Silent Masquerade Read online

  She twisted the fingers of her right hand and found slack beneath one strand of the tie. It was looser!

  The door burst open, and Harvard came tearing in, his face oily with sweat, his eyes glazed. “Come on,” he ordered, snatching her by the arm and pulling her to her feet.

  But her ankles were tied together. She couldn’t walk. Harvard swore and knelt to untie them. His palms were wet and his fingers kept slipping. He repeatedly rubbed them on his pants, all the while swearing and panting with the effort.

  All too soon, he had the bands free and was dragging Cara along, urging her toward the stairs in the front hall.

  “Where are we going?” Cara gasped, trying to pull back.

  Harvard pulled out the gun and waved it in her face. “We’re going where I say we’re going. Now move it!” He shoved her so hard that she stumbled and fell. He jerked her to her feet, and she felt herself being propelled upward by his hand on her back.

  On the second floor, they passed the master bedroom, and Cara saw her mother stretched out on the bed, a glass in her hand. She dug her heels in and refused to go on.

  “I want to see my mother.”

  “Your mother’s tired. She needs her rest.”

  “Why does she have a glass in her hand?”

  “She gets thirsty during the night.” Harvard laughed, and the sound sent chills up Cara’s back. The man was truly mad.

  They rounded the bend in the hall. He pushed her into the room that had been hers all the years she’d lived in the house. For a moment, her eyes filled with tears, as she thought of how different it might have been if this had just been a homecoming visit to her mother.

  He pushed her onto the bed, and Cara feared he planned to attack her sexually. But he was past that.

  She had barely landed on her back when he was out the door.

  She began to work again on the wrist ties, thinking she should run, but not knowing where to run to get away from the very mad Doug Harvard.

  * * *

  BILL AND LEFEBRE CREPT through the hall, keeping to the shadows.

  They’d found the French doors open and entered the room Cara had described as a breakfast room. There had been a glass pitcher lying on the rug, and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts on a table.

  Lefebre had bent and retrieved the pitcher, sniffing its interior. “Gin. Martinis I think.”

  They’d waited to make sure nobody was around before creeping out into the central hall. There were muted sounds from overhead, but none on the ground floor.

  They came to the staircase, and Bill halted when he spied the door under the stairs. It was slightly ajar. He tiptoed over and eased the door open.

  A leg fell out onto the tile floor, and Bill jumped back with a cry of fright. Lefebre clamped a hand over Bill’s mouth, and they both gazed upward, wondering if Bill’s shout had been heard.

  After a couple moments, they relaxed and turned their attention to the body in the closet.

  “That’s the guy who tried to waste Cara,” Lefebre whispered.

  “He won’t be wasting anyone else,” Bill commented, unable to feel any pity for the late would-be murderer.

  “Yeah, but now we know how desperate Harvard is,” Lefebre reminded.

  “Cripes, this place is massive,” Bill lamented. “How the hell are we going to find her?”

  Bill looked at Lefebre’s face and saw his own fears mirrored in his friend’s eyes. If she isn’t already dead. Bill felt a stab of intense pain in his chest, as he realized they were both thinking the same horrible thought.

  When Lefebre gestured toward the stairs, Bill shook his head. “We’re too exposed there,” he whispered. “There’s bound to be servants’ stairs in the back. Let’s find those.”

  They passed through a butler’s pantry and a kitchen large enough to prepare food for the town’s entire school system. The stairs were on the other side of the kitchen, in a second pantry, lined with glass-fronted cabinetry that housed the mansion’s supply of serving pieces.

  The stairs wound upward in a circular fashion, with no mercy for the hired help who might be toting down baskets of laundry or trays of dishes. The treads were wooden, and so worn that they actually curved inward in the middle. In one or two cases, they creaked, causing Bill and Lefebre to freeze in place.

  It seemed to take forever—due to their caution—to make it to the second floor.

