Текст книги "Convicted"

Автор книги: Aleatha Romig

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Текущая страница: 30 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

Before Catherine could answer, they heard a knock at the door. Turning toward the sound, they both stared in silence. The second knock echoed as they waited. Finally, deliberately, Catherine walked to the door and opened it—at first, only she could see the person on the other side.

Initially, Tony didn’t recognize the voice. “I’m sorry, if I’m bothering you, I just finished the movie. If you’re still busy, I was thinking I may go for a walk—your gardens are lovely, even this early in the Spring.”

Catherine opened the door wider and ushered Sophia into the office. “No, Sophia, you aren’t bothering us”—leaning her head toward Tony, she said—“I’m sure you recognize Mr. Rawlings.”

Surprised by Catherine’s candid introduction, Tony worked to keep his external calm.

Sophia stopped and stared. “But I thought you were—”

Catherine interrupted, “We all did—it’s a miracle. He just came back moments ago.”

Tony stepped forward and offered his hand in greeting. “Mrs. Burke, I apologize for my abrupt departure a few months ago. I so wish we could’ve continued our conversation—I believe it would’ve been very enlightening.”

Before Sophia could respond, Catherine interjected, “Sophia, my dear, please have a seat. I’m afraid I have some terrible news to share.”

Tony’s back straightened, the muscles of his neck twitched, and the hairs stood to attention. Suddenly, he knew exactly what Catherine was about to say.

“My dear”—Catherine sat on the sofa next to Sophia. Taking Sophia’s hand in hers, she began—“We just received a call. I don’t know any way to say this, except quickly.”

Sophia eyed Catherine suspiciously. “What? Did something happen?”

“The Rawlings plane your husband was on—was on its way back to Iowa—and it went down.”

Sophia stared in disbelief.

Catherine continued, “The FAA is investigating.”

Shaking her head, Sophia found her voice, “Down? No—no—it isn’t true. There’s been some kind of mistake.”

Tony watched in horror as Sophia’s world crumbled around her. The display was both heartbreaking and educational—Tony was too late to save Derek. As Sophia’s tears fell, he also witnessed the previously unrecognized emotional toll of Nathaniel’s vendetta. Obviously, Catherine’s plans were in motion; suddenly, Tony’s mind swirled with possibilities—ways to stop further tragedies. As the whirlwind of thoughts cascaded, he heard another familiar name. Instantaneously, Tony felt the pain he’d just witnessed.

“...others on board...Rawlings’ employees...and...Brent Simmons.”

Before he could register his movements, Tony was standing in front of both women and his tone was harsh, “Catherine, we need to speak in private—now!”

Sophia sobbed quietly while Catherine stood and faced Tony. “I’ll get her settled, and then, I’ll return”—she straightened her shoulders—“Your concerns can wait. We both know, accidents happen—a few more minutes won’t change the past.”

Tony stepped backward, displaying restraint, solely for Sophia’s benefit. At this moment, he wanted to harm Catherine, more than he’d ever wanted to harm anyone. His reply came through clinched teeth, “Return quickly, this will end today.”

With that, Catherine led Sophia out of the office. Tony heard her say, “My dear, let me get you something to calm your nerves...”

Her voice trailed away, leaving Tony alone to reel with the news. Pacing the length of the office, he contemplated his best friend—the man with whom he’d finally been honest—the man who had a wife and children. Nausea erupted in Tony’s stomach as he thought about Courtney, Caleb, and Maryn. Did Courtney know? Had she received a similar call? His pocket vibrated.

The text was from Phil:

“LONDON’S TAKING BURKE TO SECOND FLOOR. VANDERSOLS ARE IN THE ROOM LABELED ‘S.E. SUITE’.”

Tony immediately texted back:

“CLAIRE’S OLD SUITE. ARE THEY OK?”

Response:

“NO SIGN OF DISTRESS”

Tony:

“KEEP THE MONITORS ON THEM. TELL ME IF ANY THING CHANGES.”

Phil:

“CAMERAS IN OFFICE WERE DISABLED—THEY’RE NOW ONLINE.”

Tony sat at the desk and accessed the computer. He didn’t know if he was more upset that Catherine hadn’t changed the passwords or that she knew his. Either way, he now knew exactly how his grandfather felt. Despite Tony’s best efforts—he too had trusted the wrong person. Accessing Catherine’s email, he found her correspondence with Emily. The Vandersols had come as a result of Catherine’s invitation. He wondered what exactly she had planned. Before he could give it more thought, he turned toward the opening door.

