Partners In Crime (40 page)

T.S. stared at her, astonished. Sheila knew
she was adopted, but didn't know who her natural mother was. But if
the killer wasn't Patricia Kelly's daughter, who was it?

"You have to tell me," Sheila pleaded.
"Please, Mr. Hubbert. How did that necklace get on her grave? Mr.
Boswell had it with him that day at the marina. He made me meet him
there and I agreed, but only to beg him to leave me alone. Sergeant
Perry can back me up, he was waiting in the car." She leaned so
close to him, he could smell the shampoo in her hair. She fumbled
in her purse and produced the silver spoon paperweight. It hit his
desk with a dull thud. He knew immediately what it was and where it
had come from. "This was on the grave, too," she explained. "You
have to tell me what this has to do with my mother lying to
me."

"Anne Marie lying?" He said it tentatively,
but even as he uttered the words, the truth became apparent. He had
been blind. Where was Anne Marie now?

"I'm afraid," Sheila admitted, wiping her
nose unconsciously on her sleeve like a young child. "She's not the
same anymore. I told her I recognized the photo of that woman and
Mom said I was crazy. But it's her. That's my Aunt Patricia."

T.S. stood up abruptly  and stared out
the doorway. Frank stirred uneasily, and looked nervously over his
own shoulder.

"What is it, Mr. Hubbert, sir?" he asked
T.S.

"Anne Marie!" T.S. called out loudly, toward
the door. "Anne Marie? Are you out there?"

"There's no one there, sir. The department
is empty. Kind of spooky, in fact." Frank stared from T.S. to
Sheila.

"We've been so stupid," T.S. shouted on his
way out the door. Frank was pushed aside roughly and caromed off
the door frame, crashing into a racing Sheila. She was already
following T.S. The guard straightened his hat on his head and lost
no time sprinting after them.

T.S. raced toward the elevators but saw that
the doors were closed. He ran through the darkness, pursued by the
others. He reached the fire stairs, burst through the heavy door,
kicked the doorstop out of the way and scrambled down out of sight.
The door clicked shut behind him, locking. Sheila and Frank pounded
on the other side screaming, but T.S. heard not one sound.

Auntie Lil. Where was Auntie Lil? And where
was Anne Marie? He would check her desk. He would warn Edgar Hale.
He would find Auntie Lil in time.

It was his second race down the steps
against time that day, but this time the prize was beyond
value.

"How do you know it was one of us?" Edgar
Hale pleaded in a desperate voice.

"Because, contrary to what you tried to make
her out to be," Anne Marie replied in acid tones, "Patricia never
slept with anyone else before you and your friends. And no one for
a long time after. Not until she changed. Not until she began to
believe all the things you said about her. She loved Robert. And he
used that love to get her to Magritte's that night. He broke her
heart first and then her mind. You helped. She told me everything
before she died. It was your idea, wasn't it? Your idea. You didn't
think she was good enough to be a future partner's wife. You wanted
to prove to Robert that she was trash and when he wouldn't believe
you, you made her trash.'' She inched closer to Hale's desk,
dragging Auntie Lil along.

If she kept her body very, very still,
Auntie Lil could draw in small puffs of breath through her nose
without being noticed. Concentrate on something else, she thought.
Forget the cruel cloth twisting off your breath. Concentrate on the
throbbing in your ankle. She began to count each stab of pain,
unable to relieve the pressure.

"You said it yourself," Hale pointed out
quickly. "She slept with us. She knew what was going to happen when
she agreed to meet us. She went along with it. She liked it. Look
what she did with all those men afterward. That's proof she liked
it."

Oh, dear god, Auntie Lil thought to herself.
Does the fool have a death wish? If only she could speak.

"Liked it? Went along? Is that why she hid
herself from me for a week? Told me she had fallen down her
basement steps when I asked her about the bruises? Is that your
idea of going along?" Anne Marie extended the gun closer toward
Edgar Hale and the senior partner began to shake. "You destroyed
her. What she did with all those men in the years afterward was
your fault. She thought that was all she was worth because you
taught her that. You. And you destroyed Robert, too, long before I
did. Destroyed the love he had for her, leaving only guilt. Guilt
that he thought flowers could satisfy. At first, I thought his
guilt would be enough. I sent him letters pretending to be
Patricia, tortured him that way and enjoyed his pain. But then I
realized that it wasn't enough. He'd have to die. All of you would
die."

