By Familiar Means (37 page)

“Maybe its not where anybody can see it.” I took the glass back and stared at the photo again, like I thought that door might vanish if I let it out of my sight. “Maybe it was specifically built to give people a back way out of the ballroom if there was a police raid on the place during Prohibition.”

My phone rang, startling me so badly, I dropped the magnifying glass, which earned a scolding from Alistair, who flowed under the table. The younger Sean reached my phone before I could and tossed it to me. I caught it and checked the number.

“Frank?” I said as I answered. “I'm so glad you called! Listen, did you know that the Harbor's Rest has its own archive? I found—”

“We found,” Grandma reminded me.

“Merow,” agreed Alistair from under the table.

“We found a set of blueprints from 1920 and we think—”

“Anna, stop,” said Frank. “Listen to me. I'm at the hospital. They just brought in Kelly Pierce. Somebody tried to kill her.”

40

“What happened?” I demanded as I barreled into the hospital waiting area. “Is she okay?”

I hate hospitals. Nobody likes them, but I really hate them. I don't care how modern and clean and comfortable they've been made, with carpet in the lounges and inoffensive artwork on the walls and fountains and meditation rooms. They're still hospitals and they're still full of the sad and the frightened and the grieving. There aren't strong enough shields anywhere to keep that kind of Vibe out.

Frank got to his feet. Except for him, the lounge was empty, which was probably a good thing, because I was out of breath and out of nerve, even with Grandma B.B. coming up behind me for support, and, well, for being my grandmother. The McNallys had wanted to come, too, of course, but Old Sean was supposed to be at work at the hotel, and given all the very bad possibilities swirling around regarding Jimmy's death, it would not be good for any of them to know anything was wrong. It did, however, take both me and Grandma talking at full speed to convince the McNallys of this.

“They won't tell me; I'm not a relative,” Frank said, but then he glanced over his shoulder at the nurses' station. “At least they're not supposed to,” he added more softly. “But one of the nurses is a friend. She said Kelly was found unconscious in her apartment. Somebody'd hit her over the head. They got her on the right temple and . . .” Frank looked down at his notebook. He was holding it in both hands like a talisman.

“And they're sure it wasn't an accident?” I asked, even though I knew I was clutching at straws.

“It wasn't,” Frank said grimly. “They found a wine bottle next to her, and it had blood on it.”

“Oh, no,” breathed Grandma. “Oh, how
wicked
!”

“She's in a coma,” he said hoarsely. “And they're not sure . . .” He didn't finish, but that was okay. He didn't have to. I gripped Grandma's hand. Somebody had tried to kill Kelly Pierce. Kelly had been the lynchpin of Christine's plan for a new hotel. Until the tension inside the Hilde family had gotten to be too much. Until Dale had fired her and maybe threatened her to try to keep her away from Christine.

Just like his mother told him to. I clapped my hand over my mouth. He'd followed his orders, but it hadn't been enough. But now? Christine had said the project needed Kelly, her experience and her connections. Harbor's Rest would be safe from the competition, for now. But not safe from its own bills and the very real danger of bankruptcy. With all the bad publicity of one murder and one attempted murder, no developer would touch the idea of a Hilde-run resort with a ten-foot pole.

In my mind, I could picture them all lined up—Christine and Kelly on one side, and both brothers and Gretchen on the other.

Which of them did this? Dale, who couldn't separate his love for his family from his love for their hotel, or Rich, who wanted everything nice and everybody happy, and who used his charm to hide and distract anybody and everybody from what was really going on? And who no one in his family
trusted to be able to do anything else right. Not even his mother, who adored him. I had been ready to cross Christine off the list. Kelly was the last person she'd kill. Unless . . . unless Kelly had changed her mind. Unless she'd decided to pull out of the deal after all. There could have been an argument. There could have been an accident.

There was one problem. Christine had been willing to let me into the archives to look for the tunnel. Either she was ready to gamble with her future and her freedom, or she really didn't know where the tunnel door was.

But did the person who killed Jimmy have to be the same person who tried to kill Kelly?

I clamped my teeth shut around the scream. I had no answer. It didn't matter. There are times when all the reluctance and all the worry fall away, and you move because standing still has become impossible. Kelly Pierce was hurt, maybe dying. But maybe not. Maybe she'd wake up and be able to identify the person who'd done this. Whoever that was would hear pretty soon, and he or she might just be ready to come back to the hospital to try again.

Then there was Lieutenant Blanchard, who had probably already heard about this. He might even be on his way.

“Grandma B.B.,” I said. “I need you to put on your sweetest little old lady act and get into Kelly's room somehow. You sit right there. Don't move; don't let anybody else be alone with her, especially any Hildes.”

“Of course, dear,” Grandma said promptly. “What are you going to do?

“I'm going to go find that tunnel before anybody else gets hurt.” I was distantly amazed at how steady my voice stayed when I said it, too.

“I'll come with you,” said Frank. In fact, he already had his keys in his hand.

“No,” I told him. “We need you to get on the phone. You have to tell Jake and Miranda what's happening, and you have to get the media down to Northeast Java. We need lights, cameras and action there, just in case Blanchard and company
decide to try to rearrest Jake. Somebody should probably call Val, too, so she can start up the coven's phone tree.”

