Better Homes and Hauntings (32 page)

He’s gone too far this time. This afternoon, he showed me a bundle of my jewelry he took from the safe in Gerald’s closet. He’s babbled on and on about an “escape” for the two of us in two weeks’ time. He has timed it for my birthday party, Gerald’s attempt to make up for the horrid “coming-out” party we had a few months ago. Jack expected me to praise his cleverness, to begin planning along with him. And when I didn’t, he acted like a spoiled child, turning red in the face, shoving me into my room, and telling me that I had to “think about the consequences of making the wrong decision.”

“Well, it makes sense,” Jake said from his perch on Deacon’s office couch.

“How does that make sense?” Deacon asked.

Jake shrugged. “Maybe some of the things we’ve attributed to Gerald have been Jack? The rage he feels toward Catherine? The hostility toward women in general? And what about Dotty’s creepy shadow-man experience in bed?”

Cindy suggested, “Maybe it was Jack, looking for another chance to hurt a Whitney.”

“Do you smell something?” Jake asked, sniffing. “Do you smell smoke?”

Deacon’s chest ached with a sudden surge of disquiet. He wondered what Nina was doing at this moment. Was she alone? Was she safe? Catherine. It all came back to Catherine, Deacon thought. And so far, the only one in the group to have an experience from Catherine’s perspective was Nina. He reached for his phone and had just found her spot in his “favorite numbers” list when he heard Anthony scream, “Boss! Fire!”

NINA DIDN’T SMELL
smoke. She smelled rose water.

Her feet were moving, toward the nursery wing. The scent grew stronger with every step. How had she gotten here? She had been following Dotty up to the main house to report her latest experience, casting Gerald as a playful, affectionate husband, but then her feet had led her to this part of the house. She didn’t even remember climbing the stairs to the third floor.

There were no work crews in the nursery wing yet. She was alone, standing in front of a square panel in the wall. That didn’t make any sense. There were no other panels in the wall. Why would Jack Donovan put the panel there? It certainly wasn’t there to hide wiring. Why had she been led here?

Biting her lip, she pressed the panel. And with a harsh squeal, it slid to the right, its hinges rusty and dry. The smell of dry rot was overwhelming, overcoming the sweetness of roses. Nina coughed, waving the dust away from her face as it billowed out into the hallway.

Shuddering slightly, she reached into the space and gingerly patted around until her fingers closed around a lump of fabric. Sneezing, she pulled it into the light. It was a mauve silk scarf, tied into a sort of hobo sack around hard, irregular lumps. She set it on a side table and carefully unwound the bundle.

Diamonds. Large, brilliant stones, undimmed by time, arranged in ornate floral settings. A chunky bracelet made from diamond daisies. A choker consisting of two ropes of pearls, centered around a large citrine in a sunburst setting. A golden peacock brooch with emeralds and sapphires set in the tail. A multipaneled Bohemian-style garnet necklace. But what caught her eye was the wedding-band set, two small gold rings connected by small interlocking hinges. The engagement ring was set with a large cushion-cut diamond.

Nina picked up the set, examining the inscription inside the band: “Love always, Gerald.”

She could see it.
The ring set was snatched off Catherine’s still finger
. The swirls of color in Nina’s head made her knees go weak under her. Still gripping the ring, she fell against the wall, sliding down to the floor.
A large male hand ripped the ring from Catherine’s finger. The same hand that had wrapped around Catherine’s throat, choking the life out of her.

A series of images sped through Nina’s mind and then reversed as if on rewind—a boat turning upright,
Jack sailing it backward toward the shore, Jack pulling the mauve bundle out of the wall, Catherine’s dead weight sagging against Jack. The cycle of images raced by until Nina saw Catherine fighting against Jack’s grip on her throat, her fingernails digging viciously into his hands.

Nina groaned as she felt the vision shift.
Jack held the Whitney ring up to examine it, then shoved it into the soft silk bundle, huffing in frustration. He shoved the bundle into his jacket pocket, peering dispassionately down the widow’s walk steps, where he’d tossed Catherine’s body once she’d finally stopped struggling. Over the edge of the roof, he could see the staff forming a bucket brigade to deal with the fire he’d set in the south wing. They were like ants from this height, he mused. Huffing under the weight of Catherine’s body, he moved down the widow’s walk. Ungrateful bitch, he thought. If she’d just listened to him, if she’d just loved him the way she’d promised, none of this would have happened. He was sure he would mourn eventually, but for right now, he couldn’t feel anything but righteous anger over her betrayal.

He had tried to tell her how it would be. He had tried to explain his plans, that he’d set up a whole other life for them, that they could finally be together. But she’d said no! The ungrateful bitch had told him that he’d misunderstood, that she loved that idiot Gerald. She was going to stay with her husband, whoring herself for a fine house and jewels. And when he’d tried to kiss her, to
show
her how she really felt, she’d tried to scream! She’d slapped him, scratching his cheek with her little hellcat nails. It was her own fault, really, that his hands had wrapped around her throat. Did she think he would tolerate that from her?

Shifting Catherine’s weight on his shoulder, he slid the
panel loose from the wall and dropped the bag inside. He would come back for it. In a few days, after Catherine’s body had been found and everyone on the island was too confused to notice that the architect took the time to visit the mourning family. For now, he needed to get off the island before anyone saw him. No one knew he was here. He could get back to the mainland, visit a pub, tell a few jokes so that he was noticed.

He took the back staircase, a route so concealed that none of the distracted staff noticed his escape across the lawn to one of the auxiliary docks. His boat waited for him, and he knew his way around this island. It was no difficulty to find his way, not when he moved so swiftly and quietly through the brush.

