Trace Their Shadows (26 page)

Brandy sped through the gate, hands shaking, and it clanged shut. In the rear view mirror she saw Blackthorne bull his way into the control booth, his voice still loud. She hadn’t expected him. He wasn’t part of her plans yet. She meant to see him later. “The best laid schemes of mice and men Gang aft agley,” she thought. But she could not bear to turn back. This stage of her performance would not take long. Surely Steve would be here soon.

Along the deserted walkway the wind bent the crepe myrtles and lashed whitecaps on the surface of the lake. Grace sat on the same stone bench working stoically on her knitted shawl, a large rain coat folded beside her. She was dressed as she had been for the funeral, her hair held in place by a tidy scarf, her knitting bag in her lap. Brandy parked in an isolated spot near the red–tipped hedge, climbed out of the car, and glided on sandals toward her.

“I’m here again, Grace,” she called. For a few minutes she stood before the bench, the dress whipping around her knees, the dark hair blowing about her face, and looked down into the drawn, unhappy eyes of Grace Able. “I have bad news for you. It’s about Brookfield.”

Grace’s hands quivered slightly, but she did not appear surprised as she gathered up her needlepoint, laid it in the knitting bag, and threw the raincoat like a cape over her shoulders.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said. She looked toward the thick clouds in the west. The sky was the color of charcoal and heavy with the smell of rain. “Perhaps we should sit in my car. I parked near the bench. Mabel will be back soon. She might interrupt us in the apartment.” She turned her pale, perfect face toward Brandy. “I’ll be leaving town day after tomorrow.”

They lowered their heads against the wind and Brandy followed Grace to her white Mercedes, nervously glancing about for Steve——or Blackthorne. A drop of rain spattered on the cement. While Grace stepped in and settled herself, Brandy hurried around to the passenger’s side. The older woman waited, stiffly erect, her hands fumbling with the catch on her knitting bag. Deep in the clouds to the west lightning flared. Across the hedge Brandy heard a car door slam. She paused and peered through the fluttering leaves. Under a parking lot lamp shone the sleek body of the Cadillac. Blackthorne had talked his way in.

As Brandy snatched open the door, she heard heavy footsteps echo beyond the screen plantings. Blackthorne? She slipped into her seat, pulled the door closed, groped in the sudden dimness for the lock. She felt a movement beside her. Grace gave a thin cry, raised a shaking white glove above the steering wheel and pointed toward the passenger window. “Isn’t that someone you know?”

Brandy jerked her head up, fingers still on the door sill, eyes straining. Through the rain she could see no one. “Where?”

A handle clicked, from nearby came a strange, exultant cry, then a crashing pain flamed in the back of Brandy’s head. She slumped forward, barely conscious of footsteps splashing outside, of a beam of light sweeping over them. A man shouted, and the door was flung open.

Brandy’s arm dropped. She felt rain, felt herself crumpling downward through open space, saw the wet pavement rise toward her, tasted salt. She thought in slow motion: she would hit the concrete, would never know the answer. Her eyes closed and she gave herself up to pain.

But she did not smash against the pavement. Instead, she fell onto something with give. Arms turned her body so that she faced upward. Her eyes flicked open. Her vision blurred. With a fierce chill she thought of Blackthorne. Then through the rain above her, she saw another face, one with high cheekbones, brown eyes, and a dripping mustache.

Far in the distance she heard a voice say, “Most unpredictable woman I ever met.”

She thought vaguely, Steve must have brought John for back–up. Couldn’t have asked another deputy. Not a Sheriff’s Office operation.

Behind them a man’s voice boomed, as if from miles away, “What the hell happened? Her head’s all bloody!” It sounded like the guard.

“Call EMS! Hurry!” John, once again. The man retreated, running. Cradling her head, he gently lowered her onto the damp pavement.

“Relax. You’re going to be all right. You took a nasty blow.” He turned away and spoke to someone else. “Let me have that rain slicker.”

From the other side of the car, as in a dream, she heard Steve’s sharp voice, “Don’t touch that hammer!”

Hearing’s the last of the senses to go, Brandy thought, drifting, and hoped water would not ruin Steve’s equipment.

She remembered stepping into her car, the footsteps, Grace telling her to look out the window, the click of a handle, and then the blow. John still knelt, spreading a rain cape over her. Running down her arm she could see pinkish water——maybe she was bleeding——then a riverlet of dark gray. The temporary rinse.