By the time she closed the door, he was half way across the room. “You bitch! You arranged for that plane to go down, didn’t you?”

Sounding somewhat apologetic, she explained, “I never intended for Brent Simmons to be on board. He wasn’t on the original manifest.”

“So, you’re admitting it?”

“I’m saying that when Claire felt she had no one else—she needed me. I thought it would be the same when she came back, but it wasn’t. You let her walk all over you! You were too blind to see how she manipulated you! Now we know why—it was only for your money.”

With the mention of his wife’s name and each step toward her, the crimson hue of the room darkened.

Catherine continued, “Sophia doesn’t need money, you saw to that, but with her husband gone, she’ll be alone—now she’ll need me.” Seemingly unaware of Tony’s rage, Catherine added, “Besides, her husband was a Burke.”

“Don’t you see how out of hand this has become?”

“Really”—Catherine explained—“Mrs. Simmons should consider it a gift.”

Tony stared in disbelief. “Sick! You’re not only crazy—you’re sick!”

“Mr. Rawlings, you’re dead wrong.” Smirking, she added, “I’ve waited a long time to say that.” Before he could respond, she continued, “You see, in your absence, your friend has been well—forgetful”—Catherine stepped closer—“You probably don’t remember how your grandmother suffered”—she laughed—“Of course, everyone says that. They say it’s the patient that suffers, but in reality, it isn’t. Oh, don’t get me wrong Sharron was a sweet, loving woman; however, the one who really suffered was Nathaniel. Every day, he sat with her, talked to her, held her, even when she couldn’t respond. It was tragic.” Catherine shook her head, lost in her own thoughts. “No one should ever have to deal with that. So you see, with Brent heading that direction, because forgetfulness is how it starts—Courtney has received the gift of not having to witness her husband suffer.”

Tony listened in disbelief to Catherine justifying her actions. Had Brent been forgetful? Or was he just walking an invisible tight rope when with Catherine, keeping his knowledge hidden? Tony wanted her to stop. He wanted to release the crimson that wouldn’t go away. Without thinking, Tony slapped her cheek. “Shut up! There’s no justification for what you’ve done.”

The action was supposed to help him; however, instead of making him feel better, memories of slapping Claire came rushing back. The crimson continued to infiltrate. Turning toward the desk, he saw the vase of flowers. In one swift movement, he hurled it against the wall. Shards of crystal, water, and flowers littered the carpet as the vase shattered.

“You will never be the man your grandfather was!” Catherine screamed. “He never would’ve struck someone he loved.”

Tony turned maliciously, his eyes meeting hers. “If you’re referring to me—at this moment—neither did I! And as for my grandfather—he did. I saw him!”

“You’re lying.”

Tony’s face burned as he remembered the scene. “I watched from the doorway”—he pointed toward the doors—“He slapped my father.”

Catherine shrugged. “He probably deserved it.”

“So do you! You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies! Brent had a wife and kids!”

“I loved your grandfather, but even I realized that I couldn’t watch him take the same path as Sharron.”

Tony tried to process her words. Same path?

“With each visit to the prison, he became more and more forgetful. He’d ask me the same questions over and over. Some days, he’d talk about someone, and then tell me the same story again. Mostly, he’d talk about the past.”

Tony seized her shoulders. “My grandfather had a vitamin deficiency. That, combined with the anti-depressants the prison prescribed can create dementia-like side effects. I found documentation that the prison contacted my father about it. My father refused to allow them to take him off the medication. I assumed it was to help his case—giving him validation to void your marriage.”

Catherine’s eyes blazed. “No! He was losing it. I was there—not you. He trusted me—I had to take care of him.”

“Take care of him?”

“It was very simple. My mother believed in herbal cures. When I was a teenager, she thought she could cure my uncle’s drug use with herbs and plant extracts. She taught me about plants—those that heal—and those that kill. It’s actually very ingenious. The natural extracts don’t register on normal toxicology screens. Oh, it can be found, but only with specific tests.”

Tony collapsed onto the leather sofa and studied the woman he’d known most of his life. He could scarcely form the words to his question, “You poisoned my grandfather?”

