You Can Run... (40 page)

“Name it.”

“I heard Willow beginning to stir in the library. I’d like to take her back up to bed, but I don’t want to wake her completely. Would you carry her up for me? I have a sprained wrist. Besides, I’ll have a cat to carry.”

“A cat?” Blake asked.

“You’ll understand when you see him,” Diana said.

They walked quietly into the library. Romeo had curled into an unrecognizable mass of gray fur on the floor and Christabel sat beside him, alternating her gaze between him and Willow, her two charges. Willow lay curled up on the window seat beneath the water-lily glass inlay she’d always loved. She wasn’t awake, but she was murmuring and twisting uncomfortably. In a minute, she would fall off the seat.

Blake stood and looked at her for a moment, a soft, unreadable smile on his handsome face. “She’s a beautiful child,” he murmured.

In a flash, Willow turned over and nearly fell off the window seat. Diana stooped and caught her before she hit the floor. When she stood up, Blake reached out to take Willow. Diana had caught her at a bad angle and now nearly dropped her. Blake stepped closer, his body almost touching Diana’s as she began slipping Willow from her arms into his. Diana bent her head to kiss Willow at the same moment as Blake. Their faces met, lips pursed, arms touching.

And suddenly Lenore stood midway inside the library, her face twisted with rage, a gun pointed at the three of them.

“You really should lock your front door, Diana,” Lenore said. “Or were you so excited when
my
husband appeared, you forgot?”

Diana and Blake stood still, both holding Willow who had finally opened her eyes although she wasn’t fully awake.
I did forget to lock the door,
Diana thought. I was so frightened about Glen that when Blake came back from talking to the police, I was too distracted to think about the door.

“Well, nothing to say? Either of you? Aren’t you going to offer me tea or some of that wonderful lemonade and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Diana?”

Finally, Blake asked evenly, “Lenore, how did you get here?”

“Jeffrey is at the hotel. I gave him a couple of tranquilizers and left in the Lincoln—the
nice
car he got for himself. I drove straight here.”

“Why?”

“To end my pain.” Her voice was loud, her blue gaze slightly wild and unfocused. “Penny’s pain is over. Why shouldn’t mine be over, too?”

Her words struck Diana dumb. Blake’s voice remained calm and smooth. “What are you talking about, darling?”

“I’m talking about you,
darling.
You and your affairs. Ever since we married, I’ve put up with them because I loved you so much. I told myself I could bear them if you just stayed with me. But
this
is too much. I’ve known for years you were having an affair with Penny, no matter how many times you denied it. Yet she hasn’t been dead an hour and here you are, wooing another woman, kissing her while the two of you hold Penny’s child, for God’s sake! Don’t you have
any
shame? Either of you?”

Blake gently shifted Willow into Diana’s arms. The child murmured sleepily, “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing, honey. Just be still right now,” Diana almost whispered. “Don’t say anything.”

“No, don’t say
anything,
Willow,” Lenore snarled. “I won’t call you Cornelia because that’s my mother’s name and you have
no
blood relationship with my mother! Now Blake’s mother is a different matter. You’ve never met your Grandmother Wentworth because she’s in an insane asylum!”

“Lenore!” Blake’s voice cracked like a whip. “Are you saying Willow is
my
child?”

“I
know
she is. I’ve known since Penny gave birth to her. It was all I could do, but I always made a fuss over her because she
is
your child whereas I can’t give you one. Barren. That’s what I am. My mother always told me that was
my
cross to bear for being the child of Morgan Cavanaugh.”

“For the love of God, Lenore, your mother belongs in a mental hospital more than mine does.” Diana heard the tightly controlled fury in his voice. “Barren? I knew when I married you that you couldn’t have children. It didn’t make any difference to me.”

“No, because you married me to secure your place in the business. You could always find other women to bear your children. Women like Penny. And Diana? She looks like good breeding stock to me.”

“Stop it, Lenore.” Blake’s voice had turned to ice. “Willow is
not
my child.
Nothing
romantic is going on
between Diana and me. We’re barely friends. You, on the other hand, have been my wife for twelve years. I’ve done my damnedest to make you happy, but I can’t make you happy because of all your crazy suspicions.”

“They aren’t suspicions!” Lenore shouted, coming closer, waving the gun. “They’re
true
!”

