Deception (49 page)

Leaning over the bathtub, Connor watched the black dye run down the drain. She shampooed and rinsed again, her heart pounding every time she thought of what she was about to do. Ever since Richard had arrived and they’d concocted their plan, anxiety and dread had been her constant companions. After a trip to an all-night drugstore, she and Richard had returned to Oaklawn. She’d spent sleepless hours in her bedroom, preparing for her role, while he’d hidden in the barn, working on their plan. Now it was almost time. Late afternoon was settling around the estate.

Clay’s absence from Oaklawn knotted Connor’s stomach. Was he injured? Or was he up to something twisted and evil? Willene said that he’d called at eleven—while she was at the airport. He told the cook that an emergency had arisen and he’d been called to Washington. He said he’d explain as soon as he got back the next evening, no later than seven. He’d left no number where he could be reached.

More than anything in the world, Connor wanted to hear Clay’s voice. If she could look him in the eye and talk with him, she could discern the truth. The bond they shared was so strong that a lie could not penetrate it. But in her heart, Connor knew that if Clay was responsible for the things that had happened at Oaklawn, he was not sane. And an insane person could lie with ease and conviction.

No, talking with Clay face-to-face would solve nothing. The only way to find out the truth was to test him. Now, almost all the plans for that test were completed.

She’d been to the barn three times to check on Cleo, and to make certain that Richard was still safely hidden. The mare was stable, but swelling had started below the cut, a dangerous sign. Jeff had been sent, grumbling and threatening to quit, to Louisiana State University to pick up medicine for Cleo. Old Henry had almost refused to leave when Connor had given him the afternoon off. He was more dour than usual, and twice as haggard. He spent every spare moment he had with Cleo, and Connor needed him out of the barn so that Richard could work.

Now it was up to Richard.

And Clay.

She turned off the water in the tub and wrapped a towel around her black hair. As she rubbed it dry, she prayed that Clay would attempt to intervene in the little drama she and Richard had cococted. Lack of action on his part would be almost certain guilt. “Let him do something,” she whispered to herself.

She heard Willene’s knock at the door and wrapped the towel more tightly around her hair. “Come in,” she called, moving to the bedroom, where she sat on the edge of the bed. Dressed in a gown and robe, she gave Willene a pitiful face. “I think I’m sick.”

“Running around with a wet head will be the death of you. You’d better dry it.”

“I will, but I think I’m going to stay in bed until Clay gets in.”

“I’ll fix a tray and have Sally bring it to you.”

“No.” Connor made a face. “I don’t want to eat now. My stomach is upset. And I don’t want to be around the children. All they need is a virus, along with everything else they’ve had to put up with. Anyway, Sally has gone home because I gave her the rest of the day off. And I want you to take it easy, too. Are the children upstairs?”

“They’re watching television in Renata’s room until time for dinner.”

Connor flopped back on the pillows as if miserable. “Why don’t you let them have a sandwich in front of the television? Clay isn’t here, and I don’t feel well. It would be fun for them.”

“You’re still worried about Renata and last night, aren’t you?”

Connor nodded. “I lost my head, saying all of that about a man hanging. If only I’d realized she was there in the hallway. I must have brought back some terrible memories for her, but I was getting sick. That must have been it. My eyes were playing tricks on me.”

“Sometimes your body can trick you. Sometimes you see things meant only for you to see.” Willene looked out the large window beside the bed. It gave a perfect view of the white oak tree.

Connor tired to hide her impatience. She wanted Willene to leave. There were still several things she needed to do before Clay got home. It was nearly six o’clock and he’d be arriving soon. “I’m going to take a nap now. When Clay gets in, he can wake me up and we’ll get something ourselves if he’s hungry.”

“And the children?”

“They’ll be fine. I’m here if they need me.”

“I’ll take them some sandwiches and soup. They might enjoy eating upstairs.” Willene went to the door. “You’re sure I can’t get anything for you?”

“Absolutely certain.” Connor gave her a sickly smile. “I just want to sleep. I think if I could rest undisturbed, I’d be okay by tomorrow.”

“That’s a good idea. You stay right there in that bed.” Willene closed the door softly as she left.

