Divas and Dead Rebels (42 page)

She gave him a scornful, raking glance. “I had to tell you what to do. As usual. You stood there mewling like an old woman, pacing back and forth with your silly hand-wringing while I had to figure out what would work. And it did work. No one suspected that stupid girl didn’t die from the fall. I fixed it all. Even when that slut’s son threatened to go to the police.”

Breck Hartford’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “Vic . . . tell me you didn’t do anything to Monty. You didn’t. Did you?”

She changed the pistol to her other hand, still holding it in front of her. “What was I supposed to do? He would have ruined everything. I couldn’t let that happen. Bret has so much more ahead of him than that sniveling kid ever did.”

“My God.” Breck stared at her as if she was a complete stranger. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“Why? Because I had the nerve to do what you should have done? Because I was there for our son when you weren’t? You left me no choice.”

All my careful conclusions flew out the window. Breck Hartford hadn’t killed Monty . . . did that mean he hadn’t killed anyone else either? But if not—who? Surely Victoria hadn’t killed Spencer and Catherine. Obviously, she’d had Breck help her cover up their son’s part in Trisha Atwood’s death, and killed Monty when he wanted to go to the police. But the rest? Could she have done it?

“Be a man,” she was saying to Breck. “Tie them up. We have to get rid of them in a way no one will suspect it wasn’t an accident.”

Rayna made a small sound, and I saw Bitty’s eyes widen. Gaynelle remained as impassive as usual. She would be an excellent poker player, I thought irrelevantly.

“No,” said Breck flatly. “I’m not committing murder. Covering up for Bret was one thing. He didn’t mean to kill her, it was just a stupid accident. But this? No. And my God, Vic, I can’t believe you killed Monty! He was just a kid!”

“He was going to tell the police,” Victoria said slowly as if talking to an imbecile. “I did what I had to do.”

Breck ran a hand over his face. He looked wild-eyed. I knew how he felt, and I wondered if I looked as dazed as he did. “Jesus, Vic—what about Sturgis? Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with his murder.”

Victoria’s lips tightened. “Monty had told him what happened. Of all people, to tell Spencer Sturgis! I couldn’t believe it when Spence told me. He thought I’d be happy that he had found out something to use against you. Happy! The fool. I was only with him to get back at you. He meant nothing to me.”

“But . . . but how? I mean, Spencer was a small man, but a dead weight would be too heavy to carry by yourself.”

Her lip curled. “You underestimate me yet again, darling. I’ve been in training for the triathlon. I’m in excellent shape. All I needed was help getting him out of the house and somewhere his death could be blamed on someone else.” Her eyes turned toward Bitty. “I didn’t realize it was your sons’ dorm room. Not that it matters now. It served the purpose at the moment.”

“Did you use the laundry cart to move him?” I couldn’t help asking. “We found it in their room.”

“Yes.” She shrugged. “Spencer never was very observant. He thought I was a laundry deliveryman when he opened the door.”

“But the freshly laundered and ironed shirts,” I said. “How did you manage to get his laundry?”

Sounding impatient, she said, “They weren’t his, of course. I hung them up, then took the extra hanger and came up behind him. It was over quickly. He hardly struggled at all. I needed extra time, so I made a mess so the police would think there’d been a struggle and he’d disappeared. It worked fairly well, too.”

“Well, I don’t see how it worked,” said Bitty in the small silence that fell. “You don’t look anything like a laundry deliveryman.”

Victoria actually smiled. “I can disguise myself well enough when I choose. I’ve studied theater. I’m quite good when I want to be.”

“I can imagine,” Bitty agreed.

Rayna and Gaynelle had said very little since Victoria barged in, and I wondered if they had some sort of plan. I hoped so. It was beginning to look as if we were in for a very rough ride if we didn’t figure out a way to get that gun away from her and call the police.

“I’m fascinated,” Bitty said to her. “You’re much more clever than I ever gave you credit for being.”

