"Planning on going somewhere, my pretty beryl? I don't think so. I think the only place you're headed is to the basement with me." He paused for a moment and thrust his nose against my neck. I could feel his breath on my skin. "You smell delicious. Did you know that? Take it nice and slow. We're going to move this party to your new home. But I'm afraid it's also going to be your last home."
Chapter Twenty-Four
He shifted so his arm was around my waist I and the knife pointed at my back. I could feel the tip pressing through the weave of my sweater. Trickles of sweat dripped down my face, cold and clammy. As we neared the stairs, I moaned and started to sink to the floor.
"What the fuck are you doing? Get up, bitch."
"My knee, I hurt my knee," I stammered, trying to buy time. Anything to buy a few more minutes. "I tore it up last week, and it hurts to walk."
He yanked me up by the elbow. "You'll jolly well do anything I tell you to if you don't want me to make this any worse than it has to be." He leaned close to my ear. "Believe me when I tell you that I know how to make you hurt. Pain is the butter on my bread, and when we're down in the basement, no one will hear you scream. Now get down those stairs!" He shoved me toward the stairwell. If I Wanted to escape, it had to be now. So what if I broke my neck? I'd be dead anyway, if I waited much longer.
I dove for the stairwell and went rolling down to the landing, covering my head as I fell. A loud curse echoed above me. I tried to shut out his voice, tried to shut out the blinding pain that arced through my knee into the rest of my body as I forced myself to my feet. One more flight to go.
He was on my heels as I rounded the landing. No more time, no more choices—either I let him kill me, or I embraced the fire. I coiled back for the spring and, screaming as loudly as I could, took the flight of stairs in one leap. As I hit the bottom, the abrupt stop jarred me to the bone, but I couldn't let the pain stop me. Still screaming, I hurled myself back into the hallway. As I cleared the door, I could feel a breeze as Joshua slashed at the air behind me, the tip of his knife almost catching my blouse.
How long could I keep this up? Not long enough to make it to my car, not down those icy steps. Without a clear plan, thinking only to get away, I raced into the dining room and grabbed one of the candelabras, turning to throw it at him as hard as I could. The brass holder bounced off his arm and he dropped the knife, swearing as he stopped to recover it. Time enough to get to the kitchen, where there should be something I could use as a weapon. There, on the counter, the knife block! I grabbed the biggest, meanest knife I could find with one hand, and a cleaver with the other.
He entered the room, wary but with blade raised. If he'd had a gun, he would have used it by now, so the worst he could do was stab me, choke me, or beat me to death. I raised my weapons and we stood, frozen, waiting. A trickle of blood flowed down my nose to puddle on my lip. I gasped, trying to catch my breath. The adrenaline rush down the stairs had kept me going, but now I could feel fear working at me, slowing me down.
Joshua cocked an eyebrow, and a slow smile spread across his face. "I'm having fun, babe. How about you? You're hot, even if you are crazy." His words were smooth; his pupils dilated, and I knew that he was psycho enough to risk that I might stab him.
"Stay away. I'm not going to let you hurt me." I tried to bolster my courage.
Joshua snorted. "I've already hurt you, and I'm going to hurt you a lot more." He leaped forward. I stumbled back against the range, dropping the cleaver as I screamed. He laughed. "Good one, girl. Good one. Okay, it's time to get down to business. I can make this easy or I can make this hard. Your choice. Put down the knife."
He stood between me and the door. What to do? Try to lunge, try to stab him? In the core of my heart, I knew that I couldn't do it—he was stronger than me, he was psychotic, he was winning this battle, and I would go down in flames. Flames… that was it! I held him at bay with the butcher knife while, with my other hand, I grabbed the pile of rags on the counter and dumped them on one of the burners. Then one quick twist to the knob and a quick prayer that the range still worked. Light, please light, please don't be one of those stoves that requires a match.
Whoosh … the rags flared to life, burning with a thick black smoke. They must have had some kind of solvent on them, because they raged a brilliant orange against the dim shadows of the kitchen. Coughing, I used the tip of the knife to catch one of the flaming rags and tossed it at Joshua. He jumped out of the way, giving me the opening I needed to barrel past him. I burst through the door and onto the precarious balcony.