He would get away with this, because he was better and smarter than they were, better even than Gerald Whitney, for all his money and power. He was the one who made palaces rise from nothing. Catherine’s fate was her own fault for not recognizing his genius. She hadn’t waited for him. She hadn’t appreciated him. And now she was dead. He might mourn for her someday, but for now, he had to direct his energies into not getting caught. He deserved to move on from this and have the sort of life that others envied. He deserved his vengeance on Gerald and Catherine for their betrayal.

He guided the tiny sailboat out to sea, waiting until the house was no longer in view, and dumped Catherine’s body over the side. He watched her sink under the waves, her dress billowing around her like angel’s wings. Her own fault, really.

He knew it would take hours to reach the shore at Newport, but it would be worth it. He would be home free. If he was really fortunate, Gerald would take the blame for Catherine’s death. It would be a vindication, watching Gerald tried for killing the wife he had stolen from Jack.

Daydreams of Gerald suffering a humiliating trial, possibly
even hanging for the crime, distracted Jack, until he was suddenly thrown to the hull of his boat. Springing to his feet, he looked about for what had caused such a tumult. A wake from a frigate. He was far off course. He was in a shipping channel! A churning noise to the north caught his attention. An even larger steamer chugged along in the distance. The wave echoing off the hull was even larger, far taller than his own. The wakes crossed, dipping his hull far below the surface and tipping his boat over. The recoil as the boat righted itself sent him reeling overboard, smacking his crown against the rig. He tumbled into the water, barely conscious, tangling his leg in the anchor line.

His arms flailed, reaching for the line, trying to pull himself back toward the boat. But in the dimming light of deeper water, he could see the end of the anchor line, fluttering after him like a tail. And that was the moment he remembered that he hadn’t secured the line to his boat.

The water closed over his head, sweeping into his open mouth. He could feel it flooding his throat, into his lungs. He choked, coughing helplessly, drawing more water in as he sank deeper into the sea’s cold embrace.

Even as he died, his mind raged.
No! No!
This wasn’t supposed to be the way it ended. He was supposed to escape! He was supposed to go on to success and notoriety. He was supposed to watch Gerald hang for Catherine’s death.

Catherine. Gerald. Everything always came back to them. His brilliance was cut short. The love he deserved was denied him. This was their fault, both of them. With his last heartbeat, he cursed them both to hell, and their children, too. He wished in the deepest, darkest pit of his heart that no Whitney would ever find happiness or wealth. Each generation would be poorer and more desperate than the last. And he would stay right here to watch them collapse.

He wouldn’t leave, he promised himself, he would stay in the palace that he had made—that he
deserved—
and he would watch his curse become real. With that vow, everything faded to black.

Nina fell to her knees and vomited what tasted like seawater onto the carpet. She had known, somewhere in the corners of her brain, that Jack had killed Catherine. But seeing it play out, feeling the pressure close around her throat, was something different altogether.

She wiped at her mouth, then picked the bundle up off the table, rewrapped it, and headed for the stairs. She had to show Deacon; she had to tell him about his great-great-grandparents. She stumbled toward the staircase, only to freeze in her tracks at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Hello, Nina.”

NINA’S SHOES SKIDDED
to a stop as Rick stepped in front of her. Dark purple circles pressed under his eyes, giving the hateful smirk a ghoulish look. His dark eyes were wild and nearly black. She backed against the wall, estimating what it would take to duck around him and dash down the back staircase. But his arms were so very long, and he had all that crazy on his side. Could she whack him over the head with the jewelry pouch? It was pretty heavy, but he would probably see it coming. How was she going to get out of this? She reached for the black plastic watch to set off the SWAT team alarm, but her wrist was bare.

She’d left it on her nightstand that morning, distracted by repeatedly making the bed and by Deacon’s rose-scented kisses. Fantastic.

“Rick, get away from me.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he crooned. “It hurts my feelings when you look at me like that, like I’m going to hurt you. You don’t think I would hurt you, do you?” He scoffed as if it was the most ridiculous idea in the world. “The only thing I’ve ever tried to do is help you. I gave you a job, didn’t I? I gave you a place where you could work and make your ideas come alive. And how did you repay me?”

He growled, his fingers curling into claws.

“You ran off. Without a word, you just left me. What the hell makes you think you have the right? And then you set up your joke of a business, conning people into hiring you with your poor, pitiful, innocent act. Taking jobs that rightfully belong to me. Me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“You tried to ruin me,” Nina said, her voice shaky.

“You wouldn’t even have a reputation if it wasn’t for me. I gave you everything, and you left me! You never appreciated anything I did for you.”

“Rick, stop this.”

“No.” He grinned, an unnatural split of his lips over his teeth, and she knew she wasn’t dealing with Rick. Or at least, not
just
Rick. Jack was lurking inside her former partner’s body like an infection. How long had Jack been hiding inside poor, stupid Rick? Had Jack been the driving force behind the vandalism, the pranks? Perhaps, but Rick certainly wasn’t innocent in the situation. She could see the hint of familiar cruelty in those brown eyes.

“I can’t stop now,” he singsonged. “Not when I’ve waited so long for this, to see you again, hold you in my arms. You misunderstood before. I didn’t explain it so
you could see things my way. I deserve that, don’t you think? A chance to explain?”

She backed away, nearly toppling over the steps up to the widow’s walk.

“Ah-ah-ah.” He chuckled, catching her free arm. “Not scampering away, my frightened little kitten. You owe me. You don’t get to leave until I say so. You left me before, didn’t you?” His lips quirked even higher, making her duck her head. “And we both know how that turned out.”

Nina didn’t know if Rick was referring to her leaving his company or if Jack was referring to Catherine rejecting him on the roof, but something in the man’s smug assurance made her jaw clench. He was enjoying her fear. He was enjoying toying with her. Her head snapped up, staring Rick right in the eyes. “Not this time.”