The Wicked and the Wondrous (38 page)

“Magical girl,” Tara’s voice was drowsy. “You’re our magical girl.”

Jessica leaned over her to kiss her again. “Thank you, honey, I think I need to be magical girl again. I’m going down to the studio. If you need me, come get me.” She needed to go somewhere and think and it always helped when she had a guitar in her hands. Her shoulder was aching, a reminder of the day’s events, as she noiselessly crept down the hall to the wide staircase. The lights were off and the house had grown silent.

Dillon would be waiting for her to come to him. If she was too long he might go looking. She didn’t want to be with him while she sorted things out. He distracted her, made her lose confidence in herself.
Magical girl.
Even her mother had used that name for her because she knew things. She knew things instinctively. Things like when what appeared to be an accident was really something much more sinister. Since coming here she had been relying on Dillon. Expecting Dillon to solve the mystery, to make it all better.

Lightning zigzagged across the sky and lit up the courtyard as she paused on the landing to look out through the glass doors. She could see the fir trees as they jerked in a macabre dance like wooden marionettes. Dillon didn’t believe anyone was trying to hurt the children. Jessica believed it and if she was going to find the truth, she needed to rely on herself and her own judgment.

The sound room was empty, strangely eerie with the glass and instruments in the dark. She idly picked up one of Dillon’s acoustic guitars, a
Martin
he particularly loved. She ran her fingers over the strings, heard the small jarring note not quite in tune. That was what the accidents were like, a note not quite in tune. She had to sort it all out just as she so efficiently tuned the guitar. She played there in the darkness, sitting on the edge of the instrument panel, her mind compiling the data for her. She closed her eyes and allowed the music,
Dillon’s
music, to soothe her as she played.

She slipped a few random notes into the melody. Notes off-key, off-kilter, like the accidents that could have happened to anyone. Anyone. The word repeated like a refrain in her head. Random accidents. Secret passageways. Blackmail. Pieces of a puzzle like musical notations written on paper. Move them around, put them together differently, and she would have a masterpiece. Or a key.

Thunder crashed all too close, the clash of cymbals, the exclamation point after the melody. She opened her eyes just as another bolt of lightning lit up the world. A figure loomed up right in front of her, a dark shadow of terror. Jessica lunged to her feet, gripping the expensive guitar like a weapon.

Brenda stumbled backward with a frightened shriek. “Jess! It’s me! Brenda!”

Her heart pounding too loudly, Jessica slowly lowered the guitar. “What in the world are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. Trevor told me where to find you. You’re the only one who might believe me. I don’t know who else to talk to.” Brenda’s hand shot out, prevented Jessica from turning on the light. “Don’t, I can’t look at you and say this.” She took a deep calming breath. “I wanted to believe the kids were behind the pranks, but I don’t think so. I think it’s Vivian.”

A chill went down Jessica’s spine. Her eyes strained in the darkness to see Brenda’s face, to read her expression.

“I’m not crazy, Jessie. I feel her at times.” Brenda pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “I think the kids or Dillon or maybe me, are in danger and she’s trying to warn us. Vivian wasn’t a bad person, and she believed in spirits. If she could come back to help set things right, she would. I’ve been afraid something was wrong for a while and the minute I came to the island, I was certain of it.”

“You think Vivian is opening windows and drawing magic circles on the floor? Why, why would she do that, knowing how Dillon feels?” Jessica kept her voice very even. She didn’t know if Brenda was attempting to frighten her, or if she really believed what she was saying.

“To protect you. To protect me. Dillon, the children. All of us. It was the only religion she knew.” Brenda leaned closer to her, pleading with her. “Do you feel it, too? Tell me I haven’t completely lost my mind. I don’t want to end up like Viv.”

Jessica carefully leaned the guitar against the wall. She didn’t know if Vivian’s presence was in the house helping her or if the next flash of lightning merely illuminated her brain. Like the notes blending into harmony, the pieces clicked into place.

