The Woman Who Couldn't Scream

  He said nothing. He looked unconcerned. Did he not understand?

  She continued, “As soon as Nauplius was dead, I began to implement it.”

  “I know.” Benedict sounded appallingly casual. “Your work is very clever, but Aunt Rose has an eidetic memory for numbers and an obsession with our business accounts. She caught the discrepancies, although none too soon, and set me to investigating them.”

  Merida hadn’t expected to hear that. “Have you … been able to do anything about it?”

  “I haven’t tried.”

  “Oh.” She ruminated on that. “What do you intend to do about it?”

  “I suspect if I had access to your computer and your program, I could stop it.”

  “Yes, you could. Or I could. I don’t want you to take the fall for this.”

  He sat up, turned his back to her and put his feet on the floor. “Or I could divert the evidence of criminal activity to Aunt Rose and Uncle Albert. The people who killed my parents. Who tried to kill the woman I loved, and succeeded in separating us for far too many years.”

  She looked at the angry scars that rippled down his spine. She thought about what had been done to them—to him—and placed her hand on his back.

  He turned around to see her speak.

  “I’d like that, too,” she signed. “I recognize the tracks of pain when I see them.”

  “Good. We are in accord about the Howard family business and its fate.” He placed his palms flat on the mattress, leaned toward her. “But we have one problem, and it’s a big one. As I said, Rose and Albert know I’ve found you, and to them, you’re still a distraction to me, and I’m still their hope for the future. So I suggest they might have hired a second assassin, one unconnected to your dead husband.”

  Merida laughed. She rolled away from him and laughed. She laughed silently, so amused by his suggestion tears gathered in her eyes and she blotted her cheeks with the sheet.

  He watched her, frowning. “You’ve developed an odd sense of humor, Merida.”

  “There are two assassins after me? One sent by Nauplius and one sent by your aunt and uncle?” She sobered. “Which one killed Carl Klineman?”

  “The one sent by Nauplius,” he said promptly. “The thing to remember about Rose and Albert is that they’re cheap. They wouldn’t pay for an extra killing. They don’t like to spend extravagantly for any reason and I can’t believe they would do so in their assassinations. Bob, your flight instructor, owned that plane. He serviced it, he loved it, but his wife contracted cancer and he was in dire financial straits.”

  “You think Bob fixed his plane to explode? He was a nice guy!” She saw Benedict’s skeptical expression. “I’m not being a fool. I knew him. I met him and his wife. He was normal and nice, and they were in love.”

  “When Bob’s wife died, he committed suicide.”

  “Oh. Poor guy.”

  “Yeah, poor guy, he tried to kill you. But you’re right—circumstances sometimes drive us all to do things we don’t like.”

  Merida continued, “I wasn’t going to accept Nauplius Brassard’s marriage proposal. Not even when I thought you had betrayed me. Then the doctors took the bandages off my face and I walked down the corridor.” Merida always said things to him she had never told anyone else. Her fantasy about Aunt Amelia Earhart. And now, this. “The other patients flinched and little children cried. I didn’t want to be beautiful, but I couldn’t face a lifetime of … that.”

  With his fingertip, Benedict stroked the feathers of her falcon tattoo. “I understand. I would have done anything to spare you the pain and the servitude.”

  “You did do something.” She clasped his hand. “The doctors said the only thing that saved my eyes were … the goggles. And the leather helmet kept my hair from igniting.”

  “Aunt Amelia watched over you.” He kissed her.

  She leaned into him, wrapped her arms around him.

  “No.” Regretfully, he took her hands away and pressed them to her ribs. “You’re in danger. Carl Klineman gave his life to tell us that.”

  His words sparked a memory, and she sat up very straight. “That’s right. You’re right. I saw what he did. What he wrote.”

  “What Carl wrote?”

  “On the floor. With his blood. He used his finger dipped in blood. I was trying to read it when you came up behind me. He wrote”—she closed her eyes and tried to visualize it—“WAS ON. Or WES UN. Or…” She opened her eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t remember for sure, and there was so much blood it had blurred the … letters.” Her memory of the scene would be forever joined with horror and fear, and she rolled back onto the bed to allow her nausea to subside.

