Eye of the Beholder (A Miss Henry Mystery Book 7) (Miss Henry Mystery Series)
Page 3
But when they reached the kitchen they discovered two distressing and contradictory things. One, someone had made coffee. The pot was gone but the scent lingered in the air. Secondly, they had left a trail of blood out the back door of the kitchen. The path was easy enough to follow at first, but the ground was very wet and covered in varicolored shrubbery.
Juliet rather cravenly wished that whoever was dripping gore had refrained from making coffee. Without that she could have blamed this on nature doing its red-of-tooth-and-claw thing and not felt obliged to follow the crimson path.
“Jeffrey, do you carry a gun?” Juliet asked quietly as she tried her phone again and failed to get a signal. She was really going to have to review her communication plan when she got home. Of course, she had a special chip in her wallet, one she could put in her phone that would put out a signal from almost anywhere and would be tracked by very special satellites, but she didn’t want to use that. The price of assistance was just too high.
“No, ma’am, and I have to admit that I am regretting it. You?”
“Not when I’m flying.” Though she could have—if she had been willing to pay the price.
“That’s a shame. I would surely love to have one now.”
Juliet nodded agreement, and they continued cautiously into the trees that were dripping moss and sticky water and who knew what else. Part of Juliet’s mind was taken up with imagining the ticks and chiggers that were probably burrowing into her body, but the rest of her was alert enough to find the occasional trace of blood and to eventually identify a building that might once have been a cottage or perhaps a storehouse for grain or other crops.
There were bloody footprints leading to and from the door.
Sometimes memories of the past that she had left safely stranded on an island washed up on the shores of her new life, usually in her dreams. But sometimes not. Sometimes they came in person, nightmares made flesh. It seemed to be happening again, as if blood truly would have blood and once you got it on your hands, it drew more death to you.
Heeding the little voice in her head, Juliet scooped up a fist-sized stone and hid it behind her back.
As if sensing that they were near, a man in long underwear and a frock-tailed coat stepped into the opening. The white linen was stained with blood. The coat was likely also spattered but it didn’t show on the black wool.
“Welcome, welcome, you must be Jeffrey.”
The stunned chauffer nodded.
Juliet smiled and nodded too, but it took an effort because she was looking into the eyes of madness. There were no bouncers in this brain, not anymore. No one was there that knew when to say “when.”
“I am, sir. We met before, Mr. Reich, a few months back when you came to see Mr. Markham.”
“That’s right,” he said agreeably though Juliet doubted that he actually remembered the event. She kept an eye on his left hand, which was concealing something behind his own back. It looked like maybe a length of pipe or perhaps some kind of quirt. “And who is your lovely friend?”
“This is Miss Henry. She is an artist who was at the festival. She was stranded by the hurricane and I offered her a ride since I was sure it was what Mr. Markham would want me to do.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that is true,” Reich said, shaking his head, but his slight smile never slipping. “Of course, he should do that—any gentleman would— but I have discovered, Jeffrey, that your employer is not really a gentleman at all.”
“No?” Jeffrey asked warily. He was clearly at a loss as to what to do.
“No. We were in fact just discussing that. And how one should treat friends. I have been explaining that taking everything I hold dear is not a kindly act. Not at all a gentlemanly thing to do. One should forgive friends their debts and trespasses. What he is doing is in fact usury—I believe that is the term. And now I want my own pound of flesh.”
Reich turned just enough for Juliet to see that he was holding a crop that had some kind of flail on the end. It was dripping blood. He was ignoring her completely and that suited Juliet. This was a man with a head full of broken thoughts that would never be glued together again, not even with the best therapy and every weapon in the modern pharmacopeia. He was a sentimentalist who was playing a favorite role for them. The air of kindness didn’t run all that deep. And there was the matter of his being bug-munching mad, and he had obviously done something nasty to his friend Markham. It was only a matter of time before he turned on them.
Juliet really wished that she didn’t have to get involved, but obviously someone would have to do something and soon. Reich was going to run out the desire to explain and want to get back to hurting Markham. Her hand tightened around her rock, and drawing on her powers of visualization, she thought hard about making the stone connect with Reich’s skull.
When she was ready, she let fly. Mickey, who had been teaching her yoga, was absolutely correct about how visualizing an act could make it come true. Juliet’s stone caught Reich on the forehead, and after a second of gasping surprise he toppled to the ground.
If he thought Markham had failed as a gentleman, Reich was really going to doubt her qualifications as a lady. It might be best if she wasn’t there when he woke up.
“Let’s go check on Mr. Markham,” she said when Jeffrey just stood there with mouth open gaping at her. “I hope he isn’t too badly hurt because God only knows when and where we will find a doctor.”
Jeffrey closed his mouth and hurried toward the shed but Juliet stayed outside to deal with the crazy man. It meant sacrificing her belt, but she bound up Reich after making sure that he was still breathing.
“I swear to God—are you listening, Lord? I am never doing another country festival, not as long as I live.”
And, as if to seal the bargain, a flash of lightning crackled to the east and a few seconds later the sound of thunder rolled over them.
“Okay then.”
“He’s alive, Miss Henry,” Jeffrey called, stepping into the narrow doorway. He had a bandana in his hand. Perhaps it had been used as a gag. “Can you lend me a hand? He’s pretty beat up.”
Markham was more than alive. He was starting to swear. His use of language was quite inventive.
“Sure,” she said and got to her feet. She would lend two hands, two arms, and both legs as long as it got her out of that damned horror house. “Shall we try to bring the car around? I don’t know if either of them is going to be up for much walking.”
Chapter 5
Juliet inhaled happily, taking in the smell of oil paint and turpentine. It was wonderful to be at Raphael’s cottage again, with a glass of good wine in hand and Marley on her lap.
“So, I made a vow to God that I would not do any more out-of-state festivals. And whoever was listening sealed it with a lightning strike, so it is a done deal.”
Raphael looked at her over steepled fingers. He was the only man she knew who could use the gesture and not seem ridiculous.
“Yes. But did this vow include out-of-country festivals?”
“Why?” she asked, suddenly wary.
“Because Esteban and I have been invited to Mexico for a show and thought that perhaps you would also like to come.” He handed her a flyer.
“I’d love to go with you but.…” Juliet said, looking at the glossy paper. She began to frown.
“I take it that you are not actually concerned about divine lightning.”
“No. Well, maybe—no. But I am a little worried what will happen if I use my passport.”
Their eyes met. Raphael had also worked for the government.
“Ah. But if you were exhibiting at an art show….”
“Well.” She looked back down at the flyer. Arte Moderno. Modern Art. “Maybe. I guess I could run it up the flagpole and see who shoots.”
Author Note:
As always, I love to hear from you. On the web, I can be found at http://www.melaniejackson.com or at Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/authorMelanieJackson .
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About the Author
Melanie Jackson is the author of over 80 novels. If you enjoyed this story, please visit Melanie’s author web site at www.melaniejackson.com.
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