Tapas on the Ramblas (34 page)

I glanced pointedly at the cooling cup of tea on the bedside table, most of it gone. Slowly I moved my eyes to Flora's face. I'll never forget the smile on her lips.

It was a smile, but there was nothing joyful or happy in her dull, wan face. Her eyes looked dead, her skin was pallid. Yet the corners of her lips were turned up in a look of...satisfaction? Just then my eyelids drooped as if an irresistible weight was attached to them, an invitation to unconsciousness. I was showing the same signs of drowsiness as Jackson Delmonico had experienced on the bus ride to Pompeii after he mistakenly sipped a poisoned glass of juice. But it wasn't Charity's juice he drank at breakfast that morning. He'd told me it was Dottie's. A glass of tainted juice that I happened to see being delivered to Dottie by none other than her spouse's caring granddaughter, Flora. It was the second time Flora's evil mixture had met the wrong lips.

I focused on Flora's face. "The poisoned tea that Morris drank, it wasn't meant for Charity, was it? It was meant for Dottie."

No reaction. No denial.

"All this time, we thought it was Charity who was being targeted for murder. But it was really Dottie all along. Why? Was it because you and Richard blamed your grandmother for the death of your parents?

You wanted her to suffer the same punishing loss, the loss of someone she loves dearly, just as you had, just as your uncle Richard had. You were in it together from the start, weren't you?"

Nothing.

"And then your first attempt to kill Dottie failed," I said to her. "So you came up with the idea of the cruise on The Dorothy." It had been Flora's voice Alberta heard that first night and every night on the boat.

"No one will believe you, Mr. Quant," Flora said, her voice surprisingly calm and even.

There it was.

The admission.

Flora was no longer playing a game with me, no longer denying that she was the queen of a murderous scheme, and Richard the king.

"I was in the tender with the rest of you when it was sabotaged and attacked. I could have been killed just as easily as the rest of you."

"That's true," I agreed, giving my head a sobering, stay-awake shake. "But that was part of the plan, wasn't it? To divert suspicion away from you. You knew who I was and that I would be looking for someone to accuse of murder. So although you were desperate to finish what you'd already attempted once, you knew it wasn't going to be easy." My voice began to slur. I kept on, determined to get at the truth. "You and Richard wanted three things-to kill Dottie, to get away with it and to keep me out of the way. By pulling the little stunt on the tender you reinforced both the idea that Charity was the true target and that you couldn't possibly be responsible."

Flora's forehead creased into a frown as if she was considering my theory for the first time, or at least a portion of it. Maybe some of what had happened during our cruise was not as it should have been, or not as Flora expected it to be. Flora's fingers continued to mutilate the pillow. "People might believe your ideas about Uncle Richard, but never about me."

"How much did you pay your uncle to help you? You could afford to offer a lot because you'd already received a hefty endowment on your twenty-first birthday. And Charity's will promised you more to come.

GrayPride Tours is in serious trouble. Richard needs the money, badly."

Flora bristled. "He wasn't in it for the money. He was in it for the same reason I was-revenge, for my mother's death and my father's."

"So no money changed hands?"

Again with a frown. "I did give Uncle Richard some money out of my birthday money," she admitted.

"But that had nothing to do with this. It was a loan, to help him with his business problems."

"With more to come as soon as you got the rest of your inheritance-when Charity was dead. The sooner the better as far as Richard was concerned, I'm sure," I goaded her.

"That's not true! We wanted Dottie dead, never Grandmother. Never her! I couldn't kill my own grandmother. But I did want her to suffer and so did Uncle Richard, so Dottie had to die. After the poisoned tea didn't work, I began replacing her heart medication with sugar pills. We thought her heart would eventually weaken to a point where any stressful situation might cause a heart attack and she'd die."

"Stressful like being set adrift on the tender when she couldn't swim?"

"That's right."

"Then why was it Charity that Sicilian was trying to pull off the boat? Why was Charity attacked in the marketplace in Tunis?"