  They would have worked their way from door to door, in that same cautious way, looking for Cara, but just then a desperate scream rang out, and both men were started into action.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cara’s hands pulled free from the loosened ties just as the scream rent the air. She sprang to her feet, prepared to follow the sound, when suddenly the door slammed open and Harvard came running in.

  She didn’t think twice. The knickknack shelving was next to the bed. She snatched the big pottery bowl she’d made in art class and ran at Harvard, catching him off guard and smashing him on the head with all her might. The bowl didn’t even break, but Harvard slid to the floor, the gun falling at his feet.

  Cara left man and gun and ran out into the hall, almost knocking over her lover.

  “Oh, my God, you’re safe, you’re all right!” Bill grabbed Cara, overwhelmed with emotion at finding her all right.

  Cara pushed him away, crying, “Mom! Mom!” She barely acknowledged Lefebre as she fled past him, heading for her mother’s room, dreading what had precipitated that scream.

  It wasn’t until she rounded the bend in the hall that led to her mother’s suite that she smelled the smoke.

  Bill’s and Lefebre’s footsteps were thundering behind her. “Fire!” she cried over her shoulder. “Extinguishers in the linen closet at the end of the hall!”

  She herself moved forward, determined to get to her mother in time.

  “Cara, wait, don’t go in there!” Bill called after her. But Cara ignored him.

  Smoke was already seeping from under her mother’s bedroom door. When she flung it open, the smoke enveloped her, and she saw that the bed was encased in flames and that the window treatments were already curling upward in a blaze.

  She screamed her mother’s name, choking on smoke, tears streaming down her cheeks. Was her mother already charred in that inferno? Panic gripped her. For a moment, she was held captive by her fear. The heat in the room was daunting. She ran forward, tripping on something—something soft.

  With a shout of relief, she knelt to feel the outline of her mother.

  Behind her, she heard the men’s shouts and the hiss and spray of the extinguishers being activated.

  “The bed’s a loss!” she heard Lefebre yell. “Point it at the windows!”

  “Bill, help me,” she called as she tried to lift her mother’s limp weight. “My mother’s unconscious.”

  He was at her side in a moment, lifting Beth Dunlap up into his capable arms.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Lefebre shouted. “These things aren’t going to do the job!”

  Smoke followed them down the stairs as they hurried to keep ahead of the blaze. They heard roaring and crackling behind them.

  Cara jumped the last two steps and led the way to the double front doors. They breathed in fresh air in greedy gulps. Cara turned to make sure her mother was still alive and untouched by the fire. The older woman’s face was blackened by soot, and she was clearly unconscious.

  “Hospital’s about three blocks from here,” Cara said. “Let’s get her there.”

  They were just getting into the car when Bill looked back. Flames were shooting from windows on the second floor, and in the distance they could hear the sound of sirens. Someone must have smelled smoke or seen flames and called in the fire.

  “Where’s Gordon?”

  “He was right behind me,” Bill said, his throat suddenly very dry.

  He was about to run back for him when Lefebre came staggering out of the front door, a man’s body draped over his shoulder.


  Bill met him in the driveway and saw that Lefebre’s burden was the corpse from the closet.

  Lefebre’s face was black, and his eyes were red. He grinned. “Evidence. Don’t want Harvard to get away with anything.”

  Bill clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Good thinking, Gordo. We’re on the way to the hospital with Cara’s mother. What are you going to do with the...er, evidence?”

  “I’ll wait here for the cops. You go ahead. Nobody needs to know you were here. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  As he hurried back to the car, it dawned on Bill that he was thanking his lucky stars for Gordon Lefebre more and more frequently these days.

  * * *

  CARA SAT by her mother’s bed, holding the older woman’s hand.

  “Smoke inhalation,” the doctor had said, shaking his head. “Might not have been so bad, but she’d apparently had quite a bit to drink before the fire. We couldn’t even medicate her, because of the alcohol.”

  Cara had nodded. Harvard had told her about that. “Do you know when Mother started drinking, Dr. Zachary? I don’t recall her ever having more than an occasional glass of wine.”

