Season of Secrets (17 page)

“S
he's not here?” Marc stared blankly at Court, who'd opened the door. Behind him, in the hallway, Kate peered nervously over his shoulder.

“I haven't seen her all afternoon,” Court said. “Dad? Is something wrong?”

“She didn't come back here?” Where was Dinah? She should be here. “She didn't come back about an hour ago?”

Court shook his head. “I told you. We haven't seen her since she went out ages ago.”

Kate's lips began to tremble. She put her hand on Court's arm, and he turned instantly to support her. Even in the grasp of blinding fear for Dinah, Marc was glad to see the bond between them.

“What's happened?” Kate's voice wavered, sounding as old as her years. “Has something happened to Dinah?”

No point in lying now, even to spare her feelings. The fear had turned into a drumbeat, thundering in his head.

Dinah hadn't come back. She hadn't come back from the house. Something had happened.

He grasped Court's arm. “Call the police. Send them to the house. Hurry!”

He spun, racing across the veranda, taking the path in a few quick strides. Please, God,
please, God, please, God
. The prayer echoed in rhythm with his feet.

He shoved the gate open and raced into the street, blood pounding in his head. A nightmare. It was a nightmare. He'd dreamed a thousand times of reaching the house in time to save Annabel. He never had.

Father, let me be in time to save Dinah. I have to. Please. Please.

Through the gate, up the walk, hurry, hurry. He pounded across the veranda, reached for the door. No time to slip in undetected—he didn't dare take the time for that. He might already be too late.

His momentum took him through the door, into the hall, toward the study where he'd left her—

He skidded to a stop.

Lights in the parlor. Voices, apparently undeterred by his noisy entrance.

Voices. Dinah's voice. Relief left him weak for an instant.
Thank You, God. Thank You.
She was alive. He wouldn't rush in and find her lying cold and still, as he'd found Annabel.

Two strides took him to the door, standing half-open. He thrust it the rest of the way, took a step into the room and stopped. Stared.

Dinah stood a few feet away from him, stiff with tension. She didn't turn to look at him, because her eyes were focused on the person who stood across the room.

Phillips smiled at him, the same grave, gentle smile that had been part of his life for years and years. The only thing out of place was the gun in his hand, pointing directly at Dinah.

“Marc. I didn't want you to come. I wanted to be finished with this, but it's all gone wrong.” The smile wavered. “I never meant for this to happen.”

Marc took a step closer to Dinah. He had to get her behind him, give her a few precious seconds to get out the door if Phillips used the gun.

“What didn't you want to happen, Phil?” He kept his voice calm, unthreatening. “Why don't you let me take that gun, and then we can sit down and talk about this?”

Phillips glanced down at the gun as if he'd forgotten he held it. He looked back up again at Marc's unwary step toward him.

“No, Marc. I can't. I can't put it down. There isn't any other way out. I've gone too far.” He shook his head again, and tears shone in his eyes behind the glasses.

“He killed Annabel.” Dinah's voice was hardly more than a whisper. “I heard them arguing. I stood on the steps, but I wasn't sure who it was.”

For the moment he almost forgot Phil and the gun. All he could see was Dinah's pale face and huge eyes.

“It's all right, sugar.” He closed the space between them, heedless of the gun, and clasped her cold hands in his. “You don't have to remember.”

“I remember. I know what I saw.” Her eyes flickered toward the mirror over the mantel. “I saw the reflection
of his hand, reflected again in the hall mirror. I saw the ring he wore.”

“You didn't remember. No one knew. You shouldn't have remembered.”

Phil's voice had gone shrill. He was losing control. How much longer before he fired the gun?

“What about Jasper Carr?” He had to divert Phil's attention from Dinah. “The way he was acting, he must have seen something.” And now Carr was dead. This was unreal. Phil, Phil of all people, couldn't be a murderer.

The gun wavered slightly, as if Phil's hand was growing tired. “He saw me near the house. He didn't know anything, not really. I paid him to go away.”

“Carr came back, though, didn't he? And you had to deal with him.”

“Only because you came to Charleston.”

His voice shook, and so did the gun. Fear jerked tighter. They could be just as dead if Phil fired accidentally.

“You're getting tired, Phil. Let's put the gun down and talk.”

He shook his head, tears beginning to flow down his cheeks. “Why did you come back? I was so happy to see you, to be with my best friend again, but then it all started to unravel.”

“It's too late. We both know that. The truth has to come out.” He was taking a risk, but what choice did he have? He stepped in front of Dinah, pushing her back a step, putting his body between her and the gun.

“No! No, I can't face it. What will Margo say? What will everyone say? How can I live with the shame?”

“You're already living with the shame. You know that. You're tired of it.” He took a step toward Phillips, holding out his hand. “Give me the gun now.”

“I can't!” He sounded like that boy they'd dragged through the obstacle course.

He reached for the gun. “Come on, now, Phil. The only way out would be to shoot both of us, and you know you can't do that.”

He held his breath, his mind a wordless prayer. If Phil turned the gun toward Dinah, he was close enough to jump him. Dinah would take care of Court, if it came to that.

The gun steadied, the barrel pointed directly at him. He didn't move, didn't breathe, just stared into the face of his old friend.

Slowly, very slowly, the gun lowered.

“No.” Phillips managed a smile. “You're right. You were always right, Marc. I can't.” He slid to the floor, curling his arms around his knees.

When the police burst through the door a few minutes later, he didn't even look up.

