Against the Claw

by Shari Randall

  Henry sighted along the gun, pointing it at Tinsley.

  “Henry!” My voice shook. “There are security cameras everywhere.” I shifted so my weight was forward, on my feet. Maybe I could spring at him and wrestle the gun away.

  “Henry, did you kill Patrick?” I asked, but I knew who did. On the night of Stellene’s magical Fourth of July party, Henry didn’t know Hayley was dead. But Patrick did. And so did someone else.

  Henry lowered the gun. “No, but I’d sure like to shake the hand of whoever did. I have my suspicions. Oh, come on, Allie, you must have some suspicions.” He grinned at me. “You’ll figure it out, you’re a smart girl. The police are fools for thinking that Eden killed Patrick because she was panicked by fans. Eden was unconscious from the stuff in the champagne.”

  It dawned on me—that’s how we were all so intoxicated after sharing only two bottles of champagne. “Stellene drugged us.” I thought of the champagne bottles I’d just seen in the trash. Had Stellene done the same to Hayley?

  “There were sleeping pills in the champagne,” Henry said. “When I woke up the next morning, I knew something was up. She had to get us out of the way because she had plans on the yacht that night.”

  Ken Jackson mentioned the kayak left on the beach. I’d seen a photo of Stellene and Tinsley in a kayak. Stellene had kayaked over to the yacht, got the gun, and shot Patrick Yardley.

  Henry smiled at me. “You’ve figured it out, too. The best part is that I can just see how Stellene’s mind works. She’s not a business mogul for nothing. She turned adversity into opportunity and grabbed it.”

  “When you came on the boat with Eden and Stellene from Montauk, you all handled the gun,” I said slowly. “All your prints were on it. That’s why the gun was left in the boat with Patrick’s body instead of tossed overboard.”

  Henry’s eyes were shining. “That was an opportunity Stellene just couldn’t let pass. She had no idea that Lorel’s were on there, too. Bonus. Though I don’t know why she didn’t just cancel her rendezvous with Patrick when Eden told her she wanted to stay on the yacht.”

  “Patrick’s phone didn’t work,” I said. Because Lorel knocked it into the water. “Patrick was going to keep his appointment on the yacht. With me and Lorel going with you and Eden, there would be four suspects on the yacht, two of them with their fingerprints on the gun. Stellene nowhere near. When Stellene couldn’t reach Patrick, she saw that it was actually a perfect setup to get rid of him. All she had to do was make sure we couldn’t interfere. So she drugged us with the champagne.”

  Tinsley struggled upright, her sobs choking her words. “Patrick was supposed to give all the money to Hayley. But he didn’t! Hayley wanted her fair share!”

  Henry laughed. “See? Wouldn’t look too good for Stellene’s foundation if people knew that difficult donors end up on the bottom of the ocean.”

  Keep him talking, Tinsley. I tensed my hands on the arms of the chair. Maybe I could run and grab a knife.

  “Don’t think about it, Allie.” He raised the gun.

  I froze, but not because of the gun. Above me in the gallery, Verity stood, her mouth an O. She was holding her cell, and I hoped she’d dialed 911. I kept my eyes on Henry, afraid to betray her presence with a glance.

  “When Stellene and Patrick were done with her, what happened to Hayley, huh? They discarded her like trash.” The muscles in Henry’s forearm tightened. “Like I discarded her all those years ago. So I owe her. A life for a life. Justice for Hayley.”

  The vacuum still ran. Verity waved her phone. The police will be too late, I thought. Henry’s mouth was set, hard. He pushed his hair back, slick against his skull.

  My breath came in short gasps. We’ll all end up like Hayley, under the water. Cool it, Allie. Focus. “My friends are upstairs. You won’t get away with this.”

  The vacuum cut. In the sudden silence, the only sound was Tinsley’s sobs.

  Henry gestured out the window. “No loss if your boat goes up in flames tonight. With you all aboard. Then I’ll head over to Montauk. I’ve got a friend with a private plane. I’ll fly off into the sunset before anyone knows you’re missing.”

  “It won’t work.” Oh, God, it could work.

  “I’m sorry, Allie. Maybe I’ll write a song about you one day.” Henry raised the gun. Every nerve in my body hummed, every muscle went taut. The black circle of the muzzle leveled with my heart.