Catherine stood taller and shook her head. “Don’t you dare make it sound bad! I did—what I did—to save him, from himself. You know, like how you planned to have Claire take the insanity plea—to save her from you.”

His volume rose with each word. Tony suddenly feared the reason the Vandersols hadn’t heard their argument or exited the suite. “Who else? Who else have you poisoned?”

She shrugged. “Well, after I knew it worked, I tried it with Sherman Nichols.”

Tony couldn’t believe his ears. “No! He died of natural causes, years before we started any plans.”

“Years before you started any plans. I was tired of waiting. His death sustained me until you were man enough to get involved.”

“But I paid for accidents.”

Smiling, she beamed. “And quite a bit too. It’s made a wonderful nest egg, thank you very much. The poisoning resembles a heart attack, as you probably remember from Nathaniel’s cause of death; therefore, the only difficulty is determining the perfect time of ingestion, for example, before someone gets into their car to drive, or goes on a dangerous hike—it works amazingly well and is rarely questioned. Besides, it doesn’t take a genius to administer it, just a little in a drink or on their food. Finding a willing executioner wasn’t difficult. It also wasn’t as expensive as accidents.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I deserve recognition—everyone thought you were so wonderful, and I was just the stupid housekeeper. None of what I’m saying can be proven. Months ago, I had the cameras in this office turned off, and after I took Sophia upstairs, I called the police. They should be here any minute. I told them that you just arrived and how afraid I was of what you might do. No one will believe your story. I’m just the quiet housekeeper. I wasn’t even in California when your parents died”—her eyes lit up—“You know the best part?”—She didn’t wait for him to answer—“I poisoned you with the same plant extract. Oh, I debated about the amount. I knew our plan was for you to only go unconscious. At first, I planned to use sleeping pills, but the irony was too beautiful to pass up.”

Tony walked toward her. “This is done. Why are the Vandersols here?”

“H—How—” she stammered. “How do you know about them?”

“Why are they here?”

She smirked. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself. The police will think you hurt them after all they’ve done to ruin your name. Did you know she was pregnant? Of course you did—that’s why you came here—to stop another Nichols from entering this world.”

His voice lowered as he walked closer. “Tell me if you’ve hurt them.”

“It depends.”

Tony glared.

“I don’t know,” she confessed.

“What the hell do you mean—you don’t know?”

Catherine shrugged. “We could check the video. I don’t know if they’ve decided to drink any of the water in the refrigerator. The room is quite warm and packing Claire’s things can be thirsty work.”

“Fuck’n sick! The police will take you away! You killed my grandfather for having a reaction to medication. He could’ve gotten out of jail and none of this would have ever happened. My father was right—in not trusting you! He was wrong too—my grandfather wasn’t crazy—you are!”

This time, Catherine attacked. Tony’s face stung as her open palm assaulted his cheek. Before he could form words, she was gone. He rushed after her, seeing her disappear behind a door in the corridor of his and Claire’s suite. Reaching for the handle, it didn’t move. He pounded on the wooden barrier and screamed her name. Within seconds, members of the shocked staff began to surround him.

“Mr. Rawlings!”

“Mr. Rawlings?”

Their surprised and questioning voices filled his hearing. Tony hoped Eric or Phil heard Catherine’s plan and were rescuing Emily and John. He continued screaming. Suddenly, smoke wafted from the opening below Catherine’s door.

Tony yelled, “Get out of the house and call the fire department!” At first, the staff didn’t move; finally, he yelled, “Now! Get out! Call for help!”

Everyone scattered.

His thoughts went from Catherine—to Sophia—to the Vandersols. He’d saved Catherine’s life, on more than one occasion—he wasn’t doing it again. As smoke billowed from below the door filling the corridor, Tony raced toward the backstairs.

Running toward the S.E Corridor, he went directly to Claire’s old suite. The lever wouldn’t budge. Cupping his hands against the door, he yelled, “Emily? John? Are you in there?”

Despite the commotion below, he heard nothing through the door. His heart sank until he heard a faint pounding against the door. He’d forgotten the room was soundproofed. There was a time that had been necessary. Reaching for the electronic release, Tony prayed it still worked. What seemed like an eternity later, he heard the once familiar beep. Grasping the lever once again, he pushed the door open to find his brother and sister-in-law laying upon the ground.

John looked up. “How? How are you here? Did you do this? You’re sick!”

Tony shook his head. “We don’t have time. No, I didn’t!” He pointed to Emily with her face down. “Is she all right?”

