Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie (25 page)

So, the letter she’d found in Thomas’s office had not been about her at all. It was Lorna who was Thomas’s daughter, and he’d lured her to Mayhem with a job opportunity, but was killed before he could officially claim her.

Poor Thomas. He must have had so many regrets, having had a real daughter all those years, never aware, never able to take care of Lorna the way he’d taken care of her.

Of course, everything made sense now. She’d been in denial for so many years. Even in the face of
the evidence, she had stuck to her hopes rather than her reality.

Thomas Heyworth was not her father, and that was that.

God, she could be stubborn. Why hadn’t she seen the truth? Max saw it, had tried to tell her, but no, she’d been convinced she was right.

She laughed softly. Being a strong woman had its advantages. It also had a few perils. Once she got an idea into her head, it seemed it took a very hard slap of reality to knock it out again. She had been such an idiot. A blind, terrified, selfish idiot.

Pushing herself out of the chair, she strode purposefully through the house until she found him. He stood with his back to her, polishing the already sparkling silver tea service that sat in the antique cabinet in the dining room.

He must have sensed her presence because he turned to her and smiled, as he always did. She cocked her head. He was tall and handsome, and had summer blue eyes, just like hers.

Yes, she was truly an idiot.

“Edmunds,” she said, her voice suddenly gone dry.

“Hello, Evangeline,” he said softly. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Without warning, her eyes grew moist. She tried to say the words, but they got stuck in her throat and wouldn’t form.

“You are distressed?” he said, alarm clear to see on his face. “What’s wrong, my dear?” He moved toward her and placed his hand on her arm.

She blinked away her tears, then squared her shoulders.

“Th-There’s something I need to know, Edmunds,” she stumbled. “And I believe you are the only one who can tell me.”

He looked at her, then her meaning seemed to sink in and his eyes grew aware. Nodding once, he said slowly, “Yes. I believe you are right, my child.” She nodded slowly, letting the words seep into her soul.

My child
…

“I should be mad as hell at you, Edmunds,” she said, almost under her breath.

He set the teapot and polishing cloth on the table. “I realize that,” he said quietly.

“I’ve had a living, breathing father all these years, but you never said a word. You let me think Thomas was my father
…
Why?” Her mouth felt tight, but she didn’t want
to hate Edmunds, not now. Espe
cially not now.

“I tried a thousand t
imes to tell you, Evangeline,” he said. “You must understand, I didn’t know about you, not until your mother died. Upon her death, an item appeared in the obituaries. It stated she had left behind a daughter of eleven. At that very moment, I did wonder, but assumed Maggie would have told me.”

“Why do you think she didn’t?” Her eyes burned, her heart hurt, her voi
ce trembled. But the truth…
the truth, at last, had come out. It was as though she could take in a deep breath for the first time in her life.

Remorse shaded the blue of his eyes. “Maggie O’Dell was determined to live by her own rules. She didn’t want anything slowing her down, tying
her to a place she did not wish to be. Perhaps she feared I would want to be a part of her life if I knew about you.”

Evie nodded. That sounded like her mother all right.

“I was thirty-six. She was twenty. Beyond beautiful. One might say ethereal. Full of life, and glorious in her youth.” He shrugged. “I cannot say exactly how it happened, but one night, it simply did. I fell in love with her. I gave her my mother’s necklace, the one you’re wearing now.”

She reached up and touched the warm gold, tears choking her, making speech impossible.

Edmunds let go a long sigh.
“When I saw that she had died, I
talked
to Thomas, told him a former em
ployee had passed away and left a young daughter. No other family had been found. I asked him if he didn’t think it charitable to see if the child needed anything.”

He smiled, his affection for his late employer obvious. “Thomas barely remembered Maggie. After all, she hadn’t worked here that long.” He paused, then sought her eyes. “Imagine my surprise when he returned with you and announced he had made arrangements to have you live here as his ward.”

She tilted her h
ead. “When did you know I was
yours?”

“Instantly,” he whispered, the word like a prayer on his lips. “Not only did you have my mother’s eyes, you were wearing her necklace. And, more importantly, Magg
ie had named you Evangeline May
Randall. That could not have been a coincidence.”

“Why?”