  I centered my weight. Which way to leap when his finger moved to pull the trigger? Right or left?

  Verity wrenched the fishing net off the wall and threw it. It whirled through the air onto Henry. He shouted. I lunged left. The gun went off.

  Glass exploded from the mirror at my back. Needle pricks like winter sleet stung my arms. Someone screamed.

  Henry thudded to his knees, thrashing in the net. Bertha shouted from the gallery. I looked up. With a roar she hefted the vacuum cleaner and hurled it over the rail. It thudded onto Henry’s torso.

  I’d flung myself onto an armchair, shoving it into the side table next to the couch. A lamp toppled onto Tinsley’s legs.

  Bertha and Verity ran down the stairs.

  “The gun! Where’s the gun?” I shouted.

  Henry moaned but flailed against the net.

  Tinsley pushed herself to her feet. She raised the lamp and brought it down on Henry over and over, then tumbled to her knees.

  I scrabbled on the floor. Where is the gun?

  Tinsley dropped the lamp and crawled back onto the couch.

  Verity pushed aside the coffee table.

  “There’s the gun!” Bertha picked it up. “If he bats an eyelash wrong, he’s history.” Bertha pointed the gun at Henry, her hand steady.

  Henry whimpered and curled into the fetal position. What if he did try to get up? From the set of Bertha’s mouth, she’d have no trouble shooting him. “Let’s roll him in the rug,” I said. “I don’t want him to be able to move an inch.”

  Verity and I dragged Henry by his feet and laid him on the accent rug. He murmured but his eyes remained closed. Tinsley helped, but her breath came in ragged gasps by the time we finished. She sank back on the couch. Verity hurried to the kitchen and brought her a glass of water. Tinsley took a sip and nodded thanks. Henry’s body was still, his handsome face peaceful above the edge of the rug.

  Bertha high-fived me with her left hand while her right kept the gun trained on Henry. I sagged onto the couch next to Tinsley and put my head in my trembling hands.

  “Stay still.” Tinsley’s fingers moved through my hair. “Will you get a cloth, please?” she said to Verity. “Allie, you’ve got some cuts and there’s some glass in your hair.”

  Verity went into the kitchen and returned carrying a tray with a wet towel, an open bottle of wine, and four glasses. She put it on the coffee table and poured.

  “I can’t have alcohol.” Tinsley took the cloth and dabbed my arms. I winced.

  “I can.” Bertha accepted a glass of wine and sipped as she kept the gun leveled at Henry.

  Verity sighed. “Broken mirror. Seven years’ bad luck.”

  Bertha toasted toward Henry. “For that slimy scum-covered chum bucket. Not us.”

  Chapter 37

  By the time my breathing returned to normal, the sound of engines and voices streamed into the living room.

  Tinsley lay back against the creamy leather cushions, her face gray. “I don’t feel good. I’m supposed to take my pills on a schedule. Henry took me out on the boat for too long.”

  “Did you think you were going on a date?” I said.

  She nodded. “He asked to see the island. I was so happy when he asked me to come out. I thought he’d been avoiding me.”

  Verity beamed, from the wine or the stream of muscular first responders it was hard to say. Mystic Bay Police, Coast Guard, and Harbor Patrol had answered her call for help. Thank goodness Mr. Miami Vice was not among them.

  A Coastguardsman tended to my cuts. “Not too serious,�
� he said.

  The face of his colleague tending Tinsley was grim. They stepped aside to confer. I heard the words “transplant” and “airlift.”

  “Tinsley.” I pulled a cashmere throw from a chair and tucked it around her. “Tell me. What happened with Hayley after the operation?”

  Tinsley’s eyelids fluttered. “We had it done in New York. Everything was fine. My mom sent Hayley to a private clinic to recuperate. When she was discharged, Patrick picked her up. I thought she was going home.”

  “Did she tell you this?”

  Tinsley shook her head. “We talked up until the day she was discharged. Then her phone went out of service. She only called me once more.” Her voice got small. “She was angry. She wanted to talk to my mom.”

  To demand her payment in full.

  Tinsley sobbed. “Hayley was my friend.”