A low roar came from the kitchen; the flames had touched off the pile of garbage. Smoke billowed out the door, and I could see through the grimy window that the room was ablaze. Joshua stumbled out, wiping his eyes. I'd managed to singe his hair with my impromptu fireball. I held the knife in front of me, but my hands were shaking.
"You've done it now, girl. Set the place to crackling. Good riddance, anyway. Saves me the trouble of destroying the evidence. Put down the knife, and I promise I'll make this easy." His eyes were compelling, glittering as they mirrored the snow and icicles hanging around us.
I thought I could hear sirens in the distance. I had to distract him. "Before I do, answer me one thing."
"What?" His voice was flat now, and he seemed to have sunk into some kind of trance. I recognized the look from long ago, from one awful night when I'd been attacked during college—it was the look of a predator who felt nothing for his prey. I'd gotten away then… would I be as lucky this time?
"Why did you come back to Chiqetaw? You hated them all, you killed Diana and her mother and set up Walter to take the fall. Why come back here?" My stomach churned.
Joshua shifted and shrugged. "To watch Walter crumble. Why else? Can't paint a masterpiece and not want to look at it. And it would have all gone together just right if you hadn't been so damned nosy. That knife was the crowning jewel in my plan, and it was so easy to plant in his house before I showed up at the memorial." He gave me a slow smile. "I just wish I'd thought to have one last go with Susan while she was out cold. She always did have a fine ass."
My stomach roiled. "What kind of pervert are you?"
He ran his blade over one thumb, and I saw a drop of blood weal up before he answered me softly. "The best kind—successful." With a shift, he readied himself to lunge. I had only one hope, only one chance. Smoke raged out of the door in a thick cloud and if he didn't kill me, the fire would. I swallowed and dropped my knife.
"Good girl. We have to finish this quicker than I like. Those sirens are getting close, and I have to disappear." Joshua held up the dagger and I steeled myself, waiting, counting fractions of seconds. As he swung the blade toward my chest, I threw myself against the side of the burning building.
With nothing for the blade to encounter, the motion unbalanced him, and he lurched forward. At that moment I felt a familiar presence and looked up to see Susan standing beside me. Joshua scrabbled to his feet, incredulous. As she stepped forward, he screamed. "You're dead—I killed you. You can't be here!"
She ignored his cries and glided toward him. He raised his knife to fend her off, but the blade sliced through her like smoke. With one last shout, he backed up against the railing, and a rending sound split the air as the rotten wood splintered. For a brief second our eyes locked and I could see the whirl of chaos that raged within him, the flare of surprise.
Susan stepped aside and I watched as he teetered on the edge, flailing for support. The railing cracked, and Joshua went hurtling over the edge. He screamed all the way down, and I heard a nasty thud. I gathered up my courage and cautiously crept to the edge. Joshua Addison lay crumpled on the glittering snow below.
I took a deep breath as Susan frantically pointed to the kitchen, then vanished. I wasn't out of danger yet—the fire had spread and was tonguing the doorway leading to my precarious perch. The jump to the ground below was too far; I'd never make it without major damage. It was either chance the porc
h steps or become a crispy critter. Having just survived a madman's attack, I wasn't ready to lose my life as the treat on the end of a marshmallow stick. I edged my way over to the steps, laid on my stomach, and, feet first, began to inch my way down. Testing the wood with my toes for strength, I thought though it felt soggy, it might support me. As I held onto the rungs for extra balance, I slithered onto the steps.
The sirens were shrieking now. It sounded like they were in the front yard and I began to scream for help, my voice raw from the smoke and overuse. I was about a third of the way down the stairs when an explosion rattled the kitchen. A fireball raced out of the door and billowed into the air, hovering over the backyard. The flames must have reached the discarded bottles of liquor. I grabbed hold of the step above me and hid my face as the staircase first rocked, then began to crumble away.
I was hanging only by my fingertips, dangling in midair, unable to see what was down below. More iron spikes? Gardens covered with snow?
