Chapter Twenty-Four

When Sara left the cottage, she was moving fast. It felt good to have told Kate what happened to her. It made her see that a big part of the pain she'd buried inside her for so many years was because of the mindset of the times. Rape was always a woman's fault, and men suffered no repercussions.

She shook her head to clear it. She needed to think about now, not the past. She saw Reid on the far side of what was left of the large estate. He was shoveling mulch around some trees. Lenny had said, "It's as though he knows he owns the place." He sure does seem to believe that, Sara thought.

Since she'd been around Jack and Kate, she'd learned to keep her phone with her. She backed up against a palm tree, with Reid in sight, and sent a text to her brother. He would know how to handle what she needed to tell. She gave a brief description of where there was a hidden compartment in the cottage. It was behind a wooden panel and it was insulated as a drinks cooler. Mr. Lachlan used to put a couple of cold beers in there for Cal. "If you're old enough to do a man's job, you're old enough to have a beer," he'd said.

When that was done, she went to Reid. "Hi," she said.

Turning, he smiled at her, but he kept shoveling.

Sara didn't want to waste time. "Who do you think should inherit this place?" She kept her eyes on him as he paused to look toward the back of the house.

"I have no idea. James Lachlan died years ago. Wouldn't the new owner have taken over by now?"

She didn't answer his question. "Did your grandmother ever talk about this place?"

Reid stopped work, used a bandanna to wipe the sweat from his face, and leaned back against a tree. His eyes took on a dreamy look. "Other kids were read fairy tales, but all I wanted to hear about was this house and what went on in it. Grans used to tell me of the lavish parties. My grandfather was a handsome man, so he was allowed to attend and dance with the ladies. No matter how old they were, he led them onto the dance floor. Their diamonds sparkled like a thousand candles."

Sara was blinking at the deep emotion in his voice. "And Alish?" she asked softly.

"She was never invited, but my grandfather used to sneak her a plate of food. He made sure she got the best of all that was served. She'd sit outside and watch through the ballroom windows." He seemed far away, living in that long-ago time.

At last, he gave a sigh and came back to the present. "I've decided I should show you something." He held out a piece of old fabric. It was torn on the edges, and about four inches square. There were giraffes printed on it.

Sara took the fabric and looked at him in question.

"On the night Derek Oliver disappeared, I found it stuck in the doorframe of the nursery. I didn't think anything about it at the time. I was like everyone else and happy the man was gone."

She held up the fabric. "Who does it belong to?"

"My sister. Ask Kate. She liked Greer's giraffe shirt." He paused for a moment. "The night Oliver disappeared, Grans came here. She got my sister, took her to the airport, and sent her to Scotland."

"Why?" Sara asked, feigning ignorance.

"I don't know—and I can assure you that I asked. I loved my sister, but suddenly she was gone. I never saw her again. Years later, we had a funeral but it was a closed coffin. I didn't even see her then!" He nodded toward the fabric. "I stuck that in a box in my bedroom at Grans's house and forgot about it, but being told a body was found has made me remember things." He stared at Sara. "You don't think my sister did anything, do you? She always had, uh, problems, so Grans kept her isolated. She wasn't allowed near other people, especially children. Grans even told me to stay away from her. Sometimes I got the idea that my sister was...dangerous."

Sara started to put the fabric in her pocket and he nodded okay. "I don't know the answer to any of that. For all that it seems that we solve murders, we have to report everything to the sheriff. I'll certainly tell him about this." And I'll tell Gil everything, she thought. "Where is Rachel?" She watched him closely, and his expression showed surprise, but something else that she couldn't identify. Anger?

He grimaced. "Don't ask me. I got dumped."

The way he said it made her smile.

"Not enough money, I guess."

"Did you tell her about your successful company and that you are just pretending to be the lowly gardener?"

When he grinned, Sara had a flash that there was something familiar looking about him. "I'm old-fashioned. I wanted her to love me, not my bank account. Have you ever felt that you live in the past?"

"All the time," Sara said.

"Did you know that Rachel was friends with the young man of the family who used to own your house? He was rich, so he was one of the candidates for her to marry. What was his name? Alexander?"

"Alistair Stewart."

"That's right. I know she liked him a lot."

"He could be charming." Is this why Rachel went to my house? Old times' sake?

"I'm curious about Aran Lachlan," Sara said. "What was he like?"