“My mother’s maiden name was Randall. May Randall. Maggie knew that. I told her when I gave her the necklace. I wanted to marry her. I believe that’s why she left soon after.”

Evie nodded, letting everything he said settle into her bones. She wa
s in shock and hungry for infor
mation. But she knew that soon her shock would merge into anger, and she wanted to fight it as long as she could.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you were my father, Edmunds?”

He walked to the large window overlooking the sea. Past his shoulder, dark clouds moved toward shore, urged on by turbulent winds.

“I didn’t tell you who I was because I had nothing to offer you.” His shoulders lifted in a helpless way. “Thomas didn’t know you were my daughter. He’d already made you his ward. He had the finances and the social status I lacked. It was obvious you adored him, right from the start. I knew I would never marry and give you a mother. I did have hopes Thomas would remarry, but he never did after Lillian died.”

“Max’s mother.”

“Yes. She died only months before you came here. Maybe Thomas was trying to fill that void with you, I don’t know. At any rate, I thought it best just to leave things as they were.”

“When Thomas was killed,” she said, “why didn’t you tell me then?”

He doubled his fists and held his arms straight at
his
sides. Turning to face her, he cried, “Because I am a coward! Because you loved
him
and I feared I
Could
never take his place in your heart. I had let
too
much time slip by. I was wrong, Evangeline.
I
loved
you so, I was terrified you would hate me. I
had
convinced myself you would never want to
have
anything to do with me once you knew the truth.”

Tears filled his eyes and slid down his flushed cheeks. “I am so sorry,” he choked softly. “Can you ever forgive me? Can I do anything to make it up to you, make things right again?”

Edmunds stood before her, a man tormented by guilt and remorse. What could she say to him? How could they move past such a monumental barrier between them?

Then she remembered Max’s words.
If you search your heart, I th
ink you'll realize that you’ve
known the truth all along. You know it now, right
this minute. Don't you, Scout?

Edmunds stood, terrified, waiting, torn to pieces by what he had done, and not done. But she had
been
just as guilty. Sh
e’d had every clue, every op
portunity, and had ignored it all.

Stubborn. Yes, she was stubborn all right.

Going to her father, she sli
pped her arms around
his waist and lay her head on his chest. Beneath her ear his heart pounded like a fist on a wooden door.

Let me in,
it said.
Please let me in.

Slowly, his arms ca
me around her. He lowered his
head
until his cheek rested on her hair.

“I think we’ve both made some mistakes,” she
whispered. “But I’ll forgive you, if you’ll forgive me. Papa.”

His only answer was a tightening of his arms around her as he sobbed softly into her hair.

It was all either of them needed.

Chapter 24

D
ear
D
iary:

I
saw this movie on
TV
today that
I
figured was
g
oi
ng
t
o be about some c
ar race. It didn’t have any spe
cial
effects, explosions, animals, children or anything!
The
man and
the
woma
n were perpetually arguing and s
eemed to hate each other. Then
they had a horrible fight and he g
rabbed her and kissed her, and then they fell in
lov
e.
It was the best movie
I
have ever seen.

Evangeline—ag
e
1
3

M
onday came and went, as did Tuesday. The storm that rolled down from Canada stalled out over the peninsula, keeping the sky in turmoil. Fists of wind punched at the house, rattling the windows. The eaves whistled from the force, like the eerie lament of a banshee.

The sea was high. Huge waves sucked away the sand on the north side of the island as massive surges thundered in, pummeling the driftwood piled against the low rock cliff. The bay was so rough, travel to and from Heyworth Island had become impossible. Inside the house, the air held a damp, salty bite.

Because the Stanleys were stranded in town, Evie and Lorna stayed busy in the kitchen preparing meals. Max, Dabney, and Edmunds helped out by doing the dishes, while Madame Grovda paced and mumbled to herself, her forehead beaded with perspiration, her eyes wide with alarm. Whenever Evie asked what was bothering her, she muttered in Russian, crossed herself, and wandered away in obvious but incomprehensible distress.

Together, Max and Evie had gone through
Door
-
to-Door Death
no fewer than four times, but they still couldn’t figure out where Clue Number Six was hidden. The other two teams had lost their trails completely and all but given up.

By Friday morning nerves were tightly stretched. The hunt was sched
uled to end the next day at mid
night, and if none of the teams made it to Clue Number Seven, not only would Thomas’s fortune be lost, a killer might escape.