“You do try a man’s patience,” John said. Unlike the perfect, cautious Sharon, she thought, bitter in spite of the pain. Sharon would be waiting somewhere in warmth and comfort with Captain Able and his helpful wife. John added, “Lucky Steve kept track of you after you came through the gate.”

“Never saw him,” she whispered.

“You weren’t supposed to.”

As John tucked something soft under her head and pulled up the rain slicker, his dark eyes widened. “What in God’s name? Eva Stone’s dress!” She wanted to tell him about the all–important red dress with the white collar, about the belt buckle and the buttons, but she was too tired and her head ached. The strand of blue beads had broken and, one by one, rolled down her bodice and hit the pavement with tiny plinks. She lay close to John, rain cooling her face, and closed her eyes.

Fuzzily, she floated over the scene, saw the boat house, saw John and the snake, saw Sharon. Wondered if she had fallen against his sore arm. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not badly.” A siren shrilled nearby. Tires screeched on wet concrete. Another ambulance, she thought, weary from the throbbing. Getting to be a habit.

Steve again, distant. “You have the right to remain silent…”

Grace’s voice cut, pearl–like, through the din. “She came back. I knew her immediately. Ghost indeed! She never leaves me alone.”

Brandy’s eyelids fluttered. A numbness crept over her like the closing of a shutter. But she had proved her theory. Thinking of Grace roused her. A line of Lady Macbeth’s wafted through her head. “Look like the innocent flower,” she whispered to John, “but be the serpent under it.”

TWENTY–FIVE
 

Rain spattered the window, and in the twilight the glistening fronds of a cabbage palm bobbed against the glass. Brandy lay propped on a pillow, aware of a sharp, medicinal odor, her aching head swathed in bandages. A nurse was shining a small bright light into her eyes, and behind her, others were waiting. Among the faces she could not find John’s.

The nurse looked up at Brandy’s mother, hovering at the other side of the bed. “No sign of irregularity,” the nurse said. “The doctor’s still checking for a subdural hematoma.” Mrs. O’Bannon’s forehead was deeply furrowed——maybe with worry, maybe with disapproval. Probably both. Her worst fears about newspaper reporting had come to pass.

“You have a lot of guests. Too many. They mustn’t stay long,” the nurse said and swept out of the room.

Around the walls ranged a variety of faces. Brandy was surprised to see Sylvania and Blackthorne, Mr. Tyler looking quizzical behind his horn–rimmed glasses, and Steve in uniform. Even Ace Langdon lounged in the doorway. She was not surprised to see Detective Morris draw up a chair beside her, his lips turned down tight, but the corners of his eyes crinkling. She felt like the prime exhibit in a museum.

The detective poised his ballpoint pen over a spiral note pad. “I think you’ve recovered enough to explain what you were doing at Grace Able’s place.”

Brandy savored the moment. “Only one scenario fit all the facts in the murder,” she said, unrepentant but careful not to move her head. “I was sure I knew how Eva Stone was killed, but I couldn’t prove it. My memory’s woozy about what happened just before I was hit and afterward, but I know what I planned to do, and I guess I did it.”

From the back of the room Steve shot her a wry grin. “You sure did,” he said.

“I reasoned out the method first. Lily Mae Brown saw Eva Stone walk into the lake and disappear. Her shouts raised a search, so in the beginning I couldn’t figure out how Eva’s skeleton turned up later buried near the same spot. I thought maybe a strong swimmer had dragged her under the water, struck her several times, and hidden her body in the shrubbery.

“But how could all those searchers fail to see what was going on? And how could the murderer place the tire iron where it was needed, drag Eva out of the water, hit her repeatedly, and then conceal the body where all those searchers couldn’t find it? There wasn’t time. Lily Mae was pretty fast getting down those four flights of stairs.” Brandy paused and looked around her.

“And then people kept saying I reminded them of Eva Stone. That gave me an idea. From the back, almost any young woman the right size might look like Eva, especially dressed like her. Maybe Eva was killed earlier, and someone took her place for that walk into the water. The only women still on the premises near Eva’s age were Sylvania and Grace. Because of her height, Sylvania couldn’t be mistaken for Eva. But Grace could be. That fact was the key.

“The whole process came to me after we learned about the tire iron and Eva’s clothes. If Ace was telling the truth——and he was——he’d put the tire iron in Grace’s car behind the front seat.”

From the doorway Ace nodded vigorously.

