by Polly Iyer
She forced her gaze away from the weapon. “Didn’t you hear me?” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t care now. “Two million. Two million dollars each.”
“Do you know what it’s like to be locked up, Mrs. Gentry?” Conti said. “I do. Small cell. No privileges. Food you wouldn’t feed your dog. Of course, I was shackled and beaten by the enemy. You’ll only be at the mercy of a prison full of women you wouldn’t let clean your shoes on the outside. They’ll know it and they’ll be calling the shots. Maybe money will get you better treatment. Promise them the two-million-dollar bribe. It might help. But they’ll know your money’s gone.” He took the recorder from McCallister’s hand. “We played this to a federal judge. He ordered all your U.S. accounts frozen, and they’ll find the offshore ones. Count on it.”
He walked around her, barely able to hide a smirk. The bastard’s enjoying this.
“How old are you?” he continued. “Sixty? Sixty-five? By the time you get out, if you get out, you’ll be so old, if there’s any money left you’ll need it for a nursing home.” Conti shook his head. “Pity.”
She couldn’t bluff her way out of this. Not with a verbal confession. No pleading with Abigael’s lover. The cop’s eyes darted back and forth, straining to follow the conversation. Eyes filled with hate whenever he looked at her.
“We’ll see,” she said defiantly. But she knew Conti was right. She couldn’t live in a cage, subservient to a bunch of lowlifes. They’d love nothing better than to diminish her. Conti walked inside, picked up the phone. He dialed a number and spoke into the receiver.
“The police will be here shortly,” he said when he hung up. “I told them you were about to skip bail.”
She collapsed into a seat at the table. How could these men stroll into her home and get the better of her?
McCallister slid the gun in front of her. “You know why I’m offering you this out? Because I don’t want a trial that could linger for months to add to what Abby has already gone through. She’d relive her daughter’s death and that frightening time with your son, events you set in motion, not to mention waking up to a dark world. Do one good deed before you die and save yourself the humiliation in the process.” He moved away. “We’ll wait for the police outside.”
Conti kept a gun on her as they back-walked off the veranda in case she decided to aim it at them. She thought about it briefly, but she’d always taken care of her own business. Then they were gone. She stared at her gun, an efficient piece. A .38. Enough to do the job. She got up and walked to the railing. The waterway, wide and dark blue, now rippled from the breeze that had picked up. This was the world she’d known for almost forty years. A cool gust dislodged a strand of perfectly groomed hair. She fingered it back behind her ear. The sun didn’t seem as warm now, and she walked inside to get her suit jacket. She freshened her lipstick, then returned to sit at the table.
No, no cage. She signed her own death warrant by confessing her brilliance to Abby. It may have been the stupidest thing she’d ever done. But like everything she’d ever accomplished, she would have complete control. This time, over her demise.
She’d prefer pills to avoid the mess, but she didn’t have time. They’d get here in time to pump her stomach. She drew a long breath and picked up the gun. Not in the head. She wouldn’t be photographed with her brains splattered all over the veranda. Opening the suit jacket, she touched her heart to find the beat. It was amazingly slow. Tick-tock, like the beat of a clock, the time running down. Her index finger hooked around the trigger as a smile curled her lips. Hopefully, it would be on her face when they found her.
Chapter Forty-Six
The Reunion
When Luke invited everyone over to Abby’s with plans to grill out, Jeff said Eric would take the night off and prepare a special dinner in celebration of Abby’s survival. Eric had arrived a couple of hours earlier to begin cooking.
After Meyer and Lucy showed up, they all gathered in the living room.
“You look great, Meyer,” Luke said.
“All due to this wonderful woman here. Lucy kept me going. Wouldn’t give me a moment’s rest.”
Happiness shone on Lucy’s face. “He’s a miracle. That’s what the doctors said. A miracle, aren’t you, darling?”
“You’re the miracle,” Meyer said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. “I was lucky. Only a little numbness in my left hand and a slight limp. Hardly anything at all.”
“Oh, and guess what?” Lucy said.