  “I know she was.” I squeezed her hand. “You gave her one of your new bracelets, didn’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Excuse me, miss.” The Coastguardsman gently took my elbow and helped me to my feet. “We’re going to airlift your friend out of here.”

  “Tinsley!” Stellene rushed in the French doors followed by Zoe Parker.

  “That’s her mother,” I told him.

  Stellene fell to her knees at Tinsley’s side. Zoe hung back, clutching her hands to her chest.

  I stood next to Verity. “Did you hear everything Henry said?”

  “The vacuum was on, so I missed part of it. And when I saw the gun I kind of blanked out.” We watched the Coast Guard guys load Tinsley onto a special stretcher that looked like a long metal basket.

  Detective Rosato and Detective Budwitz stepped into the living room.

  “Great,” I muttered.

  The law enforcement contingent unrolled Henry. He curled into a ball, whimpering and gasping. “They broke my ribs! The big one threw a vacuum cleaner at me!”

  The detectives scanned the room and their eyes lit on me. Detective Budwitz did a double take. Detective Rosato’s look was level as she removed her sunglasses.

  “Here she comes,” I whispered.

  “Are you all right, Miss Larkin?” Detective Rosato said.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “And you, Miss—” Detective Rosato regarded Verity with her unblinking eyes.

  “Brooks,” Verity said carefully.

  “If you’ll go into the kitchen, please. We’ll have to take statements,” Detective Rosato said. “It may take a while.”

  “How long?” Verity said. “Allie’s got opening night at the Jake.”

  I’d completely forgotten. Right now, I could think of only one thing: Stellene. What had Bertha said? Stellene wanted all the stuff in the bedroom packed up. All traces of Hayley gone. “Detective Rosato, please come upstairs with me. I have to show you something.”

  Detective Rosato’s eyes flicked from me to Verity, but she followed me upstairs. Below, Stellene followed Tinsley’s stretcher through the French doors. Zoe Parker hurried after her. Approaching helicopter blades thudded overhead.

  We went into the blue bedroom. Detective Rosato looked out the window. “How convenient to have your own helipad.”

  We watched the Coast Guard helicopter land. The crew rushed Tinsley on board. Stellene and Zoe spoke, their heads close together, then Stellene also boarded the helicopter. Henry’s tattoo came to mind: Let justice be done though the heavens fall.

  “Why are we here?” Detective Rosato put her hands on her hips.

  “Hayley Castle died of a drug overdose, right?”

  I showed her the pill bottles in the bureau drawer, then we went into the bathroom and I showed her the rest of the bottles and the hair dye. I told her in a rush what Tinsley and Henry had said.

  “And you think?” she said.

  “I think Hayley Castle was a liability. Stellene’s husband was this saint who selflessly let another person take the kidney meant for him, because he thought they needed it more. And here was his wife, the head of his foundation, arranging a donation through her drug connection Patrick Yardley. I think”—I took a deep breath—“Stellene discovered that Hayley had struggled with addiction. I think Stellene left Hayley here alone, in pain, with all this medication, hoping she’d overdose.”

  Not a flicker of emotion crossed Detective Rosato’s face. We went into the gallery and looked down at the chaos below, the rumpled rugs, the net, the vacuum cleaner, the broken mirror.

  Zoe entered through the French doors, picked her way through the living room, went into the kitchen and moments later emerged carrying a white canvas shopping bag. She headed toward the stairs.

  “If I’m Zoe Parker, what do I do now?” I said. “Detective Rosato, come quick.” I ducked into the master bedroom.

  “Miss Larkin, I don’t know what you’re doing”—she sighed and followed me—“but you’ve helped me before.”

  I closed the door almost all the way. “That’s Zoe Parker, Stellene Lupo’s assistant. I think she’s going to collect those pill bottles and get rid of them.”

  Through the crack in the door, we watched Zoe walk across the gallery. She looked over the railing, then stepped into the blue bedroom. Detective Rosato waited. I stood behind her, holding my breath.

  A few minutes later, Zoe, bag slung over her shoulder, left the room and went downstairs.