Connor counted to a hundred, slowly, before she got up, pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, and grabbed one of Talla’s nightgowns she’d found in an old chest on the third floor. No one would look for her until Clay came home, and he’d naturally assume she’d gotten out of her sickbed and gone to the barn to see about Cleo. He’d follow, and he’d fall right into Richard’s scheme.

The driveway was pitch black, and she couldn’t risk a light. The windstorm that had battered the southwestern portion of the state for two days had intensified during the afternoon. The skies were covered with thick clouds, but there had been no rain, only wind. A wind so harsh that trees had been snapped all over the county. Halfway past the pecan orchard, Connor heard the loud crack of a big limb. She ran instinctively, barely dodging a large section of tree that had yielded to the wind. She turned to face the house and watched it suddenly blink into blackness. The power was out. Richard had found the main breaker box at the porch. Everything was going as planned.

Connor jogged to the barn and slipped in the door. Gasping against the cold, she took off her jeans and sweatshirt and slipped into the coral gown she carried. The plan was for her to wait in the orchard. When Clay came out to look for her in the barn, as he surely would, she was to lead him a merry chase among the pecan trees, luring him to the barn. In the darkness, Connor hoped that she looked enough like Talla. Enough to jolt Clay’s memory. To make him wonder. To set him up for what they had waiting for him in the barn. The dummy that Richard had spent all day making was as close a duplicate of Talla as he could craft. When Clay walked into the barn, he’d see what appeared to be his dead wife. His reaction would tell the story of the past. If he tried to save her, he might be innocent. If he did nothing, then he would certainly be guilty.

The night was bitter cold and the gown, backless and sleeveless, gave no warmth.

“Richard!” she whispered. “Everything set?”

There was no answer.

“Richard?” She held her breath and waited. All was quiet in the barn. “Damn.” Where had he gone now? There were a million things he had to do, including rigging the dummy. He was probably still up at the house, dealing with the power outage. As it was, she didn’t have time to hunt him down. Clay was due in any moment, according to Willene. If she wanted the plan to work, she had to get out to the orchard and pray that Richard had his end working properly.

A hard push of wind blew sand and small gravel into her legs and arms as she opened the door of the barn. She ran to the orchard, knowing that the exercise would be the only thing that gave her a bit of warmth.

The tree she selected as her shelter was one of the oldest. It was beside this tree that she and Clay had first talked at Oaklawn. Teeth chattering and hands trembling, she touched the bark and thought of Clay. He could not be a monster. The tragic thought that a woman of her own blood must have felt exactly these same emotions for a murderous outlaw made her lean her head against the tree and almost weep. Hilla Lassfolk. Legend, forebearer, ghost. Whatever she was, she’d suffered, too, because of the choice her heart had made. How cruel fate had been to Hilla. Connor gritted her teeth. It could not happen again. The past was not repeating itself. This was not the justice Renata had mentioned. There would be no justice in two women, separated by a hundred years but bound by blood, having to suffer the same terrible fate of loving men who were cruel and evil.

She searched the driveway for signs of headlights. If Clay went to the barn first, he would wreck their plan. He had to see her first. To at least think of Talla. She abandoned her tree and moved closer to the driveway. If he went to the barn first, maybe she could step out in the road and attract his attention. That made the distance to the barn farther for her, and Clay would be between her and it. She would simply have to make it work.

Above her the pecan limbs, always brittle, creaked and threatened to split. She was alone in the storm. Alone and afraid.

When she could stand the cold and inaction no longer, she paced, slapping her arms with her hands. Without a light she couldn’t see her watch, but surely twenty minutes had passed. Oaklawn was still completely black. Where was Clay?

Connor paced until she was afraid her arms had gone numb from cold. Edging among the trees, she went back to the barn. Maybe Clay had called and Richard had picked up the barn extension. That was what they’d agreed to do. If there was a delay, then she’d wait in the barn, where at least she had Richard’s company and a wall to knock off the blast of the wind.

Easing in the door, she listened for the horses. The sound of their shifting and munching hay gave her a sense of comfort. Richard had left a small penlight on the ground beside the door for her. She found it but didn’t turn it on.

“Richard? It’s freezing out there, and I wanted to know if maybe Clay had called.”

