Relatively Risky (22 page)

Memo to self, don't lie to the crazy guy.
Not that she'd planned to. She sucked at lying. She studied him thoughtfully, anxious to postpone the truth-telling moment. If he was the old ladies go-to guy…

“I suppose you're the one who shot at us,” Nell said.

He grinned. “She doesn't like you.”

“She hadn't even met me,” Nell pointed out.

“You were surplus to requirements.”

That sounded like a direct quote.

“And now?” Nell shouldn't have asked it. She knew the answer.

“You have something we want.”

And then she'd be surplus again.

A
lex stopped
in the kitchen doorway, his gaze sweeping the room. His dad, the scary widow, Sarah and his brother. No one looked happy. At least he wouldn't be bringing the mood down. “Where's Nell?”

“What do you mean? I thought she was with you.” Sarah looked alarmed.

“I had to take a call.” He didn't think he was outside that long. Had she slipped past this room? Was she worried about facing Ben? That didn't seem like her.

“Perhaps she wished to refresh herself before joining us,” Mrs. St. Cyr said.

They both needed to freshen up a lot, Alex conceded, but something in the old lady's eyes bothered him. Her lashes swept down, as if she sensed his interest and just like that his brain went from fuzzy to clear.

He knew the power of a stare. He was a cop, so he deployed it. She held it pretty well for maybe a minute, but finally lifted her brows, a shade of annoyed creeping in. He kept the pressure on, while he mulled what she might be up to. Was she making a move? The old lady shifted, a small one, but a shift. Oh yeah, she was. But what was the end game? They couldn't get Nell out of the house without—chaos and confusion. They thought—or were afraid—Nell had something. He didn't need to look at the two boxes they'd left stacked by the door, waiting to be ferried back upstairs. They even had her name written on the side with markers. Old lady didn't know she had her hopes pinned on nothing.

Big house. The three men couldn't cover every exit and search for Nell. A little divide and conquer on the menu? Take them out one at a time? If that was the plan, it was a bold move for the old lady. Did she really think her bodyguards would take the fall for her?

But how had someone got Nell past this door? There was nowhere in the short hall from back door to kitchen where someone could hide—wait. There was a door. He'd seen it, without seeing it. A coat closet maybe?

“What's behind that door back there? Between here and the back door?” he asked, without taking his gaze off the old lady. Her lashes flickered at the question. Score.

“The laundry room?” Sarah asked, puzzled and worried in her voice.

There'd been something about the door. Something he'd noticed when he walked by…

“Where are your bodyguards, ma'am?” Alex asked. Light. There'd been a thin line of light showing in the dim hall. Not a lot. It wasn't that dark in that very long hall. It could have been natural light.

“I sent them on an errand.”

“I'll bet you did.” Alex smiled grimly. “Does the laundry room have a window?”

“No.” Sarah's voice was harder now, too.

“You think they are holding her in the laundry room?” Ben asked the question. He was up and around the table before he finished. He hooked a hip on the table edge by the old lady and pulled out his weapon, not pointing it at her, not yet.

The old lady answered his question with an involuntary tightening of her lips.

“That's crazy,” Sarah said. “What's the point?”

“In confusion, there is opportunity,” Zach said, a weapon appearing in his hand, too.

For a fraction of a second, Alex wondered—his dad looked at him.

“You got a plan, son?”

Alex grinned. “If they want confusion, then maybe we should give them some.”

“
T
aking
them a while to miss you.”

Nell made a sort of face. “I've always kind of blended into the woodwork.” Until New Orleans. Wearing the face of a wise wife had popped her out of the background.

“Nell!” It was Sarah. A pause, then she said quite clearly, “She could have gone up to her room. Let me check.”

She gave Junior a “see, people do miss me” look. Sarah's footsteps pounding up the stairs seemed a little louder than usual…

“Time to start talking.” Junior pulled out his cell phone and waved it at her. “I text Mrs. St. Cyr with the location of the proof and we leave. No one gets hurt.”