  Benedict went into the bathroom and came back with a damp washcloth. He put it on her forehead, then wrote down the letters on a note card and studied them. “Was on … something?” he suggested. “Somebody was on something? Or is it a name?”

  “I’m not even sure I’m remembering it correctly. One thing’s for sure. We can’t go back and look.”

  “God, no. In fact, we need to leave. Now.” He picked his clothes up off the floor, flung her clothes at her. “Get up. Get dressed. We need to drop out of sight. Forever.”

  His urgency sent a jolt of fear through her. “Is that so easy?”

  He pulled on his clothes. “You disappeared quite effectively. I discovered you by accident. I suspect the assassins discovered you by watching me. I led them to you. This time we’ll go together. It’s the only way. We’re intelligent. We’re tough. We can make our way in the world. Together.”

  She liked the way he talked. She liked his confidence. She believed him when he said it was the only way. “All right.” For the second time that night, she pulled on her workout clothes.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Three A.M. and the cops were gone.

  Good Knight Manor Bed and Breakfast was quiet.

  Benedict and Merida tiptoed through the kitchen and toward the knight-filled dining room. They went through the ritual of unlocking the door. Benedict walked through Merida’s suite and came back to where she stood in the dining room. “All clear. We’re alone.”

  “Thank you.” She handed him her computer, showed him the log-in and where she was in her program.

  He studied it. He shook his head. “I need my computer. It’s got the security setups to get into the business accounts. But if I can view everything together, I can do this. Move the evidence you piled on me to Rose and Albert. The whole business is going to come crashing down around their ears.”

  “Your reputation will remain unscathed?”

  “I think I can salvage it, and with it my part of the fortune.” He grinned. “Baltimore Inner City Day Care and Preschool is going to have an impressive nest egg to depend on.”

  She had to offer him one more chance. “You could remain and be Benedict Howard, the mogul who saved the family business.”

  “Not and be with you. Don’t worry so, I know what I’m doing.” He frowned. “Come back to my room with me. I’ll pick up my computer and work here while you pack.”

  “You go back, make the changes on the computers, and I’ll pack. When I’m ready, I’ll call you and if you’re done and if you’re packed, we can leave.”

  He tried to tell her no.

  “It makes sense. We’re in a hurry.” She felt the pressure building to leave Virtue Falls and their current lives behind.

  “We are in a hurry.” He pulled her into his arms and looked down into her face. “Lock the doors after me.”

  She nodded.

  “Don’t let anyone in.”

  She nodded.

  “Pack light.”

  She nodded.

  “Am I mansplaining?”

  She pulled away and signed and smiled. “Yes, but it’s very cute.”

  He kissed her.

  But he didn’t linger. The night was waning. He had her software to alter, and quickly. They’d made their plans to disappear and they needed to imple
ment them now, before someone suspected or tried to kill Merida, or Benedict or both.

  When he left, Merida locked the doors and went upstairs mentally prioritizing as she climbed.

  First from the safe, her technology: the tablet, the computer, cables and gadgets. From her bathroom: toothbrush, birth control, tampons, sunscreen. From her bedroom: running shoes, comfort shoes and her one pair of stilettos.

  Benedict liked those stilettos.

  In the closet, she grabbed clothes for roughing it, clothes for layering, a dress, simple but easy to dress up or down. She flung it all on her bed, then off the top shelf she retrieved one rolling suitcase light enough for her to carry as needed. She didn’t know where they were going. She didn’t know how. She wanted to be prepared for everything.

  She packed quickly, efficiently, discarding anything that gave her second thoughts. She was tucking her socks into her shoes when—a brief shriek from the attic room above her. A heavy thud on her ceiling.

  Merida jumped. She stared up at the quivering antique light fixture.

  No other sound …

  Night pressed in on the windows, making the darkness blacker and deafening. The Cipres roomed up there. What had happened?

  Downstairs, she heard someone rap on her door, a quick panicked patter of terror. She ran halfway down the servants’ stairs. Ran back and got her phone. Ran all the way down and into the dining room.

