Audrey held the tiny box in shaking hands. "Why did you give it to me?" she whispered in a voice filled with pain.
"Because you thought of turning the spindle," Mary said. "Go on, open it up. Maybe there's something inside."
Audrey caressed the delicate engraving on the outside with her finger, then opened the lid. "It's a piece of jewelry!"
The velvet lining held an ivory pin, shaped like a rose. She glanced at Mary. "Aren't you going to pick it up?"
A strange look passed across Mary's face as she removed the pin. Her eyes remained fixed on the petals, and she weaved slightly from side to side. Moments later, when she spoke, her voice was hoarse with emotion, and two tears trickled down her cheeks. "Jean-Pierre bought this pin to give to Magdalene. It reminded him of the rose-petal softness of her ivory skin. He was saving it for her next birthday."
Audrey's sigh broke the silence. "That's beautiful, Mary." She leaned back and closed her eyes. "Jack, I think I better go back downstairs. I'm suddenly very tired."
Mary rested one hand on Audrey's slender shoulder and her other offered the pin. "I want you to have this."
Weary eyes fluttered open. "I can't."
"I want you to have it. Without you, we never would've found it." She pinned it to the shoulder of Audrey's nightgown. "Don't argue. I know Magdalene would agree."
Two tears trickled slowly down Audrey's cheeks. "Thank you. You don't know what this means to me." Her eyes closed and she slid silently from the chair.
Mary cried out in fear as she leaned over to catch Audrey before she crumpled to the floor. She gently cradled the frail woman against her chest while Jack checked for a pulse. He nodded, then lifted Audrey from her arms and carried her back to bed. As he tucked the covers around her, he raised sorrowful eyes to Mary. "The doctors in New York warned me this would happen. Would you stay with her while I call the doctor? I don't think it will be much longer. She's getting near the end."
Chapter 37
Nicole Martine tapped her manicured fingernails impatiently on the handle of the metal shopping cart as she waited in line. News of a possible ice storm caused lines at each of the hardware stores she'd visited. While the impending storm provided an excellent opportunity for her plan, the long wait irritated her. Couldn't these idiot clerks work any faster? She had things to do, and waiting in line wasn't one of them. Irritated, she kicked the rear wheel of the metal cart in frustration and watched it spin in circles.
The thought of Mary's impending doom brought a sly smile to her face. Her plan really was brilliant. She'd thought of everything--down to the tiniest detail. Soon, very soon, she'd put it into action. All she needed was to get out of this store and on her way.
Once she'd made her purchase, she opened the trunk and tucked the last two kerosene cans in a cardboard box next to the others. Six ought to be enough. Where could she store them until she switched cars? She racked her brain for a good hiding place, and realized that their private boat shed at the edge of the river provided the perfect spot. Nobody went there this time of year--it was too cold. As she pulled into the dock, she scanned the metal shed, searching for occupants. It was deserted. The only sound she heard was the thumping of her own heart. She entered the shed and stashed the cans and a paper grocery bag under a tarp covering Philippe's speedboat.
It didn't take long to return home. She'd given her maid the day off, so the house was empty. The grandfather clock on the wall ticked loudly as she poured herself a glass of wine to toast the success of her brilliant plan. When the clock chimed eleven, it was time to begin. She phoned her Mercedes® dealer, told them her car had developed a strange noise, and made arrangements to drop it off. One of the salesmen gave her a ride to the rental car lot, where she picked up the rental car she'd reserved. Her lips formed a triumphant smile. Her brilliant plan was in process.
A cold wind blew off the water and battered her face as she walked the short distance to the deserted boat shed. Shivering in the wind, she pulled her sweater closer to her face and unlocked the only barrier between her and the success of her plan. She lifted her treasure trove from beneath the bright blue tarp, and her excitement grew as she loaded the cans in the trunk, then drove away. It was really happening! Just a few more things to do and soon Mary, Jack, and the plantation would be nothing but a bad memory. Once the house was destroyed, Philippe could buy back the property and resell it to the highway commission for a fortune.
