,” he murmured to himself.
“How can you—but Jonathan, you’re one of the top cardiologists in the Midwest. You’ve got plenty of money and investments—”
“I don’t have enough,” he snapped and, settling the bottle between his legs, he twisted off the metal cap. She noticed it had previously been opened—the seal was broken—and a little frisson of nervousness worked its way up her spine.
He’d put something in that wine. She was sure of it.
“Why do you owe people money?”
“Gambling, my darling. I’ve gotten myself in quite a bit of a mess. Too many conventions in Vegas and Atlantic City—and there was the one in Monte Carlo last year too.” He shrugged, then, keeping the gun steady, he poured a generous amount of red wine into the glass. “You’re going to drink this, Diana.”
She bit back the obvious negative response and obediently took the glass, her mind racing to try and find a way out of this situation. Motto had disappeared after her initial shocked hiss, and shy Arty was nowhere to be seen either.
So much for hoping the cats might step in and scratch the hell out of his eyes. And where was Aunt Jean when she needed her? The thought was so absurd, she almost giggled.
Nerves. Good grief, she had to keep her nerves under control: calm and cool as steel.
“What should I toast?” she asked, pretending to contemplate the wine. “Aren’t you joining me?”
“No.” He looked at her sharply and gestured with the gun. “Drink it, Diana. I’d rather not shoot you, but I will. And your demise will be a lot more painful than what I have in mind if I have to use the gun.”
“So you’re going to kill me. I don’t understand why. At least give me that.” She lifted the glass and took a sip even as she tried to figure out a way to dump some or all of it.
“Because I need money—your money. You’re a very wealthy woman now, Diana. Thanks to me—”
She gasped, and purposely spilled some of the wine. “You? You killed Aunt Jean? You smothered my aunt?”
“I needed the money. I told you. When I first met you, I thought you were attractive—in an uptight, ice queen sort of way—but when I learned you had an aunt in Wicks Hollow, I became more curious. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize the property here on this lake is worth a tidy sum. So I checked her out. And then I did some more research and found out about her investments and so on—and then you became even more attractive to me.” His smile was edging into leer territory, and Diana swallowed back a plug of nausea that surged into her throat.
“You killed her? But how? You were in Vegas when she died.”
“I made a detour on my way there—on Wednesday of that week. Don’t forget, you didn’t get the call about the death until Friday. That was a boon I hadn’t expected, actually.
“You see, on that Wednesday, I’d made arrangements to have lunch with your aunt—without telling you or anyone, of course, under the guise of getting her permission to ask you to marry me. I convinced her to keep it a secret from you as well. She invited me here, which worked out perfectly for me—no one would notice me in town. Small towns are notorious for busybodies and old biddies who can’t keep their noses out of other peoples’ business.” His face darkened suddenly, and he lifted the gun. “Drink it, Diana. You stop drinking, I stop talking. When I stop talking, I start shooting.”
She lifted the glass again, intending to take only another small sip—but he moved the barrel of the gun under the glass and lifted it so she had to take several gulps. Some of the wine ran down the sides of her mouth, but she swallowed more than she wanted.
He leaned over to refill the glass, keeping the revolver directed at her.
“So that’s why you didn’t want to sleep here when you came to visit me,” she said thoughtfully. “Couldn’t stand to sleep in the same room—the same bed—in which you’d murdered her.” She ended with a little sneer in her voice, even though she knew it wasn’t smart to antagonize him.
What a damned coward he was.
“I came back that night—the same day we had lunch, so she wouldn’t have time to blab to anyone. I’d unplugged her phone while I was there in case she had any idea of calling you or anyone, and I watched and waited to make sure she wasn’t going to leave.” He paused, giving the refilled glass a pointed look, and she lifted it to take another drink. “I had a bad moment when she walked out to her garage carrying some mail, but she didn’t leave. So then I just waited until it got dark, sneaked in, and did what I had to do. Drink.”
She took another gulp, and the wine sloshed horribly in her stomach. She wondered what he’d do if she vomited. Maybe she should force herself to do so.
But then he might shoot her.
“You won’t get my money, Jonathan, so this is all in vain. There’s no reason to do this.”
“Oh yes I will. Because even though we aren’t married, you still changed your will to leave everything to me—conveniently, it was before your aunt even died. No one will question it. So I’ll reap the financial benefit without having to go through with the actual ceremony.” He laughed a little—and it was an ugly sound she’d never heard from him.
A leap of hope had settled in her chest. “Jonathan, I never signed those papers. The will I had drafted. I never made the change.”
His eyes glinted with delight. “Oh yes you did. And so did I. And we even had our wills notarized—at the same time. There won’t be any question whatsoever about your intent.”
“Notarized? But that’s impossible.”
“Not when your office manager keeps her notary seal and notebook in her desk drawer—where anyone can get to it.”
“Ginny. How did you get her to—oh my God, Jonathan, did you kill her too? Did you give her the overdose?”
