As I strapped myself in, I slipped my hand to the side and fiddled with the passenger side front door handle. It wouldn’t budge. Sylvia obviously had engaged the automatic locking mechanisms and had no intention of allowing me to open the door or the window. She must be unhinged, I thought with a swift glance at my cousin’s sharp profile.
There was no way I could open the door, at least not until Sylvia released the locking switch or opened her door when we reached our final destination.
If you reach it.
Trapped in the confines of the car with Sylvia and her gun, I knew force was useless. I needed to talk myself out of this situation if I could. “What are you doing, Sylvia? Surely we don’t need such protection searching for Sunny.”
“It’s not for protection,” said my cousin. “It’s to make you behave.” She placed the gun in her lap. “Just remember I can grab this pistol and shoot you faster than you can make any move on me.” She tapped the steering wheel with one polished fingernail. “And I will warn you—all things considered, I’m a pretty good shot. So don’t get any stupid ideas.”
Sylvia tossed her bulky purse over her shoulder and into the back seat as she revved the car engine and pulled away from the curb. She pushed the car far over the speed limit before swerving onto a little-used side road and continuing to press her foot hard against the pedal.
“I’m terribly confused,” I said after excruciating moments of silence in which I contemplated my cousin wrapping the car, and us, around a tree. “Why are you doing this?”
“Just tying up loose ends,” Sylvia said airily. She kept one hand on the gun, which did nothing to alleviate my fears of her losing control of the car. “Clearing up a few things before I take an extended vacation.”
I stared at my hands, wondering whether grabbing the steering wheel was worth the risk. Probably not. At the speed we were going, we were likely to end up in a deadly crash. Or Sylvia would actually be able to lift the pistol from her lap and shoot me. “So is that the gun you used to murder Doris Virts and Clark Fowler?”
“Who says I murdered anyone?”
“They’re dead, and you have a gun. And I think maybe you have a motive.”
“Oh, and what would that be, Nancy Drew?”
“You invested in Bob Blackstone’s development project and then somehow found out about the excess iron in the water table.” I clenched my fingers until the knuckles turned white. “You were afraid that Doris or Clark, who somehow knew about the iron problem, would spill that secret.”
“Warmish.” Sylvia stared straight ahead, jutting out her sharp chin. “I admit I might lose a little cash if that deal falls through. But there was more to it than that.”
I considered all the facts I’d assembled so far. Any knowledge of the tainted wells, which might derail the development deal, would also expose the town council’s actions back in 1958. “Okay, so you somehow learned the truth about the orphanage tragedy and knew it would prove our family’s complicity in the cover-up.”
“Much warmer,” Sylvia said, lifting her black pump off the gas pedal and slowing the car as we turned onto a narrow side road.
We were headed into the mountains. Somewhere off the beaten track, although we were still on a paved road. “But that’s just history. I mean, it was a terrible thing, and yes, our family members were partially to blame, but why does that matter so much now? It’s all in the past.”
Sylvia narrowed her eyes. “Which you have no respect for, it seems, despite your profession.”
“I appreciate history, but I don’t believe the sins of the father—or mother—must be visited on the children. What they did, they did. What does that have to do with us?”
“Everything, if you have any concern for our family name. Oh, wait”—Sylvia tightened her grip on the steering wheel—“it isn’t your name, is it? You aren’t going to carry it into the future. I’m the only true Baker left. And that name is still worth something, even far beyond Taylorsford.”
“Name or no name, it’s still my family.” I untangled my fingers and gripped my knees with both hands. “I can see why it won’t put the Bakers in a particularly good light, but what does that really have to do with us? How can that hurt us except by puncturing our family pride?”
Sylvia shot a quick glance at me. “You don’t get it, do you? The family name is important to my business interests as well as my sense of pride.”
I stared at her, my mind racing. There was something here I hadn’t considered. Something outside of all my theories. “That’s ridiculous. How can past indiscretions, which you had no direct hand in, affect your financial dealings now?”
“Because I do business in parts of the world where one’s family name is still much more important than it is in the United States. With people who, despite their own rather sketchy practices, prefer that their investors have no scandals that could be exploited by the media or other interested parties.”
