Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie (28 page)

Another sob escaped him, and his grip on her relaxed a little. “He
was everything to me,” he whis
pered. “The world is an evil place, and my brother was good. He was good and he was fine, and that son of a bitch let him die!”

With renewed energy, Barlow raised his hand to slap Evie again, but she lifted her arms, blocking the blow.

“Stop!” she shouted. “I’ll tell you!”

Slowly, he let his arm drop. Shining the light into her face, he said,
“Where?”

Blinking against the bright light, she whispered, “I’ll have to show you. I won’t know if I’m right until I can see for myself. Where does this tunnel lead?”

A second passed, and another, then he turned the light away and shined it down the passage. “It splits again, around that corner. One tunnel leads to a
cave that opens onto the beach, the other to Tommy’s bedroom.”

She licked her dry lips. “That’s where the last clue is hidden. Thomas’s room.”

They moved along at a brisk pace. Considering that Barlow was yanking her by the hair, she tried to do whatever she could think of to slow him down.

Her mind raced along ahead of them. The tunnel was fairly wide. If she could just get free of Barlow, maybe she could make a run for the beach.

Rounding another corner, he halted, shoved her against the wall and clamped his hand over her mouth.

“If you make
one sound
,
”
he threatened, “the tiniest squeak, I’ll shoot you in the gut so you’ll slowly bleed to death. And when your boyfriend shows up, I’ll do the same to him and you can watch each other die. So keep your fucking mouth
shut.
Are we clear on that?”

She nodded.

With his free hand, he pressed the wall, and a panel opened. The lights were still out, the room dark. Nothing stirred.

He turned the flashlight into Thomas’s room. With his fingers still wound tightly in her hair, he thrust her in front of him, then shoved her through the open panel. Against the small of her back, she felt the hard angles of the gun in his waistband.

They stood alone in the enormous room. No one came here anymore, not since Thomas died. Outside the uncovered windows, rain smashed against the glass, driven hard by the howling wind.

Evie’s heart sank. She’d hoped Max had somehow figured out where they were going and been waiting. But how could he? Barlow had destroyed the sixth clue. It would take Max and the others hours to search the place, room by room. By then it would be too late.

And if Max did miraculously show up? Barlow would kill him. Maybe it would be better just to give the bastard the clue he wanted and make a run for it in the dark.

The beam of Barlow’s flashlight moved about the room, touching on the large bed, the cherry desk in the corner, and various oils, watercolors, and photographs that adorned the walls. Above the massive stone fireplace hung a portrait of Lillian Galloway Heyworth, Max’s mother. Evie had always loved that portrait, even though she’d known so little of the woman. She raised her gaze, looked into Lillian’s eyes and saw the woman’s son there
…
Lillian’s son, the man she loved.

“Where is it?” Barlow hissed, releasing her with a shove to the head.

The moment she was free of him, a shadow separated itself from the wall and slammed into Barlow, knocking him to the floor. He dropped the flashlight, its beam making crazy patterns on the walls as it rolled away.

Evie reached along the floor until she felt the rounded handle. Picking it up, she shone it on the two men.

Max rose up, his fist slamming hard against Barlow’s jaw and then into his body. Blood trickled from the lawyer’s mouth and his eyes glazed over.

His jaw dropped, his body crumpled, and he slumped to the floor in a heap. Reaching down, Max pulled the revolver from his limp grip.

Out of breath, Max turned to her, grabbing her, enveloping her in his arms. “Tell me you’re okay,” he choked. “Tell me he didn’t hurt you.”

Her arms wound around his neck and she let herself sink against his strong body. “I’m all right. He admitted killing Thomas.”

“We know,” Max panted. “He systematically robbed him blind, then killed him.”

“How did you find me? How did you know where to come?”

Max wiped a smear of blood off his mouth. “We found Mrs. Stanley wandering around in the dark. She knew about the tunnels. Nate and Lorna went out to the beach to see if he’d bring you out that way. I came here.”

“You were so quick. I didn’t expect—”

“I told you I could run fast.” Though she couldn’t see him well, his voice was rich and gentle, and when he touched her cheek, she turned her face into his warm palm.

On the floor at their feet, Barlow groaned, then sat up. Staggering to his feet, he sneered, “You can’t prove any of it, Galloway. Maybe you can get me on embezzlement, but there’s nothing, not a goddamn shred of evidence, that will tie me to any murder.” As Max turned to face Barlow, the lawyer raised his arm, a heavy bookend clutched in his fist. He swung at Max’s head, but Max ducked, shoving Evie away to safety.

Barlow raised his arm again, to land a massive
blow, when the blast of a gun rang through the room, stopping his movement.

Evie scrambled to cover Max’s body with her own just as Barlow yelled. A second shot echoed through the room.

Barlow clutched his chest, a look of shock distorting his features. The bookend fell from his hand to thud softly onto the thick carpet. Lowering his head, he seemed mys
tified by the bloom of red blos
soming on his shirt. Then, with an amazed little laugh, he dropped to the floor.