She pulled her car into a deserted rest stop and removed the smelly, worn-out shirt and slacks she'd purchased at a used clothing store, from her crumpled grocery bag. Her skin crawled at the thought of germs left from the previous owners, but she ignored her disgust and donned the disguise. She'd do anything to get rid of Mary, Jack, and that crappy old house. Anything. Grimacing, she tucked her hair into a filthy knitted cap and applied dark streaks of makeup to her face. As she passed the small restroom mirror, a stranger peered back at her. The disguise was brilliant--she hardly recognized her own reflection!
A set of scribbled, handwritten directions led her to a gravel access road behind the grove of trees near the plantation. Even though this was private property, she turned off the engine and waited, making sure no one else traveled down the unmarked road. The click of the trunk lid echoed loudly in the stillness, and she slowly removed two cans of kerosene, worried that someone would appear before she made her way into the trees.
Two large cypress trees guarded the entrance to the barely visible footpath, and the slick, ice-coated ground made walking difficult. She stumbled and slid several times, cursing beneath her breath as the heavy cans crashed heavily into the tender skin on her legs.
The narrow trail ended near the back of the kitchen. No curtains covered the windows, so she had a clear view. When nobody appeared, she crept forward, making sure of her steps on the slick, icy grass, her arms aching from the bitter cold and the weight of the cans.
A noise inside heightened her awareness. Had someone walked into the kitchen? A quick check at the window belayed her fears, so she began to splatter kerosene against the wooden boards covering the rear of the house. She'd originally thought about pouring it on the ground, but decided that would be too noticeable. Her only option was to splash it against the house. It wasn't the most efficient use of her limited supply, but at least all evidence would be destroyed when the house burned to the ground.
As she swung the can back and forth, kerosene leaked out and saturated her shirt and pants. She ignored the smell and continued along the far side of the house, keeping an eye out for movement. When the sound of a car coming down the drive reached her ears, she paused and retraced her steps. It only took a moment to pick up the other can and hide in the safety of the trees.
She recognized the sheriff's car and realized she'd have to leave before the job was finished. She couldn't risk him finding her at the back of the house. Damn, damn, damn! Disgusted, she crept back through the trees, lugging the partially empty cans with her. She tossed them into the trunk and turned her car in the direction of the main highway. Of all the rotten luck. Now she'd have to wait until the sheriff left before she could finish the job.
The odor of kerosene reeked from her clothes, filling the car. There was only one option: go home and wait. The sight of Philippe's car greeted her as she pulled into the drive, and a string of obscenities erupted. Why was the idiot home at this time of the day? He was supposed to be gone all afternoon. Her lips formed a grim smile. Well, this time she wasn't going to let him spoil her triumph. Not after all she'd been through.
The sound of her car door slamming shut echoed in the empty garage. Nicole tossed the keys into her handbag and stomped toward the kitchen. Her anger increased with every step and she literally crashed into Philippe as she strode through the hallway.
"Nicole! What are you doing in those clothes?"
She narrowed her eyes and pushed him out of the way. "Nothing. Get out of my way and leave me alone."
He sniffed the air. "Why do
you smell like kerosene?"
"None of your damn business."
He reached out and grabbed her arm. "Nicole, I demand to know what you've been doing."
She swung around, furious. How dare he demand anything from her, the spineless worm! "All right, I'll tell you where I've been." She jabbed her finger into his shoulder, pushing him against the wall. "Since you haven't taken care of getting the plantation back, I've decided to do it for you. You're nothing but a worthless excuse for a man. You can't even get rid of the workers without causing problems. Well, now you don't have to worry anymore. You're no longer in charge. Not only am I going to get rid of the plantation, I'm also going to get rid of that little tramp who thinks she's going to be its mistress."
She jabbed harder, grinning at his discomfort. "I smell like kerosene because I've been out there pouring kerosene on the house. Unfortunately, the arrival of the sheriff interrupted my plan. In a little while, I'm going back to finish the job. When I'm done, the house will be gone, and so will that little bitch."
