Time Enough To Die (34 page)

Ashley's mind dissolved into static. She heard a quick whimper, realized it was her own, and closed her teeth on it. Her body deflated like an empty balloon and she swayed in Sweeney's grasp. “Why?” she asked. “Why?"

"Why kill you like Linda? Now, now, let's not fail our final exam. Think about it."

"I know too much, right?"

"Very good!"

"But I...” She did know too much. She'd asked to know too much.

He laughed. “It's too late for protests, my dear."

Keep talking,
Ashley ordered herself. Maybe if she went along with him, he'd loosen his grip and she could get away. “You want to frame Reynolds. Everyone suspects he murdered Linda, so you're going to make sure they think he—got me too."

"Just too clever by half, aren't you? Yes, all I have to do is wait until they light the fire and get on with their foolish dancing. Then you and I, my dear, like so many others after a bit of fornication, will retire to the side. No one knows who is here and who isn't. Why shouldn't Reynolds be having himself a bit of a giggle here as well? All I have to do is tuck your headdress and this knife, suitably wiped of fingerprints, into a corner of the Fortuna Stud stable. And presto! Mr. Reynolds is inside."

And I'm dead,
Ashley told herself. “What if Reynolds is hanging out with fifty other people right now?"

"I had a mutual friend send him a message asking him to meet her at her shop in Manchester tonight. He'll take the bait, no fear. Not that she'll be there herself, not at all."

Ashley could swear she'd seen Reynolds’ car in his driveway when she'd left Corcester with Nick. Whether or not the man had an alibi didn't matter now.

"Linda presents herself to me at Imbolc,” Sweeney went on. “You'll excuse my mordant little joke with her, I hope. I simply couldn't resist. And here you are at Beltane. I thought I was going to have to choose someone at random. But no, I can eliminate a threat and fit Reynolds up all at once. It's almost enough to make one believe in the gods."

She was going to scream and fight, Ashley told herself. Even if he stabbed her anyway, she'd trade a flesh wound for freedom.... Her stomach heaved. Maybe if she threw up on him he'd drop her in disgust and she could make a break for it.

She'd trusted him. How could he do this to her?

With a last brilliant skirl of the pipes the music stopped. The air rang hollowly in the sudden silence. And then, down the wind, came the sound of slow, steady, hoofbeats.

The dancers broke ranks. With a collective gasp, they turned toward the entrance to the ledge. The torch guttered in a cold breeze. “What the hell?” Sweeney dragged Ashley to her feet and stood close behind her. The knife was a small one, she saw, but it was tucked beneath the angle of her jaw, just beginning to prick. No surprise she was hallucinating.

Along the ledge clopped a white horse, its coat an unearthly shimmer in the dim light. On its back sat a woman, crowned with gold, gold glowing at her throat. Her face was only a pale blur.

"Rhiannon!” whispered someone, and others took up the murmur, “Rhiannon! The great goddess Rhiannon!"

She reined up. She lifted her hand and scattered stars like gold dust on the upturned faces of the crowd. “Be at peace,” she said in a low, vibrant voice. “Blessed be."

Ashley felt her mouth drop open. Beside her Sweeney gobbled. “What the hell—someone's playing me up...."

"As it was in the beginning,” proclaimed the figure of the goddess, “is now, and ever shall be, world without end."

"No!” shouted Sweeney. “No, it's a trick!” He stepped forward. His grip on Ashley's robe loosened. The knife slipped away from her throat.

Do it!
In a hot rush of anger she jabbed her elbow back into his stomach. His breath escaped in a gratifying gasp. Turning, she lifted her foot, raked her boot down his shin and ground it into his classy leather loafer. He howled with pain. She spun away from him and realized she was grinning with glee—oh God, that felt good. That felt really good.

Three of the white-clad figures leaped on Sweeney. All four fell struggling to the ground. A kick sent the altar flying. Crystals clattered. Candles winked out. Male voices shouted incomprehensible words. The knife went spinning across the stone and bounced off the basin.

Ashley's grin faded. The heat drained from her body, leaving her cold and trembling. “It's all right,” said a familiar voice. She blinked. Bryan's freckled face peered earnestly at her. “It's all over now."

"How'd you get here?” she croaked.

"They came running into the hotel and said you were in trouble. I don't think I was invited, but things were pretty confusing and I kind of jumped into Matilda's car as she was pulling out."