Willow, wide-awake, had begun to cry. Diana jiggled her as if she were a baby and told her everything was all right, which was absurd. The child could hear.

“Diana is lying to you even now, Willow!” Lenore yelled. “Everything isn’t fine for you. Penny is dead! Your mother is
dead
!” Lenore took two more steps toward them, the gun shaking. “You will
never
see her again, Willow.
Never
!”

Willow let out a piercing cry of sheer agony and suddenly the gun went off in Lenore’s trembling hands. Diana felt nothing for a moment. Then pain erupted in her left shoulder and seared down her arm. The shock of pain loosened her hold on Willow and they both crashed to the floor. Lenore screamed, and with catlike grace, Blake lunged at her and grabbed the gun.

Diana watched as Blake pointed the gun at Lenore. She stood white-faced and shuddering, and Diana thought,
Thank God. Blake has saved us. Lenore could have shot Willow next. I’m only injured. Everything will be all right as soon as he calls the police.

“The cell phone is on the table behind you, Blake,” Diana said. “You can’t leave us to get the surveillance guys at the end of the driveway.”

Blake didn’t even look at her. He made no movement to pick up the cell phone. He simply stared at Lenore, a small, pleased smile forming on his face. “You are so incredibly stupid, Lenore,” he said calmly. “What did you hope to gain by this ridiculous show? Did you think you’d frighten me back into your arms? Because I know you weren’t going to kill me. You’d never set me free so easily. Maybe you only meant to cripple me, turn me into a paraplegic or, better yet, a quadriplegic. Then you’d
really
have me,
wouldn’t you? You’d have me with you all the time, dependent on you, unable to escape you. That’s what you’ve always wanted, Lenore, but you won’t get it. You’ve
never
really had me and you
never
will.”

The Lenore of ten minutes ago had wilted like a flower hit by a blast of freezing air. “Blake, I’m sorry,” she said pitifully. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“A stunning defense, dear. No, you can’t talk your way out of this one by playing the innocent little girl. You will go to prison just like your father should have. People think Morgan and Jeffrey are two of a kind. They’re wrong. It’s
you
and Morgan who are two of a kind. You always were like him.”

“I’m not!” Lenore protested. “I know my father did awful things, but I haven’t.”

“Really? How about helping him make my father’s death look like suicide?”

Diana gasped. What was Blake saying? What in heaven’s name was he doing? He looked as if he were enjoying himself. With a stunning shock, she realized he had no intention of calling the police.

“I helped my father make your father’s death look like suicide?” Lenore repeated. “I don’t know what you mean. I was just a teenager. . . .”

“A teenager who wanted to get into Daddy’s good graces. And you did, Lenore.
You
were the son Morgan never had.” Blake looked at her with cold, black hatred. “Get over there and sit on the floor by Diana. Sit close to the woman you thought was your rival. She never was your rival, you know. Not that I don’t find her extremely attractive. Not that I haven’t fantasized about what she would be like in bed. Magnificent, I’m sure. But I’ve had a plan for years and I’ve never veered from it for simple sexual pleasure. Diana didn’t fit into my plan. And be sure to sit to her right side, Lenore. Diana’s left shoulder is bleeding rather profusely.”

Lenore crept toward Diana, not meeting her eyes, and lowered herself to the floor. Willow no longer sobbed. After
hearing that her mother was dead, she’d gone still and quiet, withdrawing into a world of her own.
Good,
Diana thought.
I don’t want her to see or hear any of this.

“What do you mean when you say Lenore helped Morgan make your father’s death look like suicide, Blake?” Diana nearly jumped at the sound of her own voice. She hadn’t planned to speak—she’d only thought she needed time until the surveillance police officers realized there was trouble at the house.

“My father? I thought everyone had forgotten about Charles Wentworth. They’d simply brushed him and his disgrace under the rug,” Blake said.

“His disgrace?” Diana asked.

“Father made some bad business investments. He lost a lot of money. He was desperate, or he would never have accepted Morgan Cavanaugh’s offer to go into business. He’d heard bad things about Cavanaugh—he didn’t trust him. But Father’s pride and his concern for his family got him into trouble. He joined Cavanaugh and, remarkably, the business was a huge success.”

