Hanging Hannah (25 page)

“Last night, while I was trying to sleep, I remembered this comment. Suddenly all the pieces came together for me. Goddess was five when you and she were separated—too young to remember you clearly, but old enough to have residual memories that came to her in her dreams. It was you she was referring to. Without realizing what she herself was saying, she was revealing that she knew you.

“Goddess didn't dream about you and then meet you. She vaguely remembered you,
thought
she was dreaming about someone she'd never met, and
then
she met you again. It was only a matter of time before she realized who you were.

“It gave me terrible pain—on poor Daniel's behalf—to believe my theory possible, but I was pretty sure of it. I just had to be certain. If I was right and you were a killer, I would still be a target for you. So I decided to flush you out before you could get me.”

Laura looked amused. “And how were you going to do that?”

“I went to the cave in the woods and smeared everything in it with a hand cream that contains a chemical that drives my cat Winky crazy. Then I called Daniel and told him the police had found a clue the killer had left at the place where the murdered woman was living. I knew he would share this information with you. If I was right about you, you would visit the cave before going to the church bazaar.”

“Right you are. I told Daniel I had an errand to run and that I'd meet him at the church.”

Jane nodded. “I intended to hold Winky, my ‘murderer detector,' close to you to see if she reacted. If she did react, I would know it was you who had been in the cave, searching the objects there.

“It hadn't occurred to me that you already had plans for me. You'd slipped something into the Diet Coke Daniel brought me, hadn't you? It made me so dizzy I had to sit for a few minutes in the car. Then I passed out.”

Laura nodded. “I saw you go to your car. I told Daniel I was tired—in my condition—and would meet him at home.”

“You got into my car and drove us here.”

“Yes,” Laura said, pleased. “Your final resting place.” She gazed out into the tall grass. “It could be years before they find you.” Swiftly she reached into the back pocket of her jeans and produced a switchblade. Expertly she flicked it open, its six-inch blade gleaming in the sunlight. She held it a few inches from Jane's neck. “Now, as you know,
Miss Marple
, I much prefer poison to stabbing. But you also know I'll stab you if I have to. So you choose. The knife, or”—she lowered her gaze to the cup in her hand—“the drink.”

“Another of your potions?”

Laura nodded. “It will work quickly. Why not take the easy way out?”

Jane didn't want to take either way out.

At that moment she remembered Winky in the backseat.

“Winky,” she called, and the cat seemed to appear from nowhere, jumping onto Jane's lap and nuzzling her face, oblivious to the blade at Jane's neck.

Laura let out a little cry of surprise. “I didn't know she was in the car.”

Jane had an idea. “Laura, I think I will choose the drink.”

“Smart choice,” Laura said and, smiling sweetly, brought the cup to Jane's lips.

Suddenly Winky bristled and let out a wild yowl, lashing out at Laura's hand that held the cup. The liquid in it splashed into Laura's face. Laura let out a cry of horror.

Seizing her moment, Jane opened the car door and, still holding Winky, scrambled out. But Jane realized she was still a little groggy and couldn't move as fast as she wanted to. Laura, wiping hard at her face and mouth with her T-shirt, had also gotten out. She ran around the car toward Jane.

“Winky, run!” Jane cried, and the cat jumped from her arms and ran into the tall grass an instant before Laura came around the back of the car. Her face the very picture of loathing, she brandished the knife and with a fierce grunt lunged at Jane. The knife went into Jane's side, but not all the way because Jane jumped back, even as she felt the sting of the blade. She spun around and dashed headlong into the sea of grass, knowing it was her only hope of escape.

Running through the tall heavy stalks was like running through mud in a nightmare. As Jane rushed forward, madly parting the grass before her, she heard rustling behind her and knew Laura was gaining on her.

“Jane, come back here,” Laura said fiercely. “Jane!”

Jane kept running. She felt the ground begin to slope gently upward.

“Jane, you come here,” Laura commanded again, but her voice was different now—tired, weaker.

And then all at once the tall grass ended, and before Jane was trim green grass that rose on a steep embankment about eight feet high.

Suddenly, not five feet to the right of where Jane stood, Winky shot out of the tall grass. She looked straight at Jane, let out an exceptionally loud meow, and ran up the embankment. Halfway up, she stopped, looking behind her, waiting; then Laura burst from the grass, and apparently not seeing Jane, stumbled up the embankment after the cat.