“Since we came here, the accidents have all been random. I was trying to mold them, fit them into my idea that someone wanted to harm Trevor and Tara. But all the accidents could have hurt any of us. Anyone in the house. Do you see it, Brenda, the pattern?”

Brenda shook her head. “No, but you’re chilling me to the bone.”

“And the cape. The hooded figure. The dog didn’t bark.”

“You’ve lost me. Bark when?”

“When Trevor was buried under the landslide, Tara saw a hooded figure, but the dog didn’t bark. So it wasn’t a stranger hiding on the island, it was someone the dog knew.” Jessica knew she was on the verge of discovery. It was all there for her to see. The pattern in the discordant notes. “Why were only the three of us sick? Why Tara and Trevor and me? None of you were sick.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “It’s the chocolate. My God, he poisoned the chocolate. He did everything. He shot Vivian, he must have, and he covered his tracks with the fire.”

“What do you mean, he poisoned the chocolate? Dillon? You think Dillon tried to poison the twins?” Brenda sounded shocked.

“Not Dillon. Of course not Dillon. You can’t believe he shot Vivian! It was never Dillon,” Jessica was impatient. “You’ll have to call the helicopter, have them pick up the kids and take them to the hospital and tell them to bring the police.” She had to get to the twins, hold them in her arms, make certain they were alive and well.

The next flash of lightning revealed the dark, hooded figure standing so silently in the corner. Jessica saw him clearly, saw the ugly little gun in his hand. The light faded away, but she knew he was there. Real. Solid. A sinister demented being bent on murder. Brenda gave a frightened cry and Jessica thrust the woman behind her. She felt her way along the instrument panel for the switch to turn on the recorder.

There was a moment of silence while the rain came down and the wind howled and tugged at the house. While the gargoyles watched silently from the eaves.

Jessica forced a small smile, forced a calmness she didn’t feel. “I knew it was you. It’s going to break his heart all over again.” There was deep regret in her voice. The knowledge of such a betrayal would hurt Dillon immensely. Some part of Jessica had known all along, but she hadn’t wanted to see it. For Dillon’s sake.

“You didn’t know,” Paul denied, his face so deep inside the hood they couldn’t see him. He presented a frightening image, the grim reaper. All he needed was a long-handled scythe to complete the persona of death.

“Of course it had to be you. No one but you would know that someone was trying to blackmail Dillon.”

“Your mother,” he spat, “was so greedy. The money he gave her to care for the children wasn’t enough. I wrote the checks out to her—she had enough.”

“Not my mother,” Jessica snarled back. “Don was blackmailing Dillon. She came here at Dillon’s request to discuss it with him.”

“I don’t understand,” Brenda said. “Paul, what are you doing? Why are you standing in that stupid cape with a gun pointed at us? And you’d better not be naked under that thing! Everyone’s being so melodramatic! What are you talking about? Why would anyone want to blackmail Dillon?”

Jessica ignored her. She didn’t dare take her eyes off of Paul. He was unstable and she had no idea what could set him off. But she knew he was perfectly capable of killing. He had done so numerous times. “You were the only one it could be, Paul. You had access to all the rooms through the passageways. You’re the only one who has been here on a regular basis. Once I realized the accidents were random, directed toward everyone here, I knew they were designed to send everyone away. The landslide, the Christmas tree, the oil on the stairs. Even the chocolate. You thought if enough things happened, we’d all go away. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You just wanted everyone to stay away from here.” Her voice was soothing, the voice she had used for years on the children, a blend of sweetness and understanding.

“But you wouldn’t go away,” he said. “You brought them back here.
Her
children. Vivian was evil, an evil disgusting seductress who wouldn’t leave us all alone.”

Jessica’s heart thudded. She heard it in his voice, the guilt, the seething hatred. It always came back to Vivian. She knew then. Her heart bled for Dillon. So much treachery, how did one survive it? She wanted to weep for them all. There wasn’t going to be any miracle for the twins or Dillon this Christmas, only more heartache, more tragedy.

“You loved her.” She said it simply, starkly, saying the words in the dark to the man who had calmly walked up the stairs, shot Vivian and her lover in cold blood and locked the other occupants in the room after ensuring the fire was raging.

