The Ruby Locket (11 page)

              My entire body began to tremble. “The table for two that I saw…in the catacombs…does this mean…”

              “He murdered her. Ivan murdered my mother. And Miss Easton helped.”

              The door to the bedroom swung open. Ivan stood in the threshold in his wedding tuxedo. When he spotted us, a thrill of anger ran through his face. “How did you two get in here?”

              Wyatt stood from the bed and lifted the diary. “You killed my mother. I know everything.”

              Striding into the room and closing the door, Ivan hissed, “What are you blathering about?” The polished veneer he normally wore on his face had fallen away to reveal a monster. His lips peeled back from his teeth. Ivan glanced at the diary and I saw no hint of recognition. He must not have known about the diary’s existence or that Celeste would have hidden it in a jewelry box.

              Wyatt closed the distance between himself and Ivan. “Don’t you dare try to deny it. I’ve always known something was off with you, but now I can prove it.”

              “You don’t have any proof,” Ivan growled and grabbed for the diary. Wyatt yanked it away, retreating.

              I pulled at Wyatt’s arm. “Come on, it’s no use talking to him. We’ve got to tell my mother and then call the police.”

              Quick as a snake, Ivan pulled up the corner of a rug, slid open a floorboard, revealing a rectangular hole, and pulled out a heavy black pistol. He pointed it at us. “You’ll do no such thing.”

Chapter Twenty

Anne

I
van wagged the gun toward the back corner of the room—the entrance to the catacombs. “Walk over to that door, both of you.” He pulled a small black key from his pocket and tossed it to Wyatt, whose hand shot out and caught it. “There’s the key to unlock it.”

              Wyatt clenched the key in his fist and didn’t move. I could hear him breathing through his nose, his mouth closed tight.

              “Move. Now!” Ivan tightened his grip on the pistol, his eyes burning.

              Wyatt glanced at me and I was surprised that I saw no fear in his face—only anger. Somehow I knew that if I weren’t here, Wyatt would have attacked Ivan by now. But he didn’t want to put me in danger. Gritting his teeth, Wyatt began to walk to the catacomb door with tight, measured steps. I followed him, not even feeling my legs. Having read so many mystery novels, I’d always wondered how I would react if I were ever held at gunpoint. I imagined myself weeping, cowering, or maybe trying to disarm the assailant. But instead I just felt shock. And a desperate need to obey the pointing gun—go wherever it told me to go.

              Wyatt reached the door and slid the key into the lock with remarkably steady hands. The door swung open, revealing the narrow flight of steps and the dark, musty passage. From behind us, Ivan said, “Go.”

              We went down the stairs, my feet treading lightly, as if that would somehow keep Ivan’s rage in check. When we’d reached the floor of the passage, I heard the door close and there was a moment of blood-pounding darkness and then a flashlight clicked on. Ivan must have grabbed it on the way in.

              The pistol boring a hole into our backs, we marched onward, to the split in the corridor where we’d heard Miss Easton before. We took a left at Ivan’s command, toward the locked room with the table for two. In the darkness, I felt for Wyatt’s hand and held on tight, my palm icy against his red-hot skin. He squeezed back.

              We arrived at the door, the heavy padlock still in place. Ivan ordered, “That’s far enough. Step aside from the door.” We obeyed and he pulled out yet another key, this one from his jacket pocket, and unlocked the door, pulling the padlock from the latch. The door creaked inward, revealing a yawning blackness within.

              “Inside,” said Ivan, not a hint of mercy or compassion in his face.

              As Wyatt and I entered, hands still clasped, a desperate thought wriggled through my shock and shot out of my mouth. “The wedding will never take place without me there. My mom will know something’s wrong.” The words came out whinier than I would have liked.

              Remaining in the corridor, Ivan allowed a sickly smile to spread his lips, the yellow glare from the flashlight making pockets of shadow on his face. There was madness in his eyes. “It’s a pity you’ll never find out what happens.” And then he slammed the door shut, the padlock grating against the latch outside and clicking closed—horrible and final.

              In the total darkness, I sank to a squat, my head spinning and my heart hammering out of control. “Wyatt, he’s going to kill us.” Instead of responding, he began to hunt around blindly, his feet kicking furniture and who knows what. “What are you doing?” I asked, hysteria in my voice. Why wasn’t he freaking out?

              “Trying to find a light of some sort. Help me.”

              And since there was nothing else to do except wallow in my dread, I stood on wobbly legs and began to search with arms outstretched, bumping into walls. My waist hit something that felt like the edge of a table and my trembling hands scouted its surface, feeling for something, anything. My fingers found an upright and cylindrical object coated in dust and as my hands climbed it, I felt something smooth and tall on top. “Wyatt, I think I found a candlestick with a candle.”

              Somewhere to my left, I heard a hollow rattle, kind of like a maraca. “And I think I might have found a box of matches.” There was fumbling and then the rasp of a match against the box. A flame sprang to life, revealing Wyatt’s ghostly face. In the weak light, I could see that the object I’d grasped was indeed a candleholder topped with a slim candle, grayed with dust and partially melted from its last use.

              I shivered as Wyatt lit the candle and another that was farther down the table. Had the candles last been used at Ivan’s dinner with Celeste? This must be the room where she had been murdered. How did he do it? It had to have been something that looked like suicide. Had Ivan planned it? I mean, the fact that he’d brought her into
this
place for an intimate dinner made me think so. But why? Had she done something to tick him off? To bring out that twisted light that I’d seen in his eyes? Had he grown to hate her? And had Miss Easton truly been a part of it? Despite my terror, I felt a surge of relief knowing Mom was saved from marrying a murdering psychopath. But my relief was immediately replaced with panic. Surely a man capable of killing his wife was capable of hurting my mom. Or worse. I brought my hand to my stomach, feeling sick.

