Is not general incivility the very essence of love?
—JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
“PETER!” I YELPED. “Oh, God, Peter! Speak to me!” I scrambled to his side and clicked on the flashlight. Blood poured from a nasty gash on his right temple and his face was a terrible shade of gray. The thought that I had actually killed him produced a sharp and sickening tightening in my chest, the intensity of which took me by surprise. The memory of my jest to Bridget that the minute Peter fell gravely ill, I would forgive him rushed over me and I felt sick. I cared for Peter, I really cared for Peter! I had let my anger from events fifteen years ago spoil everything. It figures, I thought bitterly. I finally meet the perfect guy and then I go and blow it by smashing his head in. He might have forgiven me for the dead fish in his bed, but this was different. Blood was involved. Cupping his face, I said, “Peter! It’s me, Elizabeth! Can you hear me?”
He moved his head and moaned peevishly. “What the hell did you do that for? I risk my neck to save you and this is the thanks I get?”
I sagged back with a rush of relief; he was alive. “I thought you were Jackie,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Where is she?”
“Jackie? Jackie’s dead,” said Peter, groaning. “And I was the one who got hit in the head?” Gingerly he raised his hand to his head and tried to sit up. He made it only halfway.
“Jackie’s not dead. She killed Linnet and is pretending to be Linnet. Where is she? Is she still upstairs?”
“Are you okay? Did she hurt you? What happened?”
“I’m fine. Well, I think I did something to my leg, but other than that, I’m okay. Is Jackie still upstairs?”
He took a long time answering. “Peter!” I repeated, shaking him. “Is she here?”
“Please stop that,” he said, wincing. “She left.”
“Peter, listen to me. She’s going to kill us. She has a gun. We have to get out of here, but I hurt my leg and I can’t walk. You’ve got to call the police.”
“Police,” he repeated, but his voice sounded faint. I shook him again. Hard. He tried to slap my hand away, but he was so weak it felt like the brush of a feather. He sank back onto the floor. I had to keep him talking. I had to keep him awake. “Peter, listen to me. How did you know I was here?” I heard the panic in my voice.
He was such a long time in answering that I thought he had passed out, but finally he opened his eyes. They were unfocused, but his voice sounded stronger. “I didn’t,” he said. “When you didn’t come back to the inn, I got worried. Aunt Winnie said you’d come here, so I came looking for you. But Linnet said you left hours ago. I saw your earring on the floor. Something seemed wrong, so I left and then doubled back. When she went out, I broke in.” The effort of this short speech drained him. He closed his eyes. The right side of his head was now covered in blood.
I reached down and cupped his face. He leaned his head into the palm of my hand. “Elizabeth,” he muttered, “don’t be mad. I was only trying to help.”
“I’m not mad at you, Peter, but we have to get out of here! She could be back at any minute.” As I said this, the basement door creaked open. I shrank back and clicked off the flashlight. Jackie’s silhouette appeared in the doorway. “What the hell?” she said, reaching for the light switch. She flipped it several times. “What’s the matter with the lights?”
I did not answer.
She slowly came down the stairs toward me, the gun out and aimed in my direction. Halfway down, she stopped in surprise at the sight of Peter. I grabbed his limp hand. Jackie’s eyes went from Peter’s recumbent form to the flashlight now clutched in my hand. Her mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “Well, well, well,” she said. “What do we have here? Did the gallant hero try to save the damsel in distress only to get bashed in the head?”
Coldly regarding Peter’s crumpled heap, she said softly, “This does complicate my plans somewhat, but no bother. It won’t be too hard to rig this so the police think Peter was behind the killings. I imagine a tragic fight to the death between the two of you ensued when you learned of Peter’s guilt. Yes, I think this might work out quite nicely.” Seeing the remains of the rope on the floor, she reached into her coat pocket. “I had a feeling that those wouldn’t hold, so I bought these.” She pulled out a pair of heavy metal handcuffs and threw them at me. They clattered across the cement floor, coming to a stop at my feet. “It’s amazing the things they sell at those adult video stores,” she said, with a shake of her head. She pointed the gun at me again. “Now move away from Peter, roll the flashlight to me, and put those on.”
I was still holding Peter’s hand. He gave it a squeeze. I glanced at him in surprise. He was lying back with his eyes closed, appearing for all the world unconscious.
“Move it!” Jackie demanded crossly.
I rolled the flashlight to her and reached out and pulled the handcuffs toward me. They were cold and heavy. Sliding away from Peter, I made a show of trying to put them on. While I did so, I palmed the razor. I had to stall her. If she just moved a little closer to me, I might have a chance. “Hurry up!” she barked again.
“I’m trying,” I said, as I continued to fumble with the handcuffs. “But I think I broke my wrist when you pushed me.”
She considered me suspiciously. “Don’t play games with me, Elizabeth. You’ll lose. Again.” Her eyes narrowed as her finger tightened on the trigger of the gun. “I can make your last hours painful or quick—it’s up to you. Now, do as you’re told and put those damn handcuffs on!”
“I’m trying!” I burst out, “but there’s something wrong with the clasp!”
She watched me doubtfully and cautiously crept a few steps toward me. She glanced once at Peter. He lay motionless on the floor. As she moved past him, he opened one eye and slowly raised himself up. Jackie was standing directly in front of me with the gun in closer proximity to my person than I was comfortable with. “Push the handcuffs to me,” she said. I dropped them to the floor and kicked them toward her. Putting the flashlight down, she grabbed them. “Hold your hands out in front of you,” she commanded. I did so, still clutching the razor. She edged closer to me and snapped one of the bracelets around my wrist. I jerked my other hand around and slashed her on the arm that was holding the gun. Blood sprayed and the gun clattered to the ground. “Jesus!” she yelped, stumbling back. I flung myself at the gun while behind her Peter leaped up and pushed her to the ground.
“You bastards!” she screamed.
A voice at the top of the stairs boomed out, “Police! Nobody move!”
Peter and I ignored the command. He threw his body onto Jackie’s while I picked up the gun and trained it on her. I heard the sound of several pairs of heavy boots thudding down the stairs, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off of Jackie. She squirmed and pushed against Peter as he pulled her arms behind her back. He was weak and shaky, but she was no match for his bulk. Detective Stewart’s voice rang in my ears. “You can put down the gun, Elizabeth. It’s all right now. We’ve got her.”
I lowered my arms and dropped the gun. “How did you know to come?”
“I called them,” said Peter, as he surrendered Jackie’s struggling form to one of the uniformed policemen who swarmed the basement.
“You called them?” I sputtered. “But when?”
“Before I broke in, of course. What kind of an idiot do you take me for?”
CHAPTER 29
That would be the greatest misfortune of all!
To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate!
—JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
SO NONE OF this was about Gerald after all?” asked Aunt Winnie, shaking her head in disbelief.
“No,” I said, settling back onto the couch. “Jackie just used the fact that most everyone hated him to her advantage. Remember, no one was really surprised when he was murdered. All Jackie had to do was pretend to know something about his murder and then when ‘Jackie’ was found dead, everyone would assume that the two crimes were related.”