Heroes Are My Weakness(90)

Sex affair, Annie corrected her. And do you think I don’t understand that?

You tell me, Dilly said.

Whether Annie liked it or not, this ache she felt at his absence was a wake-up call. She made herself focus on the evening ahead, one she was determined to enjoy. The articles on puppet therapy had been fascinating. She did some more research, then settled down with the ancient gothic paperback she’d brought with her. What better place to read one of her spooky old favorites than at Harp House?

By midnight, however, the story of the cynical duke and virginal lady’s companion hadn’t worked its magic, and she still couldn’t fall asleep. Dinner had been sparse, and there was banana bread in the kitchen. She slipped out of bed and stuffed her feet in her sneakers.

The lamp in the upstairs hallway cast a long yellow shadow up the wall, and the stairs creaked as she made her way into the foyer. A full moon threw blades of silver light through the panes of glass above the front door—not enough to illuminate the area, only enough to emphasize its gloom. The house had never felt more forbidding. She rounded the corner into the back hallway . . . And froze.

Jaycie was making her way toward her apartment, and her crutches were nowhere in sight.

An icy panic paralyzed Annie. Jaycie walked with perfectly erect posture. There was nothing wrong with her foot. Nothing at all.

Annie’s ears rang from the memory of the bullet whizzing past her head. She saw Crumpet hanging from the ceiling, the bloodred warning painted on the wall. Jaycie had a motive for wanting her gone. Had Annie overlooked the obvious? Was Jaycie the one who’d vandalized the cottage? Had she fired that bullet?

Jaycie had nearly reached the door of her apartment when she stopped. She looked up, tilting her head ever so slightly, almost as if she were listening for any movement above her. And since Annie was the only person upstairs . . .

Jaycie began to move, not into her apartment but back the way she’d come. Annie cut into the dark kitchen and flattened her spine to the wall just inside the doorway. Her paralysis lost its grip. She wanted to grab Jaycie and shake the truth out of her.

Jaycie passed by the kitchen.

Annie eased out into the hallway in time to see her turn toward the front foyer. Staying well back, Annie followed her, barely avoiding one of Livia’s My Little Pony figures abandoned on the floor. She peered around the corner. Jaycie had stopped at the bottom of the staircase. As Annie watched, she slowly began mounting the steps.

Anger and betrayal burned inside her. She pressed the back of her head against the wall. She didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to confront the truth that was staring her in the face. It had been Jaycie all along. Her anger burned hotter. She wasn’t letting her get away with this.

She began to pull away from the wall, only to hear Scamp’s scoffing voice. You’re going after her now? Just like the most dim-witted heroine. It’s the dead of night. There’s an arsenal in this house, and for all you know, Jaycie has a gun. She’s already murdered her husband. Have you learned nothing from your novels?

Annie gritted her teeth. No matter how much she hated it, this confrontation had to wait for daylight when she had a cooler head. And a gun of her own. She forced herself back into the kitchen, snatched her coat from the hook, and escaped from the house.

A soft whinny came from inside the stable. The spruces creaked, and a night creature scuttled through the brush. Despite the bright moonlight, the descent was treacherous. She slipped on loose rock. An owl hooted a warning. All this time she’d thought someone was after the legacy, but that hadn’t been it at all. Jaycie wanted to drive Annie away so she could have Theo to herself. It was as if Regan’s darkness had found a home inside Jaycie.

By the time Annie reached the marsh, her teeth were chattering. She looked back at the house. A light burned from a window in the turret. She shivered, imagining Jaycie staring down at her, then remembered she’d left the light on herself when she’d gone up there earlier.

As she gazed at the massive shadow of Harp House and the glowing turret window, she experienced a moment of the blackest humor. This was just like the cover of one of her old gothic paperbacks. But instead of fleeing the haunted mansion in the dark of night wearing a billowing gossamer gown, Annie was fleeing in a pair of flannel Santa pajamas.

Gooseflesh crept up her spine as she approached the dark cottage. Had Jaycie already discovered Annie had fled? Her anger resurfaced. She’d deal with her tomorrow before Theo could get back and try to take over. This was her fight alone.

Except it wasn’t. She thought of Livia. What would happen to her?

The nausea she’d been fighting ever since she’d seen Jaycie walk struck. She fumbled in her pocket for the door key and fit it into the latch. The door gave an ominous squeak. As she let herself inside, she reached for the light switch.

Nothing happened.

Booker had told her how to start the generator, but she hadn’t imagined doing it in the dark. She grabbed the flashlight she kept by the door and turned to go back outside when a soft, almost imperceptible sound stopped her cold.

Something had moved on the other side of the room.

Her toes curled in her sneakers. She stopped breathing. The pistol was in her bedroom. All she had was the flashlight. She raised her arm and shot the beam across the room.

Hannibal’s yellow eyes gazed back at her, his stuffed-mouse toy clutched between his paws.

“You stupid cat! You scared me to death!”