              Wyatt picked up one of the candlesticks and was about to inspect the wall when he glanced my way. He leaned toward me and said, “Listen, everything’s going to be okay. Once your mom notices you’re missing, she’ll come looking for you. There’s nothing Ivan can say that will persuade her otherwise.”

              “But what’s to stop him from killing her too?” My voice choked into a whisper.

              His expression grim and determined, Wyatt began to circle the room. “We’ve got to find a way out of here. Even if we have to beat the door down.” He tested the latch on the door and shoved hard against it. But it was locked tight.

              Using every ounce of my will to swallow down my terror, I picked up the other candlestick—which stood beside a pair of champagne glasses draped in a layer of silky cobwebs—and I began to search the room, unable to rush for fear of the flame guttering out.

              The room was empty of furniture except for the table and two chairs. Beside the door, there was a rectangular frame on the wall, covered with a black cloth. I pulled at the corner until it slipped off and fell to the floor, a cloud of dust billowing into my face. Wyatt joined me at the now exposed black and white photograph, holding up his candle.

              It was an old wedding portrait of a young couple—the groom sharp in his suit and the bride totally coated in white, a long, intricate cathedral veil flowing from her head and coiling around her feet, like a pale snake. It would have been a beautiful photo, if it hadn’t been for the fact that the woman’s eyes had been completely erased with two white X’s.

              “That’s Ivan’s mother and father on their wedding day,” Wyatt said.

              I connected some dots in my mind. “And the eyes are crossed out, just like the eyes in all of the drawings in that cell.”

              “I wonder if—”

              But before he could finish, my eye caught a chink in the floorboards of the ceiling. Pointing up, I cried, “The ceiling! That’s our way out.”

Chapter Twenty One

Dauphine

I
picked up the champagne flute and stared into the glass as the sunlight made sparkling, almost dreamlike images on the delicate crystal. I normally didn’t drink, so how was it that my glass was now empty? Ah yes, at Ivan’s insistence, a servant had arrived with the beverage on a silvery tray. Ivan was in the groom’s room, and he wanted me to drink along with him, toasting to a long and happy marriage. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I drank a sip. Didn’t I? Or did I indeed drink the whole glass?

              My face flushed. Maybe I had a fever. I rested the back of my hand over my forehead. No fever, but I felt drowsy and my head spun. Must be because I wasn’t used to drinking anything stronger than coffee. I made a mental note to ask someone about the champagne, but then that impression vanished with the rest of my swirling thoughts.

              The door creaked open then and Ivan peeked his head around the corner.

              “Ivan, you’re not to see me before the ceremony!” I stepped back, bumping into a table.

              “I know, my dear, but you’re late. The minister is waiting.”

              “He is?”

              “Yes.”

              Anne should have told me I was running late. “But where is Anne?”

              “Your daughter is on her way,” Ivan said more loudly and distinctly. “Anne said for you to go ahead now. She is on her way.”

              “On her way.” Is that what Ivan really said? That didn’t sound like my Anne. “She would be here. Is she sick?”

              “No, not at all. But she said she would be along soon and to go ahead.” This time Ivan’s voice held a tone of insistence. Or was it irritation?

              I rubbed my head, the fuzziness getting the better of me. “I guess it’s okay. If she insists.”

              “She did insist. Now come along, my pearl.” Ivan scrunched up his face. “You do still want to marry me, right?”

              “Of course, I do.”

              “Then save those words for the altar…please.” Ivan gave me his most earnest smile.

              “Yes, I’m coming.” I grinned. At least I think I grinned. I was no longer sure.

              Ivan closed the door behind him, and after I’d waited a few moments to give him a head start, I stepped out from the little bridal room and onto a dark red carpet that led up the aisle to my beloved. I did one more fluffing on my cathedral veil, which was a last minute addition that Ivan had insisted on.

              I made my first formal steps up the aisle toward my groom. The room spun a bit, and I placed my hand on a nearby pew to steady myself. Breathe, Dauphine. It’ll soon be over.

              The chapel was empty except for the two men at the front—the minister and Ivan. I thought Ivan had said the front of the chapel would be filled with servants. Had I heard him wrong about the invitations? I must have. I couldn’t seem to remember anything anymore. We had wanted an intimate affair—that was true. But it turned out to be so informal that my precious Anne hadn’t even bothered to come. But why?

              I paused mid-step, a feeling of uneasiness making me hesitate.

              Ivan nodded at me, smiling, encouraging me to come stand by his side.

              Ah, yes, Anne had said to go ahead. Those words whorled in my head like a merry-go-round. I took another step and then another. My head throbbed. I felt so old. So very old and tired suddenly. When the ceremony was over, first thing I would do, would be to treat myself to a long bridal nap. Yes, that was what I needed.

              The moment I took my place next to my groom, he reached out his hand to mine and held it tightly. Maybe a little too tightly, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Maybe he was nervous too. Or maybe just anxious to make me his bride. What a lovely thought.
Yes, think on that, Dauphine, so you won’t be tempted to think about what you really feel in your gut.
That rising panic that was getting stronger by the second. The kind of alarm that made me want to run away like I did from the creature in the meadow.

              “Dearly beloved,” I heard the elderly minister say from a far-off place. “We are gathered here in the sight of God to…”

             
Yes, in the sight of God. Oh, God, yes, please help me. I think something is wrong…