  “You’re right, Cara, your mother and father were both pretty much abstainers.” He looked a trifle embarrassed, and he avoided Cara’s eyes. “Um...I’d have to say we all first noticed it after your mother married that young Harvard.”

  “Married?” Cara’s shriek could be heard out in the corridor, where Bill paced, waiting for news of Mrs. Dunlap’s condition.

  He rushed to the door of the room and saw that Cara was sitting by the bed, a stricken look on her face. She waved Bill away. “It’s okay, honey,” she said. “Please wait outside.”

  When he’d gone, Cara turned back to the doctor. “I didn’t know they’d actually married. When...when did they marry?”

  Dr. Zachary patted her hand. “About a week after we heard you’d left town.”

  So this was her fault. If she’d stayed to fight Doug, all of this might never have happened. She swallowed hard, holding back tears of frustration, and picked up her mother’s hand again.

  “I’ve got to see to another patient, Cara, but I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Cara was unaware of the amount of time that passed as she sat by her mother’s bedside. It had been dark when they brought her in. She glanced out the window and saw light streaking the sky.

  She’d spent the passing hours attempting to sort out her own responsibility in her mother’s near death. Her cowardice had given Harvard all the freedom he needed to work on Beth Dunlap. On the other hand, the Dunlap women had always had what her father used to refer to as “a little too much backbone,” so maybe nothing would have dissuaded her mother. It was hard to think of her mother drinking to excess, and the idea that she’d started smoking again was almost absurd. She remembered when her mother had announced one evening, without preamble, that she had just smoked her last cigarette. From that moment on, she’d never smoked again...until something—or, more likely, someone—had driven her back to the habit.

  She was about to slip away from her mother’s bedside, just to look out in the hall and see if Bill was around, when her mother stirred, murmuring something in her sleep.

  “Mom? Mother?” Cara called softly.

  Beth Dunlap’s eyelids trembled and then fluttered open. She seemed to be having trouble focusing.

  “It’s me, Mom, Cara.”

  “Cara? Cara! Oh, sweet Lord.”

  Tears spurted from her mother’s eyes, and Cara bent forward and took her in her arms, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Shh, it’s okay, Mom, I’m here,” she whispered, patting her mother’s back reassuringly.

  “You’re here? How did you get here? Wh—Cara, am I sick?”

  Cara sat back and let her mother see her face. “Yes, Mom, you are sick.”

  “Wh-what’s wrong with me?” The older woman put her hand to her head. “I seem to remember...Doug fixed us drinks...and... Oh! Oh, God!” she screamed, clinging to Cara. “Fire! Cara, there’s been a fire.... I...”

  It took a few moments for Cara to get her mother quieted down. She didn’t know if this was the right time to tell her mother the whole story, but then she decided she might as well learn from past mistakes—never again was she going to hold back or bite her tongue in favor of the truth.

  She began in a quiet, even tone to tell her mother what Douglas Harvard had wrought. During the telling, Cara watched her mother’s face closely, offering support when the range of emotions playing across her mother’s face looked the most vulnerable. By the time Cara had brought her up to the moment, her mother’s natural strength had been restored.

  She was dry-eyed and sitting erect when she asked, “And where is Douglas now?”

  Cara shook her head. “I don’t know, Mom. I hit him pretty hard. He may have died in the fire.” She held her breath, waiting for the dreaded reaction. After all, the man had been her mother’s husband.

  Tears slid down her mother’s pale cheeks, but she kept her voice even. “That would probably be a blessing,” she said quietly.

  “And if he isn’t, if he somehow made it out of there alive, he’s going to have to face attempted-murder charges, Mom. How will you handle that?”

  “On the side of justice, Cara, and without the aid of liquor or cigarettes.”

  They shared their first laugh in months. Cara followed that with a yawn.

  “Come on, sweetie,” her mother said, moving over and lifting the covers. “Cuddle up with me, and we’ll have us a little nap.”