Cleo whinnied a soft greeting at Connor’s voice.

“Easy, girl,” she responded automatically. She took tiny steps in the dark toward the mare’s stall. “Richard!” She hissed his name this time. “Don’t play games.”

A cross tie rattled against a stall door, but that was the only sound. That and a tiny, steady, tapping noise, like a fingernail on a desk.

“Damn you, Richard, if you’re trying to spook me, you’ve done it.” It wasn’t the cold that made her arms bristle with goosebumps. “You’re scaring me. Really scaring me. Please stop it.”

She didn’t want to, but she switched on the penlight. At first the tiny beam didn’t illuminate much of anything. It faded about fifteen feet from her, so she eased down the aisle of the barn, swinging the light from left to right. Startled horses looked over their doors at her.

She was midway through the barn before she saw a man’s feet suspended in midair. When she looked up, she saw Richard hanging, his face purple and distorted in death.

Reaching out with one hand, Connor pushed blindly at his leg. She stumbled back, her voice choked in her throat. She still held the flashlight on his body as it swung from the rafter at exactly the same place that Tallulah Sumner had hung. A tremendous red stain covered Richard’s chest. Blood dripped from his shoe onto the dirt aisle, tapping with a maddening regularity.

“Richard!” Connor knew he was dead. “Richard!” She swung the light to the right. The rope that held him was tied to a stall support. Hands clumsy with fear, she tried to work the knot to let him down, but the weight of his body had pulled the strands of rope too tightly.

“Richard,” she cried as she worked. “My God,” she sobbed. “Richard, please …”

“He’s dead.”

Connor whirled around to confront the voice that came out of the darkness. The small flashlight was tucked up under her arm and she grabbed it, pushing it forward like a weapon. The light reflected back from the pale face of the woman in the mirror.

“You should have listened to the past,” she said.

Connor swept the light over the woman. She was young, beautiful, and mad. Her smile was satisfied and malicious, and she wore the old-fashioned blue dress from the trunk. In her hand was a blood-covered butcher knife. Connor stepped back until she was pressed against the stall door.

“Who are you?”

“Hilla Lassfolk. Don’t you know me?” She stepped toward Connor and a huge bloodstain unfolded in the layers of her skirt.

“What do you want? Why are you doing this?” Connor’s hands grasped the wall behind her. She felt as if she were falling, even though she was pressed hard against the wall.

“Justice. That’s all I want—justice.” She stared at Connor. “It’s what I deserve.”

“Everyone deserves justice.” Connor’s lips were numb and hardly formed the words. Her hand holding the flashlight trembled. “What are you talking about?”

“You deserve to die.” The knife twisted in her hand. “Grandma said you’d leave. She said you’d take the children and go, and then Clay and I could live at Oaklawn. She said she’d take care of us. But you didn’t go.” She lifted the knife to chest level, her gaze slipping to the sharp blade. “Why didn’t you just go back to California? Your friend would still be alive.”

“Richard.” Connor inched sideways along the wall. “He wasn’t part of this.”

“Oh, yes, he was part of it. He’d come down here with Ms. Talla and they’d drink and make love. He said he was Clay’s friend, but he wasn’t. I watched the things they did. He needed to die.” She moved to her right suddenly, blocking Connor’s escape route. “I killed Ms. Talla first, and now him. That’s justice.”

“You killed Richard?” Connor’s mind had slowed. It wasn’t possible.

“He was bending over and I stabbed him from behind. He was heavy, but I got him up there with the block and tackle. I’m very strong and very quick. Late at night I run through the woods, circling the house, watching in the windows. Ms. Talla saw me, but no one believed her. I’ve been waiting for a long, long time—sneaking and waiting. Clay would have wanted me back if you hadn’t come along.”

“Who are you?”

The woman smiled. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Connor lunged forward, using the wall to push off. She hurled the tiny flashlight in the woman’s face. Connor rolled across the aisle, landing up against the opposite wall, her breath raging in her ears.

Out of the darkness she felt fingers gripping her leg. “No!” Connor kicked out, but the woman’s grip was so strong that it almost paralyzed her calf muscle. It felt as if the fingers were digging to the bone.