“I’m not surprised. No one has ever thought of me as anything other than Breck Hartford’s wife, the woman who had to pretend not to know about all those other women. Well, I’m a lot more than that. If things had been different, I would have had a career of my own, not just been a faculty wife.”

She sounded bitter, and when I glanced back at Breck, I saw him smirk and knew he was going to say something very, very stupid.

“Like what? An actress?” he sneered. “A dancer? You couldn’t even keep a part in a grade school play, for God’s sake. What makes you think you would ever have had a career?”

Victoria flushed, her face turning a dull red. As I stared at her, I remembered my impression of the person who had attacked me here at the cabin when I had come to find Catherine. Could it have been Victoria that I saw that day, not a young man? It was entirely possible. Apparently her training kept her very fit, and she was tall and slender, and I could have mistaken her for a young man since I only saw someone running away.

Then, Victoria lifted the pistol and pointed it directly at her husband’s chest, and all rational thought flew out the window. My heart thudded into overdrive, my palms began to sweat, and my feet turned to ice. Everything seemed to slow down so that each word was long and drawn-out, each action so slow as to take minutes instead of seconds.

“I could have done it if not for you,” she said. “But I can change that.”

I think I gasped. Or maybe it was someone else.

In the scant seconds it must have taken her to aim, I had time only to say, “No, don’t!” before she fired.

The sharp smell of cordite was immediate, the noise terrific. My ears rang, and I could taste gunpowder. Breck Hartford dropped to the floor like a sack of rocks. He made no sound, just collapsed. When I moved as if to help him, Victoria turned the gun toward me.

“Don’t touch him. Don’t do anything unless I tell you to do it.”

“You can’t shoot us all,” said Rayna, her voice wavering a little. “One of us could get to you before you could do that.”

“I don’t have to shoot all of you. All I have to do is shoot one of you. Then you’ll know I mean business. Care to test me?”

None of us did, of course. We became very compliant. Amazing what a threat can accomplish, especially when backed up with a firearm held by a crazy woman. Usually that woman was Bitty, but now we were dealing with an unknown quantity. Prudence seemed the best option.

“No,” Rayna answered Victoria. “I’m good.”

On the floor, Breck’s right foot quivered. He was still alive. I didn’t want to draw his wife’s attention to that fact, just in case she decided to finish the job, so I said, “Tell me what you need from us, please. I’m sure we can come to a mutual solution without the need for violence.”

What I meant was,
without the need to shoot any of us
, but I didn’t think it quite necessary to explain. Not that it would have made any difference. She’d obviously made a plan and intended to stick to it. She waggled the gun barrel at me.

“Where are all your cell phones?” she demanded. “Never mind. I see your purses in that chair. Step back very carefully and slowly. I’m a good shot, so don’t think about trying anything stupid.” She dumped our purses and found Gaynelle’s cell phone, but when my purse provided no phone, she turned to me and gestured for me to empty my pockets.

Anything for the lady with the loaded gun,
I thought as I gave it to her. Then she turned to look at Rayna. “Hand it over.”

Rayna complied, then Victoria took our phones and tossed them on a table with the others. She turned to Bitty. “Where’s your purse?”

“I have no idea,” Bitty lied smoothly. “I may have left it somewhere. It’s been such a hectic day.”

“Right. Well, Miss Hectic, if you don’t come up with your cell phone within five seconds, your day is about to get a lot worse.”

“Well, why didn’t you say that’s why you wanted it? I have my cell phone right here.” Bitty produced it from the pocket of her Gucci slacks.

Once Victoria had all the phones, she took out the batteries and tossed them on the table. No more GPS system to guide rescuers. She had thought this through pretty well, it seemed.

Switching the pistol back to her other hand, she motioned at me with it.

“I brought a roll of duct tape. You’re going to tie up your friends. Ah, I mean your
Divas
.” She stressed the last word with enough sarcasm to fill a bucket. I didn’t argue.

“There’s some rope downstairs,” I began, but she shook her head.