“Not sure I understand that.”
“Well, of course you don’t.” Sylvia cast me a disapproving glance. “You don’t know much about the financial world, do you? You’re just a naïve child, sitting in your ivory tower surrounded by books.”
“So you’re saying family skeletons might rattle your business partners?”
Sylvia shifted in her seat. “An apt assessment,” she said after a moment of silence. “But yes, anything that makes me appear less than a squeaky-clean businesswoman from an impeccable family could prove detrimental to my partners. And me, as well. You see, such things might draw the interest of the media, who would be thrilled to crank out stories about past scandals. Which could turn a spotlight on me, my bank accounts, and business transactions. Not something my partners are eager to have happen.”
“Because you’re laundering money for criminal interests through your real estate deals? Or otherwise cooking the books?” I studied my cousin’s haughty profile. “You don’t want bank examiners, or insurance adjustors, or the IRS taking too close a look, I suppose.”
“Well, at least unlike a few other people in our family, you aren’t stupid.” Sylvia’s fingers clenched on the steering wheel. “I did conduct some business under aliases in order to protect the Baker name for use in more critical deals. But I tried not to do that too often, although a fake name or two does come in handy now and then.”
Aliases, deals, and, no doubt, doctored books and shell corporations. My cousin had been busy. I pressed my throbbing temple against the cool window glass. “Did you always know? About the tainted wells, I mean.”
“No. Actually, you have Dr. Virts to thank for that. You see, I’d never have been forced to such extremes if he hadn’t seen fit to blackmail me. And poor Bob Blackstone as well.”
Blackmail? I straightened in my seat. The facts clicked together in my mind like jigsaw puzzle pieces. Of course. Don Virts, who needed money to repay Kurt Kendrick, must’ve found out about the orphanage cover-up from his mother. Her father, Douglas Beckert, had been on the town council at the time.
Douglas Beckert, who was reimbursed by the town for water testing done by the Carthage Company.
“Doris told Dr. Virts about the test the town council secretly commissioned after the deaths at the orphanage, didn’t she?”
Sylvia shot me a look of astonishment. “My, my, you have been busy. Yes. Although Doris was only a child at the time, she overheard her father ranting about some lab results. He was quite distraught, which is why it stuck with her over the years. She remembered that some private company had done the testing and her father had originally paid for the tests. She dutifully kept this secret because her father had demanded her silence. But then, when her mind started to go . . .”
“She confessed it to her son.”
“Well, according to Don, she mistook him for her long-dead father, but yes, she rattled on about it once in Don’s presence. He realized what it meant right away. Took his mom to the library shortly thereafter. Encouraged her to look at materials from the 1950s, which gave him the opportunity to peek at a particular folder when he arrived to pick her up.” Sylvia shook her head. “Don is so paranoid sometimes. He thought sending Doris would look less suspicious than if he asked to see files connected to the orphanage affair. As if anyone would have put two and two together over something like that.”
Click, went another puzzle piece. Yes, Sunny had mentioned that Doris had used the archives to look at materials from the 1950s. I also remembered how Sunny had claimed she’d left Doris once, just for a few minutes, under the watchful eyes of her son.
Very observant eyes, indeed, that had undoubtedly seen what I had also spied in the town council minutes—the mention of the Carthage Company in connection to a reimbursement to Douglas Beckert.
So it was Don Virts who’d shoved that file into the wrong cabinet. He’d probably been in a rush when he heard Sunny returning to the building, although his panic would’ve been based on his own sense of guilt since Sunny wouldn’t have made any connection between the file and his planned crime.
Sylvia sniffed. “I must admit that Don was rather resourceful. When he contacted the company that conducted the tests, he pretended to represent his family and was able to get a copy of the report. Still had some Beckert family stationary, which helped his claim. Clever of him, I must say.” There was a tinge of admiration in Sylvia’s tone.
“So he has a copy of the report that proves the town council knew about the iron levels, even if only after the fact.”