“I
hated
her! I
despised
her!” Paul hissed the words. “She seduced me. I begged her to leave me alone, but she would crawl into my bed and I could never stop myself. She laughed at me, and she threatened to tell Dillon. He was the only friend, the only family I ever had. I wasn’t going to let her destroy me. Or him. Phillip deserved to die, he used her to get at Dillon. He thought Dillon would pay him to leave Vivian alone.”

“Where would he get an idea like that?” Brenda was far too quiet and that worried Jessica. She glanced at the other woman but couldn’t see her clearly in the dark.

“What does it matter? None of it matters. He chose you. When I knocked you off the bluff and slipped myself, he saved you, not me. I couldn’t believe it. He was never worth it. All these wasted years. His genius. I served his greatness, cared for him,
protected
him,
killed
for him, and he fell for another harlot.” Paul shook his head so that the hooded cloak moved as if alive. “I gave him everything, and he chose you.” He snarled the last words at her, like a rabid dog wanting to strike out.

Jessica forced a derisive laugh. She was inching her fingers along the wall seeking the guitar, her only weapon. “Is that how you lie to yourself at night in order to sleep, Paul? You betrayed him by sleeping with his wife. You probably brought Phillip Trent into Vivian’s life. You let Dillon go through a trial, knew everyone believed he committed murder and yet you could have stopped it by telling the truth. You were responsible for the fire that burned him. You murdered my mother thinking she was blackmailing him. You left him open to blackmail and you arranged accidents that could have killed his children just to frighten them away from him. How in the world is that giving him everything? You made him a prisoner in this house and when it looked as if he might break free you started all over again to try to isolate him from the rest of the world.”

“Shut up!” Pure venom dripped from Paul’s voice. “Just shut up!”

“The biggest mistake you made was going after the children. Your plan backfired. You must have intercepted my letter telling him the children should be with him. You didn’t want them here, did you? They were a threat to you. You wanted me to think Dillon was trying to hurt them, didn’t you?” She looked at him steadily. “But, you see, I know Dillon. I knew he would
never
have killed Vivian or my mother or done harm to his children. So I brought the children here, knowing he would try to protect them.”

“And delivered them right to me,” Paul snarled.

“Put the gun down, Paul.” Dillon’s voice was weary and sad, a melody of smoke and blues. “It’s over. We have to figure out how best to handle this.” Dillon moved through the doorway.

While Dillon was so calm, Jessica wanted to scream. Were the children writhing in agony upstairs, while they talked to a madman with a gun? Her fingers found the neck of the guitar, circled, and gripped hard.

“There is only one way to handle it, Dillon,” Paul said just as calmly. “I’m not about to be locked up for the rest of my life. I couldn’t stand being interviewed behind bars while the band makes it to the top again.”

Jessica knew. She always knew before things happened, even though she had doubted herself. There in the darkness with the rain coming down, she knew the precise moment Paul shifted the gun. She knew he was finished talking and that his finger was squeezing the trigger. Without hesitation, Jessica stepped solidly in front of Dillon and swung the guitar toward Paul with every ounce of strength she possessed.

She heard the bark of the gun, the simultaneous crack of the guitar as she hit Paul hard, and Dillon’s husky cry of denial even as something knocked her legs out from under her. Jessica hit her head hard on the floor. She lay still, staring up at the figure in the hooded cloak. He was bent over, twisted. She blinked to clear her vision. Everything seemed hazy, a weird phosphorescent light was seeping into the room, a mist of colors and cold. The draft was icy, so that she could see the air as a foggy vapor. It seemed to slide between Paul and the other occupants of the room.

Paul screamed, a hoarse dark cry of rage and fear. For one moment the colors shifted and moved, formed the shimmering, translucent image of a woman in a flowing gown reaching out a long thin arm beckoning toward Paul. Dillon moved then, covering Jessica’s body with his own, blocking her view of the strange apparition, so that she only heard the gun as it went off a second time.