A look of horror spread across his face. "You can't do that. It's...it's murder!"
She spun on her heels and stomped to the garage. "So? She's nothing but an insignificant little tramp. Who cares if she dies in a house fire? I say good riddance." She jammed her key into the trunk lock and the door popped up, revealing the cans of kerosene.
He grabbed her by the shoulder. "You're insane. I won't let you do this."
She spun backwards, jerking free. "What can you do?" she sneered.
"I'm going to call the sheriff and tell him what you've done." He turned toward the door. "Somebody has to put a stop to this insanity."
Her rage intensified, then boiled over. "Oh, no, you won't, you son of a bitch." She grabbed a can from the trunk, swung it against his head and he fell to the floor with a sickening thud. She held the can in front, ready to strike again. Philippe remained motionless, lying in a crumpled heap on the garage's cement floor. She kicked him once for good measure, then climbed into the car. A grim smile reached her lips as she backed out of the garage. That little bitch didn't know it, but the Angel of Death was coming her way.
Chapter 38
Mary waited in the hallway while Jack gave the nurse an update on Audrey's condition. All she could think about was the fate of the frail woman lying unconscious on the bed. She tried to block out the sadness she felt, but it threatened to overwhelm her. She had to find something to occupy her mind. Turning to the stairs, she began an examination of the lower end of the banister. Maybe if she concentrated on something else she wouldn't feel so miserable. Engrossed in her search, she was startled by a loud knock on the front door.
It was the sheriff. He apologized for being late and told her he'd been tied up by several emergency calls. Jack emerged from Audrey's room and she introduced him as the other curator who'd originally appraised the house. She didn't mention Audrey or the nurse. The less the sheriff knew about her company, the better. That way, if Elizavon called him, he wouldn't have much to report. She hated being sneaky, but Elizavon left her no other choice.
They accompanied the sheriff outside and waited while he searched the frozen grass for clues. She wasn't sure if she felt relieved or nervous when he spotted a drawstring bag.
"I think I know who your visitor was," he said, bending over.
Jack gazed at the bag hanging between his fingers. "What's that?"
"Something Voodoo worshipers use to ward off evil spirits. Your prowler was trying to protect you from some imagined evil." He smelled the inside, then emptied the contents onto the ground. "Probably one of the men who came before. You should feel fortunate, Miss Corbett. I've never known any outsiders to come under the protection of these people."
"I'm not so sure I'm all that thrilled," Mary said. "It's pretty unnerving to have people creep around at night, even if they are trying to protect me." She stepped onto the porch. "Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee, Sheriff?"
He tipped his hat. "Don't mind if I do. I also wanted to tell you we're expecting a big ice storm to hit tomorrow night. This far out, the electricity could be off for days. You need to make sure you have enough firewood and kerosene lanterns."
Mary glanced at the woodpile. "I think we have enough firewood, but there aren't any kerosene lanterns in the house. Come to think of it, I haven't seen any candles, either. I'll have to go into town and get some supplies." A frown etched her face as she turned to the sheriff. "I know we've had trouble getting some items, but they wouldn't refuse to sell me storm supplies, would they?"
"They might," he replied. "Somebody's stirred up an awful lot of bad feelings about you folks in town." He scratched his head. "Tell you what. I'll go with you and make sure you get what you need. It's the least I can do, especially since I haven't been able to track down who's behind all this."
Jack placed a detaining hand on her arm. "Sheriff, could you excuse us for a moment?"
"Sure thing. I'll just wash my hands while you two talk." He strode down the hall and the bathroom door clicked shut after him.
Jack lowered his voice. "I'll go to town for you. I need to get a couple of things the nurse said Audrey needed, and while I'm out, I can get supplies."
"Don't you want to stay with Audrey?" she asked.
His faced turned a dull red. "Yes and no. I hate to say this, but I need to get away for a little while. I feel so helpless, sitting there watching her. It's killing me. Do you mind?"
"No problem. I'll give you the shopping list."