“Anna.” Frank looked me right in the eye. “You're not going to Harbor's Rest alone.”

Under other circumstances I might have said I could take care of myself. But I was sure Kelly and Jimmy had felt the same way. “I won't be alone,” I reminded him. “It's not even nine o'clock. There should be at least one Sean McNally behind the bar.”

Grandma grabbed both my hands and squeezed hard. I felt the faint prickle as the magic flowed from me to her. I didn't object, because I also saw the love and the determination in her eyes.

“Be careful anyway, dear.”

I kissed her cheek. “Count on it.”

Then I turned on my heel, and I ran.

*   *   *

I stopped back at home just long enough to grab
Evolution of a Portside Town
and my wand.

“Yes, I'll tell Julia,” I said to Alistair, who sat watching me from the dining room table. “But I'm going to need all the help I can get.”

“Merow,” he agreed, and vanished.

“Right. Good,” I said as I slung my purse over my shoulder. “Meet you there.”

*   *   *

Turns out I was right. There was a McNally behind the Harbor's Rest bar. It just happened to be Young Sean instead of Old Sean. He was wiping glasses. He'd changed into work clothes and now he wore a purple paisley vest and his two-tone fedora. He was chatting with a redheaded server who looked up at him with rapt adoration. It was true. Every girl is in fact crazy about the sharp-dressed man. But I was staring at his hat. I was also flashing back on the sketch I'd made, the one with the fedora lying in the old tunnel.
The one that gave me (for lack of a better word) the creeps every time I looked at it.

I tried to tell myself that I had no real reason to believe the sketches from my automatic-drawing session meant Sean was in danger of being shot. There were a lot of fedoras in the world. Right? Right.

But did I want to take that kind of chance?

I immediately decided the best course of action was to tuck my book firmly under my arm, sail on past the bar and lose myself in the lobby's crowd. There were two problems with this. First, there was no crowd. Second, Sean looked up as I was in midsail.

“Anna.” He slung his side towel onto his shoulder and came around to the bar's entrance. “I thought we'd be seeing you here.”

“Who's ‘we'?” I tried. “Where's your dad?”

“I'm taking his shift,” answered Sean. “He's keeping watch outside Kelly Pierce's apartment. You know, in case.”

“In case what?” I tried. It was a very lame try. Sean folded his arms at me and gave me a skeptical look worthy of Alistair on a bad day. I sighed. What had I done that life should inflict me with sharp-eyed bartenders?

“Okay,” I said. “Listen, you've got a phone on you? Stay here and keep an eye out for the Hildes. If anybody looks like they're heading for the ballroom, you call me, okay?”

“Or I could just come with you.”

No. No. This was not happening. My hand trembled and I clutched the book harder. “You're supposed to be working. They'll know something's up if you're not in the bar.”

Sean did not move.

“Sean, please don't do this,” I tried. “I'll only be gone for a second. Just long enough to confirm there is a door.”

I turned. I strode across the empty lobby. The desk clerk glanced up from the screen and keyboard he was typing at and gave me an odd look. I heard leather-soled shoes clacking against the marble behind me.

“That's you, Sean, isn't it?” I said without turning around.

“It is,” agreed Sean. “We're headed for the ballroom, right?”

I sighed and I pinched the bridge of my nose. The clerk left the desk, heading toward the space behind the desk where the printer was whirring away.

“Right. The ballroom,” I said weakly.

“Great,” Sean answered. “Olivia in housekeeping's a friend of mine. She can let us in.”

*   *   *

Like the bar downstairs, the Harbor's Rest ballroom had been allowed to keep its old-school grandeur, including the gleaming parquet floor, multipaned windows and fancy plasterwork ceiling. Alcoves were set into the walls, each decorated with a potted fichus or a large Greek urn.

Only the bank of lights nearest the door was still on. The rest of the room was dark, except near the floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto the river. Silver and gold light spilled in from the Memorial Bridge and Kittery on the other side. Alistair was nowhere in sight.

Sean closed the door behind us and I flipped the book open to the double-page spread of the Prohibition tea party and held it up for him to see. It would have been better if I could have brought the blueprints, but they were too unwieldy.

“Okay,” I muttered. “We know it's here. Where is it?”

“Let's have a proper look.” Sean turned the dimmer switch nearest the door. The grand chandelier came up full and bright. I blinked hard, trying to force my eyes to adjust. I also held up the book.

“Okay, so. This photo is a broad panorama, but you can't see the windows. So, they must have been facing this way to take the picture?” I pointed to the right-hand wall.

“No, straight toward the back,” said Sean. “Look. There's the cherub fountain.” He pointed to the antique mounted on the wall. A chubby-cheeked angel pursed his lips at us.

I checked the picture again. “Okay, that looks right, but—”

My phone rang. I jumped. It rang again.

“You going to get that?” asked Sean.

“Yeah,” I said reluctantly. I also handed him the book so I could pull my phone out of my purse and check the number. My heart froze.

It was Kenisha.

“Kenisha,” I said as I hit the Accept button. “I was going to call.” I was, too, really. Soon. I'd promised. “What's happened?”

“I'm at the hospital. Get on the phone to your lawyer. You're going to need him.”