It seemed unlike grandma not-dearest to put herself at risk like this. A chill shot down her back as she realized that none of them were supposed to walk out of this house alive. The others would live just long enough for her to talk and then…

“I don't think I trust her to keep her word,” Nell said. It was them against grandma and Junior, but only she knew it. If she was going to make her move, she needed to come up with one sooner rather than later. Her gaze bounced around the small space. All the toxic liquids had stinking child-proof caps. She had trouble with them when she wasn't under threat of death. Her gaze went past the mops and brooms. Tracked back. No child locks on a broom. Granted she'd never jousted but she had seen
A Knight's Tale
. Surely that counted for something. And if the hit was good and solid, it might give her the time she needed to get the gun out.

Nell shifted, grimacing as if she hurt. It was easy to do, since she did. With her right hand, she rubbed her back, as if trying to ease the pain, but using it to get closer to the broom. Or the mop. Either one would do. Which would be easier to deploy? Neither had what she'd call great balance. Needed the pointy end, so thinking the mop. The broom had that big, straw end. Mentally she planned her grip, her moves.

“I wonder if she went back outside? I meant to bring her cell in, but I forgot.” It was Alex's voice.

Junior went on full alert, his gun leveling on her. Nell tried not to frown. Alex knew she didn't have a cell—was it a message? Did he suspect they were in here? It was possible. Hope poked a little sprout up out of the dark determination. If he knew—but what did he want her to do—cell? She looked at Junior's cell.

Junior frowned, waved the gun and mouthed, “Back.”

Nell pointed at the back wall and he nodded. She did it with meek obedience. It put her right where she wanted to be. The sound of footsteps drew Junior's attention back to the door. Nell used the moment to check out the clutter. Yeah, for sure the mop.

His cell phone vibrated. The sound oddly loud in the small space. His gaze jerked down.

Nell grabbed the mop. Swung it up. And around. She lunged forward. Almost tripped on the dead guy. She staggered a bit, but momentum carried her forward despite the stagger.

His gun started to come up.

“Now!” she yelled.

The point caught him in the solar plexus. She knew that because she was a librarian. She even knew how it was spelled. The jolt of the hit reverberated through all her sore places. And knocked the mop from her grasp. His gun went flying. Her foot landed on a dead guy body part.

She jumped back.

She managed to get the gun out of her pants. But no time to chamber a round.

The door flew open, possibly from a well placed kick. Hit him in the back.

He staggered toward her. Gasping like a landed fish. Tripped over the dead guy. He tried to grab the dryer.

She just had time to apply the butt to the temple he presented so invitingly.

He dropped like a stone onto the dead guy.

And then Alex and Ben were in the room, making it very crowded, but in a good way.

W
hile Ben called
in the troops, Alex followed Nell to the kitchen. Zach had the old lady covered, which widened Nell's eyes a bit until Sarah grabbed her and hugged her.

Alex met his dad's worried look with a slight, reassuring nod. The only one who didn't look happy was the old lady, but she'd probably forgotten how years ago. He didn't know if they'd be able to bring it home to her. Dunstead had started to unravel as soon as the cuff's snapped around his wrists. His elevator had probably quit going to the top a long time ago. But he'd damn well try.

Nell, her lop-sided gaze sober but steady, watched the old lady call her lawyer, then get escorted out by a couple of uniforms.

“Are you all right?” Sarah asked, bringing her a glass of water and a couple of tablets of something.

“It's a bit weird to see your grandmother get hauled out in cuffs. I suppose, if my parents hadn't run away and had managed to not get killed, I'd have grown up used to that.” She blinked, then smiled ruefully. She looked at Alex. “She was in on it, though Junior is so whacked, I wonder if she'll managed to wiggle out of it.”

“In on what?” Alex asked, making the automatic switch to cop. It was easier. And comfortable. She'd hugged him after Curly, but this time there'd been too many bodies between them for hugging. He liked her, maybe more than he realized before the near death experiences. She was funny, cute, he was impressed she managed to arm herself in the cemetery, and she could handle a mop. His dad had stowed his weapon and pulled back from this scene. Now he watched Nell with a slight frown between his old man brows. Was he remembering Charlie? No question they all needed some thinking time—which wouldn't happen until Alex got some sleep.