  The rapping continued, constant, demanding, desperate.

  She put her hand against the door. It vibrated continuously, like a trembling hand. She checked the security camera.

  Elsa Cipre stood outside, lip split, blood trickling from one corner of her eye. She wore one of her odd black outfits, maybe her version of a nightgown, and glanced around continuously, watching for someone. Watching for … him.

  Merida had always known there was something wrong with that man. Something suspicious in the way Dawkins watched his wife.

  In the way he watched Merida.

  She left the chain on, but unlocked and opened the door and peered through the crack.

  Elsa whispered, “Please. Let me in. He’s going to kill me. This time he’s going to kill me.”

  “Stay here. I’ll call for help.” She backed away, dialed Benedict. No service. No ring. Damn it, this was no time to have trouble connecting. Dawkins could get here at any moment, and Merida didn’t know what she would do. She didn’t like Elsa, but that didn’t mean she wanted her to die at the hands of Dawkins Cipre. She needed a weapon. A weapon …

  Suits of armor lined the walls. Each knight held a weapon: battle-ax, spear, flail, sword … Sword was best—although it was too heavy for her, it had a point and sharp sides. A lot of ways to hurt someone. Merida tucked the phone under her ear. With both hands, she grasped the sword hilt and pulled.

  She heard a click, a rattle and the sound of a chain dropping.

  She whirled to face the door.

  A blow to the right ear sent her sprawling.

  The sword fell back into place. The phone flew out of her hands and tumbled across the floor.

  Dawkins Cipre. He’d forced his way in.

  Merida tried to get to her knees. She was kicked flat.

  A bony body landed on her back. A bony hand gripped her hair and slammed the right side of her head to the floor.

  The second impact on top of the already painful lump made Merida’s vision go black.

  Dawkins twisted first one of Merida’s arms and then the other behind her and fastened them together. He said into Merida’s ear, “If you had attended my classes, you would have never made such a mistake. I always taught my girls that a chain on the door will only slow a determined intruder, not stop her. Diagonal pliers, my dear. One good strong snip and I was in.”

  Not Dawkins Cipre’s voice.

  Elsa Cipre.

  Elsa Cipre rolled Merida over.

  Elsa Cipre’s face swam before Merida’s unsteady vision.

  Clutching Merida’s jaw with her long fingers, Elsa turned Merida’s head back and forth. “Tsk. Look what you’ve done,” she said. “Now the side of your face will be swollen, it’ll be harder for me to cut the skin around your ear and the results will not be nearly as appealing. If Nauplius Brassard still lived, he would be most unhappy.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Victim: male, approximately forty, of African descent, no ID, shot and stabbed.

  With a sigh, Kateri finished the paperwork for that night’s murder, then headed in to meet with Bergen, Garik Jacobsen and Mike Sun. The consensus: some of the violence in Virtue Falls was related; some, like tonight, completely puzzling; some gruesome and disturbing; and they all needed a good night’s sleep. Mike and Garik headed back to the morgue. Bergen and Kateri played rock/paper/scissors to decide who would stay through the night … and as they did, Kateri got a call from the hospital, from Peggy. Rainbow was restless and wanted to see her.

  With a good-humored, “Cheater,” Bergen shoved her toward the door.

  Kateri hitched a ride with Officer Bill Chippen, took a nap on the way, got out and waved her thanks.

  The hospital was steeped in that hushed, wee-hours-of-the-morning quiet. On her way to Rainbow’s room, Kateri stopped at the nurses’ station.

  With her normal brisk efficiency, Peggy informed her, “Rainbow is on fluids and doing well. On the other hand, your sister visited, and ever since Rainbow has been agitated and insistent that she see you.”

  “My sister visited? Again?” Kateri shook her finger at Peggy. “I suspect there’s going to be another murder in Virtue Falls, and I suspect I’m going to be the perp.”

  “Family. Gotta love ’em.” A call button went off, and Peggy stood and whisked away.

