Dead in the Water (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 1) (21 page)

Elizabeth moved quickly in my direction, and I had only two places to go: the kitchen or out the back door wearing nothing but my nightclothes.

Since I'd been warned it could be cold in Great Britain and some older homes had no central heating, I had packed a warm nightgown and robe. Not a sexy nylon and lace number from Victoria's Secret, but a full-length flannel thing with long sleeves and a collar. I had no desire to be seen outdoors in that.

I know, I know. No paparazzi skulked in the garden waiting to snap my picture and sell it to the tabloids, but I couldn't help it. It's a "gal" thing.

I ducked back into the kitchen, flipped on the light, and grabbed a dishtowel from the rack near the stove. I barely had time to wrap the towel around the plastic bag containing the dagger when the door opened and Elizabeth came in.

She, too, wore slippers and a robe over a long nightgown, and her hair hung loose and floated around her shoulders. She looked nothing like a murderer. Shows what I knew.

"Olivia. What are you doing down here at this time of night?"

I lied. "Making some hot chocolate. Couldn't sleep." Well, that part was true. As I spoke, I backed up to the laundry chute on the far wall, which I remembered Aunt Alice telling me connected with the one from the second floor and would deposit dirty laundry in the cellar.

"Let me get rid of this towel first. I seem to have spilled cocoa on it." I tried to laugh, but the sound caught in my throat. I pulled open the door, thrust the towel inside, and let it drop. The door snapped shut so I didn't hear the package land.

"Chocolate sounds good." Elizabeth moved farther into the room. "May I join you?"

"Of course." I tried to behave normally, but I could hardly think what to do next. Oh, yes, make chocolate. I pulled a small saucepan from a cupboard and hustled to the refrigerator to find some milk.

"I keep thinking about you," she said.

"About me?" I nearly dropped the milk. Did she know what I'd been doing? Did she guess I'd found the dagger and that I knew she'd stabbed Chaz with it? Would she now try to eliminate me too?

"I feel guilty about the way I've neglected you during your visit."

"Oh, that's okay." I figured she said that as a way to ease my mind before she silenced me forever.

"Did you say you had the cocoa? I don't see it."

"Oh, no, I said I spilled some, er, Bordeaux on it." I'd said the first thing that popped into my head, and I prayed she didn't want to see the wine bottle.

She started for the pantry. "I'll get it."

My brain went haywire, and I imagined that, once inside the pantry, she would put poison in the cocoa, and then, at the last minute, pretend she didn't want any after all. After I drank mine and strangled my way to a painful death.

"No, no," I said. "Don't bother. I'll do it." Too late. She had already entered the pantry, and I stared at the door and counted the seconds until she came out with the brown cocoa box in her hand. Still in my horror-movie mode, I wondered if she'd had enough time to slip in the poison.

I measured two cups of milk into the saucepan on the stove, my hand trembling so much I spilled some down the front of my robe.

"I'll put in the cocoa." Elizabeth took a spoon from the silverware drawer.

I watched her, wondering if she'd also grab a knife while she was at it.

Before she could do anything, I heard Mr. Tarkington bark. I remembered taking him into the great hall and leaving him behind the closet, and now I realized he hadn't followed Elizabeth or me into the kitchen.

"Is that the dog?" she asked.

"Yes, I'll go and get him." I opened the door to the great hall and called, thinking that perhaps he'd protect me as he had that night in Chaz's studio, but he refused to come into the kitchen. He barked once more then sniffed the floor between the back door and the closet under the stairs. I called again, but again he ignored me. He moved steadily toward the closet, intent upon whatever he smelled, and I hesitated, wondering what to do next.

"Never mind him," Elizabeth said.

I turned back and saw her spooning cocoa into the milk on the stove. "I've been wanting to talk to you." She pulled two china cups from the cupboard and placed them on the granite countertop.

I closed the door to the hall and edged toward the table, watching her every move but saying nothing.

Having finished stirring the now-steaming cocoa, she poured some into each cup and brought them to the table, then sat in a chair and motioned me to another. I didn't sit until I saw her take a sip of the hot chocolate.

"Ever since we saw Inspector Kincaid this afternoon," she said, "I've been thinking about what he said. About the knife someone used to stab Chaz."

Puzzled, but at least not afraid she'd poisoned the cocoa, I nevertheless didn't pick up my cup. "What about the knife?"

"The inspector described it as an old one, possibly an antique, and tonight when I couldn't sleep, I suddenly remembered the dagger behind the shield in the great hall. Do you remember how we used to play with that shield and dagger the summer we all stayed here?"

I nodded, wondered what she thought it meant.

"I looked a few minutes ago. The shield is still there, but the dagger is gone."