 

Dinah waited in Aunt Kate's parlor, fingers clasped around a cup of tea. Court was upstairs in bed, asleep, she hoped. Aunt Kate had tried to persuade her to take a sedative and go to bed, but she'd refused and kept on refusing, as gently as possible.

She didn't want to sleep, or be cosseted, or treated like a child. Marc would come as soon as he'd finished with the police and with Margo. Margo might not
want his help, but she'd have it, because she was Phillips's wife.

She shoved her hair back wearily. Odd, how very odd it all was. She'd wanted to hate the person who robbed them of Annabel, but all she could feel for Phillips was pity. He was like a sick child.

The door clicked, and Marc came in. He hesitated on the threshold for a moment. He looked as if he'd been through agony. He had.

He came to sit next to her. His very presence seemed to bring warmth to the room.

“I thought you might have gone to bed.”

“No. I needed to know.”

Marc took her hand in his, holding it lightly, seeming hardly aware that he'd done so. “He's talking. As an attorney, I advised him not to say anything, but he wouldn't stop talking. I think he was just so tired of trying to hide it all these years.”

“It takes a lot of energy to hide the truth.” She should know that, even though her efforts had been beyond her conscious control. “He and Annabel—did they really have an affair?”

Let it all come out. Let the truth be said between them, even if the rest of the world never knew.

Marc nodded. “Funny.” He gave the breath of a laugh. “I thought it was James. Once I started to think about the crest, I was convinced it was James.”

He was still hurting, so much. She wanted to soothe the pain away, but this was beyond comfort. They'd just have to endure it.

“James cared about her, I think.” Carefully. Don't make matters any worse. “He thought you'd killed her. That's why he was so hateful to you.”

“I didn't even think Phil and Annabel liked each other. He and Margo had been having problems, and Annabel—well, I think mostly Annabel was bored and angry.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Does my saying that upset you?”

“No.”

At some point, she'd realized how it must have been. Maybe she'd always known, but she hadn't been able to admit it.

“I loved her. I love her still.” She struggled to understand and put the feelings into words. “But I don't have to think her perfect any longer. She was just a fallible human being, like the rest of us.”

His fingers tightened on hers. “I'm glad you can see that. It will make it easier, eventually.”

“There's a lot to go through before that happens. The papers will have a field day.” More to endure. Somehow Aunt Kate had to be protected from the worst of it.

“Poor Phil. I think he was telling the truth when he said he never meant any of it to happen. He wanted to end it, but Annabel threatened to tell me. She was in that kind of mood—ready to smash something, even if it hurt her, too.”

“Yes.” She could see it so clearly now, in everything Annabel had said and done that long, hot summer. “I imagine he panicked. He struck out at her and realized too late what he'd done.”

Marc's fingers clenched, then relaxed. “He thought he was in the clear when you didn't speak and Carr went away, but he worried about the letters.”

“Letters?”

He nodded. “Apparently he wrote love letters to Annabel. How like Phillips that was, wasn't it? Indulging in some romantic dream, as if he and Annabel were Lancelot and Guinevere.”

They hadn't been. They'd just been a willful, spoiled young woman and a weak man. She felt an eternity older than Annabel had been.

“So that's what he was looking for in the secretary. His letters.”

“Apparently he never thought he could risk searching for them when the house was rented. But when I came back and Carr reappeared, he got desperate.”

“He killed Carr.” Her voice choked a little. “I'm the one who told him Carr was back in town. He was there when I asked James if he remembered Carr. If I hadn't mentioned it, Carr might still be alive.”

Marc shook his head, frowning. “Don't think that. Carr had blackmailed him once and was apparently trying it again. It wasn't your fault.”

“I still can't believe he killed Carr in cold blood.” An impulsive crime of passion, maybe, but not this ugly premeditation.

“He provided the drugs and alcohol. Carr did the rest himself.” His voice was dry. “He never intended that I should be blamed. That was pure accident, apparently.”

A tiny spurt of fresh anger went through her. “He
should have realized they'd suspect you.” Her sympathy for Phillips was evaporating. He hadn't thought of anyone but himself from first to last, and too many people had paid for that.

Marc's fingers tightened on hers, as if he guessed her thoughts. “Anyway, he was still afraid I'd stumble across the letters in getting the house ready for sale. That was what he was doing. He thought the house was empty, and he was looking for his letters.”

“Were there any letters?”

“No.” His shoulders moved slightly. “She probably destroyed them ten years ago.”

“The guilty flee where no man pursues,” she murmured.

“Exactly.” Fresh pain crossed his face. “I'd like to keep their affair from Court, but I don't suppose I'll be able to.”

“Court is a very strong young man. He'll be fine.”

“Yes.” He glanced at the mantel clock and then got to his feet. “It's late. I'd better go home and let you get to bed.”

“You're not going back there to sleep. We have a room ready for you here.”

Don't go, Marc. Stay with me.

He shook his head. “I'll be fine. I'll come back for breakfast, if Aunt Kate wants me.”

“Of course.” She fixed a smile on her face. That was it, then. They were to go back to being cousins, apparently.

Ironic. She finally felt free of the past and ready to move on, but all Marc wanted to do was walk away.

She went with him to the door. They might never be alone together again. “Good night, Marc.”

The mantel clock chimed the hour. Marc looked into her face.

“It's midnight. It's officially Christmas Eve, Dinah. Merry Christmas.” He bent and kissed her quickly, lightly, and then walked away, taking her heart with him.