The Scent of Heather Page 15

  Her thoughts took her mind away from the threat of George Shepard. The poker wavered slightly for a second. In that split second George made a grab for it. He wrenched it out of her hand and threw it far behind him.

  Maggie screamed as he reached for her throat.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Mr. Johnston sat at the window gazing out at the twisting trees, the scattering leaves swirling in the grasp of the angry winds. He heard David’s car drive off down the street and he was alone again with his troubled thoughts.

  Edwina had to be safe. Nothing must happen to her, he kept telling himself, yet he knew it would all be over soon. He was sure that Edwina was gone; he could sense it deep inside himself. She was together with Louis at last. It was where she had always wanted to be.

  Heather Lambert had never suspected what was going on under her roof. Her husband and her sister; Louis and Edwina...and Heather never knew.

  He tried not to think about that night, the night Edwina came running to him, her eyes on fire with fear and horror. He could still hear her voice sobbing, “I’ve killed him. I’ve killed Louis. Oh, help me. Please help me.”

  He’d always known Edwina never loved him, Mr. Johnston told himself. She had loved only Louis Lambert and she killed him in a fit of rage...killed him because he told her he loved Heather’s money more than Heather’s poor sister, a sister who would inherit nothing because of a father who hated her. Heather had everything; Edwina had nothing.

  Louis’ death was an accident, of course, he told himself. Edwina hadn’t meant to kill him. Her temper got out of hand. And when she confessed to the death of Louis Lambert she ran to him and said she’d marry him if he would help her.

  “God forgive me,” Mr. Johnston sobbed.

  He shook his head. He loved Edwina too much to deny her anything and so he went with her back to Heather House and they bricked up Louis’ body in the room where the old cesspool was. Heather was in the hospital at the time. Food poisoning, the doctors said it was. Mr. Johnston knew differently. Edwina had tried to get rid of Heather before she fought with Louis. Of course she never admitted that, but he knew she had. Edwina was desperately in love.

  Then Heather came back and was told Louis had run off with a young girl. It was afterward that Edwina remembered the letter she’d written Louis, begging for him to meet her, to run away with her. With shock Edwina remembered that the letter she’d written him was in his pocket the night she murdered him. She forgot to remove it from that jacket pocket.

  At the time it didn’t matter. No one suspected foul play. Everyone knew Louis for what he was: a corrupt, immoral, no good.... Everyone was convinced he’d simply run off with another woman.

  Mr. Johnston shook his head again. Edwina was always a clever woman. She left no clues. Even the bricked-up wall was explained away. She told Heather that while she was in the hospital there was an upheaval of the cesspool and Edwina had had it bricked up. Heather was too upset with Louis for having run off and never became suspicious.

  Then they were married. Mr. Johnston smiled, remembering how happy he’d been, even though Edwina never was happy. She learned to be in time, however, and he felt his life fulfilled.

  When Heather died, Edwina again tried to fight for custody of her property, but she overlooked one little detail. By all rights, Louis Lambert was still supposedly alive and the house was his according to the law. Edwina could hardly prove he was dead so she decided to try to forget everything and they settled down to live out their lives.

  Still, Edwina could not rest, knowing that even though Heather was dead, her portrait still reigned with Louis’ over the house. Her pettiness grew until she coaxed her husband to go with her to Heather House and move the portrait to the cellar, propping it up against the brick barricade behind which Louis Lambert lay.

  “I thought that was the end of it,” Mr. Johnston said to the empty room. Again he shook his head, remembering his wife’s agitation when she had heard from David McCloud that Heather House was to be sold to the state and torn down. The town council managed the property in Louis’s absence, but when the statute of limitations ran out they saw fit to sell it off at a handsome profit, still refusing to honor Edwina’s claim to the property.

  Edwina had to get the letter back before it was discovered. He remembered how heatedly they argued but she would not listen. She’d gone there with a low-powered explosive to try and dislodge the bricks; she said she’d weakened them but not sufficiently.

  Then she saw Sophie’s murder.

  “It’s over,” Mr. Johnston said. “I know it is.” Tears began streaming down his face. He remembered having said those exact words once before...the day he lay in the hospital after his second stroke, convinced that Edwina would have nothing more to do with him now that he would be a cripple the rest of his life. But it hadn’t been over then. Perhaps it wasn’t over now, either.

  “No. This time it is finished,” he said.

  Well, let it be finished at last, he thought. With Edwina gone there was nothing to live for. She was dead. He knew that now. Something deep inside himself convinced him of that fact. She hadn’t returned because she could not return. David would find a corpse in the cellar of Heather House. His wife was gone and he would never see her face again.

  He sighed. Well, at least he would end up knowing that Edwina finally got what she had always wanted. She was with Louis Lambert. She was there with him now and he knew deep in his heart she would never come back.

  The house suddenly seemed unbearable. The room seemed to close in on him. He was alone...truly alone...and would remain so forever.

  He broke down and started to cry.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  George hesitated when he heard a car drive up and stop in front of the house. That brief moment of hesitation gave Maggie her chance to escape. He turned his head in the direction of the sound. Maggie snatched the chair near the telephone table and banged it into his shins, doubling him over with a groan of pain. She raced by him, sprinting for the front door and whoever had come by car to rescue her.