Reid shrugged. "Grans rarely mentioned him, but I got the idea that she may have hated him. He seemed to think the earth belonged to him. Today we'd call him a narcissist."

"Have you—?" She broke off because she saw Jack walking toward them. "Uh-oh. Looks like I'm wanted."

"How many suspects do you have?" Reid asked.

"None. All of you are very nice people. If I were writing this, I'd call it A Murder of Kindness."

Reid gave a snort. "Whoever did it should be praised. Derek Oliver was hated by all who met him. I got the idea that Billy's brothers sent Oliver here as a punishment."

When Sara looked at him, she saw a flash of hatred so strong that all the hair on her body stood on end. What horrible thing did Derek Oliver do to you? she thought.

Jack had reached them. "There you are. We need you."

"It's always good to be needed." Sara forced a smile. She was still chilled by Reid's look.

As soon as they were out of earshot of Reid, Jack said, "Did you have a good vacation? You and Kate have tea and sandwiches in the cottage?"

Sara was glad Kate hadn't told him the awful story. Not yet, anyway. "Cucumber with buttered bread and clotted cream scones. It was divine."

Jack gave a snort at her joke.

"Well?" Sara demanded. "Tell me everything. Or did you and my brother settle down with the girls and watch that movie?"

"Randal found the cubbyhole in the cottage and..." Jack paused. "And he found a safe in the wall of the Palm Room. He's in there now opening it. We thought you'd like to see what's in it. Or maybe you want more tea."

They had reached the back door of the house, but Sara grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the shade. If there is one thing Floridians know about, it's shade. "Tell me everything!" she said.

Jack leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets. "Guess what was hidden in your beloved cottage?"

"Old beer bottles?"

"DNA."

"What?"

He grinned. "Hair samples and vials of liquid were in envelopes. There were twenty-three of them. All of them were labeled with the names and dates of the birth of people. They seem to be mostly from Lachlan."

"But why?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. All any of us know is that James Lachlan loved the newly discovered DNA. That's why his will put a forty-year hold on this place."

"Right," Sara said. "Maybe he was hoping his son left behind a kid." She didn't mention her dream where she saw that Aran was probably gay.

"Bea came and took all of it," Jack said. "She sent everything to Broward to be analyzed. She has a friend over there so they'll be taken care of ASAP."

When Jack didn't move, Sara knew he had more to say. "What about the movie?"

"Randal and I didn't stay to see it, but it seems to be some horror flick with a guy killing women after he screws them. I don't get why it became popular. Anyway, the important thing is that Barbara's late husband, the famous producer and director..."

"Who was being blackmailed for murder by Derek Oliver."

"That's the one. He was in that movie."

"As what?" Sara asked.

"Lea said that Harry Adair played a waiter to the star, that guy, Taylor Caswell. It was too small a role to be credited, but Lea said it was a fiery moment."

"Eyes locked, lightning flashing back and forth, curtains turning to flame? That sort of thing?"

"So says the romance writer. And yes, that's pretty much how Lea described it, but not with your flair."

"I bet Barbara recognized the look from her life with him, but what about Troy?"

Jack sighed. "Lea said he was quiet, but it was easy to see that he'd seen that look on his father's face. Probably used to embarrass the kid. As for Barbara, she said, and I quote, ‘That bastard! To do that in front of the cameras!'"

Sara laughed. "That's the Hollywood version of ‘Don't do it in the streets and frighten the horses.' So now we know that Harry knew the actor, Taylor Caswell."

"Who was found stabbed in the heart."

"I guess Derek Oliver saw the film, recognized the look, did a little research, and figured out who might have killed Mr. Caswell."

"Don't forget the letters the wife may or may not have stolen and that the wife is still alive. That would be evidence. If they exist, how did Oliver get them?"

Sara gave a look of shock—as though she'd just remembered something.

"What is in that overactive mind of yours?"

"Aran. Alish didn't marry Aran." Sara put her hands to the side of her head. "She married Reid. But Aran went to Hollywood. I'm confused."

"You are confused?" Jack said. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You plan to share any of this with us?"

"I wish I knew enough to be able to share. I need to get to Alish. She knows everything."

"Great. You'll set off alarms again. Maybe this time you will give her a heart attack."

"Ha! That woman is strong enough to outlive us all. What else have you learned?"

"Nope," he said. "It's your turn to spill. What did you find out from Reid?"