“And thus, proves the cover-up.” Sylvia tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. “Unfortunately, Don knew I was likely to do anything to protect the family name, since I’d forced him to retract some comments he’d made about the Bakers during town council meetings in the past. Actually, I considered simply doing away with Don once he embarked on his scheme to blackmail me over my family’s involvement in the orphanage cover-up. That is, until he informed me he’d left an envelope in his home safe to be opened in the event of his death. Unfortunately, not only did it contain the copy of that report; it also detailed where the original was held at some high-security archive.”
“Iron Mountain,” I said, which earned another sharp glance from Sylvia.
“So there I was, having to pay off Don. So unpleasant.” Sylvia’s lips thinned, accentuating the deep lines bracketing her mouth.
“You could’ve just exposed his blackmail and allowed the truth to come out. Maybe it would’ve hurt your business interests and family pride, but wasn’t it time Taylorsford took responsibility for the orphanage tragedy? Not to mention the whole well-water thing could finally clear Eleanora Cooper of any wrongdoing, although I don’t suppose you care about that.”
Sylvia inhaled so quickly, she coughed. She cleared her throat before speaking again. “So another bit of deduction? Just couldn’t keep your nose out of it, could you?”
I rolled the hem of my T-shirt between my hands. “There were too many odd things. It was driving me crazy. I had to find answers.”
“Well, I’m afraid I can’t allow your armchair-detective obsession to continue, my dear. It really is too bad. If you’d just minded your own business, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“If you hadn’t murdered people, neither would you,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
Sylvia appeared unfazed by my outburst. “It wasn’t what you think. I felt no personal animosity toward either Doris or Clark. I just had to silence them so they couldn’t spill their secrets. I was afraid of other people putting the pieces together. I have a reputation as a society hostess, philanthropist, and patron of the arts, you know. There are media outlets who’d love to broadcast an exclusive exposing dirt on our family and, by association, me. Sadly, I’ve made a few enemies among some of the paparazzi over the years. And despite their uncivilized behavior, some of them can be quite clever.” She glanced at me, flashing a smile that held no humor. “Just like you, my dear.”
“So Doris wasn’t raving, after all. You were following her?”
“Yes. I wanted to make sure she didn’t start talking to the wrong people. She almost blabbed to the authorities, you know, not long before I silenced her. I heard she made it to the sheriff’s office and demanded to speak with a deputy before Bethany tracked her down and took her home.” Sylvia turned the car onto a gravel road. “I told Don he should insist she live with him and his family instead of with that sister of his. Just so he could keep an eye on her. ‘Lock her in her bedroom, if necessary,’ I said.”
I shivered as the unemotional tone of Sylvia’s voice clashed with her words.
“But no, he couldn’t be bothered. So I had to keep an eye on her after that. And shut her up for good, when I had the chance.”
I was jolted from side to side as Sylvia drove her car over the washboard ruts of the gravel road. The woods that lined the road were thick with evergreens and oaks. I sank into my seat, imagining one heavy gust of wind crashing the low-hanging branches into the car.
“But Clark Fowler . . .”
Sylvia waved her left hand. “Oh, him. I had no real plan to kill him. He’d been spewing his conspiracy theories for so long, and no one believed them, so I thought there was no harm in it. But then Clark had that run-in with Bob Blackstone, and I was afraid Bob’s subsequent anxiety might drive him to confess Don’s blackmail scheme to the authorities.”
“And I guess you preferred to let Bob live, at least until the development deal went through,” I muttered.
Like my aunt, Sylvia’s hearing was not in the least impaired. “Exactly. So I went to have a little talk with Clark Fowler instead. Just a chat. Of course, I carried my gun in my purse as I always do. For my own protection.”
“I guess Clark didn’t want to be told to stay quiet.”
“No, so I had to silence him.”
I looked up at her stoic profile. She was so calm and logical—and yet completely mad.
Foolish me, I’d always thought that a person with serious psychological issues would be easy to identify. Now I realized that I was wrong. Although Sylvia had struck me as cold and self-absorbed, I would never have imagined her a sociopath. Yet here she was, calmly chatting about murdering people for no more reason than preserving her family name and protecting a few business deals.
“I thought perhaps Kurt Kendrick was involved, but he wasn’t, was he?”
“Kurt? No. Although he does conduct business with some interesting partners. As I said, he and I share some mutual friends.”
