The Unforgiven

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “I wonder,” Jack mused, “what our friend Miss Fraser knows about the absence of Mr. Emmett.”

  “Oh, my God, Jack,” Grace cried out. “Do you think she killed him?”

  “Well, I’m not saying that, Grace. We don’t know that he’s dead. But it sure would have been inconvenient for her if Bill Emmett had walked into the newspaper office and declared that he’d never heard of her and that she had no business being there.”

  Grace blanched and stared at the law officer. “Unless she made sure he was never coming back,” she said. “Jack, she’s a killer. A cold-blooded murderer.”

  “Well, not quite,” Jack insisted. “Apparently it was a crime of passion. She killed her lover. That’s a bit different.”

  “Cold-blooded, warm-blooded. What’s the difference? We’ve got a known killer right here on this island. And two men dead.”

  “Now hold on, Grace. You know yourself Jess was drowned by accident, and there’s no proof of Mr. Emmett being dead. I’ve been up there to her place, snooping around. There’s not a trace of anything suspicious.”

  “Nothing suspicious!” Grace cried. “Her latest conquest is buried at sea. Now we come to find out that she killed her last paramour. And Mr. Emmett’s missing. Everything points at her.”

  “I can’t argue with you, Grace. It looks bad.”

  “Bad? Jack Schmale, what are you going to do about this?”

  “Well, I think I’m going to go out there and talk to her.”

  Suddenly, Grace gasped. “Oh, my God.”

  “What is it?”

  “Evy,” she said. “Evy is out there alone with her. In that woman’s state of mind, who knows what she might do?”

  Jack stood up and lifted his hat from the coatrack. “I’m going now,” he said.

  Grace stood up. “I’m going too.”

  Jack held up a hand. “Now, Grace…”

  “That child is alone out there with a madwoman on a killing spree, and it’s partly my fault. If I had insisted on this sooner… if I’d have followed my nose, none of this would have happened. Oh, my God. If anything happens to that girl, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  Jack shrugged on his raincoat and did not argue with her.

  “I’m going with you,” Grace said. She ran to catch up with the police officer, who was already opening the door.

  The squad car was parked right out in front of the station house. Jack ran around to the driver’s side and got in. By the time Grace had joined him in the front seat he had already started the engine.

  “Nasty day,” he muttered, turning on the defogger to try to clear the windshield.

  “Hurry up,” said Grace, removing a hanky from her pocketbook and nervously wiping the windshield in urgent, circular motions.

  “Give it a minute,” said Jack.

  “We can’t wait,” Grace insisted.

  “Okay,” said Jack, squinting as he backed up. “But I can’t see a damned thing.” The clunk of the rear end of the car into the bumper of her car, which was parked behind him, confirmed his statement.

  “Watch out,” Grace squeaked. “Charley’ll brain you if you dent that new car of ours.”

  Jack pulled out of the space and started up Main Street. After a few turns they were on the road leading away from town. Jack turned on his low beams to try to pierce the dense fog as they sped along. There was silence in the car except for the swish of the windshield wipers.

  Grace bit her lip, but finally she spoke. “Can’t you go any faster?” she said.

  “These roads are bad today,” Jack explained.

  “I hope that girl is all right.”

  Jack peered anxiously through the windshield and pressed his foot down on the accelerator.

  The point of the knife weaved back and forth in front of Maggie’s face. She did not dare to take her eyes from it. She tried to back away from the menacing blade, but Evy advanced on her, baiting her with the weapon she clutched.

  All at once, Evy lunged. Maggie leaped away, but the very tip of the knife caught her upper lip, slicing partway through. Maggie heard the blade rap her teeth. Blood gushed from the small wound, splattering on the floor and her clothes. Evy struck again.

  Ignoring her cut, Maggie flopped down to the right and grabbed the girl’s wrist. The sudden movement shocked and unbalanced Evy, and she dropped heavily to the floor. Maggie tried to wrest the knife from Evy’s grip. Enraged, Evy sank her teeth into the hand which held her own.