She handed him the piece of fabric. "He found this in the doorframe of the nursery the night Oliver was killed. It's from Greer's blouse. That night Alish put her on a plane and sent her to Scotland."

"Because Greer had just killed a man? But how did Alish know?" He raised his hand. "Don't tell me. That Second Sight you and Kate love so much. So Greer killed him and sawed his head open because...?"

"Because it's in her nature? I don't know. Remember that Greer admitted she'd been kept isolated her whole life. Reid said Alish kept her away from other people, especially kids."

Jack looked like this new information was too much to handle. "Great. She might be a psychopathic killer and she's with Quinn."

"I wonder what the full story is of why Greer was taken out of school and educated at home. Not just the cute one of Alish tossing some kid like a Frisbee."

Jack had his phone in his hand and was tapping out a message.

"Are you warning Gil?"

"Yes." He pressed Send, then flicked through his messages. "Before we send Greer to the guillotine, look at what Ivy sent. She did some investigating of your dear friend Reid and came up with some interesting stuff when she had lunch with one of the executives of the company." He handed her his phone, open to Ivy's text.

Halfway through the second bottle of wine, she told me that the founder of the company had a gambling problem. He ran the business into so much debt that it had to be sold. Reid bought it, but the son of the gambler still runs it. She said that Reid doesn't seem to believe in work, just paychecks. The son thinks someone bought the company for him.

What does the company do?Jack had texted back.

Something to do with computers. Creating software programs, maybe? I'm not sure. By then, she'd had too much wine to be coherent. BTW, they all despise Reid and laugh at him. But not to his face. They don't dare. He's said to have no sense of humor. Certainly doesn't go to drinks with the peons after work.

Sara gave the phone back to Jack, her eyes wide. "Wow. Not insurance but computers."

"Bet he'd know how to send messages from Kate's phone to mine."

"He told us a flat-out lie." Sara's head came up. "But why would he be after you? Did you wink at Rachel, his great love? The woman he returned here for?"

"The woman he doesn't seem to realize is missing? That one?"

"He said she dumped him."

"And he took it well?" Jack asked. "No anger? No declarations that he'd waited for her for years so she owed him?"

"Maybe—" Sara began, but the door to the house opened and Lenny stepped outside.

He looked at Sara. "You need to come in here."

Sara nodded. "So who is going off the rails this time? Barbara at her late husband for forgetting that the camera was on? Or is it Gil? He's probably angry and ready to fight to defend his new girlfriend. Or maybe Lea finally confessed to murdering her husband."

Lenny may have rolled his eyes but the state of his scarred face made that expression undetectable. "Your brother can't open the safe."

Sara gasped. "This is an emergency." She took off running, with Jack behind her.

When they got upstairs, they saw that only Randal was in the Palm Room. He had removed the painting by the Brazilian artist to expose a small safe set in the wall. He was diligently working at the combination lock. Sara had seen that look of concentration many times. When Randal was a child, it meant he'd taken something that wasn't his.

"So how'd you find it?" she asked. "By sniffing it out or did you use telepathic connections?"

He was unperturbed by her snide remark. "People in glass houses..." He glanced at his sister. "I think you should tell us about your dreams. Not the short, comic book version, but the complete story, especially the parts you're hiding."

"I thought you didn't believe in my dreams."

"With you, my darling sister, I'd believe anything."

With a sigh of frustration, Randal stepped back from the locked safe.

"Can't do it?" Sara asked.

"It's not the same as opening a door lock. There are thousands of possible combinations. I need some specialized tools."

Sara had a flash of memory. She seemed to see Alish's forearm. "Try 4 12 44," she said softly.

Randal gave his sister a look, then deftly twisted the dial. The safe opened.

"What the hell?!" Jack said. "You need to explain where you got that number."

"It's a date," Randal said, "and my sister knows much more than she's told us." He reached inside the safe, pulled out a VHS tape, and handed it to Jack.

"A Wrongful Death," Jack read off the label.

Instantly, Sara did an internet search of the movie title and scan-read it aloud. "Uh... ‘Back then it was called porn and couldn't be shown to the public. Mild by today's standards. Two men were in love with each other. Movie doesn't show sex, but hints at it.' Here's the important part. The plot. ‘The victim confided a crime he committed and the lover wrote it as a screenplay, meaning that the world would be told what he'd done.' Hmmm," Sara said. "Wonder what crime it was. Anyway, there was a fight and the actor was stabbed with a kitchen knife." She looked back at the article. "‘Because of what was, at the time, an illegal relationship, there wasn't much publicity about the case, and only a rudimentary investigation.'" She looked up at them. "The killer was never caught."

