by M. J. Lowell
I had to get out of there, wanted to be anywhere else, but I couldn’t move. I sank to my knees on the frozen stones of the terrace and wept.
I don’t know how much time passed, but the next thing I knew someone was wrapping a coat around my shoulders and lifting me to my feet. Davies.
“Let me take you home, miss,” he said.
I didn’t ask where he’d come from or how he’d found me. I just let him guide me around to the front of the house and into the waiting car.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The sun was already up when the Manhattan skyline appeared on the horizon. The roads had been empty until we neared the city, when construction on the highway and the beginnings of the morning rush hour slowed traffic to a crawl. At this rate, it would take as long to travel the last couple of miles as it took to cover the first hundred.
Davies had stopped at the house in East Hampton, where I’d changed into my own clothes, leaving the red dress and rubies behind. I’d told him I could take the Jitney, but he’d insisted on driving me all the way back to the city. His stolid, dignified presence steadied me, but it couldn’t erase what had happened. What I knew.
Rhys had given himself back to Marina, and he’d never be mine. I tried not to see the pieces of his costume strewn about the turret room, no doubt discarded in hurried lust, tried not to hear Marina’s dismissive reference of our “quaint teas and sweet little musical outings.” Cringing, I wondered if those were the words he’d used to describe our time together, laughing as he told her.
What did you expect? I asked myself. You talked yourself into it. You made yourself believe you were special. And I’d been warned, by the phone call, and by Rhys himself. That was the bitterest, most painful part. He’d never once misled me. I had no one to blame but myself.
Every so often Davies would glance at me in the rearview mirror, but I avoided his eyes. Even he had warned me about Rhys.
I spent the journey with my cheek pressed against the window. The glass felt cool next to my feverish skin as my mind flitted from image to image. Rhys with me, Rhys with Marina, the feel of his lips, the sight of—
Finally, I took out my phone, desperate for distraction from the chaos of my thoughts. I hadn’t checked messages since Davies had picked me up the previous afternoon. Maybe Nico had been able to identify something in the pages I’d found, a clue that would lead us to my father’s killer.
There was nothing from Nico, but there was a text message from Adam asking if I’d realized I was in love with him yet and telling me to call. It was sweet but made me feel even worse. There were also two emails from Val. The first had the subject line “FW: You owe me BIG TIME.” I clicked it open: “This just in from Tommy in the London office. Apparently, I now owe him BIG TIME. I didn’t get a chance to look yet – hope it’s interesting. Don’t study too hard!”
There were two documents attached. I opened the first, struggling to make out the text on the small screen of my phone. The header at the top read “Summary: Crown v. R. Stewart” and it was dated more than fifteen years ago. The report began with an account of how Edward “Ned” Stewart was found dead by his wife, Margaret Stewart, at one p.m. on Christmas Day.
The position of the deceased at the foot of a steep flight of stairs suggested an accidental fall, especially in light of his well-documented history of alcohol abuse. However, the toxicology screen revealed severely elevated levels of a sleep aid as well as alcohol in the victim’s bloodstream, and forensic evidence indicated that the victim had been dragged from his bedroom to the top of the stairs. Margaret Stewart, the victim’s wife (42) and their two sons, Joffrey (18) and Rhys (13), were questioned repeatedly. While at first denying any involvement, the younger son, Rhys, eventually withdrew a previously established alibi and confessed to pushing his father down the stairs. A court-appointed solicitor entered a plea of voluntary manslaughter, and Rhys Stewart was sentenced to Her Majesty’s Young Offender Institution at Bridewell, with his sentence to be reviewed when he turned eighteen.
I read it through once, and then again, and as I did my hands began to shake. Rhys had murdered his own father.
But that couldn’t be true. The Rhys I knew couldn’t be a murderer—
But I didn’t really know him, did I? “I’m the only one he lets in, the only one who knows his secrets,” Marina had said. And while every part of me recoiled from belief, what I’d just read explained so much. “My family fell apart one Christmas,” Rhys had told me. “I did something, made a choice…And nothing’s been the same since.”
