Sooner or Later (23 page)

The door handle squeaked and Bruno’s ears pricked up. He struggled to his feet, back stiffened, staring at the door.

“Stop showing off, you silly boy,” Miss Lottie said fondly. “It’s only Maria.” She turned her head, smiling. “Come on, Maria, you’re missing the program. What’s been keeping you?”

The door swung slowly open. Her faded blue eyes clouded with concern. “Maria? Are you all right?” She searched round for her cane. “Where are you, Maria? What’s going on?”

Bruno’s mouth drew back in a snarl. A tremor of foreboding shivered through Miss Lottie’s veins.

Growling like a lion, Bruno hurled himself through the open door. There was a sudden popping noise. Miss Lottie heard him whimper, then he turned and staggered slowly back. His trusting eyes were fixed on hers, life
fading from them, as he sank down with his head on her feet.

His blood gushed over her slippers. Miss Lottie bent, touched his soft fur, stroked him lovingly with a trembling hand. Her heart was breaking.

Lifting her head, she looked into the eyes of the masked man standing in the doorway. A tall man, huge in his padded ski jacket, frightening in his mask. There was a gun in his hand. Pointed at her.

Anger flared in her eyes. “You shot my dog,” she said, her voice cold as chipped ice. “There was no need for that. He was old and harmless. If you’ve come to rob me, the safe is in the wall in the dressing room, over there. It’s never locked.”

“I know.”

His voice was low, almost a whisper. “Who are you?” She stared imperiously at him, refusing to show her fear. “And what do you want? I’ve told you where the jewelry is, what there is left of it. Surely there are richer houses to rob around here, than mine?” She looked down at her dog, choking with pain and anger. “Only a coward would come into the house and frighten two old women, kill a dog …”

The hand holding the gun wavered.
She was meant to be afraid, terrified, begging for her life. Instead, she was telling him what to do, ordering him around, acting as if she were in charge. “Go get her,” the
voice inside his head commanded.
“Tell the old bitch who you are, what you intend to do, make her grovel. She is nothing now. And you are power.”
His blood throbbed with that power, it was zinging round his veins, pumped double-time by his thundering heart … he could hear it, hear his own blood, pounding in his ears …

“Put down that gun at once,” Miss Lottie commanded.
“Take what you want, then leave my house. Though I don’t know what you expect to find here.”

“I came to find you, Miss Lottie.” Buck laid the gun, obediently, on the lamp table.

Miss Lottie gripped her cane firmly as he took a step toward her. It was her only weapon and she intended to use it. She was an old woman and not afraid of dying, but she would go when her time came, and not before.

Buck wanted her to see him, to understand
who
he was.
Then
she would know fear. He pulled off the ski mask. “Take a good look, Miss Lottie,” he said mockingly. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen this face.”

Miss Lottie stared into his dark, deadly eyes. Seconds ticked past. “Of course,” she said at last. “I couldn’t put my finger on it at the Biltmore, though I thought there was something familiar about you. Now I know, it was the eyes. You can’t change those, Buck Duveen.”

“And you don’t change either, Miss Lottie. Still playing the dowager queen. Only this time there are no faithful retainers, no armed guards to come running to save you.”

“You’re quite wrong,” she lied firmly. “The security patrol will be doing their rounds any minute.” But she knew there was no patrol. And no Maria and no Bruno anymore. No one to save her. She had almost nothing to lose, except Ellie. If she died, she would never see her again, and she couldn’t bear that.

Buck was silent, watching her. There wasn’t even the hint of a tremor in her voice.
She was still not afraid of him.
“You old bitch.” His face was in hers. “You had me put away for half my life, while you and the girl lived here, in splendor, enjoying yourselves.”

“You were locked away because you were mad,” she replied calmly. “Now I see it was a mistake, a kindness on my part that went wrong. I should have let you go to
jail instead. Let you be prosecuted for the terrible things you’ve done. Let you be branded for what you are.
Murderer.”
She smashed the cane across his face.

Buck shook his head, spattering droplets of blood. Staggering back, he put his hands to his eyes, half blinded with pain.

Miss Lottie knew there was no escape. She could not run, but she had to warn Ellie. She had only moments.