Now Jane was aware of a whooshing sound, and in that instant she realized what lay at the top of the embankment: one of the highways that crisscrossed the Meadowlands.

Laura was about three-quarters of the way up the embankment. Winky stood at the very top.

“Winky!” Jane cried out, wanting to stop the cat from running out into traffic; but Winky kept going.

Laura, looking dazed, her skin a sickly white, glanced quickly at Winky, then down at Jane. For a moment she simply wavered, as if unsure whom to pursue, Jane or Winky. Then suddenly she made a horrible choking sound, her face contorting, and collapsed out of sight onto the highway.

Jane ran up the embankment. Halfway up she heard the long insistent blare of a car horn, then the sickening screech of brakes; it seemed to go on forever.

Panting hard, Jane finally gained the top. Before her, a dark-colored car stood slanted across the highway's nearest lane. Laura lay beneath the closest front tire, one arm outstretched as if in supplication, a river of dark red running from her crushed head.

“Oh!” Jane cried out, clasping a hand over her mouth, and looked away.

Then she noticed a tiny movement far across the wide highway. There, at the road's edge, sat Winky—solemn as a statue, unharmed, her face inscrutable.

 

It was a few hours later. Jane sat in one of Greenberg's visitor's chairs, Daniel in the other. He was perfectly still, his face expressionless, as if all that Jane had told him he could simply not take in . . . as if it were all a bad dream.

“It was the issue of adoption—of learning from Carl Hamner that Goddess was adopted and had rejected her adoptive parents—that first got me thinking,” Jane said. “Do children put up for adoption always end up in happy situations? How do they react to these situations ? This line of thought enabled me to put together the many pieces of a rather complicated puzzle into a theory.” She looked at Daniel, her heart breaking for him. “A theory I was later deeply saddened to learn was correct.”

“Why didn't you come to me?” Greenberg demanded.

She gave him a skeptical look. “Would you—would anyone—have believed such a far-fetched story?”

“No,” he admitted, “I suppose not.”

“So I had to find out on my own.”

“And almost got yourself killed,” Daniel said hollowly.

She cast sad eyes on him. “I'm so sorry, Daniel. When Winky bristled at the smell of the cream on Laura's hand, the poison splashed into her mouth. I hadn't meant for that to happen; I only wanted to distract her so Winky and I could get out of the car.” She shook her head, remembering. “If she hadn't been killed by the car on Route Three, her own poison would have done her in.”

The room was silent, everyone looking at the floor. When Jane glanced up, a tear was running down Daniel's cheek.

“You asked me if I loved her. I did,” he said.

Jane took him in her arms, held him tight. “I know,” she said. “I know.”

It was one week later. Sitting at her desk trying to read Bertha Stumpf 's
Casbah
, Jane grimaced and gazed out the window. At that moment a white stretch limousine pulled up to the curb. Jane remembered Cecil Willoughby's limo, but it wasn't poor Mr. Willoughby who got out, of course.

It was Goddess. Jane jumped up and ran out to the reception room.

Goddess burst through the door, all smiles. Today she was dressed like a matador. She looked at Daniel, then at Jane. “I'm baaaack!” she cried.

Jane grabbed the girl and hugged her. “Thank God you're all right.” She drew back and looked at her. “I'm so sorry about your sister.”

Goddess chomped on her gum. “Yeah, thanks. But she wasn't really my sister, not
really
.” She looked into Jane's eyes. “Blood isn't always thicker than water.” She turned to Daniel. “I'm sorry about Laura.”

“Thank you.”

Goddess chomped again, looked around the agency. “Cute. Well, I guess I'm ready to start my book now. And thanks to you, Miss Marple, I've got a hell of a lot to put in it.” She winked at Jane. “Maybe we won't even need that pop-up idea you hated.”

Jane opened her mouth to protest; then they both burst out laughing.

Abruptly, Goddess's expression turned to one of regret. “First, though, I'm going to see Mommy and Daddy. I figure life's too short to let this kind of thing go on. Where's the bathroom? I wanna check my hair.”

“Right next to my office,” Jane said, pointing.

Goddess hopped off.

Jane turned to Daniel. He gave her a little smile.

A moment later, Goddess reappeared. “Okay, kids, gotta fly. Love ya! Oh,” she said, pausing at the door, “don't forget to send those contracts to Yves.” And she was gone. Through the window they saw the white limo slide away.

