Authors: Dallas Schulze
"
I
don't understand why Emmet insisted that we all be here like this." Dodie fussed irritably with the sleeve of her severe gray blouse, tugging it down over her bony wrists.
"Remember, he said it had something to do with Ba-bette." Lionel's helpful comment earned him a scornful look.
"Of course I remember what he said. I'm neither deaf nor senile, unlike some members of the family." The contemptuous look she threw at Bertie and Clarence went right over the old couple's head, as did most things in life. "I just don't see why he insisted on this foolish gathering. After all, we don't know where the wretched girl is. It was Emmet's friend who had her last. Maybe he's calling us together to tell us that the man has demanded a ransom. It would be just like Emmet to know an adventurer without ethics."
"I don't know. I have a feeling it may be something else." Lionel's brow furrowed and he tugged at the beard that concealed his weak chin. "I hate to say it but perhaps we made a mistake in hiring those men to kidnap Babette. Things do seem to have gotten rather out of hand."
"Don't be ridiculous." Dodie's strong voice canceled out any possibility of a mistake. "Everything would have been just fine if this wretched acquaintance of Emmet's hadn't interfered. He can hardly blame us for that."
"Oh, I don't know, Mother. It seems to me that Emmet probably takes a pretty dim view of the whole operation. He's strangely fond of Babs. God only knows why." Lance lifted his glass and downed a healthy swallow of cognac, his beautiful features set in a sullen cast.
"Babette was always a very sweet child." Bertie's voice was unexpectedly strong, raised in defense of her great-niece. Clarence patted her hand, his round little face set in its usual expression of vague confusion.
"Sweet but willful, my dear. Don't forget how willful she always was."
Dodie ignored him, as usual. There were few people she didn't ignore. "Well, I just wish Emmet would have the good manners to be on time. I had to tell the cook to postpone lunch. If he's going to insist that we be here, the least he can do is not keep us waiting."
As if the words were a command, the huge library door swung open and Emmet strode in. Any reproach Dodie might have uttered died unspoken. The look on his face was grim enough to discourage even her acid tongue.
"I'm glad you're all here. Saves me having to track you down."
"Your wish is our command, cuz." Lance lifted his glass in mocking salute. Emmet barely glanced at him.
"I'm going to come straight to the point. I want to know who hired the men you paid to kidnap and murder Babs."
"Murder?" Lionel's eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline.
"Don't be absurd, Emmet. They were to kidnap her. No one said anything about murder. I think you owe us all an apology, coming in here and treating us like common criminals." Dodie tugged at her sleeves, her mouth pulled so tight her lips all but disappeared.
"That's a big strong, cuz. The Malones may be willing to indulge in a little larceny and kidnapping but we've always drawn the line at murder." Lance finished his cognac and set the crystal glass on the mantel.
"Murder? Poor little Babette? Really, Emmet, I don't know where you got such an extraordinary idea." Bertie's voice fluttered with distress, her knitting needles becoming hopelessly entangled in the shawl she was making.
"Quite right, my dear. Extraordinary idea. Extraordinary." Clarence patted his wife's hand.
"If you're worried because we don't know where Babette is, I think you should look to your friend, Mr. Delanian." Dodie's voice was filled with righteous indignation. "After all, he's the one who interfered with our simple plan and took Babette away from the men we hired. If you're concerned about her welfare, I'd look to him. Perhaps he's holding out for a larger reward."
"As a matter of fact, Dodie, I've been in contact with Sam for quite a while now. He's been protecting Babs, trying to keep the men you hired from killing her. We've both been looking after her. The problem is we didn't do a very good job."
There was a long silence and then everyone began to talk at once.
"What do you mean you weren't successful?"
"Oh dear, has something happened to Babette?"
"Now, my dear, don't worry about it. I'm sure Babette is just fine."