Then, just before noon, the winds died down and blue sky emerged between the clusters of gray and black clouds. Mrs. Stanley arrived and, even though she seemed tired and distracted, immediately went to work preparing lunch.

“Earl didn’t come with you today?” Evie asked as she put away the dish she was drying.

“No,” the cook said, then rubbed her eyes. “Bad cold. I, uh, it’s been rough. Soup and crackers.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Mrs. Stanley shook her head and silently continued on about her business, so Evie went into the library to wait for Max.

Tugging a slim volume of verse from the shelf, she collapsed into the nearest chair, letting the soft leather envelop her, making her feel like a small child snuggling into Grandma’s lap.

Her vision blurred. Ironic, since she’d been blind for so long. She’d been so focused on one possibility, she hadn’t seen the truth literally staring her in the face
…
or laughing at her over her tea set, or pushing her on the swing behind the house.

Edmunds was her father. She smiled a watery smile to herself. Of
course
he was.

She opened the cover of the book and tried to concentrate, but there were so many puzzles all tangled up in her brain, the words on the page became an inky haze. In frustr
ation, she closed her eyes…
and saw Max.

The mere thought of him sent ripples of delight through her bod
y. Love, fresh and new and brim
ming with possibilities, made her heart light. A moment later that same heart sank like a rock.

Sure, she was head over heels in love and it felt beyond good. But within a few hours the hunt would end, and Max would return to Olympia. He hadn’t said anything about wanting to see her again, or whether he had any feelings for her. Her heart told her he did, but it sure would be nice to hear him say it.

She sniffed away her tears, opened her eyes, and ran her finger do
wn the crisp page. Love was won
derful, being in love sublime. It was also nerve-wracking and tense. She wanted to pluck a daisy from its stem and do a he-loves-me, he-loves-me-not petal pull. However, she knew the outcome was determined less by Cupid’s will than by whether the flower contained an even or odd number of petals.

Math. Damn. Sometimes, being a schoolteacher took all the mystery out of things.

Releasing a long sigh, she forced herself to forget about Max for the moment, forget about romance and the possibility of a future together, forget about treasures and clues and her inability to analyze them, forget about her newly discovered father, about the chasm losing Thomas had created and the fact that somebody had made three attempts on her life. She pushed e
verything away and tried to con
centrate on the most important task at hand— identifying a killer.

She hadn’t killed Thomas, and neither had Max or Edmunds. That left Madame Grovda, Dabney, or Lorna. Surely, Madame Grovda could be ruled out, given her age and the complete lack of organizational skills it would take to pull off a murder.

Lorna? She was probably out, too. Since she knew she was Thomas’s daughter, what possible reason would she have had to kill him? Well, there was the money. Lorna hadn’t said so, but maybe she had proof Thomas was her father, and if so, the estate would go to her sooner rather than later. Yet if all that were true, what motive would Lorna have for killing Evie?

Then there was Dabney James. Evie rubbed her temples. What did she know about him, except that he and Max didn’t seem to get along. Thirty-something, handsome, boyish, and totally incompetent at impromptu poetry. He must have worked like a demon for months to polish his published works enough to have them acceptable to an editor, because his spur-of-the-moment stuff sucked mightily. Even so, she didn’t see him as the type—if there was a type—to plan and commit murders. And what would have been his motive?

Of course, there was Felix Barlow, though why he’d want Thomas dead was a mystery. Maybe he hated Thomas, maybe he wanted his money, too. Barlow was a relatively wealthy man, so getting his hands on the Heyworth millions seemed like an implausible motive, but stranger things had happened. But if Barlow
had
killed Thomas, then he’d also plotted to kill her. Why?

And there were the Stanleys. The cook and the gardener. Evie’s understanding was that they had been handsomely provided for in Thomas’s will. Were they broke? Have expensive tastes? Gambling debts? Did they need to get their hands on the money, and hadn’t wanted to wait for Thomas to die?

Evie let her head fall back against the chair as a frustrated sigh escaped her. She lifted her gaze to the window.

It was growing dark, and the yacht was still gone. She wished Max were there. She wanted to talk to him about her suspicions.

