Tail Spin

Again, no answer. “Sherlock said she might go over to see how Rachael was doing when I told her you and I would probably be late. I wanted coverage even though it’s daylight. I was hoping maybe she brought Rachael back to our house.” He drummed his fingers against the conference table. “Evidently not.”

FIFTY-NINE

Sherlock didn’t want to open her eyes. She knew if she did, she’d want to vomit, or pass out again from the god-awful pain, or both. Well done, kiddo, you let the nice lawyer pull you right in with that will business. A civilian, no, less than a civilian—a lawyer. But who had struck her? Stefanos, she thought—or Quincy—but there was Stefanos Kostas’s face in her mind. She knew somehow it had been him, she could hear the echo of his voice. She’d been hit on the head before, a long time ago, really, but the pain was familiar, like an old enemy. She recognized it instantly, and hated it. Don’t open your eyes, let it stay dark a moment longer. Don’t open your eyes.

“Sherlock?”

Rachael’s voice, far away—blurred, vague. She was alive, thank God. Sherlock wanted to forget she heard her, but her quiet voice came again. This time, she heard fear in it. “Sherlock. Please, wake up. Talk to me.”

One eye opened, and Sherlock shuddered with the pain of it.

“I’m sorry, but you’ve been unconscious too long. Wake up, please wake up.”

“Well, all right,” Sherlock whispered, and opened both eyes. Flashing pain sliced through her head, and rising bile clogged her throat. She swallowed, still wanted to vomit, and swallowed again.

Rachael said, “I was nauseous, too, but it’s almost gone now. At least I can control it. You will, too.”

“Rachael?” Was that her voice? That thin little thread of sound?

“Yes, I’m right beside you. I woke up maybe five minutes ago. Are you all right?”

Now that was a joke. “Yes, but give me another moment.”

“We’re both tied up.”

“Yes.” Sherlock felt the ropes digging into her wrists. They’d tied her ankles, too, but around her slacks, so there was some protection. “Brady Cullifer,” she said, “he’s a real showman—all that concern about your father’s will. He staged it like a pro, sucked me in like a raw rookie. I’m sorry, Rachael, I didn’t protect either of us.”

“Stefanos Kostas hit you.”

“I know. I wasn’t fast enough.”

“I’m the lousy judge of character here. I trusted Brady completely,” Rachael said. “He seemed to like me, right from the beginning, and he’d worked for Jimmy for at least two decades. Jimmy trusted him, felt he was completely loyal.”

She sighed. “I never believed for a second he was involved. I liked him so much, he was so comforting, so sympathetic. It’s beginning to look like every single person Jimmy introduced me to is involved in this thing. And Brady Cullifer’s in the thick of it. He sucked Jack in, too.”

“Yes, he got all of us. I wonder where we are?”

“I woke up briefly. Before I went under again I realized we were moving, in a car. I think we were stuffed in a trunk. This room is too dark to see much of anything, so I don’t know where we are. Has Brady brought us to his office? His house?

Sherlock heard voices. “Keep quiet. Play dead.”

A door opened and light speared into the dark.

“Looks like they’re still out,” Stefanos said, and came down on his knees. He placed two fingers against the pulses in their necks. “Strong. They’re not dead.”

Laurel said, “All right, then. They’re alive, no bullet wounds or injuries, we can go through with what we discussed. It will be an auto accident. It is too bad, though, that we now have to deal with this damned FBI agent, as well.”

Stefanos said, “I didn’t have a choice. But we’re good at this. We’ll stage it just like Nichols and I did with Jimmy.”

“I’m not a murderer,” Cullifer said, his voice suddenly austere. “Stefanos struck both of them down. I helped bring them here as you asked. You can deal with them as you choose.”

Laurel laughed. “So you draw the line at slipping barbiturates into Rachael’s wine? You didn’t think she was supposed to die? We will all deal with this, Brady, and don’t forget that. You’re certain that the real will the senator made is now in his papers?”

“Yes, everything’s as it should be.”

Laurel said, “Not ideal, but at least there will be no smoking gun for the FBI to discover when Rachael and the FBI agent are found dead in an automobile accident.”

Quincy said, “I still can’t believe we’re ending up leaving Jimmy’s will to be found there and not our own version. After all that’s happened, we’ll have nothing at all to show for this, not majority control, not even a way to prevent an audit. I still think we should leave our version of his will. Why not? I mean, everyone can be suspicious, wonder why Jimmy didn’t leave anything to his adopted daughter, but what can they do?”

“We’ve been through this,” Brady said. “I was very particular in my wording, emphasizing it was his father’s deepest wish that all stock remain in his children’s hands. But now—”

Laurel said impatiently, “But now having our version of the will surface would be like waving a red flag at the FBI and confessing our guilt. Look, Quincy, all the stock will go to our two nieces and Rachael’s family. Yes, it’s a damned tragedy to have to deal with people like that, but perhaps we can buy them out. It will cost us, admittedly, but at least the will the FBI will undoubtedly find won’t be our forgery. They can prove nothing about the senator. They can prove nothing about Greg Nichols. As for Rachael, we’ve been extremely fortunate. We will be harassed, but I don’t see how they’ll be able to indict us. We will salvage this mess yet. Rachael has given us a golden opportunity. We will use it. Then we can go back to our lives, the nightmare behind us.”

It had nothing to do with my father’s confession. Sherlock was right, it was about money the whole time, money and control of the company. Unfortunately for them, I didn’t die. When I showed up with the FBI, they knew they were in deep trouble.

Rachael managed not to move when someone toed her in the ribs. Quincy’s voice came from above her. “I can’t believe this damned girl survived. I’ll tell you, I thought it was all over when she showed up with the FBI.”

Keep it down, dammit, keep it down. But it wouldn’t stay down, wouldn’t—Rachael sneezed.

“Well now, look who was playing possum,” Quincy said. “You trying to be cute, too?” He kicked Sherlock hard in the side. Her breath whooshed out at the sharp blow. “Come on, Agent Sherlock, time to rise and shine, as my nanny used to say.” He drew back his foot again.

“Leave her alone,” Rachael shouted as she struggled to sit up. “Don’t, Quincy.”

Laurel stared down at her. “You didn’t drown. Perky showed me the nice stout ropes, the block of concrete, and yet you still managed to get free, even full of those barbiturates. Imagine Quincy’s surprise when he went to the senator’s house to make certain everything was set. Pity he didn’t have time to get to you before you drove off.”

“I guess you and Perky screwed up, or whichever one of you was with her at Black Rock Lake. But it didn’t matter much, did it?” Rachael said. “You found me fast enough.”

“It took a bit of research to turn up that backwoods town Parlow, but you managed to survive that, too,” Laurel said.

It was difficult to be conciliatory—no, it was impossible. Rachael was filled to overflowing with hatred. She looked up at Laurel, her coarse hair haloed in the light. “Greg Nichols didn’t survive. You appear to be getting better at poisoning people.”

Quincy kicked her in the ribs.

Rachael saw Cullifer move back to stand in the doorway. Was he afraid of what he’d done?

Laurel dropped to her knees beside Rachael, grabbed her by her long hair, wrapped it around her fist, and jerked her head up. “How did you get out of Black Rock Lake? All of us were surprised, particularly Stefanos and Perky, who were sure you were dead.”

Why not tell her? It didn’t matter. “Stefanos and Perky didn’t tie my wrists, only wrapped the rope around my chest. And they didn’t bother to check me out, Laurel. I was awake, and I can hold my breath for a good long time.”