I waited her out, not telling her I'd had the same feeling and found the dagger, and it had blood on it. I wanted to know what she knew.

"Of course, the dagger might have been removed ages ago." She paused. "Good heavens, we were children when we played there. But, suddenly, I had such a strong feeling that whoever stabbed Chaz used that dagger."

"You did?"

"Yes. Could someone have broken into the house, stolen the knife and…"

The dog barked again. Elizabeth got up, opened the door, and went into the hall. I followed her. "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"I thought I heard a car drive off."

"Do you mean from here, one of
our
cars?"

"I think so." She looked at Tark, who was still sniffing the floor. "Whatever ails this dog?"

"I hope he's not looking for a place to pee." I reached for Tark, planning to let him outside, but he squirmed away from me, and, his nose almost touching the stones, he followed a scented trail into the closet.

"Something's wrong," Elizabeth said. She went to the wall and flipped a switch, sending swaths of light across the back hall.

In the sudden brightness, I saw that the floor, normally shiny, now had a dull cast, with streaks across it, as if someone had done an inferior mopping job. Not Aunt Alice, who would rather run naked through Westminster Abbey than leave the floor in such a condition. Even the cement between the stones seemed a darker color than usual. I stooped down and ran my finger across one of the dark patches, brought up a brown sticky substance.

Elizabeth hunched down and did the same, then put her hand close to her face and sniffed. "What is it?"

I took a deep breath before speaking. "I think it's blood, the same stuff that's on the dagger."

She straightened and turned to me, her eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

I felt certain then she hadn't tried to kill Chaz, so I told Elizabeth what I knew. "I saw you look under the shield tonight, but I'd already found the dagger there before you came downstairs. I took it down. It has blood on it."

She swallowed then said softly, "Where is it?"

"I wrapped it in a towel and threw it down the laundry chute."

She pushed her hair back from her face, spoke in slow, careful tones. "Wait a minute. You mean…"

I felt my face grow warm. "If Chaz was stabbed with that dagger and there's blood on this floor…"

"You're saying that whoever did it, stabbed him right here in the hall?"

I straightened up. "And tried to clean off the blood but not well enough, because there's still some between the stones, and Tark can smell it."

Elizabeth stared at me, her forehead puckered into a frown.

"You didn't try to kill Chaz," I said.

"Of course not." She spoke loudly but looked wary, as if not convinced I'd believe her. "At one time I felt angry enough to, but I would never…"

"I'm sorry. For a little while, I thought you had. When I saw you take down the shield…"

"I told you I remembered the dagger and wanted to…" After an even longer pause, she hugged her arms to her body, as if suddenly cold. "That means…"

I finished her sentence. "It means someone in this house tried to kill Chaz. Someone else who knew about the dagger. Not you and not me."

She whispered the word. "Jason."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Why would Jason try to kill Chaz?"

"I have some theories." I told her about Aunt Beryl's revelation that Noreen had been having an affair with Jason as well as Chaz.

"You mean you think jealousy over Noreen prompted such a terrible thing?"

"There's more." I then revealed I had discovered Aunt Beryl's first husband in the nursing home for aging criminals, and maybe Jason knew his real father was still alive.

"I don't follow."

"Aunt Beryl never divorced Jason's father, so her marriage to William isn't legal, and Jason's adoption might not be legal either."

"So you're saying, if Jason knew that and feared he might not inherit Mason Hall after William, he could have been moved to act by more than jealousy?"

"Money is a powerful motive."

"Jason stabbing Chaz," Elizabeth said, shocked disbelief in her tone. "I've suspected for years they hated one another, but…"

"We haven't time to think about motives. We've heard a car drive off."

"You mean you think that was Jason?"

"It's possible."

"But he's upstairs in bed, isn't he?"

"Maybe not. You and I aren't."

We stared at each other then apparently had the same thought and headed for the back door. I opened it, and Elizabeth started down the path toward the former carriage house. I followed her, and as we approached I could see that all four overhead doors were closed. She went around to the side entrance that opened onto the entire garage, and I followed her inside.

She flipped on a light switch. Two cars sat there, her Vauxhall and the Bentley. Both Jason's and Chaz's were missing, and we knew the police had Chaz's Land Rover.

"Where has he gone?" Without waiting for me, she answered the question herself. "If you're right and he tried to kill Chaz, he might have run off. What should we do?"

My brain refused to produce an idea. "I don't know."

A deep frown creased Elizabeth's forehead, and she spoke in a whisper. "Should we call the police and tell them what we suspect?"

The supposed moment of truth had arrived, but I felt ambivalent. According to our reasoning, Jason had tried to kill Chaz. Yet what if we were wrong? Did we want to turn him in on mere speculation? Besides, he was our cousin. Or, at least, a step-cousin.