With a quick twist, Max rolled Evie under him. The lights flickered, then came back on, illuminating a person standing in the bedroom doorway, a .357 Smith 8c Wesson revolver held tightly in both her hands.

“Mrs. Stanley?” Evie whispered.

For a moment the woman said nothing. Then, “I helped him.” Her voice was quiet, calm, as though she was telling a story to a group of small children. “Did all his dirty work for him. Put the sleeping stuff in the orange juice and the food so’s he could creep around the house with nobody the wiser. His mole, he called me. Gonna be filthy rich, he said. Promised. After all I done
…
he killed my Earl. Tried to kill m
e, too. Left me in the tunnel…
to die. But I got a few tricks of my own.”

“Where’d you get the gun?” Max said as he got to his feet, bringing Evie with him. In the shadows behind Mrs. Stanley, something moved.

The woman let her arms go limp as Nate approached her and carefully removed the weapon
from her hand. She didn’t even acknowledge his presence.

“Gun belonged to Thomas,” she murmured. “I stole it and gave it to Felix. He gave it back to me to hide from the cops.” Her eyes were glazed over and her mouth was slack. She looked like a woman who had absolutely nothing to live for.

Max went to Barlow, knelt, and felt for a pulse. He looked up at Nate and shook his head.

“What about the attempts on Evie’s life?” he said to the cook.

“I found part of a letter, about an heir,” she whimpered. “Told Felix. He was furious. Didn’t want nothing standing in his way, he said. But it had to look like it was an accident. Put him in touch with my nephew, Sam. My sister’s boy, see? I raised him. He’s an expert marksman, so I knew he’d be good at the work.”

Max said, “Sam Ziwicki’s dead, Mrs. Stanley. Felix Barlow killed him.”

Her blank gaze drifted toward the body on the bedroom floor.

“That so?” she mused softly. “Well, that boy never was no good, anyhow. Pork rinds and beer, that one. Just pork rinds and beer.”

Epilog
ue

My
dear Evie:

So, you found it, the last clue. I knew you’d be the one to think of looking behind Lillian’s portrait. You always were smart as a whip.

Take the key enclosed in this envelope and go into my office. Behind the autographed photo of Rod McKuen, Barry Manilow, and me, there’s a hidden safe which contains enough evidence to hang that goddamned Felix Barlow by his balls (if he has any, which I doubt). Not for killing me, God knows, but for the murder four years ago of my friend, Charles Steele. That’s right. Barlow killed his own partner. You give whatever’s in there to Galloway. That cocky son of a bitch will know what to do with it.

Yeah, Galloway. I know, I know. I’ve got no love for that little prick, but Lillian spoke
highly of him, and her opinion meant a lot to me. Lovely woman. A truly lovely woman. Loving her, and losing her, led me to you, my darlin’. She made me see how lonely I was and how I’d wasted most of my life shutting people out. When I learned about you, that you were alone, I thought it would be a fitting tribute to her to give you a home, in her honor. I’ll rest in peace if I know I did her proud.

As for Galloway, if you could see your way clear to falling in love with the bastard and marrying him, that would likely make his mother very happy.
I
think you’re just the woman for that arrogant son of a bitch. Maybe bring him down a notch or two. Even though you’re far and away too good for him.

As for you, Galloway (yeah, I know you’re there), Evie’s too good for you (that was definitely worth repeating), but your mother said you’d turn out to be a fine man someday, so I’ve followed your career and discovered she was right. If you have half the brains you’re supposed to have, you’ll know a good thing when you see it and marry Evie, get her off this island, give her some kids, make her happy. Something I’ve learned along the way is that nobody likes to end up alone. Nobody should, either.

Evie, honey, though you’ve been like a daughter to me, the truth is, I'm not your father. I hope the man who is has finally figured out how to tell you. Don’t be too hard on
him, honey. He adores you. Just sort of go with that.

As for my estate, I could have left it all to you, hut what would you have done with it? You’d have spent the rest of your life on the island avoiding love—much as I have done
—
hiding away with your shy heart and your sweetness and never knowing the kind of joy I found with Lillian. I’d like to spare you that, if I can. Maybe I’m old fashioned, but you don’t need money, honey; you need a good man.

I’d be doing you no favor by making you a rich recluse. I was hoping that, if you won the hunt, you’d already be in love with Galloway and would no longer want to hide away. Besides, I’ve recently discovered I may actually have a daughter, and she, as rightful heir, would be entitled to everything. My dearest wish is that I have a chance to talk to her before something happens to me. If I don’t, it’ll be up to the frigging lawyers to figure it all out. Damn. Even in death, the bastards win.