Opus ‘n’ Bill still cavorted across the computer screen. Her fingers trembled as she found the keys and began to type
D U V E E E E E E E.
Buck’s powerful hands fastened around her throat and her finger stuck on the
E.

“Bitch,”
he muttered, his whole body trembling with power,
“lying rich bitch.”
Her flesh was pliant under his fingers, he could feel it bruising, feel her fragile bones snapping, feel the blood in her veins slowing. But her blue eyes never wavered from his. It was as if she were mocking him, saying, “See, even now, you can’t win. I’m not afraid.
Murderer
… you’ll never be one of us
… murderer …”

“Close your eyes,” he
howled,
“close your goddamn eyes, can’t you.”

But Miss Lottie did not close her eyes. Not even when she was dead.

Buck let her drop. Still trembling, he looked at her. He breathed a jagged sigh of pure pleasure. He had dreamed so often of seeing her like this.

His blood spattered over her as he dragged her into the dressing room, then took the pearls and the few rings and brooches from the open safe and stuffed them in the pockets of the ski jacket.

The sweat chilled on his body as he stared triumphantly down at her. Then he knelt beside her, and carved his sign into her forehead. He had won. Finally, the prize would be his.

T
HE SIMPLE JOURNEY SEEMED TO TAKE FOREVER.
I
T WAS
dark and the coastal fog had socked in when Ellie finally swung the little car off Highway
101
and headed up Hot Springs Road. Mist wreathed like gray ghosts through the trees as she drove up the long, curving driveway. She had always liked the welcoming sound of tires on gravel, but somehow, tonight, in the fog and the deep silence, it sounded lonely.

A faint light shone from her grandmother’s curtained window, and she breathed a sigh of relief, guessing the phone was out of order. She parked the car, walked up the steps and tried the door. Thank goodness, tonight they had remembered to lock it. Fishing her key from her pocket, she opened it and went in.

Usually, a lamp was left burning, but the front hall was in darkness. Surprised, she switched on the lights. “Maria, hello,” she called. “It’s me, Ellie.” She waited, expecting Bruno to come waddling down the stairs to greet her. “Maria?” she called again.

•   •   •

Buck opened the French windows, swept aside the gauzy white curtain, and looked out at the land that would soon be his. As if to help him, the mist rolled back and the moon flickered palely on the gardens.
And on Ellie’s yellow Jeep, parked in front.

His sharp indrawn breath raided in his throat. He hadn’t heard her drive up, he couldn’t let her find him here … but it was too late, he could already hear her calling for Maria, her footsteps on the stairs. He stepped quickly through the French window onto the balcony.

In the hall, silence wrapped around Ellie like a blanket and goose bumps prickled up her arms.

“Nothing’s happened,” she reassured herself, taking the steps two at a time. “They’re watching TV and didn’t hear me. Two old ladies, they must be getting deafer.

“Gran, it’s me …” Flinging open the door, she almost tripped over the dog. She took a step back, her shoes sticky with blood. Bruno’s dead eyes stared back at her.

“Ohhhhh
…” The breath caught in her throat.
“Bruno”
she whispered, shocked,
“oh, Bruno …”
The hair at the back of her neck stood up as she dragged her eyes from him and looked warily round the room.

Entertainment Tonight
was just winding up loudly, on the TV, and Opus ‘n’ Bill cavorted across the computer screen.

“Gran … ?” Her voice wavered. She took a hesitant step toward the dressing room, saw her grandmother’s bare foot. Her eyes widened with shock as she sank down next to her, seeing the horror of her butchered face, her open blue eyes, the bruises, the blood-matted silver hair … “Gran …” she cried … It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be happening, not to Miss Lottie.
… She could hear someone whimpering, as though from a great distance.

Buck heard her cry out, a wild, thin, whimpering sound. He’d never heard anyone scream like that before, not even when he went to kill them. He wanted to run to her, put his hand over her mouth, stop her. He knew if she saw him, he would be forced to kill her, and it wasn’t time yet. Still, it would be such exquisite pain to kill the one you loved.

Through the gap in the window, he saw her backing out of the dressing room, her arms outflung as though she were pushing away the horror she had just seen. The window curtains bellied inward in a sudden gust of breeze and she swung round, crouching, her eyes fixed on the window.

