“Just answer my question and we can be done with this,” pleaded Kit.

  He studied her.

  “Archibald, please.”

  “I get it. You want me to admit to murdering Jordan, but you don’t want me to tell the entire story. You want the punch line without the joke.”

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” said Kit, turning to Cordelia. “I think we should call it a night and go home.”

  “For instance, why don’t we discuss Eddy Chapman? We all know who he was. Why did he need to disappear, Kit? Did you ever ask yourself that?”

  She turned around to face him. “If you ever loved me—”

  Cordelia couldn’t believe he’d given in so easily. Then again, he was partly right. Without proof, none of this could be used against him. Still, people with secrets were always dying to tell them. In this moment of revelation, with little at stake, he actually seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “You were pregnant,” he said. “Chapman was the father.”

  “That’s a lie,” screamed Kit.

  “Let’s put it all out there for this eminent kangaroo court to consider. Cordelia, as head kangaroo, you can make the final judgment about guilt or innocence. I place myself in your hands.” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t we start at the beginning, when Kit and Jordan made their fateful bargain. He would marry her to help him hide the fact that he was a homosexual, and in return, he would make her bastard baby girl legitimate. Believe me, it wouldn’t have happened if Eddy had stayed in the picture. He was a small-minded, nasty little man. He would have blown Kit and Jordan’s story out of the water just because he could. That is, if I hadn’t stepped in. He was a womanizer, too, in case you didn’t know that, Kit. You think he was faithful to you before he shuffled off this mortal coil? He was trying to bed every woman who didn’t run away fast enough.”

  “None of this is true,” said Kit. “He’s making up a story just to hurt me.”

  “You think Jordan didn’t confide in me? How many years were we friends? You think I don’t know it all?”

  “Listen,” pleaded Kit. “If he’s admitted to one murder, he’s admitted to them all. Let’s stop right here. We have what we came for.”

  “What about Melcer?” asked Archibald. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. Without a free hand, he couldn’t wipe them away. “Jordan came to me. Told me Melcer had taken nude photos of you during one of your trysts. My God, woman, but you can be stupid. I tried to pay Melcer for the negatives, with Jordan’s money, of course, but he wouldn’t take it. He needed leverage because he wanted you back. You know, Kit, quite honestly, I felt sorry for him. How do you do it? How do you make men think you’re some sort of goddess?”

  “I’m not a goddess,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. Tell me about it. And yet, even now, I still want you. If there was a way out of this maelstrom, a way to be with you, I’d take it and never look back.”

  “Archibald,” she said softly, pleadingly.

  “And Decca? You were the one who put me on to her. She was sniffing out the truth about Jordan. She would have gotten there, too. She was clever, and dogged. Didn’t you ever wonder what happened to these people?”

  “Eddy … he left town. Couldn’t face his wife. That’s what I thought. And Stan? I didn’t know he was blackmailing Jordan. You’re right, I am a fool. I’ve always been a fool. When he disappeared, I thought he’d taken off because his business was failing. And Decca. When she evaporated, I simply turned away and thanked my lucky stars.”

  “You should have thanked me, Kit. You still don’t get it, do you? Everything I’ve done was to protect you.”

  “Oh, no. No, no. You can’t put your actions on me.”

  “You loved me once. The time we were together was the happiest few months of my life. Why did you have to end it? What did I do? I never understood. I thought—I’ve always thought—there was a chance we’d find each other again. If nothing else, for Booker. All I ever got to be in his eyes was his godfather. You don’t know how much I wanted to claim him as my own.”

  “Did you tell Jordan?” she asked weakly.

  “He already knew. He wasn’t stupid. He could see the resemblance, even if no one else could.”

  Cordelia flapped air into her face. This was the National Enquirer and Inside Edition on steroids.

  Beverly sat with her head bowed. Tommy had turned away, refusing to look at Kit.

  “But what about Ray?” asked Cordelia. “Why were you targeting him?”

  Archibald’s face flushed a deep red. Narrowing his eyes at Kit, he said, “It was my turn. You should have come to me, not another pretty boy in an expensive suit. I saw the way you looked at him, how you touched his hand, tilted your head, smiled, and cooed. You pulled away from me and showered all your warmth on him. Why? Am I so grotesque? Why is it that you could never see me. I’ve been there for you my entire adult life. Why doesn’t Archibald ever merit one of your loving looks? Ray Lawless was nothing. He didn’t believe in you, or care about you. He would have left you just like every other man you’ve ever loved. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him. Kit, I’m done putting up with your faithless, cheating ways. There will be no more men in your life. Only me.”