“We give up,” Abby and Luke said in unison.
Lucy disentangled herself from Meyer’s hold and crouched down in front of Abby. She placed her daughter’s fingers on her ring finger.
“Is that what I think it is?” Abby asked.
“Meyer has asked me to marry him. I’m so excited I could do cartwheels.”
Abby threw her arms around her mother and hugged her. Luke couldn’t see what Abby said, but both were smiling.
Meyer beamed. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
“Okay, guys,” Jeff said. “Enough of this mushy stuff. You straight people should keep all that in private.”
“Hear, hear,” Eric agreed. “Now let’s eat before the food gets cold, but first a toast to the almost newlyweds.” Eric examined the label on Meyer’s bottle of wine. “Mmm, it’s a good one. Thanks, Meyer. A perfect complement to my perfect dinner.”
“And a happy occasion,” Luke said. Everyone clicked glasses, tipping them to the beaming couple. Lucy’s held iced tea.
* * * * *
After dinner, while Eric, Lucy, and Meyer talked about food, wine, and plans for the upcoming wedding, Jeff, Luke, and Abby, followed by Daisy, slipped outside to the patio. Luke flipped on the outside light.
“I didn’t want to dampen Lucy’s news by bringing up all the bad things that have happened,” Abby said. “She still hasn’t gotten over my first near-death experience. This last one was almost more than she could handle.”
Luke watched her find a chair, resisting the impulse to help. He had learned that Abby did fine without him hovering, and unless she either asked or he saw imminent danger, that’s the way it’d stay.
“So now that it’s the three of us, what’s happening?” she asked.
“The police rounded them all up,” Luke said. “Mrs. Gentry’s son-in-law, the accountants, chemists, Serrano’s Boston operation—everyone involved in their nasty scheme. Dr. Kozov turned up after the raid. She’s fine and willing to talk. Immigration is reviewing the files of the scientists, and those in danger of returning to their own countries may find refuge in the States.”
“You didn’t mention Mrs. Gentry, her father, and that psycho, Collyer,” Abby said. “Have they found him?”
Abby hadn’t asked until now, and that had been fine with Luke. He didn’t want her upset while she was in the hospital. Jeff shook his head, clearly indicating the ball was in Luke’s court.
“The North Carolina Highway Patrol found a black Honda Accord on a back road near Florence the morning after Collyer took off,” Luke said. “The car had South Carolina plates, a registration the DMV is still trying to trace, and some very sophisticated high-tech equipment.” Luke didn’t mention that splattered brain matter indicated the driver was shot at close range while sitting behind the wheel. “The feds identified the dead man as a South African by the name of Erik Van Brooten, a.k.a. Graeme Collyer, wanted by Interpol for some very nasty deeds in half a dozen countries.”
The color drained from Abby’s face. She released a long, slow breath. “So he’s dead. Do they have any idea who killed him?”
“Nope.” Luke glanced at Jeff and shrugged. “I imagine Mr. Van Brooten pissed off someone enough to exact revenge, wouldn’t you, Jeff?”
“Guys like that usually do.”
Abby was quiet for a while. Luke didn’t know if she bought it. Unless someone mentioned it, she didn’t know that Luke had disappeared after the explosion while she was unconscious. Luke justified t
he murder of Collyer a hundred different ways: self defense when Collier pulled a gun, protecting Abby from future attacks, making sure his lawyer didn’t get him off with a loophole in the law. Luke could live with what he’d done because Abby would be safe.
Then Abby asked the question Luke knew was coming. “And Mrs. Gentry?”
In spite of telling Mrs. Gentry that they would wait for the police to arrive, Luke and Jeff took off. They didn’t want to be at the scene if Abby’s ex-mother-in-law took their advice. “Someone called 911 from her house. The police found her dead on her veranda. It looked like she committed suicide with her own gun. No one else was there, and there was no sign of foul play.”
Abby didn’t move except for an almost imperceptible twitch in her cheek. Her hand reached up slowly to cover her mouth. At first, Luke thought she might be sick, but she sat there, staring into her dark world.