"I'm afraid not, Clarence. She's not fine at all." Emmet's grim tone cut through the babble like a hunting knife through silk. Before he could say anything more, the door behind him was pushed open and Sam walked in. His tousled hair seemed even blacker than usual against the pallor of his skin. A dark growth of beard shadowed his jaw giving him a lean and dangerous look. But it was the state of his clothes that drew a stunned silence. The gray shirt he was wearing was coated with a rusty substance that was horribly, unmistakably blood.
He looked at no one but Emmet, his eyes burning a bright, agonized blue. "I just left the hospital. She didn't make it."
There was a horrified gasp and then the questions broke out again.
"Who is this man?" Even Dodie's stern manner failed her in this moment.
"My God. Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Lionel mopped nervously at his brow.
"Babs? Dead?" Lance reached for the cognac bottle, his face pale, his eyes shocked.
"Babette? Oh, dear." Bertie stared at Sam as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.
Clarence cleared his throat and patted his wife's hand. "There, there, my dear, I'm sure it's all a terrible mistake."
Emmet's gaze settled on the old man as Sam came up to stand beside him, the gore on his shirt a silent accusation.
"If there's been a mistake made, you made it, Clarence. This is Sam Delanian."
Clarence looked at Emmet, his eyes showing a surprising streak of shrewdness. "I don't know what you're talking about, my boy. The shock you know. Perhaps I should take Bertie to lie down. We were always so fond of young Babette."
Sam moved to block the door, his eyes never leaving Clarence. The old man looked at him and then looked away from the burning rage in those eyes.
"You're not going anywhere. Give it up. We know it was you who hired the kidnappers. You called on people you'd kept in touch with for years, people from the old days when your life wasn't quite so respectable. It was you who had the idea of kidnapping Babs and you were the one who made the arrangements. But kidnapping wasn't all you had in mind?'
"Don't be absurd." The voice had lost the quavering quality that had always marked Clarence's speech. "Why on earth would I want Babette dead?"
"Try several million dollars. And two hundred thousand in gambling debts. Money you borrowed on the understanding that you were soon going to come into a large sum of money."
"Prove it." Clarence stood up, facing his accuser. The feeble old man had disappeared. A ripple of shock ran through the company at the change. Gone was the slightly batty old character they'd all taken for granted. This was someone else. Someone much stronger. Someone capable of murder.
"You understand that we didn't know a thing about any of this, Emmet." Lionel rapidly mopped at his brow now, his eyes darting back and forth. "Legally, we can't be held responsible for any of this."
The look Emmet threw him was full of contempt. "Shut up. You may not have planned the murder but I don't think any of you would have been too upset when the money rolled in."
"You can't prove any of your accusations," Clarence challenged.
"We caught one of the men you hired. Do you really think he's not going to name names?"
Something terrible sparked in the faded old eyes. He reached inside his coat and drew out a small pistol, aiming it unwaveringly at Emmet. Suddenly, fear had joined the shock that already filled the room.
"I waited sixty years for that damned money. I should have had it years ago. The old man was supposed to leave it to Bertie, only he tied it up so that I couldn't get my hands on it. I tried every way I could to get it but he did too good a job."
"So you decided to kill Babs?"
"I didn't have a choice. It was the only way I could get the money. The people I borrowed from were getting impatient. I'm too old for meetings in dark alleys. And I'm too old to spend the rest of my years in prison. Now just get out of my way, like the smart man I know you are. No one else has to get hurt."
"Even if he got out of your way, Uncle Clarence, you'd have to go through me and I don't think you want to kill me in front of so many witnesses."
Sam's head jerked around, his eyes narrowing on Babs's slim figure. She was leaning in the library door and he wondered how she'd managed to get by the police stationed outside. She was wearing jeans, with a hospital gown flapping over them, her feet bare. Her hair was a wild cap around her pale face, her eyes looking too big for her head.
This time the shock wave that rippled through the room was more subdued. There's been so many surprises in the past few minutes. One more hardly made an impression.
"Babs, what are you doing? You shouldn't be out of bed." Sam started toward her but she waved him away.