The fire spread to the stilts supporting the back porch; it was about to go down and take me with it. As I clung to my shaking world, someone began yelling at me from below. "Emerald! Emerald! Let go! We'll catch you!"
I couldn't see who was there, but I could place the voice—Joe Files, captain of the Medic Rescue Unit. Time had run out. I had to have faith, to trust. I took a deep breath and let myself fall.
* * * *
The police finished taking my statement as the medics worked me up to go to the hospital. The fire crews were busy extinguishing the flames. It looked as though they might save most of the house—a surprise, since I'd expected the mansion to go up like a tinderbox. The heavy snowfalls had saturated the roof and some of the walls with moisture, so most of the wood was safe except for the kitchen, which had been packed with garbage.
The cops puzzled over my accounts of Susan's ghost, but they recovered Joshua's suitcases. I only hoped there would be enough evidence there to piece things together. I pulled the letter and photograph out of my pocket, enough in themselves to tell part of the tale. Murray was on the scene; she would see to it that they paid attention to what I told them.
"How did you find me?"
She patted me on the shoulder as Joe held an oxygen mask up to my face. "Harlow called the station, and the station called me. By the time we got here, a neighbor had seen the smoke and already notified the fire department. You were near enough to the swimming pool that you could have broken your neck if you had dropped without the boys below to catch you."
I leaned back and found myself snuggling against Joe. I started to pull away but then thought, what the hell, and rested my head on his shoulder. He felt strong—safe and secure. Whatever happened, I would never forget that he saved my life. When the paramedics insisted on taking me to the hospital, I didn't put up a fuss. Every place on my body hurt, and I was ready for a good rest.
Andrew was waiting at the hospital, and Joe backed away when he saw him. I felt a momentary stab of guilt but then pushed it aside. Andrew kissed me on the forehead and held my hand as they wheeled me into the ER.
"Didn't we do this with Harlow last week? What is this? Some new chick trend?"
I laughed and he squeezed my hand, and then the nurse chased him out. When they cut away my soot-stained skirt, the doctor shook his head. "You have a grudge against that knee of yours? I'm afraid this is a little more serious than a bruise. I can already tell that you've probably got a fracture in your leg, and you'll be lucky if you didn't shatter your kneecap. You're going to be in a cast for a month or two. What do you have to say to that?"
I gave him a big smile. "It sounds absolutely wonderful."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hours later, Andrew carried me up the porch steps and into the house while Murray brought in my crutches. The nurse at the hospital had given me a bath since I was covered with soot, so at least I felt clean, but the gown was atrocious, and I longed for a little lipstick.
Andrew set me in the recliner and then parked himself on the sofa. "That fire guy? Files? He said he'd come over tomorrow and help me build a nonskid ramp for you so you can get in and out of the house. Those stairs are far too icy and dangerous for crutches. That way you can get down to your shop."
Joe? Joe and Andrew were going to build a ramp together? That should prove interesting. "Thank you, both." I gave him a bright smile and then flashed a look of panic at Murray, who stifled a laugh.
She peeked out the window. "Harlow and James are here." James had been at the hospital to pick up Harl when the ambulance brought me in. The two insisted on following us back to my house. Andrew went to help James carry Harlow's chair up the stairs, and then they wheeled her into the living room.
Harlow shook her head. "Woman, you take the cake. Burning down a house? Nailing a psycho? What's next?"
Murray's cell phone went off, and she stepped into the kitchen to answer it. When she returned, she settled herself in the rocker. "Looks like we have what we'll need to prove that Joshua was behind both deaths, at least circumstantially. Valium, credit card receipts from a gas station here in town that match up with the date of Susan's death, a key to the Mitchell house—probably a copy of Susan's. We also found his car. He told police in Seattle that it had been stolen, but we found it out in back of the Addison place in the garage. There's a bloody handprint on the driver's side—the forensics guys are checking, but I'll bet you anything it turns out to be Diana's blood."
"And Walter?" I prayed that Walt wasn't guilty of molesting Diana. After experiencing the sadistic side of Joshua, I didn't think I could handle another pervert.