Blake shook his head slightly, his eyes seeming to glaze for a moment. “But once Cavanaugh and Wentworth had exceeded even Morgan Cavanaugh’s expectations, he decided he didn’t want a partner anymore. I wouldn’t know all of this if my father hadn’t gotten extremely drunk one evening and told me everything. He said Morgan had fixed the books to make it look as if Father had embezzled over a million dollars from the company. He told me Morgan made a great show of trying to cover up for his friend, but of course, the board members saw right through Morgan’s sham cover-up because it was so deliberately clumsy.

“Father resigned. He talked about moving away because all of our friends—those fine society friends—had deserted us. Mother was beginning her nervous breakdown. He was worried about paying for my Harvard education.” Blake stopped. “But even that night, my father was not beaten. He was injured, but not beaten. He was already making plans for turning our lives around. Then he told me
he had an appointment with Morgan. He was going to make some kind of deal. I was worried. It was pouring snow and he was drunk.” Blake’s eyes clouded. “He never came home that night. Lenore, I’m sure you remember the next day—someone found him in his car on a little side road about two miles from our house, where apparently he had shot himself in the head.”

“That’s terrible,” Diana said weakly.

“I’ll tell you what’s terrible,” Blake snapped. “My father didn’t commit suicide. Morgan Cavanaugh killed him because he was afraid my father was going to keep telling his story and eventually someone was going to believe him!”

“Wasn’t there a police investigation?” Diana asked, feeling the silent Willow beginning to tremble beside her. “Didn’t Morgan tell the police he and your father were supposed to have a meeting?”

“No, he did not. He said he didn’t know anything about a meeting. His wife and Jeffrey were not home that night, but Lenore was. Our little Lenore, who swore on a Bible her father had not left home all evening. They’d watched television together, she said, as if Morgan would ever sit and watch television with one of his children.”

Diana stole a look at Lenore, who huddled on the floor, head bowed, and she knew what Blake said was true. Lenore had provided her father with an alibi for that night. Diana wondered how much pressure a man like Morgan had exerted on her to do so. Blake obviously didn’t care.

“My parents were deeply Christian,” Blake went on. “My father actually
believed.
He would never have committed suicide because then he couldn’t be buried in consecrated ground and he couldn’t go to heaven. My mother was convinced he was burning in hell—that’s what broke her mind. So Morgan managed to kill two birds with one bullet, shall we say. And what was his punishment? He got Cavanaugh and Wentworth all to himself.”

“But Lenore said something about Morgan taking you in, giving you the same education he gave his own son,” Diana said desperately.

“Of course he did. People thought he was a saint. His trusted partner steals from him then kills himself leaving no money and a crazy wife, and Morgan becomes poor Blake’s salvation. What a prince of a man!”

Diana heard scuffling, gasping, and muttering in the hallway before Clarice stumbled in through the rear door of the library. Diana had forgotten the woman was in the house, but there she stood wearing the horrible billowing, flounced, ruffled pink robe that Diana had loaned her on her first night in the house. She glanced blankly at Blake then looked at Diana. “So much noise! What’s happening?”

Blake pointed the gun at her. “And if you want to stay alive, you will keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh! There’s so much blood!” Clarice slurred. She wavered, a tiny woman lost in a mass of pink satin, holding her hands behind her. “I’ll be quiet,” Clarice whispered, her eyelids fluttering, her violet eyes rolling before she sank to the floor beside Diana.

“I think she’s had a heart attack!” Diana exclaimed.

“She just fainted. If not . . .” He shrugged. “She just saved me a bullet.”

Diana wanted to scream at him, but she knew that would probably mean instant death. She swallowed, glanced down for a moment, then raised her eyes and asked softly, “Blake, I know you’re doing this because of Jeffrey. Why? Jeffrey is your friend.”

“Jeffrey Cavanaugh?
My
friend?” Blake laughed without mirth. “
I
am a Wentworth. Who is he? No more than a man of common intellect, manners, and birth whose only redeeming feature is his money. He’s just a gutter-born, ruthless thug like his father. And I had to be beholden to
him,
just like I did his father! I hated owing Jeff anything even more than I hated his father, so I decided I’d make
Morgan
and
Jeffrey pay for the destruction of my family and the humbling of our pride.”