“The police found a packed suitcase and a torn plane ticket to Morocco,” Luke said. “She planned to skip the country, but she must have received word that the judge froze all her money and realized how futile it would be. She’d have been caught and sent to prison, especially after a jury listened to your recordings.”
“How did she know about it? She left the warehouse and never knew I had it.”
Luke mouthed “Shit,” while exchanging shrugs with Jeff. “Um, maybe Scanlon called her when he found out,” Luke said, grasping for an explanation. “Or maybe someone else from the department called. One of her inside snitches.”
Jeff nodded and made the okay sign. “That skinny, uppity bitch saw the future,” he said, “and it wasn’t pretty. Three crappy meals a day, sleeping in the same cell with some biker babe who’d love to crack the whip over her.”
Abby looked like she was thinking it over. “Don’t be too sure. Carlotta Gentry would probably have had them all working for her after two weeks, cracking the whip over them.”
“She couldn’t bargain her way out,” Jeff said. “Scanlon singing like a bird left her nothing to deal. Boston police arrested her father, and he served up half the mob in return for spending the rest of his days in Italy or Scottsdale or some cushy place in witness protection. ’Cause if his old friends find him, his life isn’t worth spit.”
“Good deal for everyone,” Luke said.
Luke watched Abby’s face. A tear slid from the corner of her eye. He started to say something but saw Jeff shake his head. She sat quietly for a long time before speaking. He made out every word as clearly as if he could hear.
“Carlotta Gentry was an evil woman,” she said. “God forgive me, but I hope she suffers in hell as much as she made her son suffer on earth.”
“I’m sure she will,” Luke said.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Unlocking the Vault
Luke dropped by Abby’s office after work. “Cancel all your appointments for the week of your choice, as long as it’s next week or the week after. We’re going to the beach.”
“We are?”
Luke hooked Daisy to her harness and threw Abby’s jacket over her shoulder.
“Yup. I’ll rent the same place in Cherry Grove I told you about. I asked them to hold both weeks open for a few days until we decide. It’s beautiful and peaceful.”
“I’ll take your word for the beautiful, and after the last few months, ‘peaceful’ will be a welcome change of pace.”
“They need someone in two weeks at the forensics lab while Lieutenant Harris takes his vacation. I’ve been hanging around there enough to fill in. As long as there’s a secretary to answer the phone, I can handle the work.”
“Okay. Cleo said she’d be back Monday. Thank God she’ll be fine. I’ll have her clear my schedule. Ellie can handle any emergency while I’m away.”
“Ellie?”
“She’s joining me part-time at first, to see how it works out.”
“Great idea. She’ll give you some breathing room. You’ve been working too much.”
“It’s hard to let go of the reins, even a little bit.” Abby’s confession acknowledged her control-freak nature.
“It’s time. You won’t be any good to anyone if you work yourself to death.” He squeezed her hand. “Especially me.”
“I know you’re right.” She hesitated. “Any emails from Norm?”
“Not recently. Why?”
“He called yesterday?”
“What about?”
“When the police went into the private wing in Scanlon’s hospital where they kept Stewart, they found a room filled with his paintings. Hundreds of them. Mostly of Macy and me. He’d tucked a will on the back of one of the portraits of Macy, leaving everything to me. I called Stewart’s agent. Of course he rushed to Charleston, dollar signs adding up in his greedy little brain. When he called back, he said the paintings were some of Stewart’s best work. Extraordinary, he said. The work of a great artist coming full circle.” Abby didn’t say anything for a minute. “It broke my heart. Stewart confined like some Gulag prisoner, juiced up on drugs, painting to ease his conscience, as if putting it on canvas would resurrect the lives he took.”
“I’m sorry, Abby. I know how hard this is for you.”