Flora winced. I nervously eyed the pillow in her hands, now a well-worked piece of dough. "I remember you yelling, Flora. You screamed, 'This can't be happening! It isn't right! It's all wrong!' At the time I just thought you were upset about the boat sinking. But it was more than that, wasn't it? Your and Richard's plan had gone awry and when you saw The Dorothy leaving without carrying out a rescue, you began to suspect Richard."

"Of what?" Flora asked, the whites and pinks of her face turning ruddy.

"Of wanting your grandmother dead as well as Dottie." I let her glare at me for a moment, remembering the argument I'd witnessed between Flora and Richard on the Kismet. I kept at her. "The Dorothy didn't rescue us because he didn't want to risk anyone witnessing his real plan: the murder of Charity. I'm sure he had full intentions of coming back for you later. After all, you are his meal ticket. But the Kismet coming along was just convenient happenstance which he used to his advantage.

"You didn't know that Patrick was planning murder. You didn't know it was Patrick sending the threatening notes. Richard probably told you it wasn't him, but after what happened in Tunis and Palermo and the wild goose chase on the ship you couldn't be sure." I rubbed at my slacking face, moulding it into alertness. "You were right. He did plan all those things. He did want Charity dead more than Dottie, but he couldn't afford to let you know that. He suspected you wouldn't go along with it."

Flora remained attentive, but silent.

"So you arranged to meet him on the running deck to confront him with your suspicion that he was double crossing you." I pulled in more oxygen and struggled with keeping my eyelids open. "You fought and Phyllis overheard you. She was visiting Lovers' Lane and heard everything. So you and Richard killed her."

Flora let out an indignant squeak. "That is not true. We did not kill anyone! When I left Richard there was no one else there!"

Not that
you
saw. "Then it was..." And suddenly my voice faltered and grew weak. I made a sound as if I might throw up but didn't. My hands fell limply to my sides as my eyes fluttered. "Rich..."

"Mr. Quant?" I heard Flora's voice washing over me, testing to see if I was still responsive. "Mr.Quant?"

"D-don't," I managed to get out, begging for a life I didn't want to end. My hands and arms and feet quivered, as if trying against impossible odds to resist her, to flail against her, to beat her off. Instead I lay there, trapped in a body that was useless to me.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Quant," Flora said, slowly bringing the pillow up to my face. "You know too much. The others may know about Uncle Richard, but I can't let them find out about me.. .at least, not until I make Grandmother pay for what she did to my parents."

"You...can't...get...away... with..."

"I can," she answered matter-of-factly. "You were ill, still hurting from being stabbed, and you took too much pain medication. Or maybe someone else, the real killer...perhaps Uncle Richard, followed us here and killed you. I'll say whatever I have to. But don't worry, Mr. Quant, this should be painless."

Painless? What was she talking about? She was going to press a pillow over my mouth and nose and hold it there until I stopped breathing! The pillow was coming closer. It was getting so dark. Maybe..

.maybe she was right.. .maybe it would be painless...

"Get off of him, you fucking crazy bitch! Or I'll tear your fucking head off!"

I love Errall.

Through half-lidded eyes I was barely visually aware of what was going on around me, but I could still hear. A blur flew over my bed like a hawk descending on prey and suddenly it wasn't so dark anymore.

Yowling and screeching and colourful curses ensued-all from Errall.

Then I heard someone else. Charity. "Why? Why would you do this?" Her voice sounded like walking on broken glass.
"I
love you!"

"You only love me out of guilt!" This from Flora, somewhere below me. Errall had her pinned to the ground. "You only love me to make up for the love you denied your own child. You pushed my father away, like a stranger you wanted out of your house. He never went back. Not because he didn't want to, but because he knew you didn't want him there. It was the horrible realization that his own mother didn't love him that drove him to drink.That's why he killed himself! That's why my mother died! And that's why I wanted to kill Dottie! I wanted...I need you to feel what that feels like, the horrible loneliness that never goes away."