  Kateri entered Rainbow’s hospital room to find her friend awake, irritated and in pain. She asked the usual inane question, “How are you feeling?”

  Rainbow glared. “Did you get the box from Margaret?”

  “I did. I stashed it in the trunk of my car.”

  “Did you open it?”

  “Not yet, but—”

  “I don’t care why not. Open it. Find out why that aggravating woman wants it so badly.”

  “Lilith?”

  “Your sister. After she visited, I dreamed about her. She was pointing a gun at you, demanding the box. Then I tried to take off my sweater and it choked me and the horse stomped on my foot…”

  Kateri took Rainbow’s hand and petted it. “Have you had your pain medication recently?”

  Rainbow looked at the IV going into her arm. “I think about a half hour ago.”

  “That’s good.” Kateri settled into the chair beside the bed. “I’ll give Lilith the box.”

  “No! Look inside.” Rainbow closed her eyes. “Look … inside. Promise.”

  “I will look inside.” Between Margaret and Rainbow, Kateri would never hear the end of it if she didn’t.

  She felt as if she’d been asleep for five minutes when Moen arrived, grabbed her shoulder and shook her. “Sheriff, come on!” The boy did not know how to keep his voice down.

  Kateri lifted her head, blinked hard. “Shh. She’s asleep.”

  “I know, she’s in a coma and she’s going to die and I’m sorry, but—”

  “No. Haven’t you heard?” Kateri beamed. “She’s asleep. Really asleep. She’s going to recover.”

  “Wow.” Moen stared at Rainbow. “She’s a tough old broad.”

  Rainbow’s middle finger shot up.

  Kateri chuckled.

  “What did I say?” Moen asked, honestly bewildered.

  “She is neither old nor a broad.”

  He blushed as only redheaded Moen could blush. “I didn’t mean … okay. I apologize, Rainbow.”

  Rainbow gave a little wave.

  “Good night, Rainbow. Sleep well, my friend.” Kateri herded Moen out the door.

  “Sheriff,” he said earnestly, “this politically correct stuff is hard.”

  “I know. But cop or no
t, you’re going to have to get it figured out. It’s pretty simple. Think before you speak. Always.” She followed him toward the exit. “Nothing more was happening when I left City Hall. What happened now?” Please, God, not another murder.

  “Mike Sun used the … the skin from the finger I found to identify the dead maid from the B and B.”

  “That was good work, Moen.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” He held the outer door for her. “I’m still not staying on the force.”

  “I know, Moen. For the record, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

  “Really?” He stood still in the brightly lit parking lot. “Cool.”

  Kateri kept walking. “What do we know about the ID?”

  He hurried after her. “Garik Jacobsen got the goods on her. I’m supposed to take you to the morgue, because she’s not at all who she said she was. She’s wanted by Interpol, the FBI, the CIA. A few terror organizations.”

  Now Kateri stood still. “For what?”

  “Her real name is Ashley Kocsis. She’s an assassin.”

  That was the last answer Kateri expected. She hurried after him toward the patrol car. “What is an assassin doing working as a maid at a Virtue Falls B and B?”

  “She was sent to assassinate someone.” Trust Moen to break the facts down to the basics.

  They climbed in.

  “Okay. Who?” Kateri answered her own question. “Merida Falcon.” She pulled out her phone and dialed.

  “No. Benedict Howard.” Moen started the engine and took off like a rocket.

  She knew he was going to miss driving for her. “I don’t think so,” she said. “The people who have been attacked have all been female. It’s practice. Or maybe someone who really likes killing and hasn’t had the opportunity to get to his victim.”

  Merida didn’t answer.

  Kateri hung up.

  “Benedict Howard is rich,” Moen said. “It’s always money.”

  “Not always. Greed. Revenge. Love. Those are the big three. In this case, Merida does have money—she was married to a very wealthy man and her stepchildren hate her.” Kateri texted Merida. “So maybe revenge. The question is—who killed the assassin?”

  Moen answered almost before she finished asking. “Another assassin. The one who wants to get paid.” His pale cheeks got that mottled red coloring that meant he was excited. “Call her.”