“You know, I didn’t care a whit about Stewart’s money when I married him, but now it’s mine, whether I want it or not. And so are the paintings. His agent said they’re worth millions. He suggested an exhibit. Not all at once, maybe a dozen or two at a time, keeping a tight rein on their circulation. If I know him, he’ll milk them for all they’re worth. At thirty percent, he’ll be able to retire to the South of France. But I’ll use the rest to do some good.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Research into the effects of drugs on the brain, a scholarship in Macy’s name for blind students to go to college. Something like that. I haven’t had time to think it through, but Stewart painted those canvases with his soul. I want them to mean something. I’ll get professional advice to make sure it’s done right, but that’s what’s been rolling around in my brain. What do you think?”
Luke leaned over and planted a hard kiss on her lips. “I’m in awe of you.”
“Damn you.” She laughed and pummeled his stomach with balled-up fists. “Awe? I thought we had that word deleted from your vocabulary.”
He grabbed her hands. “That was a test. You passed. Seriously, those are both great ideas. It can’t erase the past, but it might change a few lives in the future.”
“I knew you’d see it that way.”
“Are you up for a run tonight?”
“Absolutely. We haven’t gone for a while.”
“We’ll go by your house so you can change, then I want to run by mine to pick up some fresh clothes and my running shoes. I’m doing the whole five miles today. What do you think of that?”
“I think you’re ready.”
“Oh, by the way. I forgot to tell you. I have an appointment with another specialist about a cochlear implant. He’s going to do some more tests. Even if he thinks the surgery will work, he cautioned me against thinking I’d be able to hear like before. It’s not a panacea, but I might be able to hear over the phone. It takes a lot of therapy to adapt to the new sounds, but if he agrees I’m a candidate, I’m willing to go through with it. Of course, he may conclude I’m not a candidate. The tests will tell.”
“I’m glad, Luke. Give yourself every chance. That’s all you can do. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
* * * * *
Luke had been staying at Abby’s, going to his own house for a change of clothes when his needed cleaning. While he gathered his things, Abby picked up the picture she knew sat on the mantle.
“Lucy told me about this picture.”
“It’s the only photo I have of my mother and brother—the only remembrance that I once belonged in a family.”
“Do you think she left because she had a lover?”
Luke didn’t speak for a long moment. “I was ten years old. Who thinks about lovers at that age? I only
knew at the time she left without saying goodbye. I kept that picture hidden so my father couldn’t destroy it like he did all the others.” He took the frame from her hand and placed it back on the mantle. “Why do you keep bringing this up? It happened a long time ago. Let it rest.”
“No, Luke. I can’t see you, but I know with all my other senses that you’re holding back something inside that’s eating you raw. If you don’t let it out, you’ll never be free.”
“You can’t stop being a shrink, can you? Take Jeff’s advice. Some things are better left buried.”
“Not true.” She found the frame again and turned it to him. “You know everything about my life. Things I’ve never told another soul. But you’ve locked me out of part of yours.”
“You’re not going to leave this alone, are you?” His voice cut with the sharp edge she’d heard twice before and had hoped never to hear again.
“Not this time. We’ve come too far.”
“Okay, Abby. You want to know everything about me? I’ll tell you what you think you want to hear. I killed my father. There, I said it. Happy now?”
Abby expected to hear about a verbal confrontation or even a physical one, but Luke’s admission hit her like a car crash. Just another thing she didn’t see coming.
“Still interested? You should be. This is what you’ve been digging for ever since we met. Want to hear the whole story or have you heard enough to drop the subject?”
Words failed her. She stood motionless at the mantle, wishing for that one moment she were as deaf as she was blind. How does one react when the man you love, the man with whom you share your bed, confesses he’s a murderer? She managed to find the words.
“I…I can’t drop it now. I want to know. I have to know.”
Luke took the picture frame from her hand. “You can’t see this picture, but she was beautiful, my mother. Sweet and delicate, like a perfect rose. But she suffered from melancholia. That’s what they called it then. Nowadays doctors call it depression or bi-polar disorder or whatever term fits the day. Later, as an adult, I put it all together. She took pills and they helped, but when she stopped taking them, she’d get sad again. Around Joey and me she put on a happier face, but we saw into her sorrow.”