Jane shook her head and laughed. “And I thought Bertha was bad!”

Daniel actually laughed, a good sign.

“Take you to lunch?” Jane ventured.

Daniel looked down shyly. “Thanks, but I'm having lunch with Ginny today. Did you know she broke up with Rob?”

“Yes, she told me,” Jane said thoughtfully, and worked to keep her face serious. Daniel and Ginny . . . What a wonderful thought.

“Did you also know that Ginny is a whiz with computers ?” Daniel asked. “She's going to help me with this confounded program we bought.”

“Perfect,” Jane said, and returned to her office, ready to confront Bertha's manuscript once more.

Looking down at her desk, she discovered something that hadn't been there before: a gift-wrapped box. Jane pulled off the bow and lifted off the lid.

Inside were several items. A new CD—by Goddess, of course.
What We Need
, it was called. On the front was a photo of Goddess done up as Marilyn Monroe. Jane laughed and set it aside.

Beneath it were two orchestra tickets to
Goddess of Love
. She'd take Stanley, she decided, and then laughed at the thought of that.

The last item in the box was a bottle of deep red nail polish. Sitting down, Jane examined the label. Eternally Yours.

With a little chuckle, she unscrewed the top and began brushing the polish onto her nails. A thought occurred to her.

“Daniel!” she called out to him.

“Yes?” came his voice through the intercom.

“If
People
magazine calls . . . hang up.”

Please turn the page for
an exciting sneak peek
of Evan Marshall's
newest Jane Stuart and Winky mystery
STABBING STEPHANIE
coming in June 2001!

 

 

 

Lillian Strohman's house, which was built of pale stone and resembled a castle, made Puffy's look like a cottage. A wide drive made of paving stones climbed the slope of an immense lawn and passed beneath an arched porte cochere in the house itself.

When they were halfway up the drive, Florence said, “Una asked us to come around to the back door, so we should go through here.” She pointed to the archway. “There's a place to park in the back.”

“Why does she want us to come to the back?”

“Because that's the door to the kitchen, and she's working in there right now. Or she might be in the laundry room, but that's right off the kitchen. She didn't want us coming to the front door, all public—you know.”

Jane drove through the porte cochere, and they emerged onto a wide paved area behind the house.

As they got out of the car, Florence said, “Sometimes Una doesn't hear the doorbell when she's in the laundry room, because the washer and dryer make a lot of noise, so she said she would leave the door unlocked for us.”

“Okay.” Approaching the kitchen door, Jane noticed that some construction work was in progress. The ground between the paved area and the door itself had been torn up—chunks of concrete lay off to one side—and a wooden frame had been put in place, the kind of frame used to contain poured concrete. The floor of this frame consisted of exposed earth as well as large amounts of white dust from the broken-up concrete.

“Oh,” Florence said, seeing this mess and remembering, “Una said to watch where we walk. Mrs. Strohman is having this part replaced.”

“So I see,” Jane said, irritated that no boards had been put down between the concrete that was still intact and the door. Carefully she and Florence picked their way across. Jane's feet sank into the earth and concrete dust; she could see white powder collecting on her shoes.

The door had a window in it, but it was covered with a shirred white curtain, so they couldn't see into the kitchen. Jane turned the knob and the door opened. She was about to enter the house when Florence placed her hand on Jane's.

“Missus, I'm thinking it would be best if I go in first and speak to Una, tell her again that you're okay. Would that be all right? It will only take a minute or two.”

“Yes, if you think so,” Jane said, and stood aside so Florence could go in. With a nervous smile, Florence stepped into the kitchen, which Jane could see was large but old-fashioned, as many of the kitchens in these old mansions were. Florence left the door ajar.

Jane turned away from the door and gazed up at the house. From here it was clear that the building was a jumble of levels at various heights; she could easily see how a burglar might have climbed up and used the roof of one level to gain access to Lillian Strohman's bedroom.

Jane jumped. It was Florence, shrieking in terror, shrieking as Jane had never heard her shriek. Jane spun around and pushed open the door. It nearly hit Flor ence, who had been running toward it. Her face was twisted in terror and tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Missus—” Panting, she leaned on Jane, apparently unable to say any more.

Jane's heart pounded. “What is it? Florence, what happened?”

“Missus,” Florence gasped. “It's Una. She's . . . dead!”