His body jerked. “Be quiet.”
“Golly.” Peabody widened her eyes. “You’re pissing him off, Lieutenant.”
“Am I? Does it piss you off to talk about your sister? Did you feed her the drugs that hooked her, or did she do it to herself? Why did she try to kill you? Did one of your sessions go south? Or maybe you’d just had enough of her, drugged her up good, faked the whole thing so you could kill her.”
“She killed herself.”
“Like Darlene Fitzwilliams? Like—wait, let me read your mind.” She held her hands over his head, swayed. “I feel their spirits reaching out to me. Marian Beechem in London, Fiona MacNee in Edinburgh, Sylvia Garth in Prague.”
“Get away from me.” He shrieked it, but Eve continued to list names. “All women, like your sister.”
“I bet he couldn’t bring her back,” Peabody said. “She wouldn’t come. Not after what he did to her.”
“Shut up! Shut your mouth! You can’t speak. Your tongue is tied, your throat is closed!”
Peabody’s lips clamped together, her eyes widened as she lifted her hands to her throat. Choked and gasped. Then dropped them. “Nope, I can speak just fine.”
Good one, Eve thought. She glanced at her ’link, read Roarke’s text. Smiled. Then walked around the table again. “Jesus, the guy believes his own shtick. No good without the tea party and the mists, the lights. The hats? What is it with the hats?”
“Carneys like props,” Peabody suggested. “Maybe he’ll pull a white rabbit out of one.”
“Or a March Hare. But her name’s really Willow Bateman, and she’ll do all kinds of flips on you.”
“Ms. March is loyal.”
“To your illegals cocktails, sure. But without them . . . You shouldn’t have pitched your pathetic ability against someone like Dupres. She’s the real deal, and she gave us everything we needed to shut you down.”
“Impossible.” He flicked his hands in the air.
“Why? Because you slipped your ugly little mix into her tea leaves? Because you went to her, drugged her, then picked Fitzwilliams out of her client list? And while she was drugged, you planted the order for her to kill herself if she remembered, if she was questioned? Jesus, she lives over a restaurant. Did you really think no one would see you go up to her place?”
“I didn’t go! I sent Ms. March.”
“Right.” Eve sat again. “You sent Bateman posing as a client, and she laced the tea. And Mouse—that’s Maurice Xavier—brought them to you. Fitzwilliams now, such an easy mark, and such deep pockets. Wait.”
Eve pressed a hand to her temple. “I’m getting another psychic flash. Nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars. Cash. Such a fat fee for you. But . . . there’s more. That well-heeled foundation. Millions to pump from that. What’s that? What? Yes, I can almost see it. There! The Looking Glass Fund.”
“Get out of my head!” The madness was back in his eyes. “You can’t see! I want my hat. Get me my hat.”
“You really think your stupid hat can stop me from seeing? The Amazing Dallas sees all, knows all. You had to get rid of them both. Push Darlene to make a twelve-million-dollar bequest to your shell charity, and get rid of them both. For the money, and the satisfaction. Sister, brother, just like you and Alice.”
He bared his teeth, all fury now. “I can make you beat your head against the wall until you’re dead!”
“Try it.” She reared up, pushed her face into his. “Just try it. I’m not drugged and grieving like your victims. You sent Darlene to kill her brother. You gave her the shears. What did she think they were? Candy? Wine? Flowers? Flowers,” she repeated when she saw his eyes shift. “‘I’m so sorry we argued, Marcus. I brought you flowers.’ And she stabbed him in the heart, then she jumped off his terrace, hallucinating, thinking what? She was walking on the beach, stepping into her own house? It doesn’t matter, you killed her, killed them both. And for what? For money. For money and entertainment. And to feel powerful.”
“I am powerful. I gave her what she wanted, didn’t I? She’s with her parents. I gave her what she asked for. I deserve the money. I want my money! I want my hat!”
He beat his fists on the table, his feet on the floor. “You’ll kill each other before the night is through. I can make you, like I made all the others. You’ll cut each other to ribbons. Ribbons of blood. And with blood we’ll paint all the roses red.”
He took a deep breath, and the shoulders that had come up to his ears relaxed again. “Now, have Ms. March fetch the tea.” His fingers played in the air again as he stared into Eve’s eyes, smiled. “We’re having tea. It’s my tea party, and it never, never ends.”
“I’ve got news for you. The party’s over.”
When they’d finished with him, at least for the night, Eve had him taken down to where he’d be held in the psych section, on suicide watch.
“Mira’s going to have a hell of a time with him,” Eve said. “We’ll take the other two in the morning. We’ll see what kind of mood they’re in after a night without their particular brand of tea.”
She watched Roarke come out of Observation.
“I regret to say, I do believe he’s mad as a hatter.”
“Probably,” Eve agreed. “That’s up to Mira, and I don’t give a rat’s ass if he spends the rest of his life in a concrete cage or a padded room. Either way, he’s done.”
“He gave me the creeps.” Peabody shuddered.
“It didn’t show.”
“Well, he did, and if it’s okay with you, I’m heading home and staying away from you until morning. So we don’t end up cutting each other to ribbons.”
“For Christ’s sake, Peabody.”
“Why take chances? I’ll write it up, but I’ll write it up at home. With McNab sort of keeping an eye on me.”
“Fine. I’m going the hell home myself.”
“And I’ll keep an eye on her,” Roarke promised Peabody.
She went to her office for her coat. “He has something.” She circled her neck. “Not nearly what he’s deluded himself into believing he has—most of it hinged on the drugs. Wherever he ends up, he won’t have them, but he needs careful watching.”
“He was afraid of you, afraid you have more than he does.” Roarke tapped the dent in her chin. “Perhaps you do.”
“Not a psychic—just a cop who knows how to read killers.”
“I have a hypnotic suggestion of my own.” This time, he laid a finger on her forehead. “You want to go home with me and have lots and lots of sex.”
“You putting the whammy on me, ace?”
“I certainly intend to.”
As they walked out, he pulled the snowflake hat out of his pocket, fixed it on her head.
What the hell, she thought. As hats went, it was warm—and pretty sweet.
ALICE AND THE EARL IN WONDERLAND MARY BLAYNEY
For Leslie Gelbman and Cindy Hwang. Thanks to you (and Nora) for making this adventure possible.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Be advised: this is a time travel! My time-travel world began with Amy and Simon in “Amy and the Earl’s Amazing Adventure” in the anthology Dead of Night, which is available as a paperback or eBook.
The magic coin, also known as Poppy’s Coin, is an element in all the anthologies I have done for Berkley. Their chronology varies, and someday I will do a spreadsheet to figure it out for myself. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the Earl of Weston’s adventure.