"Maybe he isn't running off. Maybe he's just…" Yet I could think of no other reason for his driving away in the middle of the night.

"Where would he be going now?"

Then a terrible thought came to me. I said it aloud. "Maybe he hasn't run off. Maybe he's gone to the hospital to finish what he started."

Her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh no."

I hoped my idea had no merit. I didn't want to think Jason capable of such a thing. Yet, could we afford to drop the matter? "We have to call the hospital. We have to alert them." I ran back toward the house.

Elizabeth pounded down the path after me. "But this is Jason, after all. Perhaps we're wrong."

I yanked open the door of the Hall. "We can't take a chance. We'll call and tell them to put a guard on Chaz's door, just in case."

She thought about that, biting her lower lip. "I suppose you're right. Best be safe."

We hurried into the kitchen, and Elizabeth made the call from the telephone on the wall. Quicker than running upstairs to find my cell phone. I stood at her side, waiting impatiently. Seconds turned into minutes, and still she didn't say anything.

"What's the matter? Don't they answer?"

She leaned toward me, the receiver still pressed to her ear. "They've answered, but it's a recording. You know, press one for this, two for that."

"Try the zero," I said, and she stabbed the button with her finger. More silence.

"What's happening now?"

"I'm hearing hospital hours."

I wanted to scream with frustration. "Doesn't any human being answer telephones anymore?"

"They haven't done so as yet."

"Hang up. Give me the phone. I'll call the police."

I knew Kincaid's number, but of course I got his voice mail. I left a terse message and hung up.

Elizabeth retrieved the phone and pressed numbers. "I'll try hospital again."

"No, call 9-1-1." As soon as I said it, I realized I'd given her the emergency number at home. I had no idea what they used in Great Britain.

Apparently Elizabeth knew what I meant. She hung up and did it over. I could hear her half of the conversation, which sounded as if the operator didn't believe her request was urgent.

In reality, perhaps it wasn't.

Nevertheless, I could never live with myself if I failed to act on my gut feeling that Chaz was in danger.

Elizabeth hung up. "I'm not sure they believed me."

"Blast." I used one of the expletives I'd heard in England. "Bloody hell!" I jumped up from the chair. "We have to go to the hospital now. To be certain. Where are the car keys?"

"On the dresser in my room."

"Get them."

She looked down at her robe and slippers. "I'll change too. I can't go out like this."

"There's no time," I yelled. "I'll get the keys. You run to the garage and open the door."

Before I'd finished giving orders, I'd vaulted halfway up the stairs. I sprinted down the corridor to her room, and luckily the car keys lay where she said they'd be. Schoolteachers are so predictable.

Holding my robe and nightgown away from my feet with both hands—no longer caring if anyone saw me in my crummy nightwear—I careened down the staircase and flew out the door.

Thankfully Elizabeth already sat in the car, the garage door rolled up. I lunged into the passenger seat and handed her the keys. She fumbled with them for a few seconds then started the motor, and we backed out in a rush, gears grinding when she yanked the shift lever out of reverse, then hurtled down the road in a shower of small stones.

"Do you have a cell phone in here?" I said next.

"A cell phone? You mean a mobile telephone?"

"Yes. Do you have one? I can try the hospital again while you're driving. Maybe we'll get someone this time."

"No." She paused. "Jason has one in his car."

Great!

Elizabeth drove at breakneck speed, and we didn't speak again. My mind became wonderfully clear. I could almost see what had happened to Chaz. He left his Land Rover parked by the back door of the house, as he usually did. Then he came into the Hall where Jason attacked him. After stabbing him, Jason put him back in the Rover and drove him to the road where we found the car.

So far, so good, but how did Jason get back home after leaving Chaz to bleed to death in the Rover? The bicycle! Before leaving the house, he could have thrown Tim's bicycle in the back of the Land Rover, which is how the headlamp got broken. In addition, the mysterious debris Tim found might be whatever clothes Jason wore that night which, because they were stained with Chaz's blood, he'd tried to burn.

Adrenaline rushed through me so I could hardly sit still. Elizabeth drove like a madwoman, ignoring stop signs and not slowing down at roundabouts. Fortunately, we encountered little traffic to impede us until we neared the town. Then Elizabeth slowed the car to a crawl before turning into the hospital parking lot.

"Stop anywhere," I told her. "We don't have time to find a proper place."

She parked in the curved entrance, behind two other cars, and we scrambled out and dashed into the building. I didn't see Jason or any police.

We came to an abrupt halt at the front desk, and Elizabeth asked for Chaz's room. After an eternity while the young woman looked it up, she said, "Fourth floor, room four thirteen. But you can't see him now."

Elizabeth paid no attention. She sprinted toward the elevators.