  From the back of the hall, uniformed officers began to filter down the aisles.

  Cordelia stood as Neil DePetro entered stage left and brushed right past her. He held up his badge as he approached Archibald. As he read him his rights, he glanced at the handcuffs, then back at Cordelia.

  She waved and tittered.

  An instant later, Jane appeared next to her. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered.

  “They found the gun?” Cordelia whispered back.

  “You were right. Archibald suffers from terminal arrogance. Must’ve thought he was too smart to get caught. He never even tried to hide it.”

  As two uniformed officers led a furious and sweating Archibald away, DePetro walked over to Jane and Cordelia. “You two think you’re pretty clever.”

  Cordelia was good at looking innocent. “You talking to us?”

  “Where did you get those handcuffs?”

  “An army-navy surplus store?”

  “He let you put them on him willingly?”

  “He’s kind of kinky. Or perhaps he saw it as a joke.”

  Scowling, DePetro favored them with a stern look. “Some joke.”

  “I’ve always thought humor was a rather personal thing,” said Cordelia.

  “You two are a real pair.”

  With one last hard look, he left the stage.

  “We did it,” said Jane.

  At what cost, thought Cordelia, seeing Tommy, his shoulders sagging, walking up the aisle all alone. Beverly continued to sit with her back to Kit. Nobody would come out of this feeling like a winner.

  38

  Jane paused next to the empty box office window to watch Cordelia and Booker, arm in arm, talking animatedly, make their way across the first floor theater lobby toward her. Three days had come and gone since Archibald had been arrested on four counts of murder. Almost every national and local news outlet was covering the story 24-7. Jane was so sick of hearing about Archibald and his lawyer’s various spin moves that she refused to turn on the TV, read a paper, or listen to the radio.

  Her work with her father was done for the moment. She was glad that she could return to her restaurant, content in the knowledge that when it counted, she hadn’t disappointed him. She looked forward to working with him again, as long as it wasn’t until after the holidays. It would be lonely this year without Peter and his family, and especially lonely without Avi. But Jane pushed those thoughts out of her mind, unwilling to let them bring her down. She was in too good a mood.

  Cordelia had met with Booker, hoping to get him to commit to taking a job with the theater. Judging by her buoyant expression, Jane assumed she’d closed the deal. Kit stood across the room next to an open door that led into the new indie bookstore—Fitzgerald’s. She was with an odd-looking man sporting an oversized gray beard and leaning on a silver-handled cane, someone Jane had never seen before. After everything that had happened, Jane was a little surprised to see her out and about, obviously enjoying the bearded man’s company.

  “Afternoon,” said Cordelia, nodding pleasantly to several women who sailed past her. The first floor was no longer off-limits to the public, mainly because the bookstore and the Italian deli had finally opened. People wandered in and out, curious to see what was happening inside the new Thorn Lester Playhouse. They couldn’t get upstairs just yet, but were able to watch the murals on the first floor being restored to their former glory.

  “Janey, meet our new set designer,” said Cordelia, beaming at Booker as if he were a shiny new toy.

  “You took the job,” said Jane. “Congratulations.”

  “Had to.” He shot a guarded glance toward his mother. “My girlfriend wrote the play.”

  “You and Erin are together?” Cordelia enthused. “How … utterly fascinating. A new rock-star theater couple has been born.”

  “No thanks,” said Booker. “I like living in the shadows. So does Erin.”

  “Who’s the man with your mother?” asked Jane.

  “He wants to write her authorized biography. He’s already got the go-ahead from Simon & Schuster. Mom said he’s done a number of other biographies, so he’s legit.”

  “My stars and garters,” said Cordelia, pressing a hand to her chest. “I would think your mother has had enough media attention to last the next hundred years.”

  Booker tried to cover his look of disgust with a shrug.

  “She’s a survivor,” said Jane. “You have to give her that.”

  “How’s Chloe doing?” asked Cordelia.

  “Good,” said Booker. “Actually, there’s a new man in her life. When he found out what had happened, he flew here from California to be with her. He’s taking her home today. He was so overwhelmed by the thought that he might have lost her, that he asked her to marry him. The wedding will be next June.”

  “That’s terrific,” said Jane. At least something good had come out of it.