John shook his head. “You’re going to jail for this!”

“We’ll argue later—is she all right?”

“Yes—we’re trying to avoid the smoke.”

John was right; the smoke whirled in gray waves near the ceiling. Tony and John both helped Emily to her feet as water began to rain from the sprinkler system. Within seconds, they were all soaked. Leaving Claire’s old suite, Tony looked both directions down the long corridor. As smoke and water limited their visibility, Emily clung to John’s arm with her other hand protectively covering her mouth and nose.

“John, listen to me”—Tony screamed above the whoosh of sprinklers—“Go right—in about thirty feet, you’ll find the backstairs—when you reach the ground floor—go right again. There’s a door that opens to the kitchen. From there, you’ll be able to get out into the backyard.”

John reached for Tony. “You’re coming with us. You can’t stay up here.”

“Just go. There’s another person I need to find.”

“Oh God! Claire?”

Tony shook his head. “No, Claire’s safe. She isn’t here.” He could tell John was debating their next move. “Go! Get Emily and your baby out of this smoke!”

John didn’t argue. Tony stood, momentarily watching his brother and sister-in-law disappear into the gray haze. Wiping the water from his eyes, he headed the other direction toward the grand staircase. Each room he passed, he opened in hopes of finding Sophia.

As he neared the front stairs, he considered the southwest corridor when he stopped dead in his tracks. Straining his ears, Tony listened again. Suddenly, his world crashed in around him. With all his might and his shoes slipping on the wet marble, he ran toward the voices.

Only moments earlier…

The feeling of foreboding that Claire had experienced ever since she learned they were coming back to Iowa, was too strong to deny. Phil had told her to trust her instincts and her instincts told her that they should’ve stayed in paradise—but her heart wouldn’t allow Tony to travel to the U.S. without her. Now, she knew why.

When Courtney received the call about Brent, Claire knew she needed to get to Tony. He’d told her to stay away from the estate, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t that she wanted to save Catherine from his wrath—she wanted to save Tony from the consequences of his possible actions. She knew if he learned about the Rawlings plane while with Catherine, he’d blame her—possibly rightfully so; nonetheless, Claire didn’t want Tony to do something else that he’d regret. He didn’t need another crime added to his list.

As Claire entered the gates of the estate, she glanced in the rear-view mirror. Nichol was peacefully sleeping in the car seat. She should’ve left her with Courtney; but Courtney was too distraught to watch over their daughter. Besides, Claire’s plan was simple—find Tony, Emily, and John and get them out of the house. She could’ve called, but then she’d have had to tell him about the plane crash. Claire didn’t want to do that over the phone. As she parked the car in front of the house, she thought about Phil and Eric, where were they?

Looking up at the stately home, she pushed away the onslaught of memories, and straightened her stance. This was their home—Nichol’s home, and Claire wanted it back. Fury filled her chest as she thought about Catherine. The woman’s plan had worked successfully to force both her and Tony into hiding. Suddenly, Claire was tired of running, tired of revenge, and tired of the fight. Lifting Nichol from the car seat, Claire declared, “Look, sweetie, this is your house. This is all yours, and your mommy will not let that mean woman have it a second longer.”

Yes, she wanted to get Tony out, and she wanted to get Emily and John out, yet what Claire wanted more than anything, was to get Catherine out—out of the house—and out of their lives. Damn it! I’m Mrs. Anthony Rawlings, and I’ve had enough. No one is taking this away from our daughter!

Her mind focused like never before, making each step toward the grand doors more determined.

To Claire’s surprise, when she depressed the lever and pushed forward, the doors opened without hesitation. Looking around the empty foyer, she heard voices coming from the corridor of Tony’s office. As she walked quietly down the hallway, the voices grew in volume. She wasn’t ready to confront the entire staff, so when she heard footsteps coming her direction, she opened the door to Tony’s office and slid inside. Immediately, the smell of smoke filled her senses. Even the room appeared to be dimming with a gray haze.

This wasn’t right—this house was a fortress. She had difficulty comprehending that there could possibly be a fire, but the undeniable burning in her lungs confirmed her fear. Claire’s mind spun between the need to get Nichol out and the desire to assure Tony’s safety. “Oh, my God, where’s your daddy?” she said aloud.

“Good afternoon, Claire.”