Sweat beaded his forehead. It was moment-of-truth time. If she walked out the door, she lived. If she came toward him, she would die. The blade was cool against his palm, ready.

Ellie was frozen, her legs refused to move, she stared at the billowing curtains … something out there caught the light, glittering…. Suddenly the adrenaline of terror gave her feet wings and she turned and fled.

Buck sighed happily as he stepped back into the room. Tonight, his beloved Ellie lived. He heard her running across the hall, the door being flung open, the engine as she started her car.

He glanced at the silver-framed photograph on the nightstand. Ellie’s eyes gazed into his, her lips curved in that dazzling smile. A smile meant just for him. Sweeping it into his pocket, he hurried from the room.

He ran noiselessly back down the stairs, through the hall to the kitchen. The lock clicked shut as he closed the door behind him. Keeping to the shadows, he jogged easily back across the croquet lawn, past the tennis court
and the gaping wound in the ground that was the swimming pool. Through Waldo Stamford’s carefully planted copse of silver birch, through the rusty gates near the old laundry, and back down the horse trail to his car.

He sheathed the knife, removed the ski mask and folded it into his pocket with the latex gloves, then took off the bulky ski parka and locked it in the trunk. Driving out onto the empty road, he was careful not to speed. He guessed Ellie had taken the quickest way back to town, and he took the upper road that followed a circular route.

Whistling his favorite tune, he was a happy man. Lottie Parrish was dead, and he had not had to kill the woman he loved.

Back at the hotel, he left the car on the street and returned to his cottage, where he showered and changed his clothes. He inspected the wound on his cheek. A couple of butterfly Band-Aids took care of that, then he swaggered into the bar.

Phase three was complete. The double Jim Beam tasted like nectar that night.

T
HE
E
XPLORER CRUISED SMOOTHLY UP
H
OT
S
PRINGS
Road, and Dan smiled as he swung between the massive pillars with the griffins. Ellie was right, you couldn’t miss them, they were big enough for Buckingham Palace. Too late, he saw the yellow Jeep coming at him. Slamming his foot on the brake, he threw the wheel to the right. The Jeep sideswiped him and, tires screeching, skidded into a tree.

“Jesus Christ, Ellie, now I know you’re crazy,” he yelled, furious.

Ellie jumped from the car, her eyes blinded with tears. It was the killer … she had to run…. She heard his footsteps, pounding after her, getting closer. He was almost on her … he grabbed her shoulder. She swung round, hand fisted, and, like a world champ, caught him a crashing blow to the jaw.

Dan grunted as painful stars flickered before his eyes. “What the hell’s gotten into you, have you gone completely crazy?” He grabbed her by the shoulders, keeping
a wary eye out for that right hook. She was fighting him off, screaming hysterically.

“No … no … no …”

“Ellie,” he yelled. “Ellie, stop it.”

Something penetrated her terror-fogged brain. Fists still clenched ready to strike, she looked at him.

He could feel her trembling. “It’s okay,” he said, gently. “You’re all right, that’s all that matters. It’s only a car, even if it is a new one.” He smiled encouragingly at her, but there was no answering smile.

It was all mixed up in her mind, all a jumble … how to say it … how to tell him … the words wouldn’t come out straight….
“It’s Miss Lottie … dead … murdered … the dog …”

He was holding her away from him, looking into her eyes, unbelieving. “Wait a minute, Ellie. Are you saying
you saw that)”

She gulped back the sobs she knew were going to choke her.
“I saw her, I saw … oh God, oh my God …”

Dan pulled her close, holding her, remembering that the old ladies lived alone and were careless about security. Could she really have been murdered?

“I’ve got to go in there and take a look,” he told her quietly. “I want you to stay in the car. Lock all the doors and don’t make a move.”

She shook her head, afraid to be left, and afraid to go with him.

He sighed, putting his arm around her as he walked her back up the road to the car. “Okay, but I don’t want you to go in there again,” he said. She shook her head, an obedient child.

The front door stood wide open, just as she’d left it. She stood in the hall, watching him walk up the stairs to that terrible room. He was going to turn round, smile at
her, tell her it was all a mistake and she had dreamed it … she knew that was what was going to happen. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stop the scream.