The rolling clouds broke for a moment, and the pale moon shone through. Constance stood at the edge of a swampy area. She looked back at me, and I saw indecision on her face. Kill or flee? Her internal battle waged only for a moment; then she turned to face me, her intent clear. Her shoulders were hunched over as if she were an animal about to spring.
“You might as well give up, Constance. I called the police and they’ll be here soon. Listen. I think I hear the sirens now.” We both froze. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but there was no other sound. Even the bullfrogs that had called from the swamp earlier were silent. We’d disturbed their evening’s conversation.
The wind was at my back, traveling from the direction of the ranch into the woods and making the trees sway, then whip around as if stirred up in anger. As quickly as the moon had revealed Constance at the swamp’s edge, the clouds gathered, leaving a darkness so inky black that my own body was lost in it. I felt dizzy and reached out to steady myself. I moved toward the place where I thought Constance was waiting. If I couldn’t see her, then she couldn’t see me. A flash of lightning gave a bluish glow to the clearing where she’d been. Gone! Had the light revealed where I was?
Something brushed my arm. Before she could wield the knife again, I struck out with the only weapon I had—the stiletto heel of my classy shoe. Then I ducked and rolled away from the attack and kept rolling into the brackish water of the swamp. The splash I made had probably given away my position so I worked my way along the shore. Wading hip deep in the opaque waters, I tried not to imagine all swamp things housed within.
“I’ll find you no matter where you hide,” Constance said. “We found Dwight, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, but you missed the first time. He took out one of Eduardo’s men, didn’t he?” I was guessing, but I felt like I was beginning to understand the details, as my mind and Constance’s threats provided the missing pieces.
“He saw you exit the shop after the murder and you had to get rid of him to cover up your actions.” Realizing that she was probably following my voice, I moved farther along in the swamp.
Another lightning flash. I looked up from my watery refuge to see her standing over me. I grabbed her foot, pulling her into the swamp.
She screamed. “Get me out of here. Help. Help me.”
The hysteria in her voice was genuine. Humans didn’t scare her, but what she envisioned in the swamp did. The images she conjured of what lurked in the dark waters were more vivid than mine. And more frightening, it seemed. She continued to flail around, her wet hair flying into her eyes, her cries echoing throughout the night.
Her terror was contagious. My body felt drenched in adrenaline. Fear wrapped like a Boa constrictor around me, paralyzing my muscles, dulling my thoughts. If she would just shut up and stop all that yelling, maybe I could figure out how to extract us from this murky mess. I wanted out as much as she did, but for now I was marginally calmer. My advantage, I hoped.
I dragged myself up the bank and onto drier land.
“Don’t leave me.” Not her usual commanding tone, but a plea for help.
“Where’s the knife? I’ll help you if you throw away the knife.”
“I don’t know. I lost it. Help me. I think something’s got my foot.” She began to cry—great gulping sobs punctuated with wails of fear.
“It’s probably a water plant.”
The roar of a bull alligator sounded from somewhere too close by.
Oh, boy. Now we’d done it. We had invaded a bull’s mating hole.
I prepared to run, but Constance was still floundering around in the water, too frightened to coordinate her movements.
I couldn’t leave her. Or could I? The wind increased and made the palm fronds overhead thrash against one another. A flash of lightning revealed a stirring out in the deeper water. Thunder followed and then another lightning bolt. The object swam toward Constance. She froze, staring in the direction of the approaching reptile.
“Move, Constance. Get the hell out of the water.”
She continued to stare, apparently transfixed by the slow, undulating movement of the creature.
Oh, crap. Now I’d have to go back in there and pull her out.
I waded into the pool once more and reached out for her, but she was too far away. I wasn’t venturing any farther into the water. I would play hero, but only if I didn’t get myself killed in the process. The gliding of the animal continued, unbroken, toward us.
“I need something you can grab. A tree limb or something. You’re too far for me to reach. Can’t you move a little?”
“Do something. It’s getting closer.”
“You do something. Like walk out of there.”
“I don’t want to stir and make him mad.”
“He’s already mad at us for disturbing his romantic night. Now get your butt out of there.”
Flashes of lightning illuminated the area for a moment; then the blackness descended again. Light, dark. Light, dark. Like a strobe signaling disaster.
“Oh, hell. Grab this.”
I held my precious sandals toward her. They provided the extra reach we needed. She grabbed onto one of them and I pulled, tugging her toward the shore. Constance fell face down into the water, and I reeled her in like a catch on a twelve-pound test line.