"Stop it, Flora!" Charity screamed in outrage. "It was because of your mother that your father drank, and because of your father that your mother drank! Not because of me. They were both alcoholics, raving mad alcoholics. When they got in that car that day they were both so drunk they had no idea what they were doing."

"He did know!" Flora spat. "He knew he wasn't loved by his own mother. He knew he was a failure in life. That's what drove him to drink, drove him into that car and over that cliff. There was nothing left for him."

"Of course there was, you foolish girl!" she cried. "He had you!"

For a moment there was silence, then, "By killing himself," Charity said quietly, "he abandoned you, Flora."

"I wonder," Flora asked her grandmother, "where he learned that trick?"

And there it stopped.

"Shut up! All of you!" A new voice. But a familiar one. My new boyfriend was back in town. Richard Gray. He must have slipped in through the garden door. Through the narrowest of slits, I could see that he was holding a gun pointed at Charity. He was out to finish what he started.

"Let her up!" he called to Errall who was still on top of Flora.

"You can't get away with this," Errall told him. "The others are right behind that door. They'll hear the gun fire. Then what, are you going to kill all of us?"

He grinned. "Thanks for the idea. Massacre at the Italian Villa. I can see the headlines now. Now let her up!"

Errall slowly rose to her feet and Flora followed suit.

"What are you doing?" Flora's voice was plaintive. "He said you killed Phyllis. He said you wanted to kill Grandmother, not Dottie."

Richard slowly approached my bedside, his gun unwavering in its target. He stole a glance down at my near-comatose face.
"I
see that damn poison finally did what it was supposed to do. Too bad about the victim." How sweet. Special treat for him next Valentine's Day. Then he turned his back on me as if I was already dead and of little remaining interest.

"He said you wanted to kill Grandmother," Flora repeated herself.

"I've always been there for you, Flora, no one else. Me! Not her! You know this is the only way now that we'll ever see any money. I know it's your money, but you've always been so good about helping me out. I simply can't wait any longer. Do you know GrayPride Tours is being thrown into bankruptcy as we speak? I can't wait for your grandmother to die. And now, with this ridiculous change in the will...you have to understand. We can't let it happen."

"But she's not! She's not changing her will!"

Richard shook his head as if he didn't want to hear it. "It's too late. Too late!"

"No. No. No you can't." She sounded near tears.

I guess Flora was willing to administer poison, fake heart medication, even try to frighten someone to death, but she wasn't into guns. She was willing to off her grandmother's spouse but not her grandmother.

Apparently all murderers are not indiscriminately evil. But I can say one thing: they
are
all dumber than mouse shit. Did she really believe I'd drink any tea
she'd
serve me? I'd tossed most of if out when she went to fetch my water.

Using my excellent position of supposedly being in a poisoned tea-induced coma and behind the guy with the gun, I rose like a phoenix (well, that may be a little overstated) and jumped him, screaming like a banshee (not overstated). Richard fell to the floor and his gun went sliding out of his hands towards Errall's feet. She picked it up, pointed it at our pile of struggling man flesh, and the fight was pretty much over before it really got started. After being misled into a fake relationship with this jerk in order to keep me occupied and pump me for information (and other things), I really wanted to get in a few good jabs, but managed to resist. I knew I'd get him back as a witness for the Crown.

I awoke feeling amazingly refreshed. It was dark outside so I knew I'd been sleeping a long time. After a long shower, I spent a few minutes reminding myself of all that had happened before I nodded off. We kept Richard at gunpoint until the authorities arrived. Flora had grown rather sedate after the confrontation in my bedroom, barely moving or talking to anyone. The police interrogated all of us and then lawyer Errall strongly suggested they leave us alone until tomorrow, especially me who was still fighting an infection I'd gotten as a result of my stab wound. Anthony sent for a doctor friend who examined me, gave me some pills and told me to go to bed. Which I did.