Stunned, I clicked on the second document. This one was briefer, a short clipping from a London tabloid noting that A. M. Davies, head trainer at Curran’s Gym, had been convicted of perjury. During initial questioning, he claimed Rhys Stewart had been delivering his Christmas gift at the time of his father’s death. Stewart’s later confession invalidated this previous statement, and Davies was given a two-year suspended sentence.
I’d already seen that Davies was fiercely loyal to Rhys – and apparently his loyalty ran even deeper than I could have ever guessed.
My head was still spinning as I turned to Val’s other email. “When it rains (not men, sadly)…” read the subject. This one was only two short lines:
“Name on successful patent is Playtime LLC. Some kind of holding company.”
I stared at the words, but I wasn’t seeing them. Instead I was seeing the lettering on the hull of Rhys’s yacht. And I was hearing his voice in my head. “Playtime is over,” he’d told me that first night in his suite.
No, it couldn’t have been Rhys, I reminded myself. He’d been at the opera with me when Nico was attacked, was threatened to stop asking about the patent. It was a coincidence. It had to be.
I took a deep breath, let out a small laugh. My imagination was running away with me – too much had happened too quickly.
“Everything all right, miss?” Davies asked from the front seat.
“Yes—” I started to say, but the word froze in my mouth.
Rhys had been at the opera. But Davies hadn’t. He’d been “busy on an errand.” Davies, with his boxer’s build. Davies, who’d tried to help Rhys get away with murdering his own father. Maybe Rhys didn’t fight every battle on his own after all.
And if Rhys could kill his own father, would he hesitate to kill mine?
Without warning, Aunt Breezy’s voice echoed in my head, cautioning me about the Magician using his cloak to disguise himself as he played his games, and an image of Rhys’s red cloak flashed before my eyes.
A phone rang in the front, and Davies snatched it up. “Yes, sir?”
He listened for a moment, and in the rearview mirror I could see his brow furrow. “Certainly, sir,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
He hung up, and said, “That was Mr. Carlyle, miss. He asked me to stay with you at your home until he arrives.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “Why?” I asked.
Davies paused before answering, and his gaze shifted back to the road ahead. “He didn’t say, miss.”
My mind raced. Rhys couldn’t possibly know the discovery I’d just made, the damning link I’d found between him and my father’s death.
Or could he? Davies knew my address now, and if he’d beaten up Nico, he must have recognized him when he’d picked me up yesterday afternoon. Of course, Nico wouldn’t have been able to recognize Davies, because he’d never seen his attacker. But all it would take was a word from Davies, and Rhys would know I was my father’s daughter, and of my relationship to Nico – Davies had even heard Nico say he had my dad’s papers.
There was only one thing I knew for sure: I had to get away. If I let Davies into my apartment, I probably wouldn’t leave it alive.
“You’re looking a bit pale, miss,” said Davies, his eyes returning to mine in the rearview mirror. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes, I’m just tired,” I lied. The taillights of the car in front of us flashed red. For once I was grate
ful for bumper-to-bumper traffic. Davies braked the Bentley, slowing to a near stop.
I flung open the car door and jumped out, slamming it behind me.
“Miss!” I heard Davies cry. I weaved between the cars, ignoring the blaring horns and curses raining down on me from angry drivers. I made it to the shoulder and sprinted for the exit ramp a quarter-mile ahead.
Only as I reached the ramp did I look back. Davies was still stalled in traffic, but I could see him with his head out the window, talking on his phone. I continued down the ramp, disappearing from view.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I was lucky to find a taxi right away and gave the driver the address for the lab, pleading with him to hurry. I dialed Nico’s number again and again as the cab rattled over the potholed streets, but each time the call bounced immediately to voice mail. I tried to tell myself he must still be asleep, his phone switched off, but with each passing block my anxiety grew.