"Think of Sheila," Hale cried, holding his
hands up in front of his face. "She's still your daughter. You love
her."

"I am thinking of her. Believe me. I
followed Sheila to the marina last Sunday. John Boswell lured her
out there. My daughter. It wasn't enough that he helped destroy my
best friend. He had to go after my daughter, too. I'd seen him
sniffing around her. I knew it was going to happen again. That's
when I understood that I'd have to stop all of you. You all thought
it was your right to play with other people's lives. If I hadn't
taught Sheila not to trust men like you, she might have gone out on
the boat with John. When she refused, I knew he'd keep trying. I
knew. I had to stop him, I realized. For good." She laughed, an
ugly barking laugh that went on too long and too loud. "After she
left, it was so easy to get him to take me out on that boat. It was
still so easy."

"But if what you say is true, you could be
murdering Sheila's father if you kill me." Edgar Hale trembled
uncontrollably, his chair quivering on its hinges.

"Gee," Anne Marie replied in a sympathetic
voice. "I really hope so." She shook her head in mock sadness. "I'm
only sorry Patricia isn't here to enjoy this with me. I let her
help, you know. I used the drugs she gave me at the hospital to
poison John. I thought it was only fair. She would have liked that,
helping me kill him. She never could bring herself to hate Robert
but she never stopped hating the rest of you." She steadied her
pistol and squinted one eye in aim. "And you helped, too. I called
Sinclair and said you wanted to meet him somewhere private.
Somewhere like his summer home. It was so easy to do. But don't
worry. I'll make it quick. One shot. That's all it took for Stanley
Sinclair. My husband was good for one thing, you see. He taught me
how to shoot like a regular Annie Oakley."

At exactly that moment—just as T.S. flew
breathlessly through the swinging doors—Herbert Wong exploded out
from behind the curtains, one leg reaching in a savage kick that
slashed at Anne Marie's wrist and knocked the gun aside.

The retired messenger dropped to the ground
and scrambled away as the pistol exploded with a booming shot. The
sharp crack swelled in the room and reverberated in waves of sound
that rolled across the Main Floor.

Edgar Hale shouted and dove beneath his
desk. Auntie Lil twisted, grabbing at the sleeve and digging her
good foot into Anne Marie's instep. T.S. leapt from the doorway
onto Anne Marie's back, knocking her to the floor and dragging
Auntie Lil down with them into a whirling blur of legs kicking and
hands grasping. T.S. rolled on top of Anne Marie and her
fingernails raked at his face. Blood blinded him and he had to
relinquish his grip. He could feel her pulling free. She stood and
reached for the gun.

A panting Herbert Wong rose and took a
running dive, tackling and knocking Anne Marie to the carpet again
as he shrieked in Chinese. He straddled her, his forearm locked
across her neck, and pinned her firmly to the floor. She tried to
raise her head only once before giving up and staring soundlessly
at the ceiling, tears trickling down her cheeks.

The near silence that followed the fight was
eerie. Auntie Lil and T.S. sprawled on the rug together, both
breathing heavily. Slowly Edgar Hale peeped his head above his desk
and stared at the scene before him. "Who are you?" he barked at
Herbert Wong, and T.S. would not have been surprised if he'd cried
out "Friend or foe?" instead.

Herbert looked down at Anne Marie, as if to
warn her not to move, and eyed the senior partner angrily. "I work
for you for fifteen years, that's who I am. This whole damn thing
is your fault."

"Herbert's a retired messenger," T.S.
hastily explained. He, too, stared at Wong. "What are you doing
here?" he asked him, not ungratefully.

"You tell me I can be of no help, but I know
better," the messenger explained simply.  “I follow her to
make sure she's okay." He nodded at Auntie Lil and she nodded back.
Anne Marie flopped beneath him and he gripped her arms tighter.

"Don't move!" a loud voice shouted. Edgar
Hale dove beneath his desk again.

Frank, the security guard, stood in the
doorway in a classic pose, his knees bent and his gun extended in
both hands.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" T.S. cried. "For
god's sake, Frank. Don't shoot."

"He won't shoot." Sheila's voice wavered as
she stared at her mother. She entered behind Frank and put an arm
on his shoulder. T.S. turned just as she reached for Frank's
gun.