  Maggie flung open the door and started to rush out into the blustery night but her way was blocked. She froze, staring, then stepped back. Rebecca was standing menacingly before her. Before Maggie could think what to do, she found herself in George’s iron grip.

  “You won’t get away this time, Maggie,” he growled. Then George looked at his wife. “What in hell are you doing here? I told you to take lover boy to San Francisco so you’d have an alibi.”

  Rebecca ignored him. She brushed by them and went into the living room. “You were supposed to have this all taken care of by this time,” she said.

  George dragged Maggie with him as he followed Rebecca, kicking the door shut behind them. “There were a few complications,” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “For one thing, there is some batty old dame lying dead in the cellar. She was digging in a brick wall.” He thought that funny and laughed.

  Maggie continued to struggle.

  “What are you talking about?” Rebecca asked impatiently. She went to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a drink.

  “Some old bat sneaked down into the cellar just as I was getting ready to attend to your sister here. I went down to see what she was up to and she started hacking away at a brick wall down there. She saw me, got scared and fell against the damned thing and it collapsed on her. It banged her brains in.”

  Rebecca stood holding her drink poised near her lips. Her eyes moved to Maggie. “Who is it?” she asked, seemingly blind to Maggie’s predicament.

  Maggie glared at her. “Mrs. Johnston,” she spat and started trying to pull away again.

  “What is she doing here?”

  “You mean ‘what was she doing here?’” Her husband said with an ugly laugh. “Maggie told me she was trying to get a letter away from a skeleton that’s buried behind the bricks.”

  Rebecca looked bored. “Mrs. Johnston’s dead?”


  “As a door nail,” George said, sounding pleased with himself.

  Rebecca downed her drink. There was a tiny frown at the bridge of her nose. “A corpse in the cellar and one up here,” she said, glancing at Maggie, “might complicate things.”

  Maggie glowered at her. “The police will be here shortly which will complicate things all the more for you,” she said angrily.

  Rebecca’s eyes widened. She looked at her husband.

  He gave her an apologetic look and turned his head to show her the gash on his cheek. “She got to the phone before I could reach her. She whacked me on the side of the head with a poker and dazed me just long enough for her to call the operator and tell her who she was and that somebody was trying to kill her.”

  Rebecca looked worried for a moment. Then her frown vanished and she smiled. “Maybe it’s just as well. You put Maggie in the car and get rid of her. I’ll stay here and wait for the police. When they come I’ll tell them the place was empty but that there’s a body in the cellar. When they find Maggie in the car they will think she was trying to run away from Sophie’s murderer and had a fatal accident. It will work out fine.” She glanced at her watch. “You’d better get going, George.”

  Maggie glared at her sister. “I always knew there was a vicious streak in you, Rebecca, but I never thought you would stoop to this. It’s cold-blooded murder. You’ll be found out. You will spend the rest of your life in prison.”

  Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “At least I won’t have you whimpering and simpering around after me,” she said. “At last I’ll be rid of your sniveling, your complaining, your dull, boring lectures. I’ve waited a long time for this, Maggie. Too long. I’ve hated you ever since I can remember. Seeing you dead isn’t going to turn a hair on my head, so save your breath. Nothing you can say will have any effect whatsoever on what is going to happen to you. We need your money as well as Rod’s. When the insurance company hands it over I’ll at last be able to live the way I have always wanted to live. And, best of all, I’ll be free of you.”

  “Don’t you think the insurance people will become rather suspicious in view of the fact that you’ll inherit George’s money, Rod’s money and now mine?”

  “So let them get suspicious,” Rebecca said indifferently. “They can’t prove anything. I’ve been with David all day. George here is legally dead. We’ll be careful until we have the money in hand and then they can do what they want. They’ll never find us.”

  “You silly, selfish, spoiled fool!” Maggie yelled. “I’ve always known what terrible things went on in that wicked mind of yours and I’ve always tried to protect you. Well, at last I, too, can say what I’ve thought all these years. I’ll die happy just knowing you know what I’ve always thought of you. Has it ever dawned on you, Rebecca, that I’ve disliked you as much as you disliked me?” She watched Rebecca’s expression remain unchanged. “Yes, I’ve always despised you, but at least I felt a responsibility to you because you were, after all, my only sister, my only family. Loyalty is what it is called, but I doubt if you know the meaning of the word.”

  Rebecca turned her back. She fixed herself another drink. “You aren’t telling me anything I didn’t always know. I’m glad to see you have finally let yourself face the truth. I know you’ve always hated me. You aren’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. You’re a fool, Maggie,” she said, turning to face her sister. “You’ve always been a fool.” She glanced at her husband. “Get her the hell out of my sight, George.”

  “Come on, sister-in-law. Let’s go.” He started to drag her toward the front door. He stopped. “No, we can’t use your car, Rebecca. If they find Maggie in the Mercedes they’ll know you two were together.”

