Grace Against the Clock (A Manor House Mystery) (25 page)

“You’re amazing.” He gave me a smile. “It’s a good thing you got here when you did,” he said. “I’m closing up right on time tonight. Joyce Swedburg called a little bit ago. Wants me to stop by.”

“Joyce? What’s up with her?”

“It’s about the Promise Clock again. She said that the workers who are refurbishing it found some cache of documents hidden in a secret compartment beneath the actual mechanism. She wants me to come to her office to take a look at them.”

“Why doesn’t she bring them to you?”

“That was my suggestion, but she swears I have to come to her.”

I didn’t like that. “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“Joyce is odd.”

“What time are you meeting her?” I asked.

“Ten.”

“That’s late.” All of a sudden I was getting a very strange feeling about this meeting. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“I think I can handle her,” he said. “Although I’ll admit that Joyce can be a spitfire sometimes.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I can read exactly what you’re thinking on your face,” he said. “But remember, it’s Joyce we’re talking about. She believes the sun rises and sets based on her schedule.”

“What exactly does she want you to look at?”

“I wish I knew. She’s being coy.”

“Maybe you should alert Flynn.”

He burst out laughing at that. “And tell him what? That I’m going to visit one of the wealthiest socialites in Emberstowne? He’d probably accuse her of being a cougar and wish me the best of luck.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Trust me, everything will be fine. Flynn arrested the guy who killed Dr. Keay. And you probably heard that charges against Joyce have been dropped. You and I both agreed that she’s hardly the murderous type. I’m safe.”

I started to interrupt.

“Beside, I’m not going alone,” he added quickly. “David Cherk’s going with me. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Wait. What? Why?”

“She wants him to photograph the box of documents as we open it. It’s not quite as dramatic as the door in your basement, but as the head of the historical society, I ought to be part of it. More important, I
want
to be a part of it.”

“I don’t disagree with that, but every bit of this is crazy. Who calls meetings at ten o’clock at night?”

His voice rumbled. “Rich people who don’t care about other people’s schedules or needs. We know that’s an accurate description for Joyce.”

He was right about that and I could tell I wasn’t going to sway him. “Cherk won’t be much help if you get into trouble. I’d bet he’d run. Or try using you as a shield.”

“Would it make you happier if I rescheduled my meeting with Joyce for another day? I’ll do it if you want me to.”

“It would,” I said, massaging the bridge of my nose. I’d never seen Joyce as the killer and I still didn’t. The Cherk twist was what had me most concerned. “I’m probably being foolish.”

“Then I’ll reschedule for a saner time of day.” He glanced up at the clock. “I’ll call her in a minute. Let me go in the back and get the storage box for these first. I won’t be long.”

He disappeared through the same door Adam and I had gone through when we were here looking for the newspapers in the first place. I’d been so sure that they would hold a clue. And when the one edition had been stolen—or more likely misplaced, as it appeared to have been now—I’d been doubly convinced.

I wandered behind the counter to take a closer look at the wall of drawers, imagining all the secrets they held. As I edged past the desk that had been tucked into the nook, I caught another look at the photograph Wes kept there. His wife, he’d said. I picked up the picture. He clearly missed her. I remembered the day he talked about how she’d—

I felt the
zing
up my back first. I’d seen this photo. Recently. I pulled the framed picture closer to my face. The shot had been cropped. Studying it closely, I could see that another person had been cut out and only a shoulder was visible. The top of the photo had been cut out as well. Very little of the background had made it into the frame, but what remained was distinctly recognizable.

Above Wes’s wife’s smiling face was the edge of the arch on the outskirts of Emberstowne. The arch that housed the Promise Clock.

I raced back to the newspapers, pulling out the one I’d studied over and over, the one that had been misplaced. I turned to page four.

There she was. Wes’s wife and another man standing together, their arms around each other, smiling big. “All the Time in the World,” the mini-headline read. I took a closer look at the caption. “Lynn Reed and her husband, William, pose beneath the Promise Clock. ‘We’re so happy to be here,’ Lynn said. ‘After my surgery Tuesday, Dr. Keay says I’ll have all the time in the world.’”