  Maggie cried out as Evy’s teeth sank through her flesh and clamped around a bone. She wrenched her wrist free from the girl’s grasp and smacked her in the jaw. Evy tumbled backward, releasing the knife, which shot across the floor and fell between two planks under an eave. She scrambled to her feet, looking for her weapon.

  “It’s gone now,” Maggie cried out, tackling Evy around the legs. The two women grappled, rolling across the floor, smashing into boxes and knocking the hanging chair on its side. They gripped each other in a deadly embrace, each one’s limbs straining to control the other’s. Suddenly, with a guttural cry, Evy ripped an arm free and struck a sharp blow to Maggie’s stomach with her elbow, which winded and stunned her. Weakened, Maggie loosened her grasp on the girl. Evy pulled away from her and clambered toward the stairs.

  Recovering, Maggie scuttled after her, grabbing at the girl’s waist as she bent down over the third stair. As Maggie reached down, Evy turned toward her. Maggie looked into the barrel of the gun.

  “Get back,” Evy ordered.

  Maggie crawled backward as Evy mounted the stairs.

  “Now we’ll see,” said the girl, training the gun on Maggie. “Stand up.”

  Short of breath, Maggie struggled to her feet.

  “Now you put that chair back where it was and get on it,” the girl ordered, panting between words.

  “Evy,” Maggie pleaded, “don’t.”

  “Do it!” the girl shrieked. Maggie heard the sickening click as Evy cocked the gun.

  Maggie looked from the girl’s merciless eyes to the swinging noose. There would be no talking her way out of it. From the corner of her eye she saw a metal lamp base standing about two feet from where she stood. Without pausing to think, Maggie dove down and grabbed for it.

  “Stop!” Evy screamed as she saw Maggie’s desperate lunge. “No, you don’t.” She aimed the gun at Maggie’s head and pulled the trigger.

  There was a click, then silence. Evy stared in disbelief at the impotent weapon in her hand. Maggie, halted for a moment by the click, grabbed the metal lamp base and swung it up hard at Evy.

  The corner of the lamp caught Evy on the chin, and the girl spun backward and fell on the stairs. She rolled down two steps. Suddenly, a deafening report tore through the silent attic. The girl tumbled the rest of the way down the staircase, her body heavily bumping each step as she fell.

  Maggie froze, confused for a moment by the noise. Then she ran to the steps and looked down.

  Evy lay in the stairwell, her body contorted, one thin leg sticking out into the downstairs hall. Cautiously, Maggie crept down toward the twisted form which lay motionless on the steps. Heart pounding, she grabbed the girl’s bony shoulder and jerked it back.

  Evy’s pale eyes were open and wide with shock. Her mouth hung crookedly ajar in a permanent grimace of pain. The waxy complexion looked entirely bloodless. Her lifeless hand still cradled the old gun. A huge crimson stain spread out across the front of the sweater where the bullet meant for Maggie had ripped into Evy’s chest.

  Maggie crouched on the stair above her and drew her arms up tightly to her chest, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, my God,” she moaned. For a while she rocked there, too stunned to move, clutching her arms around herself and keening. She felt a sharp pain in her own breast and even looked down at herself, filled with the awful fear that she might somehow, spontaneously, start to bleed. All she saw were the splotches of dried blood from her own torn lip. Finally, she pulled herself up and forced her trembling
leg out over the body. With an awkward, goatlike leap, she landed in the hallway.

  She knelt down beside the stairway and slumped against the open door to the attic, her chest heaving. Her stomach felt as if it were being squeezed. She closed her eyes and tried to take deep breaths.

  Evy. It was Evy all the time. Willy. And Jess. And now she was dead. It was all over. A sense of relief crept over her.

  I should get help, she thought. She looked toward the kitchen and the telephone. Then she shook her head. She felt as if her knees were nailed to the floor. There’s no hurry, she thought. Evy is dead.

  She had killed her. For a moment her feeling of relief was supplanted by a horror of what had happened. Even though she had not actually pulled the trigger, she had struck the blow that resulted in Evy’s death.

