Beach Thriller(103)

Dr. Hill’s foot caught Conrad in the ribs, and he tumbled over, yelping as he extended his hands to break his fall. He skidded face-first across the driveway’s small stones.

Holly caught her second wind. Her leg was still cramping, she couldn’t move quickly, but she ignored the pain and pushed herself forward. Conrad had bought her just enough time.

Dr. Hill was just getting back on his feet when she slammed into him from behind. Momentum carried them both over the edge of the fountain. They hit the water together like a cannonball. A geyser of water shot high into the air, turning dark red as Holly drove the blade into his leg.

He took Jade.

He tried to kill her.

My Jade.

Holly lifted the knife. The first time, she’d only wounded him. But this time—

“Holly, no!” It was Conrad’s voice, calling her back to her senses.

She paused, her grip on the knife trembling, before forcing herself to release the blade. This wouldn’t help Jade or Anna. The steel hit the ground with a clatter, bouncing off the cobblestones around the fountain. Holly slipped sideways into the water.

Dr. Hill flipped over, gasping for breath, and pressed his hands against his bloodied leg. Tommy Boy ran up—finally—huffing and puffing. He grabbed Hill by the shirt, pulled him out of the fountain, and threw him to the ground with authority. Wrenching his arms behind his back, he cuffed him with a zip tie.

“Vernon Hill,” he said, still breathing hard. “You are under arrest for kidnapping. You have the right to remain silent…”

Holly plopped out of the fountain as Tom Walker finished reading Dr. Hill his rights, and medical personnel—who were certainly being kept busy tonight—came to tend to his wound.

She lay on the smooth stones, soaking wet, her chest heaving as she took in the air and the stars shimmering above.

Conrad, still cuffed, struggled to his feet and slowly made his way back toward the lawn, as if in a daze. He found Anna, collapsing beside her as if he might never move again.

“Anna,” he said, resting his head on her shoulder, tears pouring from his eyes. “Anna.”

He couldn’t say another word, not with the sobs tearing through his trembling body.



* * *



The chaos continued to unfold.

The guests who weren’t driven by morbid curiosity slipped out of the party one by one. The busker was giving a statement to the police. He seemed to revel in the attention. At last people wanted to hear from him. Tom Walker wanted statements from everyone involved—especially Maeve, the party’s hostess. When Holly heard him asking for her, she realized she hadn’t seen Maeve since she observed her talking to Dr. Hill on the beach.

Her son had been stabbed, beaten, and put in handcuffs; her daughter-in-law had been taken from the tower and was receiving medical treatment. Jade and Anna were being loaded into nearby ambulances, though both were stable and out of danger. But where was Maeve? If ever there was a time for a control freak to show up, now would be it.

Holly’s eyes darted around, but she didn’t see the matriarch anywhere in the crowd. She was about to call out to Ethan when she noticed a tall figure step into the doorway at the top of the stairs leading into Miramar. Light spilled out from inside, outlining the imposing shape. It wasn’t Maeve. Sid stood there, as if frozen in place, holding a white envelope in his right hand. Holly hurried over to him. Maeve’s most loyal and trusted employee should know where she was.

Ethan joined her at the top of the stairs. Sid appeared to be in shock; his eyes, usually opaque, were even harder to read.

He presented Holly with the envelope. On the outside was written a single word, in black ink, penned in perfect cursive: Finis. Attached, where a stamp would usually go, was a sticky note with the same neat handwriting: Sid, I’ve gone swimming. Please ensure this letter is delivered appropriately.

“I also found this on the bed next to the envelope.” He handed Holly an empty prescription bottle. The glass vial inside it was empty. She read the label. It was the prescription in Maeve’s name for Lypotrel.



* * *



Ethan, Holly, and Sid stood together on Maeve’s private beach, staring out at the dark sea which appeared to have fused with the night sky.

Gentle waves brushed the shoreline, but the beach itself was a mess. Sand-covered food became a late-night snack for opportunistic birds. The stage had been cleared, but trash was scattered about, and nobody had bothered to right the tipped-over chairs.

The three scanned the darkness for signs of a swimmer, but saw nothing. The only sound was the tide hitting the sand as it came in. Ethan called the Coast Guard on his mobile.

“She loved the ocean,” said Sid, his stoic face crumpling. “And this house—oh, how she loved this house.”

“They’ll find her,” said Ethan, who didn’t sound hopeful, and Holly knew what he really meant. Eventually the currents would bring her body ashore.

“She’s lived a rich, full life,” said Sid, his voice melancholy. “It’s the sort of life people read about. But now they’ll do so in the tabloids.”

Holly grasped the envelope Sid had given her, sensing something inside. She could feel its shape with her fingers—a pendant-like form clearly part of a necklace. She read the front again, a single word, Finis—Latin for “the end.” In eighteenth-and nineteenth-century literature, that word usually ended a novel. Did it also signal an ending to a life?