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That boy was watching her again. 14-year-old Alice Rose tried to focus on the ten exam questions on her desk. But her mind was not on freshman English. It was on Elijah. My, he was so handsome, with his black hair and blue eyes, Tony Curtis eyes. He likes me, I know it, he likes me. Here he comes. Hello, Alice. You think you could help me with something, Alice, he asked. With what? Stupid, stupid answer. You should have just said yes. Yes, I'll do anything for you, Elijah Lank. I've got this project I'm doing for biology. I need a partner to help me with it, and I don't know who else to ask. What kind of project is it? I'll show you. We've gotta go to my house. It's kind of a long ride up the hill. Think you can make it? She nodded. I can do anything for you. She hoped that he'd turn on to Main Street, past the malt shop where the kids always hung out after school playing the jukebox and sipping their sodas. They'll see us together, she thought. And wouldn't that set the girl's tongues wagging? There goes Alice and Elijah with the blue eyes. But he didn't lead her down Main Street. Instead, he turned up Locust Lane, where he led her to a clearing in a grassy field. As he jumped off his bike, he said, it's right here. He bent down and pulled aside two wooden boards revealing a deep hole. Take a look in there, he said. Slowly, she approached the pit and stared inside. What is it? That's my project. He reached for a rope and pulled a basket up, revealing what had gleamed white in the pit's bottom. It was a skull. Picking it up, he gave it a little twist, pulling it off the spine. Meow, it's a cat? It's my science project. From kitty to skeleton in seven months. Where did you get the cat? Found it? You just found a dead cat? His blue eyes were smiling, but these were no longer Tony Curtiz's eyes anymore. These eyes scared her. Who said it was dead? Her heart was suddenly pounding. She took a step back. You know, I think I have to go home now. He was on his feet now. The smile was gone. But you just got here, Alice. He was holding something in his hand. Only as he raised it over his head did she see it was a rock. The blow sent her to her knees. She felt no pain, just dumb disbelief that he had hit her. Then he grabbed her ankles and yanked her by her feet. She tried to kick free, tried to scream, but her mouth filled with dirt as he pulled her toward the pit. Just as her feet dropped over the edge, she grabbed a sapling and held on, her legs dangling into the hole. Let go, Alice, he said. Pull me up, pull me up. I said, let go. He lifted a rock and brought it down on her hand. She shrieked and lost her grip as she slid feet first into the hole. Why are you doing this? Bye-bye, Alice. The wooden board slid across the opening, eclipsing the circle of light. Her last glimpse of sky vanished.
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At the stroke of 11, on a cool April night, a woman named Joey Perrone went overboard from the cruise liner MV Sun Duchess. Plunging toward the dark Atlantic, Joey was too dumbfounded to panic. I married an asshole, she thought, knifing head first into the waves. Chaz Perrone listened for a splash, but heard nothing except the deep, lulling rumble of the ship's engines. The act itself was a rudimentary exercise in leverage, really, flipping her backward over the rail. It had happened so fast, she hadn't made a peep. As for the splash, Chaz would have preferred to hear it, a soft punctuation to the marriage and the crime. Then again, it was a long way down to the water. We've only been married two years, Joey was thinking. What did I do to deserve this? To take her mind off dying, Joey composed a mental list of the things that Chaz didn't like about her. One, she tended to overcook fowl, particularly chicken, due to a lifelong fear of salmonella. Two, the moisturizing cream that she applied at night smelled vaguely like insecticide. Three, she declined to entertain the possibility of inviting his hairstylist over for a threesome. Four, she had more money than he did. Come on, Joey thought. A guy doesn't suddenly decide to murder his wife just because she serves a chewy, cornish hen. Prick, Joey thought. Then the screen in her head went blank. Don't move, where am I? Safe, try to lie still. Mm, I can't see a damn thing. What's wrong with my eyes? They're swollen shut. From the salt? And jellyfish stings. You'll be okay in a day or so, Joey. Are you feeling well enough to tell me what happened? How do you know my name? It's engraved on the inside of your wedding ring. I took it off before I put you in the bathtub. You gave me a bath? No offense, but you stunk like a bong. The man easily could have stolen it, but he hadn't. He could have made her believe that she'd lost it in the ocean, but instead, he'd returned it to her finger. By now, she was ready to believe he was a decent guy. The early signs were promising. I was thrown off a boat, she told him. One of those giant cruise ships. I didn't get thrown off by a wave, I got thrown off by my husband. That's a shitty move, the man said. There's no phone in the house. Wait a minute, who are you gonna call? First the coast guard and then the cops. Please don't, tell me your name. It's Mick. Mick, please, she said. Don't call anybody, not yet, okay? I need time to sort this out in my head. Let me help. What your husband did is called attempted murder, and I'm pretty sure it's still against the law. Please wait. Fine, whatever you say. You're gonna call anyway, aren't you? Soon as I'm asleep, you're gonna sneak out and call the cops. No, I won't, that's a promise. Then where are you going, Mick, huh? To take a leak? That okay with you? She sagged back on the sheets and laughed to herself, thinking. Sometimes I'm such a pill, I swear to God.