She touched the barrel lightly with a
finger. "Keep your gun on her," Sheila ordered sadly, walking over
to the fireplace and staring down at her mother's discharged
pistol. She picked it up curiously by the edges, turned it over in
her hands, then slowly raised it to her face and examined it more
closely before turning it toward T.S. Tears welled in her eyes and
she did not notice that he flinched. "Dad's gun," she said softly,
handing him the still-warm piece. "Oh, Momma.”

"It's okay," she told her mother sadly,
kneeling beside her on the floor. Sheila smoothed the hair from
Anne Marie's forehead, but her mother's eyes remained unfocused,
tears trickling from the outer comer of her eyes into the soft
curves of her ears. "We've got her covered. Mr. Wong, I think it's
safe to let her go."

Herbert Wong moved slowly off of Anne Marie
and the sobbing woman shut her eyes. "I did it for you, too," she
told her daughter in the silence. Her voice was blank, devoid of
emotion. "I didn't want the same thing to happen to you."

Sheila lifted her mother's head and placed
it gently in her lap. She continued to smooth the hair from her
mother's forehead. She looked up at the others, who waited silently
and respectfully in a semi-circle around them. "Mr. Hale, call the
cops," Sheila reminded him quietly. Her voice wavered and she
sighed, looking back down at her mother. "Momma, I'm sorry. I'm so
sorry that it was you. I love you very, very much."

Anne Marie opened her eyes again and stared
blankly at her daughter. Sheila raised her face and gazed at T.S.,
pleading for his guidance. She was hurting but she was also ready
to do what was right. The glint of steel in her intense, smoky
green eyes was unmistakable.

T.S. knew one other person with eyes like
that. He turned to Edgar Hale and his suspicions were confirmed—the
resemblance was exact.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Sheila
slowly turned away from her mother and stared at Edgar Hale. Their
eyes met and they blinked at one another in slow, unwanted
recognition.

"She's crazy," Edgar Hale sputtered,
emerging from behind his desk. He pointed to Anne Marie. "Patricia
Kelly was confused and ill. This whole mess has been because of
nothing."

"Has it?" Sheila's eyes half-closed in anger
as she scrutinized Edgar Hale. He froze and stared back into a face
whose resemblance to his own, once suspected, was clearly apparent.
"My mother did what she did because she loved me and she loved her
friend too much," Sheila said evenly. "What's your excuse?"

Edgar Hale's mouth opened but no words came
out. Everyone in the room stared at him in silence. He ran his
tongue around dry lips and swallowed. They still stared.

"I don't know why we did what we did," he
finally whispered in an old man's croak. "I don't know why we did
it."

"Then shut up and sit down," Auntie Lil said
firmly.

Edgar Hale did just that.

They held the victory dinner at Harvey's
Chelsea Restaurant, although T.S. considered it a Pyrrhic victory
at best. But when Auntie Lil pointed out that at least they had
indisputably triumphed over Lieutenant Abromowitz, T.S. agreed that
a celebration of some sorts would not be too unseemly.

Auntie Lil invited Lilah Cheswick without
telling T.S. first. He retaliated by insisting Herbert Wong be
there.

"Of course," Auntie Lil had agreed
enthusiastically, promptly puncturing his revenge. "I'd love to
have him join us. He should be the guest of honor!"

T.S. wore his dragon tie and was highly
annoyed when Herbert Wong did not even notice. In fact, he hardly
paid T.S. any attention at all. Perhaps it was Auntie Lil's hat.
She had truly outdone herself this time. T.S. was afraid to ask if
she had concocted it on her own. If there were others in existence,
it was best he not know.

The hat was as big and round as a manhole,
made of bright green straw and centered by a flat crown piled high
with enough fake fruits, vegetables and flowers to constitute an
entire bicentennial exhibit of Midwest agricultural products. T.S.
was tempted to ask that the hat be seated at its own table, perhaps
upstairs, where it had a chance of being mistaken for the buffet
and somehow spirited away.

The hat was not going anywhere. Nor, it
seemed, was Auntie Lil's coat. There was the usual tussle at the
coat check area, with Auntie Lil finally consenting to relinquish
the coat only after Herbert Wong promised to keep a faithful eye on
it during their meal.