“No. The duct tape is in the kitchen. Get it. And I’ll be watching you the entire time.”

She used the pistol as a wand to wave Rayna, Gaynelle and Bitty toward the dining area where she could keep her eye on me as well. She took a vantage point by the dining room windows so if anyone else arrived she could see them, and had the Divas on the other side of the small table. If any of us made a false move, she would shoot us before we could escape. As she’d said, none of us wanted to risk the other being shot by our precipitate actions.

I walked slowly and reluctantly toward the kitchen, far too aware of the gun trained on me. When would I learn? Or would I ever learn? Maybe Jackson Lee was right, and we all needed keepers. Or maybe Miranda Watson, i.e. gossip columnist, was right, and we’d formed some kind of murder club. Unwittingly, of course.

“Stop dawdling!” Victoria snapped when I paused in the kitchen by the windows. I looked toward the back door. It beckoned invitingly. Maybe I would have attempted to get out and run for help, but that would leave the others alone with a furious, unbalanced woman. Then Victoria turned toward the others when Rayna made a soft exclamation, and I seized the chance to sweep the roll of duct tape off the counter and into the gap between the edge and the refrigerator. When she turned back to look at me, I just stood there staring at the counters, then shrugged.

“I don’t see any duct tape. Where did you leave it?”

“Look on the counter by the sink.”

“Nope. Not here.”

She said something quite vulgar and took a couple steps into the kitchen area. I backed up a step. Of course, the roll of duct tape wasn’t on any of the butcher block counters. Victoria shook her head in obvious disgust.

“I thought I brought it in. Well, I’m not about to give any of you a chance to get away, so look for tape. Catherine’s bound to have some in here somewhere.”

I rummaged through some drawers, taking all the time I dared, hoping against hope rescue would arrive somehow. Finally I said, “All I found is masking tape.”

“That will have to do. Bring it here.”

She gestured with the gun until we were back in the living room, huddled together like frightened geese. Breck still lay in the floor. He’d stopped moving again. Blood seeped from a hole in his upper torso near his left shoulder. It had made a puddle under him. If he was alive and didn’t get treatment quickly, he’d bleed to death.

When I glanced at Rayna, she looked at me and gave a slight shake of her head. I didn’t know what to do, but amazingly, Bitty did.

“He’s making a mess all over the rug,” she said to Victoria. “At least let me move him to the tile floor.”

“What do I care about the rug?” Victoria demanded. “It’s not mine.”

“No, but it’s a Fereghan Sarouk from central Persia and very expensive. It’d be a shame to ruin it. I know you appreciate fine furniture and textiles.”

“It is?” Victoria looked down at the rug. It had muted colors and a lovely pattern, and I had no idea how expensive it was, but it did look very nice. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “Move him off the rug.”

“He’s too big and heavy. Can Trinket help? She’s a big girl and pretty strong.”

I glared at Bitty, but when Victoria motioned for me to help her, I did. We bent and managed to pull Breck off the rug and onto the tile. A faint sound escaped his lips as we got him situated near a credenza. Bitty glanced up at me as her hands busily arranged his body where he lay partially on his side.

“Ooh,” she said, “this is a Hekman antique credenza, Trinket. Just look at all the ornate details on the door panels.”

When I stared at her as if she’d gone crazy, she added, “See the fine workmanship in the floral design?”

Just as I’d decided the stress had sent Bitty into Cloud Cuckoo Land, she hissed under her breath, “Help me turn him so he can breathe!”

Ah. It finally became clear to me. I asked an inane question, something about how did she know what the credenza was, as I strained to turn him to his side.

“Because I recognize the gilded swirls as distinctive to the style,” she replied in a loud tone.

About that time Victoria decided we’d had enough time to move the body and admire the antiques. “He’s off the rug, so get back over here. Bitty, you tie up the others. I have my gun pointed right at you, remember, so even if I can’t get all of you, I can at least shoot a couple of you. Get Trinket first. She’s the biggest.”