The coolness of Catherine’s voice rendered Claire motionless. She hadn’t had time to see anything except the room where they stood, and hadn’t realized Catherine was in the attached bathroom.

“Catherine, where’s Tony? What’s happening? Is there a fire?”

Claire’s feet stayed planted to the lush carpet, as Catherine approached. Catherine’s gray eyes darkened with intensity while the distance between them lessened. She was no longer looking at Claire—her eyes were focused on the baby in her arms. Her hand reached out as she said, “So this is it—the Rawls—Nichols baby.”

Instinctively, Claire pulled Nichol away. “Don’t you dare touch her!”

“Her?! You have a daughter—Anton has a daughter, and you’ve been together, all this time”—Catherine’s gaze locked on Claire’s—“Haven’t you? You two have been together!”

Claire’s eyes blazed, displaying her lack of fear. Never had she felt such hatred. Yes, years ago she hated Tony—that was different, stemming from the anxiety of his actions. This was deep and visceral—a loathing for someone who’d been trusted and loved—to learn that person had lied—forever. Had anything she’d ever said been real?

Not only had Catherine lied, but she’d tried to harm both Claire and Tony. She’d sentenced them both to a life alone—a life without the love of the one person who completed their world. She’d sentenced them to her reality.

“Yes! Yes, we’ve been together. Our daughter is a Rawlings—we’re a family. Something we would’ve, at one time, shared with you! Instead, you gave it all up, for some sick, old vendetta!”

Catherine laughed and turned away. The smoke continued to thicken. “Share with me! Oh, so that I could clean up after you and soothe your hurt feelings when Anton upset you—so that I could be ordered out of a room—by you!” As her volume increased, Nichol began to cry.

Claire tried to soothe her daughter as Catherine’s tirade continued, “You don’t belong here. I sent you away! You—a Nichols—don’t get to have what I couldn’t. I won’t allow Nathaniel’s home to be run by a Nichols! If my daughter didn’t get to live within these walls, then neither will yours.”

“How can you be so sick? She’s an innocent child!” Claire’s yelling spurred Nichol’s cries to become louder.

“Innocent! No one is innocent. Your grandfather’s actions killed the only man who ever loved—”

The door burst open and more smoke flooded the room. Tony’s eyes met Claire’s as his booming voice stopped Catherine’s words. Claire heard and saw his terror, “My God, Claire! Why are you here? Get out, the house is on fire!”

Instead of fear, Claire felt relief. “Oh, you’re safe—I was so afraid.”

The commotion outside the office became louder with voices and footsteps. Nichol’s cries resumed as cold water came raining down from the ceiling. When Claire turned back toward Catherine, she saw the gun. It wasn’t big; nevertheless, it was pointed directly at her and Nichol. Tony saw it too.

They say time slows down during life threatening events. Supposedly, your entire life flashes before your eyes. Claire wasn’t seeing her entire life, only the part that mattered, only the part that included Tony and Nichol. Voices spoke and chaos erupted on all sides, but Claire didn’t notice. Her attention was monopolized by the threat in Catherine’s hand, as well as the growing fire crackling and smoldering around them—consuming their home.

Tony’s voice rang above the chaos, penetrating the smoke and sprinkler induced rain. “Get out, get Nichol out!”

As Claire moved to obey, she saw Catherine’s expression change before her eyes. Emerging from the woman who’d consoled her over the years was the sadistic smile from her nightmare, yet this time, it was real, and she was repeating their daughter’s name, “Nichol?” Turning the gun toward Tony, she asked incredulously, “Nichol? You named a Rawls—Nichol?”

He didn’t answer; instead, he hit the gun free of her hand. In the commotion, it fell near Claire’s feet. She heard his command, “Claire, get the gun!”

Her wet hands searched for the weapon, and water blurred her vision. Bending down, she didn’t see Catherine rush forward until she was right there. Claire expected a fight for the gun; instead, Catherine grabbed Nichol from her arms. The next few seconds melted together in a space and time haze. Tony fought for their daughter as Claire secured the gun in her grip.

Phil’s voice yelled above the fray of Tony’s loud accusations. Nichol cried and Catherine...

Claire didn’t intend to pull the trigger. She was trying to hold the gun steady, but when Phil seized her shoulders, her finger depressed the small lever. The deafening bang drowned out the commotion, removing all other sounds. Through the smoke and water, Claire watched in horror as the three people before her fell to the ground.