Harlem Redux (62 page)

As much as he disliked her, he had to admire her spirit. She was a little spitfire.

“As for you, Mr. Canfield,” she jabbed in the chest with a strong index finger, “you can go to hell, for all I care — you and all your dicty friends. Y’all can take the first train to damnation.” And she stared at him with blistering anger, her hands balled into tight little fists.

He regarded her with evident distaste, but for a long moment kept a cold silence. It was a mien that always worked with hostile advocates in court and it worked with Rachel now. The heat of her anger cooled, and with it her bluster faded, leaving her with the chill of uncertainty.

 
“Well,” she said uneasily, folding her arms across her chest. “Are you going to leave or what?”

He said nothing.

“You come here, all big and mighty, trying to throw your weight around, threatening to call the cops—”

“I never threatened—”

“You were about to, but I’m warning you. If you don’t go right now, then it’ll be me calling the cops, and you they’ll be taking away.”

It was a weak threat, predictable. He batted it away with less effort than he’d use against a fly. “You wouldn’t,” he arched an eyebrow, “really do anything that stupid, would you?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her.

“Actually, as much as it pains me to admit it, you’re right. The evidence
is
circumstantial and is unlikely to carry enough weight to save him or …” He let his voice trail away, the rest of his sentence evident.

He appreciated the surprise on her face. She hadn’t expected him to capitulate. Not so quickly.

“So,” she said.

“So,” he continued. “I’m prepared to make you an offer.”

Surprise deepened to shock. The look on her face provided bitter amusement. She was so easy to read. If you knew what to look for, if you hadn’t yet fallen under her spell, then her face was an open book. He could see that she was suspicious but worried. And curious despite herself. She didn’t want to show interest, but she couldn’t help herself. Because, deep down, she knew she was in trouble. If he was offering her a way out, a
real
way out, then she had to hear it.

“What kind of an offer?”

He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

“Tell me why you did it, and how. Tell me that and I’ll …” He paused, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to say the words.

“Yes?” she prompted.

“Leave you in peace. I’ll do nothing more against you.”

She was deeply suspicious now. “That’s all you want, just me to say how and why?”

“No, it’s not all I
want
.”

“But it’s what you’ll take.”

“Yes.”

That brought a smile to her face. She even got a little cocky again.

“And why I should take this oh-so-generous offer again?”

“Because if you don’t, then I’ll do just as I said. I’ll strangle you alive, socially. And yes, I’m sure you
could
buy friends. But they wouldn’t be powerful, not nearly powerful enough, to stand up against
me
. Getting those kinds of friends, my dear, cultivating that kind of power, they take time, a great deal more time—and
money
—than you’ll ever have.”

Her nostrils flared. But she had enough control to bite back an angry response. She pressed her lips together in a hard, thin line. And she thought it over. He watched her with a practiced her, the veteran of much tougher backroom court deals than she could imagine. But he had to give it to her. She was strong. She’d had to be, to get as far as she had.

Finally, she gave him a sideways look. “And if I gave you your answers, you’ll keep quiet?”

“That’s right. I won’t say a word.”

“You’ll leave me alone, not poison nobody against me?”

He nodded.

She was tempted. He could see that, but she still had her doubts.

“Let me tell you something, Mr. Canfield: I’m thinking you’re trying to trick me. You’re thinking you’re going to tell me one thing, then do another. Maybe take what I say to the police. Well, it’s not going to work. And you know why?”

“Yes, I do. I still won’t have any proof.”

She was brought up short when he said that, when he robbed her of a bit of her thunder. All she could say was, “Well, I’m glad you realize that. But maybe you should realize something else, too: If you ever do take it into mind to tattle or spread vicious lies, then I’ll sue you. I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got. I’ll find me a sharp lawyer and take it all away.”

“Of course,” he said, mildly.

Her lips curled at the sarcasm. “All right,” she said. “Let’s get to it. What do you want to know?”

“The truth: Did you really have Jameson Sweet kill Gem McKay?”

Her jaw worked, but she didn’t answer and her eyes edged away.

He leaned forward. “Well?”

She paused another second or two, then she with an air of grit, she looked him in the eye and said with pride, “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“And then did you shoot and kill Jameson Sweet yourself?”

Again came that firm, “Yes, I did.”

Canfield realized then that despite everything, he’d still hoped, in some small dark place, he’d still hoped that she would continue to lie and that would’ve allowed him to believe in the lies he’d clung to.