Finally we pulled up in front of the lab. I paid the driver and was out of the cab the second it rolled to a stop, my keys already in hand. I was terrified of what I might find inside the lab, terrified that Davies might not be the only person Rhys engaged to do his dirty work and somebody else had already gotten to Nico.
But when I pushed through the door the lights were on and house music was blasting from the speakers I’d given my dad years ago for Father’s Day. There was a stack of brown cardboard boxes against the wall that hadn’t been there the previous day. Moving boxes, I realized distractedly. I’d forgotten about his plans, his suggestions about Berkeley, but it looked like Nico really was going to California, with or without me.
I called his name as I rushed down the stairs, but it was impossible for him to hear anything over the music. He was at the kitchen table, working on his laptop, completely absorbed. I was nearly on top of him before he saw me.
He jumped, startled, but when he got a good look at my face the surprise turned to concern.
“Lulu? What’s wrong?” He pressed a button on his keyboard and the music stopped abruptly.
Now that I was here, safe, the adrenaline that had powered my flight was gone. I felt suddenly weak. I flopped into the chair across from him and the words came tumbling out. “I know who killed him, Nico. I know who killed my father. I know who stole his idea and submitted the patent application ahead of him. And now I think he’s after me. After us both, probably.”
“Whoa, Lucy, slow down,” said Nico. “You’re shaking. I’m going to make you some hot chocolate and then you can tell me everything.”
He insisted I relax as he bustled about the kitchenette, heating milk and stirring in the cocoa. He reached a small bottle from a high shelf and added a liberal splash. “Brandy,” he told me.
“I couldn’t—” I started to say, but he cut me off before I could object.
“No arguments,” he said, setting the mug before me. “Consider it medicinal. You won’t even taste it, and it will do you good. So drink up.”
I took a sip, and then another. He was right – the chocolate was warm and comforting, and I couldn’t taste the brandy at all, though there was a persistent metallic taste in my mouth that must have been the lingering effects of last night’s absinthe.
“Better?” asked Nico when I’d finished.
I nodded, and he poured me another cup before sitting back down across from me. “Now tell me what happened. How did you get the name on the patent?”
“From Val. I just got a message from her. She said it’s a holding company called Playtime.”
“A holding company? Then there’s no way to figure out who’s behind it.”
“I don’t need to figure it out. I already know.”
He looked at me intently. “You do?”
“It’s Rhys Carlyle. He must have wanted the technology for his video games. My father called him a bunch of times before he died, so I suspected he might be involved, and his boat is called Playtime, but then I was with him when you got beaten up so I didn’t think it could be him anymore—”
“You were with him?”
“I’d been following him, and— it’s complicated, but I realized he could have sent his chauffeur, Davies, instead. That’s who beat you up. He’s done dirty work for Rhys before. Did he seem at all familiar yesterday afternoon?”
Nico shook his head. “No. But I doubt I’d be able to recognize who did it even if he was sitting where you are now.”
I leaned across the table. “Don’t you see? It has to be Rhys. It all fits together too well to be a coincidence.”
“Okay, let’s say you’re right, and it’s not a coincidence,” said Nico slowly, thinking it over. “What do you want to do now? Rhys Carlyle is an incredibly powerful man.”
“I know. We have to go to the police.”
He spread his hands. “And tell them what? What evidence do you have?”
“He killed his own father—”
“Wasn’t that years ago?” asked Nico, but I was still talking.
“—And then there’s the patent. They’ll be able to trace the holding company to Rhys. Once they do that, we’ve established a motive for murder, and they’ll have to reopen the investigation. And once they start investigating, really investigating, I’m sure there will be plenty of evidence. The police never asked the neighbors anything, because they assumed it was a suicide. But someone must have seen Rhys going into our apartment the day my dad died, or seen one of his fancy cars outside, or even seen Davies here the day he beat you up.”
Nico still looked skeptical. More than skeptical, I realized – he looked scared, like what I was telling him was starting to sink in. “Are you sure you want to do this? A guy like Rhys Carlyle could be dangerous. If what you’re saying is true, the police can’t protect you from that. Can’t protect us.”