I clutched my upper arms with both hands to still my shaking. So I hadn’t been completely wrong about Kendrick. Just as Zelda and Aunt Lydia expected, his hands were not entirely clean. But it seemed in this instance he was innocent of any wrongdoing, unlike my murderous cousin, Don Virts, and—to a lesser degree—our illustrious mayor.
I turned my head to stare out the window. The wild woods had given way to a field of overgrown shrubs and grasses, indicating that the area had once been cleared. A mountain farm, I thought as we rounded a corner and drove into a parking area fronting an old barn.
Sylvia stopped the car before the open barn doors. “Now stay put,” she said as she lifted her gun and stepped out of the car, locking the doors behind her with her key fob. She waved the gun at me and walked through the barn doors and was swallowed up by shadows.
The second Sylvia disappeared from my view, I frantically unbuckled my seat belt and wiggled my door handle. It still wouldn’t budge. I clambered over the center console to reach the driver’s side. Yanking that door handle freed the lock. Kicking the door open with my right foot, I stumbled out of the car and ran.
If I could reach the woods, I might have a fighting chance. Sylvia had the gun, but if I could get to the trees, she wouldn’t have a clear shot. She had the advantage, but she was only one person.
It was one against one. Although the gun was a problem.
A problem, Amy? A problem? The hysteria I couldn’t release bubbled up in my throat, almost choking me. But I couldn’t focus on that. I had to get away.
I had almost reached the tree line when Sylvia’s shouts rang in my ears. I just lowered my head and ran faster.
Right into the arms of the short, wiry man who stepped out of the woods.
Don Virts. Where the hell had he come from? It was as if he’d materialized from the trees, like some forest gnome.
“Hold up there, missy,” Don said, wrapping his arms around me. Despite his small stature, he was surprisingly strong. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Unable to move my arms, I kicked his shins. He swore and jabbed his elbow into my ribs, knocking the wind from my lungs.
“You took your time,” Sylvia said as she strolled up to us, the gun held casually at her side. “You ditched your car somewhere secluded, I hope.”
“Other side of the woods, next to the Fields girl’s car.”
“Good.” Sylvia tossed her car keys at Don. “Here, hold onto these for a minute while I keep our nosy librarian in check.”
As Don released his hold on me to grab the keys from the air, I tumbled to the hard ground. I looked up into Sylvia’s cold face and knew my next escape attempt would require better planning if I wanted to avoid being her third victim. She had leveled the gun until it was pointing directly at my forehead. “Stand up,” she commanded.
I rose slowly, my eyes on the gun.
“Now march into the barn. And remember, I’ve got my pistol trained on you.”
Walking with measured steps, I crossed the graveled lot and entered the barn. Hearing two sets of footsteps behind me, I knew Don was trailing Sylvia.
Ordering me to halt once I was inside the barn’s wide center aisle, Sylvia pressed the barrel of the gun against my shoulder. I glanced to my right and spied a shiny new dead bolt on a weathered wooden door.
Don moved closer, stepping around us to push back the bolt. Sylvia lowered the gun to her right side and reached for my shoulder with her left hand.
I took the opportunity to twist away, hoping I could somehow drop to the ground. Sylvia’s hold on the gun had loosened, and if I could trip her up . . .
Sylvia released a string of expletives that I was shocked she even knew. She grabbed me by my upper arm and yanked me around to face her with a strength that must have been born of desperation and adrenaline. As she swung at me wildly, she dealt me a blow with her right hand. The one that still clutched the gun.
I stumbled backward. Staring at my attackers, a wave of nausea overcame me. I gagged and pressed my hands against both temples as if that action could still my rattled thoughts and stop the ringing in my ears. Don grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around before yanking my arms down and holding them behind my back. As soon as Sylvia opened the door, Don shoved me forward, sending me sprawling onto a hard wooden floor. It was all I could do to turn myself over as the door closed and the dead bolt slammed shut.
Dust motes danced in the air above my face, or maybe it was the stars flickering in my eyes from that blow to my head.
Trapped. I was trapped again. I blinked rapidly and thrust up one hand, as if I could grab hold of one of those stars. As if I could reach something, anything, that could free me from this makeshift prison.