I heard the buzz of voices outside my door and eventually a light tapping.

"Come in," I called out.

The door opened and Charity Wiser stepped into my room.

"Russell," she said. "I heard the shower. I'm glad you're awake. Everyone is worried about you. Are you all right?"

I nodded, surveying her for telltale signs of the emotional ordeal she'd no doubt been through since learning her granddaughter had tried to kill her beloved Dottie. But there was nothing. She looked as put-together and confident as always, as if this was just another fine day at the beach. "I'm okay."

"Good, good. Glad to hear it." She closed the door and came closer to where I was standing near the French doors.

"Tell me what happened," I said. I wanted information, not sympathy. "Why did you come back?"

"It was Errall. That girl saved your life, Russell."

Well, not really. Sure she pulled Flora off me as she was trying to suffocate me. But I had it all in hand.

I expected Richard was somewhere nearby and would make an appearance, so I only pretended to be poisoned, copying the symptoms exhibited by Jackson when he was poisoned. Even so, I could only imagine what Errall's heroics were going to cost me.

"We were talking about things on our afternoon drive to Radda, what you'd learned about Richard, when she suddenly got it into her head that he might still be in Italy, that he might have left The Dorothy early not to go home but to plan one last attack.

She thought he might have followed us to the villa, still after me and, since you'd figured out his involvement, after you too. Of course that meant you and Flora were in mortal danger and she insisted we go back."

Well, she was only half right. Flora wasn't
in
danger...she
was
danger.

Charity turned away then, giving me her intimidating profile to look at for a while. "Oh Russell," she finally blurted out. "You'll think me awful."

Now what? "Does it really matter what I think?"

She turned towards me again, a tiny smile flirting with her lips. "No." She took a moment to straighten her shirt collar. "I need to ask you one more favour, Russell."

Uhoh.

"I'd like you to recant all that you told the police earlier...about Flora and her involvement in this...this sordid affair. You can say whatever you wish about that despicable man, Richard Gray; he should burn in hell, but Flora.. .not Flora."

Certainly Charity understood that this was more than just a simple family misunderstanding. It was murder. I was done putting the fractious pieces of my case together, including Flora's not insignificant role in it, and now it was time to let the authorities take over. "Charity, there has been a murder and several attempted murders, of you and Dottie."

Her breathing was jagged and her eyes darted around the room. She knew what she was about to beg for was all wrong, but she was desperate. "Russell, please no. There must be another way."

"Charity, no. No." Sure Dottie hadn't actually come to physical harm, but that didn't excuse Flora for wanting it so, no matter how tough a childhood she or her father had had. I hadn't heard the rest of the confrontation between Charity and her granddaughter before she'd been taken away, but I could guess it had been filled with bitter recriminations, guilt and festering anger, some called for, some not. But in the end, there was no defence for what Flora had done or intended to do. She and Richard had set in motion a plan that led to Phyllis' death and much violence. "Flora must be held accountable, Charity. You know I'm right."

Charity lowered her chin in one last offensive move, setting her bright eyes on mine. "Russell, do you remember what I told you in Barcelona, on the Ramblas? About the tapas?"

I gave my head a shake and shrugged my shoulders. What was she getting at?

"Tapas," she reminded me, "were created to keep a lid on things. That's what I want to do now. Can't you understand?" she pleaded, her voice scratching against its naturally poised grain. "This is a family matter. I'll deal with it in the family."

Did she think she was Tony Soprano or The Godfather or someone like that? Get real! Did she really expect me to agree to cover this up? As I searched her eyes, I knew the answer was no. She was simply in denial over how this had ended. When she hired me and then agreed to the plan for the Charity Event on The Dorothy, this was the last result she ever expected. It could not have been easy to admit to herself that not one, but two members of her family had wanted her dead or to suffer. She was reeling from that knowledge, wanting to somehow make it all go away, wanting to protect her granddaughter, to somehow preserve Flora as she once believed her to be.