He hugged her tightly, then released her. "While you do that, I'll tell the nurse I'm leaving."
The sheriff rejoined Mary in the drawing room. "Jack's going to go to town with you," she announced. "Is there anything I need to do around here?"
"You might want to board up that broken window on the upper floor."
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "What broken window?"
"The one your sister shot through."
"Oh, I forgot about that. Should we wrap any pipes?"
"Only the outside faucets. We can get bottled water in town. You might want to bring up some of that firewood to the porch so you won't have to cross the ice to get it." He tipped his hat back on his head. "I've seen many a folk slip and break an arm or leg trying to bring in firewood after an ice storm."
"Is the storm going to be that bad?" she asked.
"Nobody knows just yet. Problem is, out here you always get more ice, and it might take a while for the work crews to clear the roads. Best to be prepared."
"Thank you, Sheriff," she said. "I really do appreciate everything you're doing."
"No problem, ma'am." He glanced at his watch. "We'd best get moving if we're going to get those supplies."
Mary handed Jack her list as he followed the sheriff outside. After the two cars were out of sight, she forced herself to get moving. A quick search of the construction pile provided two square pieces of plywood, and she carried them upstairs. Fixing the window was easy. Moving firewood proved a tad more difficult. Her arms ached after only two loads, but she kept at it until she'd moved over half the stack. Winded, but proud of her effort, she surveyed the pile on the porch critically, then decided the rest could wait until later. There was plenty of time to finish bringing the firewood up to the house.
The breeze blowing toward her carried the faint odor of kerosene, reminding her of the ruined stack of lumber near the driveway. What a mess everything had turned out to be. First, vandals ruined an expensive stack of lumber, then hospitalized workers. She shuddered as she wondered what would happen next.
Maybe if Jack helped her search, they'd solve this mystery and she could leave before anything else happened. It was certainly worth a try.
Chapter 39
Nicole tried to rub the bitter cold from her arms as she watched Mary stack firewood on the porch. How nice of the little tramp to make her job easier. Her legs cramped from crouching so long, and she shifted to a more comfortable position. That stupid sheriff had c
ertainly taken long enough to leave. Unfortunately he'd taken Jack with him. Her lips curled into a snarl. Now she'd have to wait in the cold until Jack returned, because she wasn't about to start the party without him.
She crept back to the rear of the house, removed the tops from her kerosene cans and strode forward. The icy grass made her slip and slide, and she cursed under her breath as kerosene splashed onto her shoes, socks, and pants.
This time she meant to finish the job properly. When she completed her deadly circuit around the house, she still had nearly a whole can of kerosene left. She decided to save it for later, and crept back to the cover of the trees. Now, all she had to do was wait. Thirty minutes passed and Jack didn't return. Forty... Fifty... Still, no Jack.
Some ten minutes later a woman emerged from the house, climbed into a van, and drove away. Who the hell was that? It certainly wasn't Mary. She was too short and dumpy. Someone else must have been visiting the little tramp. Surely she was alone now.
A biting wind stung her face and she came to a decision. It would be dark soon, and she didn't want to stumble through the trees at night. Time to start the fire. Her lips formed a grim smile. Even if she didn't get Jack, she still had Mary. One dead traitor was better than nothing.
She lifted the can and poured kerosene over the rags she'd brought, then wrapped them around a stick. A cigarette lighter produced a flickering flame, and she cursed as she tried to ignite the rags. They finally caught, and she kept the flaming stick away from her body as she stumbled toward the house. A few moments after she held the homemade torch against the kerosene-soaked wood, the fire began.
A wicked smile spread across her lips as tendrils of fire inched across the rear of the house. She tossed her torch to the ground and stomped on the burning rags with her foot. Unfortunately, the kerosene on her shoe ignited and she watched in horror as slivers of flame climbed from her shoe to her pant leg. When she swatted at her pants with her arm, the blaze raced across her sleeves, burning not only the material, but her kerosene-soaked skin as well. Panic set in and she spun around, slipping on the icy grass.
Blue Moon Page 27