"I had to be here. I wanted to look him right in the eye."
Clarence stared at her, his face pale, his eyes wild. All his plans were dissolving around him. Nothing was going the way it should have.
"They said you were dead."
"I guess they were a little premature." Babs stared at him. "Why? If you'd come to me, told me you needed the money, I'd have given it to you. Why?"
His face changed, hatred twisting it into a caricature of the dotty old man they'd all thought they knew. "Ask you for it? Why should I ask you for it? It was mine. I put up with this family for sixty years, your snobbery and stinginess." He gestured with the gun and Dodie cringed back in her chair. Lionel looked as if he might pass out and Lance quickly finished off another drink.
"Sixty years. No one in this family ever thought I was good enough to be a Malone because of what I was."
"But I never felt that way. Never." The pain in Babs's voice cut through Sam, making him hurt for her.
"Maybe not but if it hadn't been for you, I would have had the money years ago. When your parents died, half of it would have come to Bertie. I wasn't greedy. Half would have been enough. You should have died with them and then this wouldn't have happened. But you didn't die and I couldn't risk another accident."
Emmet's harsh exclamation drowned out the sharp gasps and murmured words of shock. "You killed Earl and Lenore? All these years and no one ever knew. My God."
Clarence waved the gun again. "I was a professional. Of course no one knew, but she should have died with them." Madness glittered in his eyes. "She ruined everything when she survived the crash. It's all her fault."
Sam tensed as the gun wavered between Babs and Emmet. Babs clung to the doorway, her strength clearly ebbing, the last traces of color gone from her face as she absorbed the news that her parents' accident had been a murder.
"All her fault." Clarence appeared to settle on a target and the gun focused on Babs's slumped figure. Sam braced himself, prepared to lunge forward and block the old man's aim. "All her fault. All her—" The insane litany ended abruptly but not in the way any of them had expected. Instead of a gunshot, Clarence's shriek of pain filled the room. His gun jerked upward, burying in the ceiling the bullet he'd intended for Babs.
They'd all forgotten Bertie, as usual. She'd been sitting on the sofa, wrapped in her shawls, the usual pile of tangled knitting on her lap. She'd listened without speaking as her husband admitted to murder and attempted murder. No one had even thought to wonder at her reaction. They'd been too absorbed in the life-and-death drama unfolding in front of them to worry about a batty old woman. That turned out to be Clarence's fatal mistake. The point of a knitting needle applied to the soft skin of his side had been painful and unexpected.
Sam and Emmet both moved simultaneously. Emmet lunged forward, grabbing Clarence's upraised arm and wresting the gun away from him with little effort. Sam crossed the few feet that separated him from Babs, catching her in his arms as her knees gave way completely. He knelt on the floor, his body shielding her from anything that occurred in the room behind him.
In a matter of seconds, Emmet had the gun in his own possession and Clarence was standing sullenly in front of him, a broken old man. Emmet glanced over his shoulder to make sure Babs was all right and then looked at Bertie, who was still sitting on the sofa.
"Good work, Aunt Bertie."
Bertie drew her shawls closer around her narrow shoulders and stood up, looking down her short nose at the man who'd been her husband for nearly sixty years.
"I was raised to think divorce a sin. And I was determined to prove Papa was wrong about you. If I hadn't been so stubborn, I'd have been rid of you years ago. I hope they put you away for a very long time." Clarence didn't lift his eyes as she left the room, unconcerned by the armed police officers she passed on the way out.
In a matter of minutes Clarence had been handcuffed and led away. They'd all be expected to make a statement but it was agreed that they could have a little while to recover from the day's events.
Sam was seated in a big leather chair, Babs cradled protectively across his lap. Emmet crossed to the bar and poured himself a healthy drink. Lance picked up the decanter as Emmet set it down, the Waterford clinking against his glass in time to the shaking of his hands. Dodie sat rigidly in her chair, not looking at anyone and Lionel mopped constantly at his forehead, his face flushed and his eyes darting nervously about.