He shrugged. “Loose ends. Can’t have them. She didn’t even realize what was going on until it was too late. I came by her apartment to drop off some things for the practice. She invited me in of course, and we started with a bottle of wine something like this one.” His smile was cold and flat. “She always had a thing for me, and when she learned you and I were having problems…well, Ginny was a willing ear.”
“A bottle of wine like this one? Is there poison in here?” Her insides surged violently. “Drugs?”
“No, for Christ’s sake. Ambien. Sleeping pills. Three of them ought to do it—mixed with the wine, it’ll make you very…pliable. Then I think you should go for a swim.” His smile was cold and determined. “It’ll be very sad when they pull you out and find your empty wine bottle sitting on the dock, with the remnants of sleeping pills in it.”
“Jonathan, you don’t have to do this. Two murders? That’s not the kind of person you are.” She gestured with the glass and realized how unsteady and overcompensating her movements were. Damn. Everything was slowing down. Her thoughts, her actions… “You know, they’ll probably cut you a deal.”
He laughed uproariously. “Diana, darling, you know better than that. Both deaths—and then you as well—were premeditated. All will be clear counts of murder one. There’s no deal on
something like that. In for a penny, in for a pound. Now,” he said, standing abruptly, “finish that wine or I’ll put a bullet in your face.”
Chapter Twenty
When Ethan pulled into the parking area at his cabin, he was mildly disappointed not to see Diana’s Lexus there. That would give him time to put the groceries away and maybe even open the excellent white wine—from Leelanau County—that he’d snagged at the store...right from under Maxine Took’s nosey nose.
But when he got out of his Jeep to let Cady out from the screened-in porch and caught sight of a flash of black and white in the yard, he paused.
“Arty? Is that you?”
Jean’s cats never ventured this far from her house—maybe he’d seen a skunk. Though the day was just considering sliding into dusk and skunks were nocturnal, that didn’t mean he hadn’t seen one.
But if he had, it might be rabid…so best not to let Cady out right away. At least until he figured out what he’d seen.
Meanwhile, inside, his lab was going ballistic.
“Calm down, Cady,” he said, looking around the corner of the house to see if there was any sign of skunk, cat, or anything else that might set his dog tearing off into the yard or forest. “I know you smell something. Let me bring in the groceries first, and then I’ll see if it’s okay to let you out. We don’t need you getting sprayed tonight of all nights.”
He smiled to himself at the thought of tonight—which would be bittersweet, but, he was determined, would also be quite enjoyable.
Cady was so agitated, it was a real battle to fight past her with four bags of groceries slung from his hands, and a bottle of thirty-dollar wine under an arm as he slid through the cracked doorway without letting the lab slip past him.
“Calm down,” he said. “I haven’t been gone that long, and—what the hell?”
He paused just inside the interior door from the screened-in porch. He stood in the hallway that led to the kitchen and allowed the grocery bags to slide to the floor.
Jean’s mahogany box was in the center of the hall, upended. The black silk was in a wad on the floor, and cards were strewn in a grand sweep along the hardwood floor.
“How the hell did that happen,” he said to himself, even as the hair stood up on the back of his neck and he felt very chilly.
The last time he’d seen the box, it was in the guest room with the rest of Diana’s things. She would never have done such a thing, even before she began to open her mind to allowing the cards to inspire and guide her. There was no way Cady could have done it; she was confined in the porch area, and besides, she’d never bother with something like that unless it smelled like steak.
He knelt to pick them up, hardly noticing that Cady was still whining and barking and galloping back and forth between the interior and exterior doors of the porch.
“Just a minute, Cady!” he said sharply. “I know you smell something—just—hold on.”
He was picking up the cards when he noticed that all of them were facedown except three. And those three were lined up together—not neatly, but in a sketchy row—as if someone had laid them out while in a hurry.
The Tower.
The Devil.
Death.
Ethan slowly picked up the cards. All of them were depictions of ugly, dark, violent images. The Tower was on fire, with people falling from the windows, fire blazing…He didn’t like this. Not at all.
Not—
He spun around at the sound of a crash and a tearing noise, just in time to see Cady blast through the screen door to the outside.
“Cady!” he shouted, bolting after her.
Something was wrong, something was—
He nearly tripped over his own feet when he got outside and found Cady standing there, panting wildly, staring at Motto and Arty. Quietly. With no barking, no whining, no cowering…
And the two cats were sitting there, two pairs of eyes fixed on him, tails twitching like angry whiplashes as they looked from Cady to Ethan and back again.
What in the hell is going on here?
He felt like he was in the Twilight Zone or a Black Mirror episode.
His dog whined desperately, suddenly, looking from him to the cats, to somewhere in the distance—
Toward Jean’s house.
Good God, how stupid could he be?
“Go, Cady!” he said, suddenly terrified. He didn’t know why, but it was clear Jean knew, the cats knew, and so did his dog.