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Nancy had been endeavoring to formulate an honest opinion of the man's story. From their casual conversation so far, she could not be absolutely certain that Joe Swenson was innocent. She must question him further. They've been searching the grounds for clues, Nancy said nonchalantly. A number of articles had been picked up in the vicinity. I wonder if a diary was found. The diary, well, it contains things Felix Rabel wishes were not written down. That man cheated me out of a fortune, but I haven't a chance to prove my case without the diary. Again, Nancy's hand went to the diary in her purse. Again, she hesitated. Before she could question the man further, the return-to-work whistle blew a shrill blast. I must go now, Swenson said hurriedly. Nancy and her friends watched him until he had disappeared inside the building. The girls then walked slowly back to the car. Just as she reached the convertible, someone grabbed her arm roughly. She turned to face a tough, cruel-looking man. Let go of me! What do you want? Nancy demanded indignantly. Some information. Why are you snooping around here? The stranger snarled. Are you a factory guard? Nancy countered, knowing from his clothes and manner that he most certainly was not. Why, uh, yes, that's what I am, and I got a right to know why you've been talking to that workman. The conversation was private, Nancy told the man firmly. Now, if you'll just move! For a moment, the obnoxious stranger did not seem inclined to do so, but finally he strode off down the street. Nancy, aren't you worried? Bess asked. That man was positively horrible. Yes, I am, Bess, because I'm more certain than ever that Joe Swenson is in some kind of jam.
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Chapter 6 Have you exchanged Brayton yet? Priscilla asked Darcy. The sisters sat at the dining table reviewing a pile of bills. I mean to make the Barringtons suffer a little longer, said Darcy. But we need the money now, do we not? One of our accounts actually sent a collector to our door. The man said if we did not make payment, he would have to take possession of our furniture. Darcy bit her bottom lip. Hmm. Perhaps I can apply to Mr. Wemple for another note. I do not think he would refuse, as we would be able to repay it as soon as we return the deed to Edward. Priscilla nodded. If you think it best, Darcy, I only wish there was something I could do to assist the situation. I fear I only make it worse. I allowed Mama to convince me to buy new clothes for Nathan, as he has grown yet again these past few months. Nathan would much rather wear his old clothes and have the money go toward buying a dog. Of course. Darcy smiled and put a hand on Priscilla. How many times have I told you not to worry? We will be much better situated soon. How long do you expect to continue playing James Newcastle for a fool? Whirling around, Darcy found Broadmoor sitting in the corner chair. Damn him, she thought to herself. When will he stop surprising me like this? As long as he desires it, Darcy said, folding her arms. Her worry that something might have happened to him was replaced with irritation that he must have witnessed her latest flirtation with James Newcastle. Not that it's any business of yours. Do not mistake me. I have no sympathy for that man, Radcliffe said. Only that it does not please me that he should be so free with his hands upon your body. That is not your business either, she said inwardly pleased. Broadmoor cared whose hands were on her. You have failed your orders, Baron. Your punishment will not be light. You may begin by removing your clothes. Radcliffe stood and stared down at her. I think not. Darcy's eyes widened. I said you will remove your clothes, she repeated. I have no desire to remove mine until you have removed yours. The insolence, Darcy thought. She returned his penetrating stare. I give the commands, Broadmoor. Not any more, Miss Sherwood. You will henceforth address me appropriately as my lord. Taken aback by this unexpected answer, Darcy threw back her head and laughed. She narrowed her eyes. I will do no such thing. You will, Miss Sherwood, and anything else I ask of you. Darcy watched Broadmoor withdraw a set of papers and toss it on a table. I had a visit from Mr. Wemple, to whom you owed twenty-five thousand pounds. That debt belongs to me now. Trying to quell the panic lodged in her throat, Darcy said, Mr. Wemple would not have sold you the promissory notes. Ah, I fear his bank has made some rather poor investments of late, and he could not carry your debt on his books any longer. Darcy's legs felt unsteady. So you see, my dear Miss Sherwood, Radcliffe continued, without the slightest hint of leniency in his tone, it is you who will have to remove your clothes. Darcy lifted her chin. Well played, Baron. Radcliffe raised his eyebrows at her first act of rebellion. We can call an end to my conditions, Darcy continued. I will exchange the deed to Brayton for the sum of two hundred thousand pounds and the notes. He scoffed. I have no interest in such an exchange. Then I will sell the deed to the highest bidder. Who would buy it? No one of circumstance would purchase a deed won by a woman in a game of whist.