  She chewed on that for a moment, then chided herself. You had to do it. It was self-defense. The girl was trying to kill you. Trying to kill you out of a twisted vengeance for something you didn’t even do. It was her mother. Maggie groaned as she mulled over that revelation. It was Roger’s wife who had killed him. The wife he had vowed he would never leave. Maggie choked out a bitter laugh, but she could feel tears running down her face. Twelve years in prison. Twelve years of accepting the guilt for a woman who must have been insane. Like her daughter.

  Maggie turned her head sideways to where Evy’s foot protruded into the hallway. Slowly, Maggie dragged herself up to her feet and stood there unsteadily. Trembling, with her lips pressed together, she walked over and stood in front of the contorted, bleeding corpse on the stairwell.

  She was evil, Maggie told herself. She had to die. But her wrath against the girl would not hold. Maggie kept imagining Evy as a child. An innocent child whose life had been warped by forces outside of her control. For years the lonely girl had lived with her secrets and her pain. I know what that’s like, she thought. A feeling of genuine pity for the dead girl washed over her.

  Bending over the lifeless body, Maggie removed the gun from the twisted fingers and placed one cool hand over another in a gesture of repose. Maybe now, she thought, you’ll know some peace.

  The slamming of a car door jolted her out of her reverie. She heard the sound of feet running up the driveway and pounding on the porch. Maggie groaned with relief. Someone had come. They could help her. She turned to look. The door banged open and Jack Schmale burst into the house, his gun drawn, with Grace right behind him.

  He scanned the room and saw Maggie standing over Evy’s body holding a gun. Blood was spattered over the two of them. In the next instant Grace saw it too. “Oh, my God,” she shrieked.

  “Drop it,” Jack cried, training his pistol on Maggie.

  Maggie looked at him in confusion.

  “I knew it,” Grace wailed. “We’re too late. You killed her.”

  Maggie looked down at the gun in her hand, then at the body in the stairwell. Understanding dawned on her. She looked up helplessly at the policeman and at Grace and shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “You don’t understand. It was an accident. She was trying to kill me. She brought this gun here. This is hers. She was going to kill me.”

  “Sure, that’s right,” Jack placated her. “Why don’t you hand that over and we can talk about it?”

  “We know all about you,” Grace screamed defiantly. “We know you were in prison. I told Jack this was going to happen. You won’t get away with this.”

  “I didn’t mean… I had to,” Maggie protested.

  “You’ll hang for this,” Grace threatened her. “We’re eyewitnesses. This time you’ll pay for it.”

  “Shut up, Grace,” Jack growled.

  But his warning was too late. For as Maggie listened to Grace’s words, she suddenly understood the position she was in. No one would ever believe her. She had done time for a murder and now, here she stood, holding a gun over the body of a local girl, known and liked by everyone. A girl she had threatened, in fact, at a public fair. There was no way out of it. She was doomed. She stared back at Grace.

  “You see,” Grace cried triumphantly. “She knows I’m right. She knows she’ll go to death row for this. You can’t kill an innocent girl and get away with it. Not this time, you don’t. You can kill me too, but you’ll never get away with it.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Jack said soothingly to Maggie. “You’ll get a fair trial. If you hand over that gun, I’ll try to help you.”

  “Help her!” Grace cried. “She’s a killer, Jack.”

  Maggie looked down again at Evy. A wave of despair engulfed her. You win. You have your revenge, after all. I’m not going back to prison. I couldn’t survive that again. I’d rather die.

  Slowly Maggie raised the gun.

  “No,” Grace screamed.

  Maggie lifted the gun and put it against her own temple. She looked impassively at the two in the doorway.

  “Don’t do that,” Jack cried out. “Give me that gun. You don’t want to do that. Give yourself a chance.”

  Maggie almost laughed. A chance. She shook her head and renewed her grip on the butt.

  “Let her,” Grace cried. “She doesn’t deserve to live. Not after what she’s done. Go ahead.”

  Maggie cocked the hammer and squeezed her eyes shut. Make it fast, she thought.

  “Maggie—no!”

  Her eyes shot open at the sound of the heart-wrenching cry. She looked up and saw Jess, bearded and bedraggled, pushing his way past the police chief and the woman in the doorway.

  “God help us,” Grace screamed.