  “Well, listen you two, I gotta bounce. Erin’s leaving tomorrow, flying back to Seattle. I intend to spend every minute I can with her. I head back to New York tomorrow night.”

  “What about your mom?” asked Cordelia, nodding obliquely in her direction.

  “Her new biographer can take her home.” He gave Cordelia a kiss on her cheek, then turned and gave one to Jane. “Adieu, ladies. To be continued.”

  Jane liked Booker, and was glad to hear he’d be back. As she watched him push out through one of the glass doors, she caught sight of a familiar face inside the bookstore. She moved a little to her right to get a better look. Red Clemens was sitting at a table, dressed in a dapper suit and tie, signing books for half a dozen people who waited in line. “What’s all that about?” asked Jane.

  Cordelia looked over Jane’s shoulder. “Oh. I forgot to tell you. I found out yesterday that Red’s a published poet. He’s quite well known.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “He doesn’t go by Red Clemens. He writes under his real name, Philip Powell Clemens.”

  “He’s Philip Powell Clemens?”

  “Apparently, people come from all over the country to meet him here at the theater. Just think of it, a poet janitor. Then again, didn’t Ted Kooser sell insurance most of his life?”

  “Incredible,” said Jane. So he wasn’t a celebrity freak after all. The celebrities came to meet him. “Will this place ever stop surprising me?”

  Cordelia put her hand on Jane’s back and walked her toward the elevators. “Not to dwell on the obvious, but another case has been successfully completed. Thanks to moi.”

  “I have to agree. You deserve the credit.”

  Two middle-aged women cut in front of them. The shorter of the two said, quite loudly, “Did you see how old she looked in person?”

  “What’s her first name?” asked the taller one.

  “Kit. Kit Deere. She must be seventy years old. I used to think she was so beautiful. I saw her onstage last winter and she looked twenty years younger. How is that even possible?”

  “Must be her husband’s death.”

  “He’s another one,” said the shorter woman. “I went to one of his concerts at the state fair two years ago. Believe me, in person, he looked nothing like the hunky guy you see on TV. He was downright puny.”

  “Funny, isn’t it,” said the taller woman. “It’s like that super handsome guy who plays in all those action movies. I don’t know why I’m blanking on his name, but I’ve had a crush on him for years. When I was in New York last summer, I walked right past him on the street. He wasn’t more than five feet tall. I towered over him.”

  Jane and Cordelia exchanged glances.

  “Guess that old saying is true,” said Cordelia, pausing as the elevator doors opened.

  “What saying?” asked Jane

  They walked on, turning and standing next to each other.

  As the doors closed, Cordelia whispered, “Get on your knees every night and pray that you never meet your heroes.”

  ALSO BY ELLEN HART

  Taken by the Wind

  Rest for the Wicked

  The Lost Women of Lost Lake

  The Cruel Ever After

  The Mirror and the Mask

  Sweet Poison

  The Mortal Groove

  Night Vision

  The Iron Girl

  An Intimate Ghost

  Immaculate Midnight

  No Reservations Required

  Death on a Silver Platter

  The Merchant of Venus

  Slice and Dice

  Hunting the Witch

  Wicked Games

  Murder in the Air

  Robber’s Wine

  The Oldest Sin

  Faint Praise

  A Small Sacrifice

  For Every Evil

  This Little Piggy Went to Murder

  A Killing Cure

  Stage Fright

  Vital Lies

  Hallowed Murder

  About the Author

  Ellen Hart, “a top novelist in the cultishly popular gay mystery genre” (Entertainment Weekly), is also a Lambda and Minnesota Book Award winner. The author of twenty previous mysteries featuring Jane Lawless, Hart lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THE OLD DEEP AND DARK. Copyright © 2014 by Ellen Hart. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.minotaurbooks.com

  Cover illustration by Teresa Fasolino

  eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Hart, Ellen.

  The Old Deep and Dark / Ellen Hart. — First edition.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-250-04769-4 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-250-04780-9 (e-book)

  1. Lawless, Jane (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women detectives—Minnesota—Minneapolis—Fiction. 3. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 4. Lesbians—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3558.A6775O43 2014

  813'.54—dc23

  2014027207

  e-ISBN 9781250047809

  First Edition: October 2014

 

 

  Ellen Hart, The Old Deep and Dark

 

 

  Thank you for reading books on GrayCity.Net
Share this book with friends