Enright Family Collection (49 page)

“So there never was a land sale? That was part of the scam?”

“Which explains why my mother’s P.I. could not locate any of the alleged players. The attorney, the settlement clerk, the title company—none of them existed.”

“All that, for a few miles of beach.” India sat down on the bottom step. “My brother was killed over a few miles of beach.”

“Which, in the long run, would be worth millions of dollars,” Chief Carpenter reminded her.

“If you were willing to exploit it,” India said sharply.

“There are many who wouldn’t hesitate a second to do just that very thing.”

From behind India, a robed August appeared at the top of the steps and slowly descended. Her eyes darted around to take in the tableau in the front hallway: India, seated as if weary on the bottom step, Nick standing protectively nearby, the chief of police standing over a sullen Maris Steele Devlin. August stared at the young woman who had been presumed drowned for the past two years.

“It was Maris, Aunt August. She faked her drowning. She’s not dead,” India told her.

“Hmmph, I’m not surprised in the least,” August pronounced
from the third step, her arms folded crisply across her chest.
“Malum vas non frangitur.”

India looked up over one shoulder to where her aunt stood glaring at the crumpled heap that was Maris. “I’m sorry, Aunt August. It’s been a long night. You’ll have to help me with that one.”

“A bad vase doesn’t break.”

Chapter 30

Maris sat against the wall, one hand rubbing the back of her head, the other holding her chin. With sullen eyes she watched the crowd that seemed to sprout in the front hall of the Devlin home.

“My lip is split,” she whined, casting malevolent glances at India from across the wide hall.

“Be grateful it isn’t your skull,” India replied coldly.

“Where’d you learn to throw a punch like that?” Chief Carpenter was clearly impressed.

“Boxing lessons,” India told him.

“I’d say they were worth every penny.” Nick sat down next to her on the step and put an arm around her. “That’s one hell of a right hook you’ve got.”

“I get a phone call.” Maris pointed to the chief as if instructing him. “I want to call Lucien Byers. He’ll get me a lawyer.”

“Well now, I don’t know that I’d waste my one call on him, since in about twenty minutes or so you’ll have a cell-to-cell connection, so to speak,” the chief told Maris pointedly. “And come to think of it, he may not be real quick to help you obtain counsel. No, if I were you, I don’t know that I’d be counting on Mr. Byers right now.”

“What are you talking about?” Maris glared at him.

“Mr. Byers was picked up about an hour ago, on a tip from Mr. Enright. Good work, by the way, on the part of that investigator of yours, Nick.” Carpenter tipped the brim of his hat in Nick’s direction. “Anyway, Mr. Byers sure had a lot to say. Why, he was still talking when I left to come over here, and he told me what you were up to tonight. The bottom line is, I suspect that he is going to distance himself as much as possible from you, him being our star witness against you and all that.”

Maris laughed harshly.

“You must think I am incredibly stupid.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing we’d say about you,” India muttered.

Ignoring India, Maris scowled and told the chief, “I know this routine. I’ve seen it a hundred—a
thousand
—times on TV. The cops separate the suspects, they tell each of them that the other blamed the whole thing on them. … I’m not falling for it. Lucien would never—”

“He already has. We have his statement describing how you lured Ry to the Lighthouse that—”

“How?” India’s head shot up.

“Well, Lucien tossed some little pebbles to Ry’s window to awaken him. When Ry got up to look out, the first thing he saw was the light at the top of the tower. Of course, he went to investigate, just as Maris knew he would do. When he reached the top of the steps, Maris was waiting for him.” Chief Carpenter recited the story as Byers had related it to him. “Maris flashed the light directly into his eyes, blinding him, so that she could push him over the railing. I’m sorry, August, India.” He nodded to the Devlin women, then added, “Byers says he had no idea that Maris was going to kill Ry.”

“That’s a lie!” Maris all but spat at him. “I told him that was what it would take to get Ry out of the picture. It was her”—she pointed to India—“that he didn’t want to kill.”

She snapped her jaws shut, realizing that what she said was tantamount to a confession.

“I want a lawyer. I am not saying another word until I have a lawyer.”