“Ace told us Grace was there after the tire was changed. Think about that scene. Blackthorne said Brookfield was coming back to the house early for an appointment, but the tire was changed before Brookfield got back. We know Eva came to the party for the sole purpose of telling Brookfield about the baby. She must’ve asked to see him. When she learned about his engagement to Grace, she must’ve believed he’d call the wedding off and marry her instead.”

Sylvania dropped her head and looked at her large hands in silence.

Brandy glanced at Brookfield’s devoted sister. “And he probably would have. But Eva never got the chance to tell him. She had-n’t seen him alone all weekend, so she asked him to meet her. Said it was important. Then she made a fatal mistake. She decided it would only be fair to tell Grace. After all, Grace was in for a terrible shock.

“Eva didn’t know Grace well. She’d didn’t know Grace has a tendency to feel persecuted. She always sees herself as a victim. Even now I’ve seen the symptoms. When Eva followed Grace out to the car and told her about the baby, Eva explained she was going to tell Brookfield. Grace’s greatest desire in life——to marry Brookfield——was not only threatened, but ended. She saw herself, not Eva, as the victim.”

Sylvania put one hand on Blackthorne’s arm, her angular face a study in concentration.

“It didn’t take Grace long to choose a plan of action,” Brandy went on. “She would’ve asked Eva to sit in her car, so they could talk. Then she seized the tire iron behind Eva——probably used some trick to get her to turn around, just like she did me——maybe said she saw Brookfield coming——and then she struck Eva several times so quickly and so hard that Eva had no time to defend herself or even cry out.

“Grace knew that she had to make it look like Eva drowned. When the deputies found those buttons, the belt buckle, and the beads buried near the tire iron and not with the skeleton, I knew I was on the right track. It meant that Eva’s dress had been removed from the body.”

Morris’s eyes darted toward Ace Langdon. “I’ll admit I suspected a different kind of crime.”

“But it was Grace who stripped off Eva’s dress,” Brandy continued. “It wouldn’t have been easy, but the dress buttoned all the way down the front. She might’ve pulled it down over Eva’s feet, then thrown sheets over the body to hide it. Remember, those sheets and towels had been stored in her trunk. No one would have thought anything of Grace opening her trunk, even if they’d seen her. And no one else was in the area. Then she slipped into the dress herself.”

When Brandy began her explanation, Mr. Tyler had been standing with arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Now he was also taking notes.

“About that time Brookfield returned,” Brandy said. “Lily Mae heard him say he was looking for Eva. Meanwhile, as soon as Grace concealed the body, she headed for the water. She may have been paranoid, but she was shrewd. Her plan wouldn’t work unless someone saw a girl they thought was Eva go into the lake, so she rang that bell loudly, waded out, and waited until she heard Lily Mae call out to her from the upstairs window. Then Lily Mae and Henry Washington saw her go under.

“I puzzled about the bell from the beginning. It was unlikely that it rang by accident. More likely it rang on purpose. That did-n’t make sense if Eva was committing suicide. But it made sense if an imposter faked a drowning.”

Sylvania exhaled, her face no longer as tense. “After all these years,”she said, “Lily Mae will be glad to learn she couldn’t have prevented Eva Stone’s death.”

“I plan to tell her myself,” Brandy said. “To Grace, Lily Mae was just a tool. When Grace heard Lily Mae call out, she walked quickly out into the water. She was a good swimmer and Mabel says she still is. She sank down and swam under water around that spit of land. She would’ve climbed out on the other side of the bougainvillea hedge, while Lily Mae was still hurrying down those four flights of stairs. Grace was blocked from view by the hedge when she ran to her car, jumped in, and took off. Everyone remembered that she was gone before the search was well underway. Mr. Blackthorne saw her pass him on the road.”

“Cold–blooded bitch,” the developer said, then glanced at Sylvania and added more quietly, “You mean she drove into town with Eva’s body on the seat beside her?”

“She must have. Once we knew Eva didn’t drown, I was puzzled because the body wasn’t found during the search. I figured somebody spirited it away somehow.”

Fully interested now, Ace eased farther into the room. “How was the body buried, then, back on the property?”

“There’s just one explanation. I imagine Aunt Sylvania knows. Grace couldn’t have managed the job by herself. After the search failed, Brookfield drove into town to tell the Stones that their daughter had apparently drowned. He also told Grace. That’s when she must have confessed the crime to him.