“But why?” he asked now. “Why did you do it?”

She looked him up and down.

“Someone like you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She gave him a smile dripping with saucy contempt.

“Well, if you really want to know, it was their fault. They’re the reason your Jamison died.”

“Who?”

“The McKays.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” She turned, went up to the fireplace mantel and looked up at Augustus McKay’s portrait. She drew her fingertips along the lower edge of the frame almost lovingly, and her voice was sweet when she said, “None of this would’ve happened if he’d just been nice to me.”

Canfield shook his head. “But he took you into his home, into his family—”

She rounded on him. “Took me
in?”
The sweetness was gone. There was only bitterness, bitterness and rage at old festering wounds. “He didn’t damn take me in. Not in no damn way. He kept me around as a ‘social case.’ Someone he could teach them to look down on. Feel sorry for. Daddy McKay couldn’t stand me. I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, fine enough.”

“So this was all about revenge?”

“Call it what you want. All I know is that now I’ve got everything he built. His name, his money, his
house
. I fought for it. I earned it. And I’m gonna keep it.”

He studied her for several long seconds, then drew a deep breath. It was nearly over now. He had only one more question.

“And Jameson?”

“Him?” She dismissed him with a shrug. “Trust me. It wasn’t all that hard to convince him. After all, he was a man, wasn’t he?”

It was what he’d expected. But it still cut to hear it. “Thank you,” he said, swallowing his anger. “I appreciate your candor. It always helps to hear it from the source.”

She regarded him with a smirk, and perhaps a little admiration, too. Her voice became husky. “I like a man who can stand to hear the truth.”

Again, there it was. The invitation. He felt it in the intimate way her eyes raked over him, saw it in the way she coyly licked her lower lip. Was she serious or was she mocking him? It didn’t matter. He’d accomplished his goals. It was time to go.

“Well, the truth is one of those odd things, isn’t it? In the end, no matter how painful, it’s always easier to bear than a lie.”

 
She shrugged. “I’m happy you think so.” She came up to him, laid her fingertips on his chest, light and caressing, in a manner so different from how she’d touched him earlier. “You’re sure you’re satisfied? Sure I can’t satisfy you in some other way, maybe do a little something else to seal the deal?”

He took her hands away and quite deliberately brushed himself where she had touched him. She fell back a step and stared at him. For a moment, her face showed only anger. Then came the evident realization that she’d gone too far. He took pleasure in knowing that he’d gotten through.

 
“Good-bye,
Mrs.
McKay,” he said and started out.

He felt her gaze on his back and then her words tearing at him.

“You will keep your word?” she cried out.

He paused, nearly at the parlor doors, and turned for one last disgusted look. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I will. You’ll have no more to fear from me, but …” And here he paused, preoccupied, as though he’d just thought of something.

“But what?”

He looked at her. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t say the same for the others.”

She blinked. “What others?”

“Why them.”

He turned and gestured toward the parlor doors. They slid open and Rachel gasped. David stood there. Detective Peters, Nevin Caruthers, and Annie was there, too––as well as two uniformed policemen.

Rachel’s shocked gaze flew from them to Canfield, then to David and Annie, and from them to Peters and Nevin. Her eyes widened in sudden realization—and terror. Her panicked thoughts were obvious. How long had they been standing there? How much had they heard? Her hand flew to cover her mouth, but it was too late. The answers were obvious. It was in their faces.
The whole time … Everything.

 
“You see, my dear,” Canfield said, “you did it all for nothing.”

Her gaze returned to David and lit with desperate hope. She ran to him and flung her arms around him. “Oh, please! You don’t know what this man’s been saying to me. He’s threatened me. He’s—”

David gently but firmly disengaged himself. “No, Rachel, no. It’s over.” He gripped her by the shoulders and held her at arms’ length.

“Please!” she wailed.

He gazed down into her panicked face and compassion rose in his eyes. He folded her into his arms and she clung to him, sobbing.

“Oh, baby, baby,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“I knew you’d understand?” she whispered. “I mean, you do, don’t you?”

“Yes, … oh, yes, I do.” He smoothed her hair.

She closed her eyes and relaxed against him in obvious relief. For several seconds, he held her, and rocked her, as though she were a child. Canfield, watching, saw her open her eyes and give in to a little smile.

“You feel better now?” David asked.

She nodded and sniffed, casting her eyes downward.

David cupped her chin and tilted it upward to make her look at him, then lightly thumbed her tears away.

“Rachel, I need you to understand something.”