Carpenter turned to the young officer who had accompanied him to the house. “Help her up, Sergeant. Easy now with those cuffs. We don’t want a lawsuit for excessive force.”

“You were right,” India told Nick, “that whole land-scam thing was a fraud.”

“I don’t understand.” August sighed deeply and sank to the steps.

“Byers thought it was too risky to kill India after having killed Ry,” Nick explained. “But he needed access to the beach if he was going to be able to get around the restrictions on the number of horseshoe crabs he needed to get his hands on. The only way to get to the beach was through India.”

“Horseshoe crabs?” August exclaimed. “Why on earth did Lucien Byers want a supply of horseshoe crabs?”

India related the importance of the ugly crustaceans to her aunt, then added, “I guess he knew I’d never willingly sell off the beach, and so he had to find a way to get me to turn some portion of it over to him.”

“Right. He was betting that you’d eventually offer him a settlement before you would let the Devlin name be touched by scandal.”

“I can’t say that it wouldn’t have worked.” India sighed.

“Except that Maris got antsy,” the chief told them. “It was taking too long. She decided to go ahead with her own plan and kill India. The Twelfth Night Ball presented the perfect opportunity. She hid on the grounds, watching for a chance. She thought she’d found it, there in the gardens.”

“Except that it wasn’t India,” Nick said softly.

“Poor Dar.” India’s eyes filed with tears.

Carpenter motioned to the officer to take Maris out to the waiting police car.

“You were here in the house one night when I was here alone,” India called to Maris. “It was you that I heard on the steps.”

“More than one night. I even left you a little calling card once.”

India frowned, trying to recall.

“I left one of Ry’s records on your bed,” Maris told her.

“Weren’t you afraid of being seen by someone who, unlike Corri, would know that you weren’t a ghost?”

“I just couldn’t resist.” Maris shrugged. “It was all part of the game.”

“Was terrifying Corri just part of the game too?” India’s eyes began to blaze.

“I needed a source of information from within the family.” Maris shrugged indifferently. “I still had a key to the house, so I used it.”

“You frightened her.” India stood up, her fists clenching, and Nick took her arm, protecting her from the possible consequences of taking one more swing at Maris. “You let her believe that she was your daughter.”

“You mean she isn’t?” Nick and August asked in unison.

Before India could answer, a tiny, trembling voice from the top step asked, “She’s not my mommy?”

“Corri, sweetheart, come here,” India said gently, holding her arms out to the child who stood wide-eyed, surveying the scene below: two police officers, Maris in the doorway with her hands cuffed behind her back, everyone else in nightclothes.

“She’s not my mommy?” Corri repeated.

“Sorry, kid, I know what a disappointment it must be, but no, I’m not,” Maris said, cocky even now.

“Who is my mommy?” a confused Corri asked.

“A cousin of Maris’,” India told her. “She died when you were very small. That is, assuming that that wasn’t a lie too.”

“That wasn’t a lie,” Maris told her.

“So I don’t have a mommy at all.” Corri’s tiny face darkened as she pondered this latest bit of news.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, that you had to find out this way.” India sat down and pulled the little girl onto her lap. “But it doesn’t change things. You are a part of this family, now and always.”

“Oh, please!” Maris rolled her eyes. “You Devlins are all alike.” To the sergeant she said, “Get me out of here before the music begins to swell in the background. I can’t take another minute under this roof. I’d rather be in jail.”

“Well then, we’ll be more than happy to accommodate you.” The chief pointed to the door.

Without a backward glance, Maris was gone.

“Corri, I know this must come as a big shock,” India told her. “I know it must be hard to find out that the person you thought was your mother isn’t really.”

“No.” The word was muffled somewhere in the area of India’s shoulder.

“No, what, sweetie?” India asked the child.

“No, it’s not hard, that she’s not my mommy.”

India looked from August to Nick.

“You’re not upset to find out she’s not?”

“I’m
glad
that she’s not. She was scary.” Corri raised her head to look into India’s eyes. “Mommies are not supposed to be scary.”

“Did she scare you when she came into your room at night?”

“She didn’t!” August exclaimed.

India met her aunt’s eyes over the top of Corri’s head and nodded that it was, in fact, true.