So, you’ve solved the riddle and conquered the day. Now, my sweet, go conquer life
…

Yours,

Thomas

T
wo weeks later, lying in bed in her sunny cottage in Port Henry, Fer
nando tied in the yard after an
other trip to the Rhododendron Senior Center, Evie moved her hands over Max’s naked back. She loved
touching his strong, smooth muscles, feeling the warmth of him, luxuriating in the essence of who he was by himself, and who they were together.

Being with him, making love with him, was nothing short of miraculous.

“I love you,” she whispered, then bit her lip and waited. She’d said it before, but he’d never said it back. It wasn’t as though she was expecting him to, except that
…
well, she’d pretty much begun counting on him saying it any second now. Any second.

With his upper torso resting on his elbows, he smiled down at her. His hair was tousled, his cheeks flushed, his eyes gleaming. God, he was beautiful.

Cocking his head to one side, he said, “Do you think the probate court will find in Lorna’s favor and award her the estate?”

Any second
…

Evie’s heart fell a bit, but she said, “I don’t know. If she can prove she was Thomas’s daughter, I guess I don’t see a problem. At any rate, Edmunds—I mean, my father
…
I just love saying that—my
father
has decided to retire so he and I can spend some time together, and Madame Grovda is going to stick around, too. She said she, uh, she wants to play with my babies.”

Max raised a brow, but didn’t comment on that.

Evie squirmed a little. “What about Nate?”

“Oh, he probably doesn’t want to play with any babies.”

She chuckled. “You know what I mean. Are Lorna and Nate an item?”

“I guess time will tell. He’s back at work, though, and not composing sucky poetry anymore.”

She ran the tip of her finger over Max’s ear. “I’ve been wondering. Why did Barlow have the real Dabney James killed?”

Max settled himself more comfortably between her thighs. “It’s difficult to know, what with all the major players dead, but according to Mrs. Stanley, when Barlow found out about the treasure hunt, he went absolutely nuts. Maybe he thought by killing off some of the guests, he could throw the game or maybe get it nullified. Nate was working the James case and decided not to let it out that he was dead, but to take his place instead. The fact that the real Dabney James hadn’t been seen in public for years helped a lot.”

“Then how did Sam Ziwicki know who to kill?”

“He probably didn’t,” Max said. “He just went to the address Barlow gave him and shot whoever opened the door.”

Evie kissed Max’s chin. “What’s going to happen to Mrs. Stanley?”

Max lowered his head and kissed her, sending her heart rate up another twenty beats per second. When he was through thoroughly arousing her, he said, “It’s funny about some people. Once they’re caught, they start talking and you can’t shut ’em up. She confessed to helping Barlow for years. He’d promised her a huge cut of the inheritance if she’d spy on Heyworth and report back if anything suspicious turned up, like a possible heir. But in the end, he betrayed her. Killed her husband, then left her for dead,
too.”

He quirked his lips. “Okay, now. On to the really important stuff. Do you think a month is too short
a time to know somebody be
fore you ask her to marry you?
”

A month
? “Are
…
are you talking about us?”

“Of course.” He shrugged. “I wanted to ask you to marry me now, but I thought maybe you’d like it better if I waited a more reasonable period of time.” While she tried to form some kind of answer, he reached for his jeans, crumpled on the floor next to the bed, and pulled something from his pocket. Holding it to his chest, he waited a few moments, then said, “I’m warming it up for you.”

“What are you—”

“Here,” he said. “Lift your head a little.”

Evie did as he asked. He slipped a slender chain around her neck so the metallic disk rested between her breasts. She curled her fingers around it.

His mother’s coin.

“Max!”
she cried. “You put it on a chain? For me? But you can’t give this to me. It was your mother’s and she—”

“Gave it to me,” he finished for her. “I know. But I think she and Thomas would want me to give it to you. After all, it represents something much more precious to me than a mere memento. It’s a part of my heart,” he said shyly. “You can, um, pass it along to our firstborn someday, if you like.”

“Max—”

“About the month thing,” he interrupted softly. “If I confessed my undying love for you now, and asked you to marry me and spend the rest of your life with me, won’t you think that maybe I am the kind of man who leaps before he looks? That maybe
I’m the kind of man who doesn’t think things through before making life-altering decisions?”

She clutched the warm coin in her fingers. “No,” she said tightly. “I’
d think you are a man who is ab
solutely crazy about me and can’t stand to live without me for one second longer.”

“Good enough,” he said, and smiled. “So, we’re going live in three, two, one
…
”

He took a deep breath.

“Evangeline May Randall,” he said gently, tenderly. “I absolutely adore you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Her heart pounded and her vision blurred. “You mean it?” she squeaked.

“Of course I mean it.” His eyes grew serious. “I’m your crab, Evie. I love you. And I’ll never leave you, not even after your shell hardens and you give birth to two million of my children.”

“Oh, Max,” she sobbed, wrapping him in her arms. “You have no idea how I’ve long
ed to hear you say those words.
”

“Well,” Max whispered as he crushed her lips beneath his own, “ooo
-rah
…
”