26

“You think the Frasiers killed your daughter?” Ian Jorgenson repeated, his voice indifferent. He shrugged. “Not that I know of.” Lily suddenly hated him.

Olaf said, “I know you felt sorrow over your daughter’s death. But what does it matter to you now who is responsible?”

“Whoever struck her down deserves to die for it.”

“Killing them won’t bring back your little girl,” Ian said, frowning at her. “We, in Sweden, actually in most of Europe, do not believe in putting people to death. It is barbaric.”

What is wrong with this picture? Simon wondered, staring at Ian Jorgenson.

“No,” Lily said, “it won’t bring Beth back, but it would avenge her. No one who kills in cold blood should be allowed to continue breathing the same air I breathe.”

“You are harsh,” said Olaf Jorgenson.

“You are not harsh, sir? You, who order people murdered?”

Olaf Jorgenson laughed, a low, wheezy sound thick with phlegm, perhaps with blood.

“No, I always do only what is necessary, nothing more. Vengeance is for amateurs. Now, you do not have to wonder again if the Frasiers killed your daughter. They did not. They told me that they’d been concerned because your daughter, by ill chance, had seen some e-mails on Mr. Frasier’s computer, communications that she shouldn’t have seen. They, of course, assured the child that the messages were nonsense, nothing important, nothing to even think about.”

So that was why Beth had been moody, withdrawn, that last week. Why hadn’t her daughter come to her, told her, at least asked her about what she had seen? But she hadn’t, and then she’d been killed.

Olaf Jorgenson continued, “I understand it was an accident, one of your American drunk drivers who was too afraid to stop and see what he’d done.”

Lily felt tears clog her throat. She’d happily left Chicago and Jack Crane and moved to a charming coastal town. She couldn’t believe what it had brought them.

Simon took her hand, squeezed her fingers. He knew she was feeling swamped with the memories of her loss and despair. She raised her head to look at Olaf Jorgenson and said, “What do you intend to do with us?”

“You, my dear, I will have painted by a very talented artist whom I’ve worked well with over the years. As for Mr. Russo here, as I said, I hold no hope now of bringing him into my fold. He is much too inflexible in his moral code. It is not worth the risk. Also, he seems taken with you, and I can’t have that. Isn’t that interesting? You’ve known each other for such a short time.”

“He just wants to be my consultant,” Lily said.

Simon smiled.

“He wants you in bed,” Ian said. “Or maybe you’re already lovers and that’s why he’s helping you.”

“Don’t be crude,” Olaf said, frowning toward his son, then added, “Yes, I fear that Mr. Russo must take a nice, long boat ride with Alpo and Nikki here. We still have two lovely canals left from those built back in the early seventeenth century by our magnificent Gustav. Yes, Mr. Russo, you and my men here will visit one of the canals this very night. It’s getting cold now, not many people will be about at midnight.”

Simon said, “I can’t say I find that an appealing way to spend the evening. What do you intend to do with the Frasiers?”

Olaf Jorgenson said to Lily, not to Simon, “At the moment they are my honored guests. They accompanied you here since they knew they could not remain in California. Your law enforcement, and so on. They expect to receive a lot of money from me. In addition, Mr. Frasier already has very nice bank accounts in Switzerland. They are prepared to spend the rest of their lives living very nicely in the south of France, I believe they said.”

Lily said, “After you’ve painted me, then what will happen?”

He smiled then, showing her his very beautiful white teeth, likely false. “Yes, yes, I know I am an old man, but I do not have much longer to live. I want you with me until it is my time. I was hoping, perhaps, that you would see some advantage in marrying me.”

“Oh, is that why I’m wearing white? To put me in the mood?”

“You want manners,” Ian said. He was angry, she could see it as he stepped toward her only to stop when he felt his father’s hand on his forearm. Ian shook off his father’s hand and said, “She is disrespectful. She needs to see what an honor it would be to be your wife!”

Olaf only shook his head. He even smiled again as he said to Lily, “No, my dear, you are wearing white because that is a copy of the dress I last saw your grandmother wearing in Paris. It was the day she left with Emerson Elliott. The day I believed my world had collapsed.”

“You are good at copies, aren’t you?” Lily said. “I am not my grandmother, you foolish old man.”

Ian struck her across the face. Simon didn’t say a word, just hurled himself at Ian Jorgenson, slamming his fist into his jaw, then whirled back and kicked him in the kidney.

“Stop!” It was Nikki and he’d pulled a gun that was aimed at Simon.

Simon gave him a brief bow, straightened his shirt, and walked away.

Ian slowly raised himself to his feet, grimacing in pain. “I will go with Nikki and Alpo this evening. I will be the one to kill you.”

“All this,” Simon said, marveling as he turned to Olaf Jorgenson, “and you raised a coward, too.”

Lily lightly placed her hand on Simon’s arm. She was terrified.

She said to Olaf, “Even if I found you remotely acceptable in matrimonial terms, sir, I couldn’t marry you. I’m married to Tennyson Frasier.”

The old man was silent.

“I don’t ever wish to marry again, at least until I’ve seriously reconsidered my criteria. I don’t think there’s any way in the world that you would ever fit them. I’m married anyway, so it doesn’t matter, does it?”

Still the old man was silent, thoughtfully looking at her. Then he slowly nodded. He said, “I will be back shortly.”

“What are you going to do, Father?”

“I do not believe in bigamy. It is immoral. I’m going to make Lily a widow. Nikki, take me to my library.” As Nikki wheeled him out of the huge room, Lily and Simon saw him pull a small, thick black book from his sweater pocket. They watched him thumb through it as he disappeared from their view.

“He’s completely mad,” Lily whispered.

Washington, D.C.

Savich walked through the front door of his home, hugged his wife, kissed her, and said, “Where’s Sean?”

“At your mom’s house-babbling, gumming everything in sight, and happy. I left your mom a two-box supply of graham crackers.”

Savich was too tired, too depressed to smile. He raised an eyebrow in question.

She said, without preamble, “Both the Bureau and I agree with your plan. Tammy wants you, Dillon. She’s focused on you. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that she will come here. I took Sean to your mother’s because we don’t want him in harm’s way.

“Right before you got home, Jimmy Maitland issued a statement to the media that you were no longer the lead investigator in the manhunt for Tammy Tuttle. Aaron Briggs has replaced you as the lead. He said you were urgently needed to gather vital evidence in the Wilbur Wright case, the cult leader responsible for the heinous murders of a sheriff and two deputies in Flowers, Texas. You’re traveling to Texas on Friday to begin working with local law enforcement.”

He hugged her close and said against her hair, “You and Mr. Maitland got it done really fast. So I’m to leave on Friday? Today is Tuesday.”

“Yes. It gives Tammy plenty of time to get here.”

“Yes, it does.” Savich streaked his fingers through his hair, making it stand straight up. “Have you got Gabriella safely stashed away?”

“Actually, she’s at your mom’s house during the day. Both of them are safe. She said she doesn’t want to miss a single step that Sean takes.”