  I looked at Detective Rosato. “Aren’t you going to—”

  “Thank you, Miss Larkin.” She dashed into the blue bedroom and looked into the drawer. From the hall I could see it was now empty of pill bottles. Detective Rosato hurried after Zoe, calling to me over her shoulder, “Wait in the kitchen.”

  Zoe hurried out the French doors. Detective Rosato followed her. I stuck my head in the kitchen where Verity and Bertha sat at the kitchen counter.

  “Come here! Quick!” I said.

  We fast-walked through the dozen law enforcement types in the living room. In the distance, Zoe jogged toward the southside dock, Detective Rosato behind her.

  “She’s letting her get away!” I said.

  “Miss Parker. One moment please!” Detective Rosato called.

  Zoe didn’t stop. She stepped onto Stellene’s speedboat, threw off the line, and fired the engine. She ignored Detective Rosato and pulled from the dock.

  “Stop!” Detective Rosato shouted.

  Zoe didn’t even turn.

  “Bertha! Quick! Get Queenie! Make sure she doesn’t get away!” I shouted. Bertha and Verity spun toward Queenie. I thought for a millisecond, then darted after Detective Rosato.

  At the dock, a Harbor Patrol boat bobbed in the wake from Stellene’s sleek wooden powerboat. The pilot looked up as Detective Rosato stepped aboard and pointed at Zoe’s boat. He fired the engine and pulled away from the dock.

  I leaped on board, jarring my ankle, and tumbling to my knees.

  “Go!” I scrambled to my feet. “Follow her!” The engine roared to life.

  Stellene’s magnificent boat was powerful, but the Harbor Patrol boat had dual engines. They kicked in. The boat leaped ahead and soon closed the gap with Zoe.

  Zoe looked back and turned her boat hard to starboard. A flash of white fell from her hand to the water.

  “She’s coming around,” the pilot said.

  “No!” I shouted. “She used the turn to hide the bag she threw overboard on the other side of the boat. The white bag!”

  Detective Rosato’s eyes flicked from me to Zoe’s boat.

  “Let the boat go,” she directed. “Go to the spot where she turned.”

  “There!” I pointed.

  He cut the engine.

  We scanned the water. I surged with anger. Zoe was doing Stellene’s dirty work, dumping evidence that tied Stellene to Hayley, proof that Stellene left Hayley, a recovering drug addict who was still recovering from surgery to donate a kidney, in a candyland of pills.

  Something white glimmered just beneath the waves.

  “There!” I dove into the w
ater, keeping my eyes on the flash of white. Please don’t sink. I swam to the point where I’d last seen it.

  I plunged into the shadowy depths, salt water stinging my eyes. There! I swooped up the bag. Yes! I kicked back to the boat.

  The pilot pulled me aboard. “Are you crazy?”

  Detective Rosato took the bag from my hands. I shivered and yanked up my sodden shorts. My flip-flops were gone.

  She opened the bag, looked up at me, and smiled.

  Chapter 38

  Opening night of Ondine was one of the most electric of my career, one of the most electric in the history of Broadway by the Bay. It was too bad it was to be the first and only performance of Eden in Ondine.

  Many people have told me that great dancers are great actors. I didn’t trust my acting that night, so when the police car skidded to the stage door twenty minutes before the curtain was to go up, I told Mac Macallen I was late because I’d been in a minor boating accident with Henry Small. That was the story Detective Rosato and I’d spun on the way to the theater, a way to hold off the truth about the Coast Guard helicopter and all those police boats at Cat Island.

  Eden and I took a dozen curtain calls together, showered in flower petals. She radiated star power even as she left the stage, trailing a black and green seaweed train into the wings, into the arms of her partner, Lars.

  Lars held her and whispered in her ear. Eden’s body stiffened. They left immediately. She didn’t even change out of her costume.

  Aunt Gully, Verity, Bronwyn, and Lorel met me at the stage door with a bouquet of my favorite flowers—incredibly expensive, out of season white and lavender lilacs. Lorel came! The card on the bouquet read, To our lazy mermaid, Love, Dad and Esmeralda.

  I skipped the opening-night reception. Instead, I iced my throbbing ankle while the rest of me soaked in a hot bubble bath to ease the cuts on my arms. They’d left splotches of blood on the illusion fabric of my costume.

  Chapter 39