  “You’re right,” Rebecca said as she frowned again. “Wait a minute,” she said, brightening. “The old gal in the cellar. Surely she must have come here in a car.”

  “Yeah,” George said. “I do remember hearing a car drive up and park back of the house.”

  “Take that then. They’ll think Maggie borrowed it to make her escape.”

  “Right.” He started to drag Maggie toward the kitchen.

  For a moment she went with him without resistance.

  It seemed useless to struggle. George was going to kill her and there was nothing she could do about it; nor did she really want to do much. She was numb with shock and with shame.

  She had been a fool. Worse than that, it was as if she had been haunted, possessed by Heather House. She looked back over her actions of the last few days and saw how much she had been influenced by the spirit of the dead Heather Lambert, following her direction rather than making her own. If she had not been so convinced that Rod was alive, had not waited for him as Heather had waited for Louis, she would have seen the truth sooner, and none of this would have happened.

  “Don’t try to move,” George warned her, letting her go for a moment. He had led her down into the cellar, and now he knelt beside the body of Mrs. Johnston, searching for car keys. He found them in the pocket of the coat she was wearing.

  “Here they are,” he said, holding them up as if she should be pleased by the sight of them. “Come on, let’s go for that ride I promised you.”

  He gave a wicked little chuckle and, seizing her arm again, pulled her up the stairs. Weakly, dazedly, Maggie went with him. For a moment, she thought she detected the scent of Heather.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Rebecca was standing in the kitchen as Rod and Maggie came up out of the cellar. The two sisters exchanged looks but neither of them spoke. Maggie thought that enough had been said already, and what hadn’t been said should have been said years ago. She knew it was useless to plead with Rebecca for her life.

  “I’ll kill her somewhere along the road and leave her in the car,” George said.

  “Won’t that look suspicious?” Rebecca asked.

  “No. She already told the telephone operator there was a man here trying to kill her. They’ll think the same one that killed Mrs. Johnston killed her, too—which is right, after all. I’ll double back here and wait till the police have come and gone.”

  “That might be too dangerous,” Rebecca said. “Better wait somewhere for me to pick you up. There’s an old wooden bridge about three miles down the road. Hide there and wait for me to come and pick you up. I’ll say that I can’t bear to stay here after all that has happened, and then I’ll come for you and we can drive into San Francisco. I’ll flash my lights three times when I come.”

  George nodded his agreement to this plan. “Let’s go,” he said to Maggie.

  They went out, toward the clump of trees at the back. As they entered the little grove, the moonlight revealed an antiquated Buick parked there. George opened the door on the passenger side and shoved Maggie inside. Then he came around and slid behind the wheel.

  “I’m glad you’ve gotten smart and haven’t tried any more tricks,” he said, fitting the key into the ignition. The motor roared to life. “The best thing is for you to do what I want you to do.”

  Why should I? The words suddenly flashed into Maggie’s mind. Yes, she was doing exactly what George wanted her to do, cooperating in his efforts to kill her. She was being a fool again, giving up her life because Rebecca and George wanted her to.

  Looking back, she could see how time and again she had sacrificed her life for others. She had lived her life for Rebecca, and later for Rod. More recently she had lived her life for an illusion, a dream that Rod was still alive and would come back to her.

  Now she was again giving up her life, but this time it would be final. And suddenly she knew she did not want to; she wanted to live, wanted to live for herself for the first time. That was what Heather Lambert had tried to tell her, with that final whiff of Heather. Heather was telling her not to make the same mistakes she had made.

  But it’s too late, she thought. George had turned the old car around expertly and was driving it onto the road. The headlights pierced the darkness, and they were on their
way. There was no hope of escaping from George. They were going too fast for her to open the door and jump out, although she considered the idea.

  Suddenly on the road ahead she saw another pair of headlights coming toward them. Perhaps it was the police. But what good would they do her now? They would arrive at Heather House to find her gone. Rebecca would entertain them with some very fine hysterics, telling them her sister was gone. And by the time they found her, Maggie would be dead, lying in an abandoned car, and everything would have worked out just the way George and Rebecca wanted it.

  Unless.... An idea crossed her mind. She watched the oncoming headlights, drawing rapidly nearer. The driver was driving fast, hurrying somewhere. They were almost abreast of the other car.

  Suddenly, with no time left to consider her plan, Maggie leaned across the seat and seized the steering wheel. The action caught George off his guard and before he could stop her or tighten his grip she had given the wheel a violent yank. The car veered across the road, toward the oncoming headlights.

  There was a scream of tires on pavement, followed by a collision and the ripping of metal against metal. Maggie was thrown against the dashboard, and her head struck the windshield, leaving her dazed.

  For a moment there was an awesome silence. Then, from the direction of the car they had struck, a man’s voice said angrily, “What the hell’s the big idea?”

  It was David’s voice—even in her daze Maggie recognized the sound.

  “David,” she tried to call to him, struggling to get out of the car.

  But George was still conscious, too, and he seized her wrist. “Oh no,” he said, “not without me.”

  David had come up to the car. Looking in, he said, “Maggie, is that you?”

  “David,” Maggie started to say, but George interrupted her.