The nurse or aide or whoever she was sprang to her feet and leaned over the counter, shouting, "Stop," at Elizabeth's back.

"Call hospital security," I told her. "Get the police."

She pointed. "There's a public call box."

"You don't understand. Someone is trying to kill a patient. It's a matter of life and death." I never thought I'd actually say that. I felt like an actor in a B-movie.

She gave me a puzzled look but reached for the telephone on the desk.

I dashed toward the elevator Elizabeth had entered and swung inside before the doors closed. By now my robe had come open, and in the glaring overhead lights, I looked like an escapee from the mental ward. I jerked the silk cord tight around my waist, and the elevator doors swished open on the fourth floor.

At the nurse's station, a woman got up from her chair and came around the partition as if to try to stop us. Elizabeth pointed to the sign indicating room directions, and I tore down the hall, leaving her behind. I flung open the door of four-thirteen.

The only light came from the bathroom's open door and a box like a computer monitor glowing from green squiggles going across the screen. Chaz lay in bed, heavily swathed in bandages, tubes sticking out of him, and connected to plastic bags hanging from hooks on the top of metal poles. A doctor in a while coat leaned over him. I let a relieved sigh escape.

But the doctor had a pillow in his hands, and he pushed it into Chaz's face. I stared at him, a shout stuck in my throat. That was no doctor. That was Jason.

I leaped at him, tore at his jacket, tried to pull him away. He didn't budge. Gasping for breath, tears flooding my eyes, I grabbed the cord on my robe, pulled it free, and threw it over Jason's head. It caught on his throat, and I pulled as hard as I could. He dropped the pillow and reached for the cord. He turned toward me, eyes blazing hate. Oh boy.

He ripped my cord from his own neck and twisted it around mine. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I couldn't breathe. My head felt like a balloon, and my heart pumped.

Alarms went off. A door slammed open, people shouted. I heard a loud noise like a thunderclap. Jason crashed down on top of me, and my head cracked on the hard floor. It was the last thing I remembered.

*  *  *

I opened my eyes and stared at a distant ceiling. Minutes passed before I realized I lay on a gurney in the hospital corridor, and a nurse held my wrist. Apparently noticing I'd come to, she asked if I knew the year, and when I enlightened her, gaining a smile in response, she moved off, probably heading for someone a lot closer to dying.

I heard voices and turned my head far enough to see two people, a man and a woman, standing against the wall ten or more feet from me. I recognized the woman as Elizabeth. I didn't recognize the man. Although I couldn't make out what they were saying, they seemed to be having a rather intimate conversation, and I read their body language as ardent. Elizabeth, hair floating loosely like in a Jennifer Anniston
People
photo, seemed animated. She actually giggled once, and her fingers fussed with her robe. I sat up, promptly inviting a wave of nausea, feeling pain in both my neck and the back of my head.

Elizabeth and her mysterious friend came up to me. "You're awake. Do you feel all right?" Her mood had changed immediately to concern. "Doctor said you're not seriously hurt."

"Can you answer a question or two?" the man said. Then I recognized him, Inspector Kincaid. He'd shaved off his mustache. Without it, although his nose took on more prominence, his face had a younger look. He seemed a little flushed too.

"I'm fine," I lied, rubbing my throat with one hand and pulling my robe down over my legs with the other. "What happened?"

Elizabeth frowned and grasped my arm. "It was terrible. They shot Jason." She swallowed hard. "He's dead."

"I'm very sorry," Kincaid said. "After I received your message, I sent someone to guard young Mr. Mason, but he arrived in the midst of your being throttled."

"I don't remember that."

"It seems, when the call went out, a rather junior detective responded. He shouted to Mr. Mason to stop, but when he didn't, he fired his weapon. Too hastily. Fatally too."

"Is Chaz—?"

"He's all right," Elizabeth answered. "Jason's smothering him set off alarms, so sisters and ward security rushed in as well. Total bedlam."

"I'm sorry about your cousin," Kincaid said.

"He would have smothered Chaz with the pillow."

"We found evidence of that, but I'm afraid we shan't know everything."

I told him about finding the dagger and dropping it down the laundry chute. His eyebrows went up, but he didn't answer, and I continued with my theory about the bicycle and the burned rubbish. I even told him about the torn trousers I'd found under Jason's bed and how Mr. Tarkington had torn Chaz's jeans in the same way when the dog thought I needed rescuing.

Kincaid smiled, and thanks to his shaving off the mustache, for once I could see his lips curve up. "I'm not keen to put a dog in the witness box." He put on a more serious look. "So you thought…"

"I thought Tark might have tried to save Noreen by tearing at her killer's pants legs. But, of course," I added, "Jason couldn't have killed her, because he had an alibi for the night Noreen had the accident."