"You came to help me? Thank you!"

"No problem,” Bryan said, with the most open and honest smile she'd ever seen.

A few last heaves and the flailing white robes resolved themselves into four separate bodies. A pair of handcuffs caught the light. Two figures stood up, holding Sweeney, bare-headed now, between them. The third retrieved the knife and said, “I'll take this to the lab straightaway, Inspector. And the professor here to jail."

"You needn't be too gentle with him, Constable.” Gareth pulled off his headdress and threw it down. His red hair glowed in the torchlight.

The other man removed his headdress much more slowly. Nick's dark hair spilled over his forehead. “Ashley, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was him."

She stared at them. So they were here, too, both of them, working together.
Cool.

From along the ledge, past the confused knot of spectators, came Matilda's voice. “Emma, hang onto the bridle for me—carefully, he's a bit spooky—my robe is caught on the saddle."

Like she hadn't known all along it was Matilda.... Ashley's knees gave way. She sat abruptly on the edge of the basin. Bryan sat beside her and draped his arm across her shoulders. Good old Bryan, she thought. The one person in all this mess who didn't have a hidden agenda. The one person she could've trusted all along. She leaned gratefully into his embrace.

Gingerly, Emma held the bridle. Matilda pulled away the thin scarf that had covered her face, hitched her long velour bathrobe over her jeans and clambered down. Her legs wobbled in opposite directions. She clung to the saddle until she regained her balance. The pulse in her mind that had been beating,
Hurry!
was now whispering,
Thank God. Thank God.

She brushed the sparkling metallic confetti from her hands and took the first deep breath she'd taken in hours. Two uniformed constables appeared from the car park to meet Watkins going the other way with a limping Sweeney.

"Filthy bitch,” spat her erstwhile colleague.

"You have only yourself to blame,” Matilda told him.

Watkins and his minions hustled Sweeney away. Gremlin snorted and pranced sideways. Emma squeaked, released the bridle, and dodged. Gareth, divested of his robe, appeared from the darkness, seized the bridle, and cooed reassurances. “Good show,” he said, as much to the horse as to Matilda. “Dead brilliant."

"Thank you for riding Gremlin out here for me,” Matilda returned. “I was every bit as scared of him as he was of me."

"A shame he's the only light-colored one on the farm. After this morning.... “Gareth stopped. “You're all right. So is Ashley. It's over."

Matilda laid one hand on his arm. She couldn't tell which of them was trembling the harder. His dark eyes searched hers. The corners of his mouth tucked themselves into a tight smile. “I'll tie Gremlin in the car park. He doesn't like it here."

Matilda released his arm. “I'll check on Ashley."

The celebrants clustered dispiritedly by the pile of brush. Beyond them, in the trees, faces smeared in and out of existence. Eyes blinked. The green man, Matilda thought. The great god Pan. The ancient powers of the Earth itself. Only she could actually see the faces, but she knew that more than one of the celebrants could feel the indifferent, almost amused, gaze of those otherworldly eyes.

Ashley sat close beside Bryan, in the no doubt comforting circle of his arm. If this didn't make her take notice of Bryan, then nothing would. Groaning, Matilda sat down beside them. “Good move, Ashley, stomping him like that. Are you all right?"

"Yes. Even though I must be the world's biggest idiot."

"You're not half the idiot I am,” Matilda assured her, adding to herself,
if not for Howard's mania for self-dramatization, the girl would already be dead.

Bryan was less shy about voicing his thought. “I was afraid we weren't going to get here in time. When we drove up and I heard the music I was really scared."

"So was I,” Ashley confided.

From several yards away Emma squealed, “No, wait, he didn't mean anything!"

The white-robed figures swirled and parted. Nick dragged a big bearded man forward by the back of his collar and deposited him at Matilda's feet like a cat offering its human a mouse. “Do you know this bloke? Bob, his name is."

"I'm not sure,” Matilda said. “Maybe I'd recognize him without the beard."

"You,” said Gareth, looming up from the shadows. “You're the berk who stabbed Caesar."

Ashley added, “I saw him at the traveler's camp."

"He's never named Bob.” Watkins, too, appeared in the circle of torchlight. “This here's Clive Adcox. Where'd you come from, lad?"

"He's been at the camp for months,” said Nick. “I reckoned he was working with Reynolds."