  Cara didn’t hesitate. She was exhausted, and she was reminded of when she’d been a child and her mother had made nap time such a cozy business.

  When Bill looked in a little while later, they were both sleeping.

  * * *

  “YOU CAN SEE why I can’t leave her, can’t you, Bill?” Cara said a few days later as she leaned against the car, which was across from the Dunlap house.

  “She’s better physically, but the trial is going to be difficult now that Harvard’s sordid past has surfaced.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “Imagine, Mom married to a serial killer who’d married and murdered other widows all across the country. Just living with that knowledge is going to cause recurring nightmares.”

  Bill had known this moment was coming, even before Cara did, and for different reasons. That didn’t make it easier.

  He kept his hands shoved in his pockets and looked over the roof of the car at the mansion. From the outside, there was no evidence of damage, except for the blackened bits of window trim on the second floor. He and Cara had been staying at a local bed-and-breakfast inn while work was being done to restore the second floor of the house, and a crew had been hired to clean up the mess the fire fighters had made.

  Now Beth Dunlap was about to be released from the hospital, and mother and daughter had a lot of recovery time to work through.

  “Bill, I will be hearing from you now and then, won’t I? I need to know you’re all right.”

  “Sure.” Bill allowed one hand the joy of touch—her hair, her downy cheek, the silken curve of her bottom lip.

  “Bill?” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and her lip quivered, but she didn’t cry. “Maybe when my mom’s life is back to normal, I could...oh, maybe visit you, wherever you are.”

  A glimpse of paradise in an otherwise bleak and dismal future. He made a pretense of thinking it over. “Yes, love. Maybe.”

  “Bill, we know Alvaretti doesn’t have a clue. We know now it was Harvard who was having us followed. Don’t you think it would be safe, down the road, to be together again?”

  Oh, how he wished. “I’d also like to win the lottery,” he said, his shoulders slumping. He put his hand back in his pocket, out of temptation’s way. “What about your father’s business? Aren’t you going to have to take over now? At least until it can be sold, if that’s what your mom decides to do?”

  Cara nodded and bit her bottom lip. “Yes, I really fee
l like I need to help keep the company afloat, both for my father’s memory, as well as for myself. But after that...”

  “We’ll see, love.” He looked up as Lefebre came through the gates of Dunlap House.

  “You’re going to have Gordo to help you now, and he’s going to be a witness to Wilder’s attack on you and to finding the body.”

  Lefebre joined them. “I thought I’d say my farewell before I pick up Beth from the hospital,” he told Bill.

  Bill grinned, despite his heavy heart. “You’ve certainly become friendly with the women in the Dunlap family, pal.”

  “I have a way with brown-eyed damsels in distress.”

  Cara laughed. “You’d better not let my mother hear you call her that.”

  “What? Brown-eyed?”

  They all laughed—weakly. It was a sad moment for all of them.

  “I appreciate your hanging around here and picking up the slack, Gordo,” Bill said, holding out his hand.

  They shook hands. “Hey, what are friends for, Hamlin? I’m just glad you’ve been able to keep out of the picture so that you can have a safe start on the next leg of your journey.”

  They fell silent.

  “I guess I’ll let you two have some privacy,” Lefebre said, breaking the silence. He handed Bill his card. “You can always leave a message on my machine if I’m away on a job or something.”

  They shook hands again and then, on mutual impulse, hugged briefly. “You’ve been a good friend, Gordo.”

  “You too, Spence,” Lefebre said. Bill smiled at the sound of his real name as he watched Lefebre walk back toward the Dunlap House.

  Cara felt the flood of emotions rising in her throat. When she swallowed, she swallowed salty liquid. “Here.” She thrust a package at Bill, determined to keep the tears at bay.

  “What’s this, sandwiches for the trip?”

  “It’s nothing. A radio.”

  “A radio.” Bill stripped away the wrappings from the box. It was a radio—a small portable, not much bigger than his hands.

  “For in the car.” She blinked, but the tears fell anyway. “So...so you won’t feel lonely when you’re driving.”