  Jack just gaped.

  Maggie blinked at the specter in front of her. Jess’s dark eyes locked with hers. “Maggie, I know what happened. She tried to kill me too. Don’t listen to them.”

  Maggie still clutched the gun to her head. “Where? What?”

  “She had me in her cellar. Emmett’s body was down there. She killed him. Maggie, she was completely crazy. I know all about it.”

  “You’re alive,” Maggie breathed. A sad smile formed in her eyes. “Oh, thank God.” She lowered the gun slightly.

  “We’re both alive. It’s all over. We’re going to be fine.”

  Maggie’s smile faded and she shook her head. “They’re going to put me in jail. I can’t go back. I can’t do that. I was in prison before. I never told you.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said weakly.

  “You don’t understand. I’ve been in prison. I lied to you. They’re going to say I did it,” she cried.

  “No,” he pleaded. “They won’t. I’ll tell them about Evy. I’ll make sure that nothing happens to you. Won’t you trust me?”

  Maggie looked up at his weary, anguished face. Tears sprang to her eyes. He’s alive. You’re not alone anymore. It is possible to trust someone. It’s time. It’s finally time.

  Slowly, she turned and placed the weapon in her hand on the staircase. She smiled unsteadily at Jess, who smiled back at her. Then he ran a hand over his pale, sweaty forehead.

  “You’re sick,” she said. “Sit down.” She rushed to support him as he sank into a nearby chair. He put his arm around her neck. She buried her face in his shoulder. Through his shirt she could feel his ribs and his sagging flesh.

  “Whew,” Jack exhaled loudly. He walked over to the stairs and picked up the gun. Grace followed timidly behind him. In the kitchen, the phone began to ring. “I’ll get that,” Jack said, although no one was listening to him.

  Grace approached Evy’s body and looked down on it as if it were some strange icon in a museum. Then, hesitantly, she bent down and pushed a few strands of hair back off the chilly forehead. She stood up and shook her head. A small sob escaped from her.

  “Everything’s under control, Owen,” Jack’s voice boomed out from the kitchen. “Yeah. It’s a terrible thing. We’ll tell you all about it when you get back. We do have one pleasant surprise for you, though.” Jack looked out to where Jess slumped in a chair, his arms locked around Maggie, who knelt beside him. �
�It’s about Jess.”

  “I must smell like hell,” Jess whispered wryly, stroking the side of her face.

  “Like heaven,” Maggie said, and held him fast.

  Pocket Books proudly presents

  THE

  GIRL NEXT

  DOOR

  Patricia MacDonald

  Now available in paperback

  from Pocket Books

  Turn the page for a preview of

  The Girl Next Door…

  PROLOGUE

  NINA Avery tried to concentrate on her highlighted script. Even though she loved to act, and was thrilled with the part she had landed in the school play, she could not focus on learning her lines. She was distracted by the April breeze that drifted through her bedroom window, and by the fact that it was Friday and school was over for the week. But most of all, she was distracted by thoughts of Brandon Ross, the boy who lived next door.

  His family had moved in last November, and she had met him at Christmastime. Her mother, Marsha, had invited the new neighbors to a holiday party. Brandon’s father, Frank, was balding and stocky. His mother, Sheila, was blond, stylish, and thin. The party ended, not surprisingly, in an argument between Nina’s parents. Her mother accused her husband, Duncan, of flirting with Sheila. Duncan insisted that Marsha had ruined the party all by herself by drinking too much eggnog and getting sloppy.

  But the party wasn’t ruined for Nina. She had fallen head over heels for Brandon.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t seen much of him in the months that followed. They took the same bus to school, but in the winter everyone ran to the bus stop at the last minute to avoid the cold. Now that spring was here, Nina had been leaving the house early just so she might be able to spend a few more minutes with Brandon before the bus arrived. He was taller than Nina, and a year older. At fifteen, he had broad shoulders and soft brown hair that fell over his forehead. His eyes, when she dared to meet them, were brown with flecks of gold in them.

  “No, you listen to me, Marsha. I have patients waiting for me. I left my practice to go over to that school and be humiliated…” her father shouted.