"Credits?" Jack asked.

Sara smiled. "Harry Adair. Director, producer, writer, and he acted in the role of the landlord. It looks like we have a movie showing the motive for the murder. A fight over a crime being revealed. But then, how could Harry resist writing a good story? He should probably have done a book first, then a script. That would get double royalties. He—"

Jack spoke up. "I wonder if Barbara is sure her husband wasn't here at Lachlan House back then. Maybe he sneaked in, killed ol' Oliver, then sneaked back out."

"And took the brain and his saw rolled up in the turtle rug when he left?" Sara asked. "I like it."

Randal gave a snort. "That night this house was full of people sneaking around. But no one saw anything or anyone unusual?" He had pulled out an envelope full of old newspaper clippings and was flipping through them. He turned to his sister. "Where did you get that date for the combination?"

"It's Alish's wedding date."

"Is it?" He handed one of the clippings to her.

It told about Reid Graham being hanged for killing a man in a barroom brawl. It also told that his uncle, James Lachlan, was out of the country when it happened. There was nothing in it that they didn't know.

"Look at the date," Randal said.

It was the date Alish had tattooed on her arm—the day of the execution. "I guess they married on the day it happened."

Randal handed her another clipping. It was short, telling that the condemned man, Reid Graham, had been allowed to marry his sweetheart, Alish Sullivan, three days before he was to be executed. Even Death Cannot Keep the Lovers Apart, the headline declared.

"She had the execution date of another man tattooed on her arm?" Randal asked. "Not the date of her marriage but the day of the hanging? Isn't that just a bit odd?"

"Especially since she hated Aran Lachlan," Sara murmured.

They were silent for a moment, each of them trying to piece it all together.

"I guess we better watch this movie." Jack sounded like he'd rather walk across nails.

Sara waved her hand. "Tell Lenny to make a pitcher of margaritas and some nachos and the women will love watching it. You can go repair something."

Jack's face brightened and he looked at Randal. "Movie or yard work?"

"I get to run the weed whacker," Randal said.

"If there's anything left that Reid hasn't cut down," Sara said. "He's as good at yard work as he is at lying."

When Randal raised his eyebrows, Jack said, "Give that tape to my little brother and we'll go outside and I'll tell you everything I know."

Randal looked at his sister. "I'd rather know what you do." But Sara had her lips tightly closed. It was obvious that she wasn't going to tell him what she was keeping to herself. "You're on," he said to Jack and they left.

When Sara was alone in the Palm Room, she looked at the Brazilian painting. How does it all fit together? she wondered. What was James Lachlan up to? It was as though he was trying to tell them something from the grave. He encumbered the house for forty years. He saved DNA samples. Why was that date tattooed on Alish's arm? Greer. Rachel. Barbara. Harry Adair. The actor, Taylor Caswell. How did everything come together?

Sara heard voices in the hall. The women were coming to watch the second movie. Quickly, she grabbed the envelope of newspaper clippings and left the room. She'd go upstairs and read them. Poor James Lachlan—he'd returned from a business trip and found that his wife's sister's son had been hanged. And soon after, James's son had disappeared.

But Alish knew where Aran had gone, Sara thought.

She reached the blissful silence of the playroom, shut the door, and leaned against it. In her pocket was Alish's brooch. She took it out and held it tightly. "Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me what happened."

She went to the window seat and stretched out on it. To her utter delight, she felt sleepy. To an insomniac like Sara, this was unusual. She rubbed her thumbs on the brooch. "I want to know," she said. "All of it. The truth."

She closed her eyes and was asleep instantly—and a dream began. As before, Sara was watching it.

Two big, burly men were dragging a young man between them. One of the men was older, the other one younger—nearly as young as the man they were pulling along the barren, concrete-walled hallway.

"Coward." The younger man sneered at the man he was clutching.

"I've known him all his life and he's always been a coward," the older man said. "He's sneaky and conniving, and he bullies little kids. He always thought he was better than us."

The man between them fell onto one knee and the two jerked him upright. They didn't speak to him.

"At least he did right by that girl."

"Humph!" the older man grunted. "He should have. She's carryin'."

"What?"

"She's expecting," the older man said. "A baby. I've got five of 'em so I know what a woman looks like then."