“It scared me because she said if I told you that she was there, that she would make people come and take me away.” Corri lifted a teary face, and India’s heart nearly broke.

“Corri, no one can take you away. You belong to us. Ry adopted you, remember?” India cradled the child in her arms.

“But Ry died. She said they would take me and give me to someone else.”

“You are not going anywhere, Corri Devlin. I promise you that.” India kissed the top of her head and rocked the girl slowly in an ageless, maternal motion.

“Indy.” Corri sat up suddenly, as if something of great import had just occurred to her. “Little girls need to have a mommy.”

“This is very true.” India bit her lip, watching the old light begin to return to Corri’s face.

“You could be my mommy.” Corri twisted one of the buttons on the front of Indy’s nightshirt.

“I suppose I could.” India nodded, as if contemplating the possibility.

“And
you”
—Corri turned and pointed at Nick—“could be my daddy. Ollie said it’s better to have both.”

“Hmmmph.” Nick sat down next to them on the step, rubbed his chin thoughtfully and winked at her. “Ollie just might be on to something.”

“Corri, I think that we should—” India began.

“That we should all give this some thought and talk about it tomorrow.” Nick spoke as much to India as to Corri. “But right now, I think we should all go back to sleep. It’s been a very busy night for all of us.”

“Indy, would you tuck me in?” Corri asked.

“You betcha.” India held out her hand to the child.

“’Night, Nick.” Corri pressed a kiss to his cheek and started up the steps. “‘Night, Aunt August.” Corri covered a yawn with a small fist.

August patted the tangle of strawberry-blond curls as they passed her on the steps.

“Oh, the havoc that that woman caused in this family,” August said angrily as she went the rest of the way down the steps. “To think of what she did to my boy … what she did to that precious child … to Darla …”

“Well, there’s some consolation, somehow, in knowing that she’s not Corri’s mother.” Nick watched August pick up the fireplace poker and return it to its place in the sitting room.

“Hmmmmph,” August snorted. “No surprise there.
Non
generant aquilae columas.”

August locked the front door, then went to the back of the house to check the back door, leaving Nick standing in the hallway to translate on his own.

He smiled as the meaning became clear.

Eagles do not bear doves.

“I thought you might be down here.” Nick’s long legs covered the short distance from the top of the dune to India’s spot at its base in two strides.

She patted the space beside her on the sand and he sat down.

“I love it here this time of the year.” She sat with her elbows resting on her upraised knees. “I love all of it—the
bay, the marshes, the tiny islands out in the inlet, the lighthouse. I love all of it, all of the time.”

A slight breeze bent over a broken stalk of goldenrod that had, in late summer, graced the dune with color. Its flowers long dried and browned, the grayed wand waved along the sand, leaving a trail of tiny swirls to mark where it had been. India picked at the dried seed head.

“It won’t be long before the dune will be all greened up again.” She pointed to the yellow clumps of beach grass, the ragged little stand of bayberry with their scrawny limbs, the sea rocket that the breeze rustled along the sand like tumbleweed.

He watched her face but did not offer comment. He liked watching that soft glow come over her eyes.

“It’s so peaceful here,” she went on, in a contented, lazy voice. “But in another month or so, the birds will be back to nest and to breed. It’s such a vital place.” She pointed in the direction of his cabin, but he knew she meant the salt marshes that lay next to it and behind. “Man has messed with the marshes in every conceivable way over the years. We’ve drained them, dredged them, redirected them, polluted them. But it always comes back. It has to. It’s too important a link in the food chain. It’s taken us hundreds of years to recognize what the Indians who lived here knew. Every tiny organism has its place. Every worm and every crustacean. They’re all part of the whole. And I love every bit of it.”

A lone gull swept down, low over the water, searching for a last meal in the late afternoon. The sky was just beginning to turn slightly darker, the palest blue easing deeper, the lavender light just taking the first steps toward fading to purple. In the distance, the lighthouse rose majestically, casting a serene shadow on the waters.

“I spoke with Chief Carpenter about an hour ago,” Nick told her. “It seems that even Maris’s marriage to Ry was a fake. They arranged for a phony justice of the peace to perform the ceremony. After she ‘drowned,’ she lived with Byers.”