“He killed my father, stole from him, and had you attacked and threatened. We can’t let him get away with it.” I brought a hand to my mouth. “Joff. His brother. Somebody beat him up, too, so badly he’s in a wheelchair. What if that was also Rhys?”
Could Rhys really be that much of a monster? Could I have been so blinded by lust that I fell into the arms of—
“Who else knows about this?” Nico’s question provided a welcome interruption.
“Just you and me. And Val, sort of. I mean, she found out about the patent for me.”
“Shhh,” he said suddenly, putting up a hand to silence me. He rose noiselessly from the table. “Do you hear that?” he whispered.
“Hear what?” I whispered back.
“A car just pulled up outside.” He swallowed hard.
“It’s probably Davies,” I breathed. “Or Rhys. I told you he was coming after me.”
A muscle in Nico’s jaw tensed. “I’m going to go up and see who’s there.”
“But— they’re after you, too. They already attacked you once. There’s no reason they won’t try to do it again. Or worse.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. He glanced around the room and his gaze landed on a length of iron tubing in a corner, a blowpipe from back when the lab had still been a glass factory. Another item my dad had refused to throw away.
Now Nico picked up the pipe and tested its weight. “Hide behind the furnace,” he told me. “No one can get to you back there.”
“You’re sure?”
But he just held a finger to his lips and motioned me behind the furnace. Only after I’d slid into the narrow space between the rough brick of the lab’s inner wall and the furnace’s thick stone did I hear his footsteps echoing on the stairs and along the catwalk. The door slammed shut behind him.
Years ago this had been my favorite spot for hide-and-seek; now I could barely fit. For once I was glad not to have many curves. As I waited, the walls seemed to press in on me, and my legs began to feel wobbly. A wave of dizziness passed over me – the combination of my sleepless night and the emotional roller coaster I’d been on was taking its toll. If there’d been room to sit I would h
ave lowered myself to the floor, but I was wedged so tightly into the space I could barely move at all.
It felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes before I heard the door open again and Nico’s footsteps on the stairs.
“It was Carlyle,” he said, his face appearing at the narrow entrance to my hiding space. His eyes were wide with alarm. “He said it was important, that I should tell you to get in touch with him, but I told him I hadn’t seen or heard from you. He seemed to buy it.”
I gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” My heart was pounding against my ribs, and the dizziness was growing more intense. “We should get out of here, though, in case he comes back.”
“I think we’re safe for a while. I gave him a list of all of the places you have morning coffee with Val.”
I was overwrought and over-tired, and the thought of Rhys chasing around to half the coffee shops in the city was so ludicrous that I giggled, but even I could hear the note of hysteria in my laughter.
“It is funny, isn’t it?” said Nico.
“Sorry – it’s just been a wild ride,” I said. I started to inch my way back out from behind the furnace, but my entire body felt like it was made of Jell-O. My muscles were barely responding to my brain’s commands. “Can you help me? I’m kind of woozy.”
“Are you?” he said. There was a strange edge to his voice. I peered out at him. The expression on his face was strange, too. There was a coldness to it I’d never seen before.
“Nico? What’s going on? Help me out of here.”
“You never suspected, did you,” he said.
“Suspected what?” I said.
Nico smiled, a nasty malevolent smile.
Only then did the realization hit me, sending an icy chill straight down my spine.
“No,” I breathed in disbelief.
His smile grew wider, and something in his face seemed to shift, transforming his handsome features into an ugly mask. “Oh yes.”
“You were in it with Rhys the whole time,” I said.
Anger flashed through his eyes. “Stop saying his name. Rhys, Rhys, Rhys,” he mimicked. “You act like he’s some kind of god. You still don’t understand. He had nothing to do with it. It was all me.” A small smile crossed his face. “I’m the sole shareholder of Playtime, LLC. And you never knew it.”