“She told him I had proof that my—that Phil killed his father.”

Alex tried to process this, but it made no sense.

“Why would Phil—” Zach started to ask, then stopped. “Can't fix stupid.”

“She played him pretty good,” Nell said, propping an elbow on the table and resting her cheek on her hand. She looked like she needed the help keeping her chin up.

“You're pretty whacked,” Alex said. “Why don't you give me the short version and when you're rested, we can get your official statement?”

Nell blinked, covered a yawn with her hand and nodded. “Short version. Right.” She added the other hand to the chin prop. “Junior hired the guy who popped St. Cyr on the old lady's orders. Then he killed that guy. He is also the one who shot at us and killed your truck. Oh, and he told her the secret that his dad told him.” She paused, as if replaying things. “And he knows about the ring. He was watching the whole thing.” Another pause. “I think that's the big stuff.” She frowned, rubbed her face.

“You're done,” Alex said. “Do you need help up…?”

“I'll go with her,” Sarah said, her eyes worried, despite the smile.

Nell stood up like everything hurt, which it probably did. She started to leave, but stopped, her gaze moving between him and his dad. “Thanks.”

For a minute, it seemed she wanted to say more, but exhaustion defeated her. Alex didn't mind. He wasn't ready for more. He turned back and found his dad watching him, but he wasn't ready to talk to him yet either.

“I need to help Ben,” he said and walked out before Zach could play the dad card.

N
ell sank
onto her bed and looked at Sarah, seated at her desk.

“So.” Sarah sat relaxed, her fingers tapping the desk top. “You're not dead.”

“I'm a little surprised about that,” Nell admitted. Maybe three times really was the charm? She needed to shower, but the climb had sapped her. It had been a forty-eight hours that would live in infamy, not to mention memory. If not for the kiss, she'd have tried to scrub them out.

Sarah made a scoffing sound. “Your DNA has to be loaded with survivor instincts. Look at your parents.”

Nell had been trying to see her parents for two days. “I saw Toni's grave.”

“You mean her not-grave.”

Nell's smile felt wan, she looked up, found Sarah's eyes full of compassion. “In a way, it really is Toni's grave.” Nell gave her friend a wry smile. “It's like they both did die here, were buried here, because they stopped being those two kids and became my parents.”

Sarah sighed. “It's still hard to believe.”

“I know.” She made a face. “I'm so over cemeteries for the time being.” She gave her the short version of her adventures in bad guy dodging.

“You wield a mean mop.” Sarah shook her head. “Girl, you could write a book.”

“That has its big finish in a laundry room?”

“Saved by the broom.” Sarah chuckled.

Nell made a face, which made her shiner hurt. “Kind of embarrassing.” Should she have told Alex about the music box?

“What's wrong?” Sarah tipped her head. “Besides the obvious.”

Nell managed a wry grin, but it faded fast. “I think I know where it is.”

“It? The proof?” Sarah straightened.

“The something.”

“But we looked through everything—” she stopped. “We didn't look inside the insides of the music box.”

“It's probably the only thing my dad would know for sure I wouldn't get rid of.”

N
ell woke
to sunshine and the knowledge that while there was still crime scene tape across the laundry room, all the cops were outside the house, not inside anymore. Ben had explained that, until they had a better idea of wise guys' intentions, there would be surveillance on the house.

Nell wandered around and eventually found Sarah on the phone. When she hung up, Nell asked, “Please tell me everyone isn't canceling their bookings?”

“Quite the contrary. We've just about doubled our bookings,” Sarah glanced at her watch, “in the last two hours.”

“How many of them are my scary relatives?”

Sarah laughed. “I haven't had time to Google all of them yet, but they seem to be the normal rich people who can afford us.”

Nell sank back in the chair. “Wow.” The relief was, well, there was a lot of it.

“I'd still have preferred that the business got toasted instead of you.”