“Now get up and run,” I said once we were out of the swamp.
She let go of my shoes and brought up her hand to push her hair back off her face. The other hand held the knife, which she raised toward me. Enough with the aggression; it was really getting old. I whacked her with my shoes.
“You don’t want to run, fine, but I do.”
She grabbed for my shoes as if to pull me toward her. I let them go and took off for the safety of the ranch.
When I exited the trees, I crashed into something. Or someone. I realized it was a person when whoever it was shined a flashlight into my face. I slapped it away.
“Eve, are you okay?” asked Frida.
“Oh, you. Thank God.”
“Where’s Constance? Her father told me she ran off with you in hot pursuit.”
“She’s back there somewhere, with a knife. I think an alligator’s after her.”
We started back into the wooded area, toward the swamp, lightning striking around us and thunder roaring in our ears. The wind had increased in velocity and was bending the trees almost in half.
“It’s not safe in here. One of these palms could come down on us,” Frida said.
“We have to find Constance. She’s the killer. She murdered her mother.”
“I know. Dwight recounted me the whole story before we loaded him into the ambulance. He saw her run out the back door of your shop, toss the jacket and gloves in the trash and jump into her car, which was parked at the end of the alley. I’d sure like to get her to admit to the killing. I just don’t understand her motive.”
“That’s the very question I’d like to ask her, but we won’t have the chance if she ends up in the belly of a gator.”
When we got to the swamp, Frida directed her light to the edge of the water. Under a large mossy oak tree sat Constance with her back propped against the trunk and her hair hanging in her face. She was so limp she looked like a wet rag doll. Her eyes were closed, and she was whimpering, muttering to herself, her words indistinct from this distance.
We came nearer.
“Be careful. I think that big gator’s around here somewhere,” I said.
Constance’s words were clearer now. “I just wanted her to stop pawning all the family riches. They were mine. Mine. All that money gone. Then she took the jewels, too. I’m not a bad girl. I just wanted what I had coming to me. Go away. Go away. I’ll be good.”
I turned toward Frida. “Do you think she’s trying to bargain with the gator?”
Frida played her light onto the water in front of the tree.
“What gator? I only see an old rotted log there. Boy, you transplanted northern gals sure are wimps.”
“Did she freely admit her motive for killing her mother? Or was that technically a gator-induced confession, obtained under duress and before you Mirandized her?” I was riding in Frida’s cruiser, finally heading home. The rain had stopped and the lights were making rainbow streaks in the oily puddles on the roadway.
“I wasn’t trying to question her. Were you?” Frida offered a small smile of satisfaction.
“Nope.” I relaxed against my seat. I smelled like swamp, was feeling bone-tired, and dreaded the scolding I was going to get from the gang once they figured out what I had done. When we pulled up in front of my house, it was ablaze with lights. There were cars parked curbside that I could identify as belonging to Alex, Madeleine, Nappi, Rob and—oh boy, I was in trouble now—Grandy and Max.
“Is the early edition of the paper out yet?” I asked.
“No. Why? Do you want to see if the story’s in there already?”
“No. I want to find out who put the notice of a party at my house in it.”
“I only called Madeleine,” said Frida.
I walked into a room filled with silence and accusing eyes.
“I can explain everything.”
Tears began to roll down Grandy’s bruised face. “We only want to know that you’re okay.” The others nodded in agreement and soon I was enveloped in a group hug that went on so long I was barely able to breathe.
“Hey. Let go. I was fine until I came in here and somebody decided to crush my ribs.”
“Your arm is bleeding,” said Alex.
“Constance. She likes knives. The cut’s not deep. I washed the gash at the ranch and Frida had a first aid kit in the cruiser.”
“She’s fine,” said Grandy.
I shot her an accusatory look. “What are you doing here? Out of the hospital? Out of bed?”
“I came to find out where the locket was.”
I looked at her in shock. “That damn locket—”
“Right. It’s more trouble than it’s worth. I’m giving it back to the family. To Constance.”
I turned to Frida. “You didn’t tell Madeleine when you called?”
“I did.”
“It’ll be waiting for Constance when she gets out of prison. Something to remember us by.” Grandy seemed pleased with her decision. “I’m so tired of having to defend my ownership. Its significance is long past.”
“Aw, shit.”
“You don’t approve?” asked Grandy.
“No, that’s not it. It’s just … I left my Jimmy Choos out in the swamp.”