"Walter's off the hook. We have your statement that Joshua confessed to planting the knife in his house, and this morning detectives found a trucker who remembers seeing Walter and his car in the parking lot on Thursday. Guy drives a regular route and always stops at the Rest-over Truck Stop on his way in and out of town. There aren't too many black Porsches around Chiqetaw, so it stuck in his mind. We're still going over the suitcases, but it's my guess that Susan was telling the truth. Her husband killed her. Her ex-husband. And then he killed Diana."
Harlow shook her head, a look of wonder crossing her face. "I'll be damned." She looked over at me, wincing gingerly as she turned. "Do you realize you just proved a man's innocence?"
I shivered. I might have proved Walter's innocence, but I couldn't stop thinking of how Joshua plunged to his death. Images of those final moments darted through my thoughts with blinding clarity—the flash of his knife, the crackle of flames, the stairway groaning as it gave way. His death was the only key to my survival. Susan had saved me by frightening him over the edge. I was glad he died—if he'd been caught alive, I'd always be afraid that he'd escape and come back to finish what he'd started.
Harlow broke into my thoughts. "What was Walt's alibi, anyway?"
Murray answered her. "He got a call Wednesday night from a man claiming to have proof that one of Walt's affairs had been with a minor. That alone could destroy his reputation. The guy said he would sell the proof to the newspapers unless Walt came up with some money. Walter panicked and agreed to meet him. He waited alone at the Restover for hours Thursday morning—during which time, Joshua murdered Diana. Then Joshua planted the knife in Walter's house on Saturday night while everybody was at the memorial and showed up to make his accusations."
I closed my eyes, and Joshua's piercing gaze once again shattered my composure. I began to shake. "What about Diana's letter to the cops accusing Walter of molesting her?" For some reason, that thought bothered me more than almost anything else in this whole damned mess.
Murray knelt in front of me and took my hands. She brushed the hair back from my face, and as I looked into her eyes, I knew that I would be calling on her friendship more than ever during the coming weeks as I dealt with the aftermath. "Joshua, again. We found the original. Diana thought Walter killed her mother—she wrote a letter to the cops, asking them to look into it. Joshua probably panicked, thinking it would s
tir up trouble. I suppose that's when he decided to kill her and frame Walter by forging the letter about the abuse," she said. "We combed through her diaries. There's no indication Walter ever laid a hand on the girl."
"Joshua was a cruel man and he enjoyed the pain he inflicted on others." I hung my head and cleared my throat, still in shock. I was grateful for the numbness. I wasn't ready to face what had happened to me.
Andrew rested his hand on my shoulder lightly, as if he were afraid he might startle me. "What about Susan? Why on earth did she agree to see him?"
Murray shrugged. "Blackmail, or at least that's what he used to gain entrance. We're still trying to sort every-thing out. Mrs. Addison says there's an aunt on his father's side who always favored Joshua. Maybe he kept contact with her to find out what was going on in the family. We do know that he was released from the institution thanks to a reduction in operating funds. Since they thought he could function on his own, they let him out."
I didn't say anything, but I could see exactly what had happened; it played out as clearly as if I were watching a show on TV. Joshua had come to visit Susan. They had a drink, and he spiked her wine with Valium. Eager to get the meeting over with, she hadn't suspected that he actually meant to kill her. After the drug took effect, he gave her a hefty shot of insulin.
Nobody was there to see him come and go. He waited until she slipped into a seizure, and then left, knowing it would be hours before the maid came home. Susan would have ensured their privacy, not wanting a scene with Walter. Joshua went back to Seattle, and a week later he killed Diana. The whole plan had been so coldhearted, so methodical and brilliant, that it made me sick. Yes, evil existed, both in this world and in the spirit world, and I had come face-to-face with it on both levels, battled it, and survived. But I would never be the same.
The doorbell rang, and Andrew went to answer. He returned, a cautionary look on his face. Following behind him, Walter Mitchell strode into my living room with a dozen red roses. He came over and gently placed them in my lap.