The black lab bolted into the forest barking wildly, and the two cats streaked after her. Ethan hesitated for a split second—to grab his keys and drive or to just run?—just as he heard the sound of crunching tires on the drive.
Cursing with frustration, then wild with hope, he looked over, hoping to see Diana’s Lexus. Instead, it was a pale blue Cadillac that jounced around the curve.
“Jean’s house!” he shouted, pointing wildly as he started toward the woods in that same direction. “Call Joe Cap!”
If he was wrong, he’d apologize to Joe for the false alarm.
But he knew he wasn’t, and he tore into the woods without waiting to see whether Maxine had heard him.
Thank God he was wearing good shoes instead of sandals, he thought as he tore through the forest. The ground was uneven and sprinkled with random patches of grass, wintergreen, trillium, moss, and lots of sticks, low-growing bushes, and spindly saplings. He leapt over a fallen birch, ducked under a leaning maple, pushed through bushes that scratched his face and tore at his hair.
Diana. Diana.
Please get to her, Cady. Whatever it is, get to her!
He could hear his dog, still barking wildly—and then the sound of a feral yowl that was probably one of the cats.
But it was the sound of a gunshot that fairly stopped his heart.
Chapter Twenty-One
Diana thought she heard a dog barking, but her brain was so foggy, she wasn’t certain. She’d finished her doctored wine, drunkenly sloshing as much of it out of the glass as she could without making it obvious.
The world was spinning and she really wanted to throw up, especially when Jonathan loomed over her as she sagged against the porch column and grabbed her by the arm.
A spike of terror shot through her, piercing the fog—was he dragging her down to throw her in the lake now?—and she kicked out feebly.
But she missed him by a mile and the next thing she knew, he had her by the back of the skull, his fingers yanking on her hair as he dragged her head back and forced the bottle of wine against her mouth. The hard glass crushed and bruised her lips, and clunked against her teeth as he forced it into her mouth.
“Drink, goddammit,” he said, pouring it into her so roughly she couldn’t breathe and began struggling as she choked.
Her vision wavered, and she tried to cough and fight free, but the wine burned everywhere, and her head was murky, and she couldn’t twist her face away—
And then suddenly, she was falling. Her head hit something behind her and there was definitely barking now—real barking—and some animalistic yowl, followed by an ugly snarl that seemed to fill her ears. Loud, violent noises she couldn’t identify.
Then the shriek of a man—shocked and pained—and more snarling, then the crack of a gunshot.
Clutching the porch column to pull herself upright, Diana tried to wipe her face as she coughed and gagged and at last managed to drag in a real breath—but more drops of moisture came in with it and she began coughing uncontrollably once more, all the while trying to focus on what was going on around her and pull to her feet at the same time.
There was more barking and snarling, and something that sounded like another yowl, and another human sound of agony—but it all merged together and she wasn’t certain what was real and what was in her fogged head.
One thing was certain: Jonathan was no longer holding her, and that meant—
“Diana!”
The sound of her name, shouted frantically, cut through the oatmeal of her brai
n, and she tried to look in the direction of the noise…but the world tipped, tilted, swam, and everything seemed to be moving in very slow motion.
Nevertheless, she gave herself a good, hard shake and focused as hard as she could just as hard arms came around her.
She fought them at first as the wine and drugs roiled violently in her belly, until she recognized Ethan’s voice in her ear, “It’s me, Diana. It’s me. You’re safe. You’re—”
She looked up at him, focused enough to meet his eyes and see that it was him, was the man she loved, then pulled away desperately. He let her go this time, and she turned, staggering to her feet, and vomited up all of the churning liquid in her belly.
Somewhere in the top layer of her awareness, she heard a cry of disgust, then something like cheers.
And then another voice she recognized again: “Serves the damned bastard all right, it does.”
Was that Maxine Took? No. Surely not. She was very mixed up…
Diana lifted her face, wiped her mouth, and now that her stomach was empty, the world seemed to steady a little...just enough for her to see the old, dark woman leaning on her cane—which was pressed into the soft, panting belly of Jonathan Wertinger, sprawled on the ground below the porch.
His clothes were torn and he was covered in blood, and Diana’s fresh red-wine vomit had splashed all over his face and chest.
“Couldn’t’a done better myself,” said Maxine, and jabbed him once more with the cane. “Don’t even think about moving, you bastard.”
“I—can’t…breathe…” groaned Jonathan.
“Too damned bad,” Maxine shot back, and there was a definite whoosh of breath and a high groan from Jonathan, as if she’d leaned on her cane once more.
Strong arms came around her again, and this time Diana didn’t fight them. She leaned back against the comforting strength, the familiar feel and scent of Ethan. The world still spun, and she needed him to hold her upright, but she was safe.
“Diana, oh thank God,” he said over and over in her ear.
She heard the sound of a siren coming closer—or maybe it was just something else screaming in her ears...She tilted a little and her knees buckled. Ethan tightened his arms more, holding her upright.
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