A cup of hot chocolate in my hand helped me forget about the shoes, at least for the moment. And everyone was eager to hear the truth about Valerie’s murder, so storytelling served as another distraction.
“Apparently Dwight saw Constance sneak out of the shop. When he confronted her, she claimed self-defense, saying that her mother had taken a knife from their kitchen, brought it with her to the shop and attacked her in the dressing room. Dwight didn’t believe it, but he went along with the story. At least for a while. Then he decided to ask for money in exchange for his silence.”
“What did Valerie do with the money she got from pawning the family jewels?” asked Madeleine.
“She bought into Eduardo’s drug scheme. Right?” I turned to Frida for confirmation. She nodded.
“Someone, probably Constance, disguised herself in order to sneak back into my shop. She was worried that the cops would search their house, only to find the knife that she had taken from home missing from the set.”
Frida jumped in. “She had noticed the set in the store, so she decided to buy them, but when she found the store empty and you in the bathroom, she took a look around and spotted the knife from the set in your shop on the floor. She got lucky and took it, then convinced Dwight to put it in the Sanders’ kitchen to make it seem like one wasn’t missing. I think that was the night that some of you visited the house.” Frida’s accusing glance traveled the room, landing on Grandy, Alex, Madeleine, Jerry, and finally coming to rest on Nappi.
“Why would Dwight do that?” asked Madeleine.
“I think Eduardo talked him into it. He can be very persuasive.” I flashed back to the scene in the stables when Spelling and Randolph had seemed unable to say no to any of Eduardo’s commands.
“Eduardo and Constance were worried that you were coming too close to the truth when you accused Dwight of killing his stepmother,” Frida said.
“So both Dwight and I had to go. But I made it out of the swamp alive, Dwight turned the tables on his killer, and Leon had the foresight to protect his son by claiming the body was his.”
“Eduardo managed everything but the murder. He sent the hit men after Dwight and your Grandy. He’s not against killing but he has others do it for him,” said Nappi.
“Yep,” said Rob and Antoine together.
“He seemed to be fed up with his wife’s behavior earlier tonight when she ran out of the stable,” I said.
Frida’s cell rang. She answered, listened intently then flipped the phone shut.
“I guess Eduardo was more than a little fed-up. He boarded a plane at Miami International bound for Argentina. He’s going home, and not alone.”
I tried to imagine who could possibly be going with him. Randolph? Spelling? No. He’d never take those peons. He had told me he was surrounded by idiots. Who then?
All eyes in the room were on Frida. Her face displayed a look of disgust, perhaps because the authorities hadn’t been able to take his passport from him, yet her lips twitched as if trying to keep a smile from forming.
“He had his wife with him.”
“Constance? She’s still in lock-up, pending her hearing,” Alex said.
“Well, the passport had her name on it, but the picture was of a tall, dark woman with angular features. I’m told she looked like Eduardo’s sister.”
“Not his sister,” I said. “His personal secretary. I thought there was something funny there.”
“Well, regardless. They’re halfway to South America by now,” said Frida.
“Nonstop flight?” asked Alex.
She nodded.
“Extradition?”
“Maybe. I suspect that the Argentine authorities will be interested in what the U.S. has to say about his drug smuggling. I talked with the DEA and they have heard that he’s having some trouble with his drug contacts there. Something about ‘not delivering on promises,’ meaning he owes them money. So if the police in Argentina don’t grab him when he lands, the cartel will.” Frida shook her head.
So did Nappi. “It’s not smart to play fast and loose with drug kingpins. They understand punishment.”
We all got quiet. I would have preferred that the American legal system was handling him and his crimes. I wondered what would happen with the horses, but I knew that, no matter what, they’d have better lives without him and his cronies. He was a cruel man. Cruel to the animals in his care and cruel to his family. A man without feelings, who manipulated the lives of everyone around him. I shuddered when I thought about all of the terrible things he had done. In some ways I had more compassion for Constance, who had acted out of desperation when she saw her inheritance snatched away. Eduardo was all about money, greed, and cruelty.
Alex must have noticed the tension in my body because he put his arm around me. I looked up into his eyes and trembled—not out of fear, but anticipation. For once, my family and friends were tuned into my desires. Max and Grandy fled to the spare bedroom, while the others quickly departed, insisting that I needed sleep.
Alex walked me into the bedroom, his lips hovering close to mine as he laid me on the bed.
“At least this time I won’t be in this bed alone,” he said.
He might as well have been by himself. I smiled, yawned, and fell into a deep sleep.