The young man shook his head. "Won't do her any good now."

"You don't know James Lachlan. When he gets back, he'll tear that judge apart. And he'll take care of the wife and the baby. You'll see. He'll—" He cut off as a heavy door swung open. There wasn't much light coming from it.

They again pulled the young man upright.

"For once in your life," the older man sneered into the prisoner's ear, "do something honorable."

The man in the middle didn't respond. He muttered something that sounded like, "Not me," but the guards ignored him. They went forward and the heavy door loudly closed behind them.

The scene faded to black and Sara, her spirit hovering above them, thought, No. I can't wake now. I still don't understand.

The scene began to grow lighter and she watched intently.

A man was gathering up a load of clothes to put into a laundry cart. He looked at a shirt collar and frowned. It appeared to have blood on it. But when he looked closer, he grimaced. "Ink," he muttered. "Where did he get that?" He knew that anything unusual was to be reported to the warden. But then, he looked around. No one was about. He wadded the shirt into a ball and went through two rooms. The windows were barred and there were a couple of armed guards in the background. They barely glanced at the man with the laundry. When he got to a room that was piled high with coal, he opened the heavy iron door of the incinerator that gave the place its hot water. The man threw the shirt into the fire.

He smiled as he watched it burn. He knew there was something wrong about the shirt, but he didn't know what it was. What he did know was that it was better to destroy it than report it. Every report agitated the warden and caused problems for everybody.

Still smiling, the man turned away and went back to the laundry cart.

Again, everything went black and this time, Sara knew the dream was over.

When she woke, she understood. Ink, she thought. Ink was the clue she'd needed to understand it all. But she wanted verification. Who should she ask? Barbara came to her mind.

In writing novels, it took Sara thirty thousand words to introduce characters and set the scene. But Barbara was used to scripts. Four lines were considered a soliloquy. She sent a text to Barbara.

In the movie, what was the crime committed by the victim?

A pancake flip of Tale of Two Cities.

Sara knew exactly what she meant and it fit with what she'd pieced together from her three dreams—and from what she'd deduced. Any ink involved?

Made a neck as red as a 1940s lipstick.

Sara smiled. Show-off! she thought. They were both showing themselves as creative people.

Still smiling, happy to have figured out some things, she got off the seat and looked out the window. Jack was to the far left, hitting big weeds with his whacker. Randal was nowhere to be seen. Was he with Lea? But then Sara looked to the right and halted in place. She leaned so far forward that her head touched the glass.

Plodding across the grass, heading toward the cottage, was Greer. It had to be her as Rachel was, well, unalived, as they called it online. She shouldn't be here! Sara thought.

But worse was that she was helping her grandmother walk. Alish! Who was supposed to be in the hospital! Greer was taking her—dragging her?—to the cottage. Why? Was it voluntary? From what they'd heard recently, Greer could be a real psycho.

Sara grabbed her phone. Who to tell? Lenny had no phone. Jack was closest. Sara sent a text to him.

Greer Alish are in the cottage. I'm going to them. Come now.

She looked out the window to Jack. Of course he didn't hear his phone over the noise of that machine. Sara got off the seat and began running. She went down the old stairs to the kitchen but it was empty. Not even Lenny was there. She didn't have time to stop and search for someone.

She flat-out ran to the cottage, flung the door open, and there was Greer, leaning over Alish as she reclined on the little couch.

The smile Alish gave her had such warmth that Sara's frantic feeling left her.

"You heard me," Alish said. "Not many people can. You saw. You heard."

"I did," Sara said. She could feel herself relax. This woman was a kindred soul. A person who listened and watched. Someone who saw more than she told. Sara pulled up a seat and sat down while Greer handed her grandmother a glass of water, then sat down.

"She was leaving the hospital, sneaking out." Greer's voice was full of fear, her eyes beginning to tear. "I know I wasn't supposed to show myself but I couldn't help it. I needed—"

Alish reached up and took her granddaughter's hand. "I felt you. I wanted to see you."

"Will you tell me?" Sara asked. "What really happened? The ink." She looked at Greer. "You had the birthmark removed from your neck, didn't you?"

"Yes," Greer said. "Kate said it looked like an elephant. She liked it but I didn't. Reid had one too but it's gone. I guess he had it lasered off."

Alish nodded. "He did. He hated it, and I knew why."

"Please tell," Sara whispered, and Alish nodded.