“You—”

Sarah held up a finger. “Don't say it. We're sisters from different mothers, though I have to say, I thought I was the one with the
motha
.”

Nell laughed then and it felt good, even though the question felt like it hung in the air between them. It for sure was in Sarah's eyes. She rubbed her face, then sighed.

“I think I have to open it, even though I don't want to.” If there was something in there, then the last, faint hope that this was all some weird mistake would be gone forever. Okay, it was gone now, but forever was still in play. Or at least denial was still sort of possible.

“I kind of figured you'd say that.” Sarah stood up, bent and lifted the music box onto her desk. Then she slid a flathead screwdriver and a hammer into view. “Oh, almost forgot.” She pulled out some duct tape. “For the lid.”

That made Nell laugh again. For sure she did not need
Memories
playing as she dived into the murky past. “Right.”

They taped the lid shut, then tipped the box, so that one seam of the base was exposed. It might have been hard, but she was her father's daughter. She didn't work a lot in wood, but she'd helped him whenever she needed to talk to him, or he needed to talk to her. She gently worked the flathead into the seam, then tapped it until a gap appeared. She took her time, working her way around the base. When it was ready to lift clear, she looked at Sarah and got a thumbs up.

“Right.” She lifted the base up and off and set it on the desk top. Sarah hooked a hip on her side of the desk and leaned close, though she waited for Nell to take the first look. She leaned over. “There is something.”

Plastic wrapped, it seemed to fill the space until she lifted it clear. There was a compartment, a fairly substantial one. The base of what she guessed were the music box workings appeared to start about halfway to the lid. Nell studied the package. Found the edge of the plastic and pulled at the seal. There were several layers of fabric, possibly to mute any rattling if someone shook the box, as Alex had done. Nell peeled back each layer of stiff, faded cloth until finally—

“It's a letter, addressed to me.” The paper had yellowed, the sealed edge no longer perfect. Nell slid a finger in and the flap lifted. She pulled out a couple of folded sheets and spread them out on the desk top, so Sarah could see. She did it without pausing, because if she stopped to think about it…

“Do you want me to—”

“No. Sisters remember?”

So, shoulders almost touching, they bent over the faded, but familiar script.

O
ur dearest daughter
,

We are both so very, very sorry. We hoped and prayed that this moment would never come. That you would never need to see this letter. At first we thought we'd never tell you. Why should anyone ever connect you with the kids that we were. But every day you grow more and more like me in looks. And your drawing shows such promise. Who is to say that some day you won't be famous? It is my hope that when that day comes, that we are here to tell you our story. But even normal life is full of uncertainty and risk. We could not leave you ill-prepared if some mischance should bring you in contact with either of our families.

T
he story was
, for most part, what Nell had heard. There were a few details that weren't known.

M
y mom told
me that Dad and Phil's father had plotted and planned for us to get married, but that we wouldn't be allowed to choose what kind of life we wanted to have. I was seventeen and I learned that my dad had forced my mom to marry him, that he would only love me if I did what he wanted. And then I found out I was pregnant. If I lived long enough to have you, would they let me live to raise you? Your dad and I didn't think so and neither did my mom.

“
S
o Ellie did help
them escape,” Nell murmured. “I wondered.” She scanned the sheets. “But they don't seem to know what happened to her either.”

“No mention of anyone else helping them,” Sarah said. “I wonder how old they were when they wrote this and sealed it up?”

Nell shook her head as she re-read the final paragraph once more.

T
ake this package
, leave it sealed, please, and give it to the proper authorities.

“You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.”

Don't fear it or forget it, our darling daughter. And please know that we loved you more than anything or anyone. Love, your mom.

“
T
he proper authorities
?” Nell looked at Sarah.

Before she could answer, her phone shrilled. After a short conversation, she hung up, looking a bit bemused.

“That was Frank Baker, the one who is with the FBI. He wants to come and get your statement.” She grinned. “If he looks proper, I say we hand this hot potato off to him.”

“Works for me,” Nell said, her gaze once more on her parents' last message.