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

I needed time to think this through. But Wes would be back any second.

He’d told me that his wife had died of an aneurysm. He’d never mentioned Dr. Keay. The picture of Wes’s wife was in color. So, who was this man in the black-and-white version in the newspaper? I pulled it closer. Thin, lanky, clean-shaven. It took a long few seconds, but I recognized Wes. Five years younger, forty pounds lighter, no beard.

Had Wes killed Dr. Keay? Could this simply be some weird coincidence? Why was his name different in the caption?

My heart thudded so loud that my ears hurt. I struggled to steady my breath. I could hear him moving about in the other room. In a moment he’d be back through the door and—

The photo burned in my fingers. I spun and raced over to the desk, dropping it back onto the surface in such a hurry that my shaking hands knocked it over, making it clatter. Biting my bottom lip to keep from whimpering, I righted the frame, straightened it as best I could, and made for the open space between the counters.

The newspapers. I’d left them open. I spun back, reaching over to slam the paper shut. I didn’t want him to know I’d put it together. Maybe there was a perfectly good explanation. Maybe I was overreacting.

I could worry about that later. All I knew was that I had to get out. Now.

The E
MPLOYEES
O
NLY
door opened and Wes emerged. He dropped the box onto a nearby table and hurried to my side. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

My face was flushed, sweat burst forth from every pore, and my breath came in short bursts. I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came out.

In a heartbeat, I watched his gaze dart from the messy pile of newspapers to the photo on his desk. Comprehension washed over his features. “Oh, Grace,” he said. “You couldn’t have waited one more day?”

“One more day?” My words came out high and limp. “Sure.” Reaching to gather the newspapers, I mustered a cheery tone. “I can bring these back tomorrow. No problem.”

“Grace.” He took a step closer. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. I can see it in your eyes.”

I was still between the countertops. Holding up a finger, I said, “Don’t make it worse. Don’t compound the crime.”

“I was afraid this might happen,” he said. “Don’t move, Grace. Please.”

He didn’t break eye contact and I couldn’t get around the counter without pushing past him. “You told me your wife died of an aneurysm.”

“She did,” he said. “Now back up. Please. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will.”

I backed up, banging my behind on the desk. He pointed to the drawers that held my house plans, far along the wall. “Take a couple steps that way.”

As I inched sideways I toyed with leaping over the counter. It was too high to make it in a smooth vault and there wasn’t enough room for a running start. I couldn’t fight him in hand-to-hand combat. Wes had the advantage of height and weight. He’d take me down in a second.

Never shifting his attention from me, he slowly reached into the nearest desk drawer, dug beneath a sheaf of papers, and pulled out a gun.

“I had a feeling,” he said.

All the blood in my body rushed to my feet. This man, someone I’d considered a friend, had killed Dr. Keay and now was about to kill me. “I’m telling you, Wes, we can talk this out—”

“No talking,” he said quietly. “There are things I want you to know, but first I need to take a few precautions.”

“I don’t understand.”

Keeping the gun trained on me, he made his way to the front door, where he flipped the O
PEN
sign to C
LOSED
and slammed the dead bolt home. He then dimmed the lights. “One thing at a time. I need you in the back room. Hurry up.”

This was a very quiet part of town. Any faint hope of a passerby seeing me in here faded as I made my way through the E
MPLOYEES
O
NLY
door. The windows were high and I didn’t remember an exit door from the last time I’d been in. I wished I’d paid better attention.

I walked slowly, constantly checking over my shoulder, hoping to buy time. I needed to think of a way out of this. Nothing came to mind. “Stop,” he said when we reached a study table.

I stopped.

He pulled out one of the table’s heavy wooden chairs. “Right here.”

I turned. “You want me to sit?”

“Yes, please.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Grace, I don’t want to hurt you. You’re an innocent and you should stay safe. I’ll make you sit if I have to, but I’d rather not.”

Stay safe? With the gun pointed to my chest, I couldn’t come up with any way around it. I sat.