As soon as the weather had cleared, Max had gone to the mainland. “Police business,” was all
he’d said. “Edmunds and James will keep you safe until I get back. None of the cell phones can get a signal, the land lines are down, and I need to talk to McKennitt. I’d take you with me, but I honestly feel you’ll be safer here than out on the water.”

His hands cupped her shoulders, but his tone had been gruff, all business. Detective Galloway, on the job.

Then he’d kissed her, and Mr. Police Officer went away, to be deliciously replaced by Mr. Sensuality Who Really Knew How to Kiss, Baby.

“Stay in the house,” he’d warned, and with the weather so iffy, it hadn’t been hard to comply. But after he left, the day had dragged. She’d mulled the clue over in her head, but its solution still evaded her.

As for Edmunds, he and Lorna had been busy in the office going over the estate finances, while Madame Grovda had paced the length and breadth of the mansion, her fingers rubbing her temples.

“I must go to rest,” she moaned. “Not good
…
not good.” Looking deeply into Evie’s eyes, she said, “Be warned. With his prick in his hands, it comes. Like the Shakespeare.”

Evie blinked. “ ‘By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes
…
’
”

“Da, da,”
she’d responded, and made her exit up the stairs.

Suddenly, Evie felt like she’d swallowed a ball of snakes. Her nerve
s went on alert, her palms damp
ened. Madame Grovda was seldom right, yet the woman was obviously in distress. Perhaps she really was sensing peril. Until Max returned, she’d try to be especially aware of what was going on, just in
case. She didn’t have a gun, and could hardly walk around the manor with a butcher knife in her hand, but it wouldn’t hurt to be on the lookout for trouble.

Thinking of the butcher knife led to thoughts of the kitchen.
Hmm. The kitchen.

With a copy of
Door-to-Door Death
tucked under her arm, Evie left the library, went downstairs to the dining room, through the swinging doors, and into the kitchen.
Now what?

She took the fifth clue from her jeans pocket and unfolded it. With this new perspective, several phrases jumped out at her.

…
girls
…
tastes
…
packed heat
…
gal knew
her place
…
good encyclopedia
…

It was sort of a stretch, but she was getting desperate. Thomas
could
have been referring to a kitchen. The novel hadn’t taken place on an island, but in a fictional town on the Olympic Peninsula. If he’d wanted his guests back at Mayhem for the end of the treasure hunt, then it made sense the last two clues were probably hidden in the house somewhere.

She meandered around, wondering where Mrs. Stanley had gone. Such an odd woman. A terrific cook, but a very nervous person. She’d never allowed others in “her” kitchen, and shooed anybody out who came in even for a glass of water.

Evie let her gaze search the place. Large stove on the center island, pots and pans in gleaming copper hanging overhead. Cupboards and cabinets made of the finest oak and crystal, and a stainless steel refrigerator the size of a three-car garage. In the corner of
the kitchen stood a bookcase filled with cookbooks dating back at least a thousand years. Didn’t any of the Heyworths ever get rid of anything?

She let her gaze wander over the titles, until something caught her eye.
Oh my God
…
that has to be it. It has to be.

There it sat, the Woman’s Companion twelve-volume encyclopedia of cookery. She picked up the first volume. The copyright was dated 1960.

Heat began to sizzle up her spine and her mouth went dry. She swallo
wed, then licked her lips. Slip
ping out each volume in turn, she flipped through the pages, carefully feeling under the end papers for an envelope-sized bulge.

And there it was. In the back of Volume 6. You are so lame, she thought, admonishing herself for not going straight to it. Volume 6 for the sixth clue.

Hurrying to the tile counter, Evie pulled a boning knife from the rack and sliced open the end paper, tugging out the envelope.

Rather than some elaborate address, this one simply said
Evie and Max.

She returned the knife to the rack, closed the cookbook, and replaced it on the shelf. She wanted to read the clue right now, but Mrs. Stanley could return at any second. Besides, it would only be fair to wait for Max.

Eh, no it wouldn’t. She’d go to her room and read the clue. Time was of the essence, and it might take some thought to figure out where to look for Number Seven. The
prize.
The answer to
everything
,
if
Thomas had had time to change it, to name his
killer, or at least provide some kind of evidence the police could use.

Five minutes later, her bedroom door closed, she sat on her bed and opened the envelope.

Her eyes flew over the words.