Resort to Murder (24 page)

R
AIN slatted against the huge panes on the second floor of the airport terminal, obscuring the faraway line of palms, turning the day a misty green. Our flight was scheduled to leave in a little less than an hour. I was uncertain what I should do. No one wants to confront anguish. Most of us will walk an extra mile to avoid sadness and despair. Yet, I felt I had to speak. I know enough about sorrow and guilt to understand that even a hapless effort is better than none and I wanted desperately to ease the agony devouring Lloyd and Marlow. I glanced at the clock. The minute hand moved forward. Now. Or never.

Our group was no longer divided, though on this misty day everyone seemed separate and alone in a far reach of the waiting area. Marlow and Jasmine sat together, Marlow holding her little sister's hand. Marlow's face might have been sculpted from marble, pale and heavy. Dark sunglasses emphasized the ice-white of her face. I knew she was hiding the tortured red of eyes that had cried until there were no more tears. Jasmine clutched her bear. His blue turtleneck matched hers. Jasmine's hair was neatly brushed and she wore a
blue ribbon. I knew Marlow had gone to that extra effort. Jasmine would be well cared for. Steve Jennings held up the
Wall Street Journal
. I noticed that he wasn't moving the pages. Diana and Neal sat on either side of their father. Diana smoothed back her red-gold hair with a trembling hand. She bent forward, spoke. Lloyd stared at her dully, then shook his head. His ruddy face looked old and crumpled. Neal shoved a hand through his short dark hair and shot a worried look at his sister. The bandage beneath his eye hid the jagged cut from his fight with Aaron.

The click of my cane—yes, the knee was going to be a bit of a problem for a while—seemed overloud in our quiet corner of the terminal. I stopped in front of Lloyd. He didn't look up.

“Lloyd, I'd appreciate a word with you.” I spoke loudly enough that Steve Jennings lowered his newspaper to look at me curiously.

Lloyd lifted eyes that took a moment to focus. He rubbed his temple. “Henrie…” It was not an answer. It was scarcely a recognition of my presence.

“If you'll come this way.” I spoke with kind firmness.

Lloyd blinked.

I was Emily's mother, the grandmother of his children. Lloyd was, always, a man of courtesy.

It took a moment for him to gather himself, to stand, and then we were walking slowly away, my cane clicking on the hard floor. He moved heavily, like an old, old man. We walked to the end of the corridor and stood in a window that looked out on the rain-washed runways.

He stared at me. “Sorry you got hurt.” For an instant, there was a flash of light in his eyes. “Neal's a good boy. Brave.”

“Yes. Thanks to Neal, Jasmine and I are here today.”

Those were the wrong words. Lloyd's face sagged. Connor was not here, would never be with us again. But maybe they were the right words for what I had to say.

“Lloyd, Connor's dead—”

He tried to turn away.

I grabbed his arm, held tight. “It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. You—”

He hunched forward, anguish clogging the words in his throat. “If we hadn't come here—she didn't want to come back. I made her come and that's—”

“Lloyd.” I kept my voice low, but my tone was harsh enough to capture him. “Listen to me. Connor would have died if the wedding had been in Atlanta. Or Dallas. Or Bangkok. Connor would have died,” and I spaced these words like the blow of an ax against a tree trunk, “if there had never been a wedding. Once Aaron looked at all the money, once he thought about how much there would be if everything belonged to Marlow, Connor was facing sure death, one day or another, one place or another. Bermuda had nothing to do with her murder. And you had nothing to do with it.”

For a moment I thought he hadn't listened, wouldn't understand, couldn't accept release. He stared at me, his green eyes dazed. And wondering. “Anywhere,” he whispered.

“Anywhere, Lloyd, anywhere. Connor was the victim, but so were you and Marlow and Jasmine and all of us.”

Lloyd hunched his head forward, jammed his hands into his pockets. “Anywhere…” He turned and walked away, head down, toward the window, stood there unmoving. I knew he was not seeing the runways.

I watched him for a moment. I knew he had heard. Now, if only his mind and heart had listened. I took a deep breath and walked slowly back to the others.

My knee hurt, but I glanced at the clock and moved a little faster. This was going to be harder, much harder. When I stopped in front of Marlow, Jasmine looked up. “Hi, Mrs. Collins.”

Marlow's face lifted, that white, stony face with the eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

I reached out my hand. “Marlow, please come and walk with me for a moment. I need your help.”

She wanted to refuse. Refusal was there in the bleak jut of her jaw, the wooden heaviness of her body. Her hand tightened on Jasmine's.

“Jasmine…” she whispered.

“Jasmine's fine.” I gestured toward Steve Jennings, the paper once again held low. “Steve, you'll come sit with Jasmine, won't you?”

The big man pushed up from his chair. His lined, weary face softened as he looked at the little girl. “Sure. Jasmine and I can plan our next trip to Disney World. As soon as school's out…”

His deep voice rumbled and Jasmine's high tone rose excitedly.

“About last night…” I looked determinedly at Marlow. She had to respond. If it were not for me and for Neal…

Marlow glanced at Jasmine, put a finger to her lips. She was on her feet.

I took her arm and turned us away from the others.

“I don't want to go far. I don't know when I'll ever feel that I can leave Jasmine.” Her hands came together in a tight grip. “She could have died. She would have died. And it's all my—”

“No.” We were at the far end of the waiting room, no one seated for row upon row of chairs. “Her danger was not your fault. Your mother's murder was not your fault. You were fooled, Marlow, deceived by a smiling young man with a handsome face and an evil heart. Right now you are desperately unhappy. You blame yourself. And if you are not careful, you will shut out the goodness in the world because you have been touched by evil. Marlow, I want to tell you about another young woman, many years ago, Henrietta O'Dwyer was her name…”

I talked to Marlow about my past, about the first man I loved and the mistakes I made. I told her things I've never revealed to anyone. I told her about the wrong man, who took advantage of me once again only a few years ago, and I told her about the right man who was good and honorable, the man I married.

“But how can you know?” It was a faint, stricken cry. “Aaron was so handsome. And he said he loved me. But I wondered sometimes. Mother liked him so much. And Jasmine. And yet sometimes, when we were alone, he'd be bitter about people who had money, and then I felt like I didn't know him at all. If only I'd walked away from him. If only…”

“Don't look back. You can't change yesterday. But tomorrow can shine. And you will know someday, Marlow. Look for goodness.” I smiled at her. “You will find it.”

She reached out, took my hands, drew me close, and kissed my cheek.

The loudspeaker sounded raucous and insistent, calling our flight.

C
AROLYN
H
ART
, an accomplished master of mystery and spine-tingling suspense, has written five previous critically acclaimed novels featuring Henrietta O'Dwyer Collins. She is also the author of twelve novels in her multiple Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity Award-winning
Death on Demand
series. Hart lives in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, and is one of the founders of Sisters in Crime.

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