"He and Linda were both in Howard's class,” Matilda said. “I didn't recognize you with the beard, Clive. You've been Sweeney's muscle all along, haven't you? He sent you to London to keep an eye on me, maybe even to give me a scare. Not that that was necessary to his plot, he just had to see himself in complete control.... Nick, you'd better let go of his collar, he's turning blue."

Reluctantly, Nick let go. Clive looked from face to face. Only Emma's showed any affection. “He told me to watch you,” he wheezed. “I wasn't after giving you a push. The crowd pushed me. It was an accident."

"Killing me would hardly serve Sweeney's purpose,” Matilda admitted.

"That's as may be,” said Watkins, taking firm hold of Clive's arm. “But what about trying to force Dr. Gray off the Manchester road?"

"What?” asked Clive.

Nick stepped back a pace. “That,” he said with a grimace, “was me."

Every face turned toward him. “You tried to kill Matilda?” Gareth demanded.

"Not a bit of it. I was after Reynolds, wasn't I? He drives a red car. I saw him leave that afternoon, and I was waiting for him in a lay-by. In the rain I thought it was him."

"Your judgment being a bit impaired at the time?” Matilda asked.

"I'd had a couple of beers and a puff or two, yeh.” He hung his head. “I never meant to kill him, just scare him. I never meant to scare you. I'm sorry."

She sighed. Nick had turned out to be not James Bond but Charlie Brown. “Apology accepted."

"You, too, come with me,” said Watkins. “We'll need a statement. And then there's a little matter of Adrian Reynolds’ corpse."

"Corpse?” Ashley asked.

"He was killed in an accident this morning,” said Gareth.

"Oh. Well. Sweeney would've had a hard time framing him for killing me, then, wouldn't he? Not that that would've helped me any.” Ashley shuddered. Bryan tightened his grip.

Nick pulled his eyes away from them and gazed around the ledge. “I'll call in tomorrow, Constable. I promise."

"He's learned his lesson,” affirmed Gareth.

Nick nodded vehemently.

Shaking his head, Watkins steadied his grip on Clive's shoulder. “You'll be helping the police with their inquiries, won't you, lad? Hanging about with a murderer. Just think what your mum will say."

Clive's reply was truculent and explicit.

"Now, now,” Watkins remonstrated, “there's ladies present."

Emma glanced at Gareth, more confused than resentful, and trotted away behind the two men. Matilda shook her head sadly—how had the mighty May Queen and her less-than-chivalrous knight fallen. Maybe if they'd been forced into a shotgun marriage....
No,
she thought.

Gareth patted his breast pocket. “Ashley, your mobile was lying amongst the weeds, beside the driver's side door of Sweeney's car. It works much better if it's switched on."

"But I didn't.... Oh,” Ashley said. “He turned it off, didn't he? He probably picked it up right after I got into the car, as soon as I looked the other way."

"I'm sure,” said Matilda, groaning again.

Gareth went on, “We'll need a statement from you, too, Ashley. Thanks to you we caught Sweeney in the act. And you don't mean to say he actually told you his plans?"

"Yeah, I kept talking to him and he pretty much told me everything.” The girl's smile was more wry than smug.

"Oh good, a confession as well!” Gareth beamed down at her.

"Nice bit of play-acting,” Nick told Matilda.

She couldn't mistake the bitterness in his voice. “All rites were play-acting at one time. Here, let me help you set the altar up again. You know where everything goes."

She started bustling about. Slowly Nick responded, arranging the trinkets—excuse me, Matilda chided herself, the ritual items—on the altar. What had St. Peter's altar in a Roman cellar looked like? she wondered. The young peoples’ half-baked religious impulses might in time lead them to an epiphany.

She laid her hand on the gold crescent she wore. “You'll want your necklace back. Thank you for letting me borrow it."

"Keep it,” Nick told her. “I had it off a bloke at Stonehenge, but it's never had any magic in it."

"Until now?” Matilda asked. She lifted the torch down from the cliff wall and handed it to Nick. “Here. It's time you lit the fire."

"Me?"

"All these people came out here for the rites of spring, not for a bust. You're the leader of this group, not Sweeney. He was—well, I guess the word ‘sacrilegious’ isn't too strong."

Nick's stiff face cracked into a smile. “All right, then.” He thrust the torch into the pile of brush. Fire leaped upward. A sigh of pleasure and relief passed through the audience. The bodhran sounded again, hesitantly at first, then with more assurance.