“Here’s what will happen,” he said. His words were soft, but his voice trembled. “I’m going to tie you up. Tape you up is more like it.” He reached over and grabbed a wide roll of duct tape he had sitting on top of a box nearby. “I planned for this contingency. I worried that you might figure everything out before I was done. When you brought that newspaper back tonight, I knew you had.”

“But I didn’t. That is, not until just now.”

“Either way, you’re an impediment. I have to keep you securely out of the way until the job is finished.”

“Finished? What else do you have left to do?”

“You really haven’t figured it all out yet, have you?”

Using his teeth to help rip long stretches of tape from the roll, he maintained a vigilant hold on the gun. Every ounce of my being urged me to bolt. To run. But I knew I wouldn’t get four steps away before he’d take me down.

“Hands behind your back, please,” he said.

I complied, dropping them onto the seat behind me.

“It would be better if you brought them together around the back of the chair,” he said, as casually as anything. “Your reputation for overpowering your captors makes me skittish. I don’t want to take any chances tonight.”

I placed my hands around the back of the chair. It was wide enough to make the positioning uncomfortable, but narrow enough for my wrists to cross. He wound a long piece of tape around them.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve never done this before.”

Hoping his ineptitude would work in my favor, I tried to keep my wrists far enough apart to buy me wiggle room later, but he must have sensed that. He snugged them tighter. Once taped, they didn’t budge.

“I’m not going to put any of this over your mouth. There’s no chance anyone will hear you, even if you scream bloody murder.”

That didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.

He must have read my mind because he said, “No, really. When I first moved here, I originally planned to lure Dr. Keay into this back room. I did sound testing first, to make sure I’d be able to deal with him in private. The stuffed bookshelves work as an effective acoustic barrier.”

“Why didn’t you kill him here?”

“The more I thought about it, the more I realized that, as delicious as the prospect was, there was no way to accomplish that and still get away with it,” he said. “The location would make me suspect number one. But it all worked out for the best. My patience paid off. Killing him during the clock fund-raiser turned out to be poetic justice.”

“Would your wife be proud of what you’re doing?”

“She’s not here to answer that, is she?” he said with a flash of anger. Softening his tone, he continued, “You need to understand: I’m not a murderer at heart. I hope you can appreciate that.”

I said nothing.

“I know you’re disappointed in me and I suppose I can’t blame you. But don’t you agree that the world is better without slime like Keay and his pretentious ex-wife in it?”

“You’re going to kill Joyce, too?”

“One more day,” he said. “Couldn’t you have given me one more day?”

He ripped off a strip as long as his arm, and reached for my right ankle with his gun hand. I tried kicking the weapon away, but he simply dropped the gun and grabbed my ankle tight. I couldn’t get up because my hands were back behind the chair.

“Grace.” This time his voice was a warning.

I stopped fighting, concentrating instead on figuring a way out.

He didn’t say much more as he taped one ankle, then the other to the legs of the chair. “There you go,” he said when the job was complete. “Comfy?”

I didn’t answer.

Standing, he picked up the gun and placed it on the table next to me. Far away, though. I couldn’t have reached it without a stretch, even if my hands hadn’t been bound.

“Joyce didn’t call you to meet her tonight, did she?” I asked.

His shoulders came up. “A lie. One of many.”

“Like your wife dying of an aneurysm?”

“That,” he said, pointing a shaking finger at my face, “was true. If she’d had the surgery she’d been scheduled for, he would have found it before it stopped her heart. He could have saved her.”

Wes’s eyes grew red. He worked his lips. “Lynn had had heart problems for years. When we flew out here for our consultation, Dr. Keay told us he could fix her.” Blinking, he fought to speak over his choking voice. “He told us—no, he assured us—that Lynn would have a normal life. That she’d be transformed, forever. That we’d have all the time in the world. He lied.”

“Aneurysms are tricky things,” I said. “I’m no medical expert but—”

“If she had had the surgery, she would have lived,” he said through clenched teeth. “But she didn’t get her chance because the old lush had to go out and get drunk. Had to get in an accident. Because he was in jail, he couldn’t perform the scheduled surgery.”