Page 56 of The Psychic

“What?” Carlton asked. Did he seem nervous?

Ronnie asked, “Do you hear anything?”

Marian waved a hand at her. “Oh. That’s just the bats.”

Ronnie met the older woman’s gaze. “The bats?” she repeated slowly.

“In the walls. They come inside to hibernate, but the fireplace warms them and you can hear them sometimes.” Her lips pinched, she turned to Carlton and said with more of her usual imperiousness, “What’s the name of that pest service? You need to call them again.”

Ronnie’s gaze was turned to Carlton, whose eyes were fixed back on her. She said, “So when the bats hibernate, they might be easy to catch and kill.”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.” Marian frowned.

Carlton’s pallor had bleached to white, but he looked determined. Even dangerous.

Ronnie’s stomach turned sour. He’d left her the bat in a fit of pique because he wanted all of Marian’s money.

What a louse. The thought of his perfidy, how he’d lied, how he’d ingratiated himself to his aunt.

… It took everything she had to say to Marian, “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for us.

It was a generous offer.” She edged around the couch toward the double doors.

“I’ll see you out.” Carlton dropped Marian’s hand and was on his feet in an instant.

“No need.”

She was out of the room in a flash. She didn’t know just how far Carlton would go, but he obviously hated her.

Was he dangerous? She didn’t want to take the time to find out.

The dead bat was enough proof that he was more than a little unhinged.

She racewalked to the foyer as she heard quick footsteps behind her.

Damn.

Carlton caught up with her and rather dramatically threw himself in front of the door. “I don’t think you should leave.”

“Because you left that dead bat on my doorstep?” she said, stopping.

“No … what do you mean?” he stammered.

“You sneaky … grifter. Those are your tactics? Intimidation … then run and hide?”

His face flushed. “I just think we should talk.”

“I don’t need to talk to you anymore.”

The sudden whoosh of cold air ran through her like a blade. She blinked as there was no air movement. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow. Someone … ? Something? A ghost, like in her bedroom … ?

“Where’s Angel?” she asked almost before the thought had fully formed.

His mouth dropped open and his eyes bugged. “Wh-what?”

“You did something to him,” she said with sudden razor-sharp clarity. Just how dangerous was he? “What did you do to him?” she demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re fucking crazy … Crazy!”

Liar! “Did you hurt him?” Kill him? She was dizzy with the knowledge. Not a vision … she just knew it.

“You’re … raving! ” Carlton accused, his voice rising an octave. “You’re always raving!” Gathering himself, he said, “You can’t talk to Marian anymore. She doesn’t believe you. She knows you’re a liar … and evil!”

Ronnie started rummaging in her purse for her phone, glad it had started working again.

“What—what are you doing?”

As soon as she retrieved the phone, Carlton batted it from her hand. It sailed across the room, hit the marble floor and spun to the far wall.

“I’m leaving,” she said, lurching for her phone.

He twisted her around. “Not until I say so.”

“I’m leaving,” she repeated. Adrenaline spiking, she wrenched her arm free, but he caught her midsection before she reached the door and she stumbled, sliding on the slick marble.

Looming over her, he leaned forward, glaring at her from the tops of his eyes. Demented. Furious.

He killed Angel.

Because of me.

Ronnie’s heart skipped several beats. Carlton was on the edge.

Though her heart was beating frantically and in her peripheral vision she searched for a weapon, something to defend herself with, she managed to keep the panic from her voice and said with far more calm than she felt, “Where is Angel, Carlton? Is he here? On the grounds?”

But he wasn’t listening. He was still raving about his aunt. “You got into her head! She was all set to put you upstairs, write you into the will. She already made a stipend for you. I had to do something.”

“Marian’s not leaving her estate to me,” she reminded tautly, her mouth dry. “We just went over that.” Was her voice squeaky? Nervous? Terrified? Keep calm.

“I had to stop you.”

“You came back again. You left the bat the first time, but you came back again, and Angel saw you.”

“You’ve been after Marian’s money for years!” he charged.

Projection. He was the one who’d been after her money. Ronnie calculated how far she was from her phone. Sloan’s number was one of her most recent. She could hit the call button in a second, if she could get ahold of her phone.

She lifted her hands, as if he were keeping her at gunpoint. “I’ve never wanted Marian’s money. I think I’ve made that clear.”

How fast could she be to the phone? He had no weapon. But he was determined. Flight or fight? she asked herself. She was no match for Carlton, who was taller and though lean, probably had thirty pounds on her.

And she wasn’t a fighter.

“Don’t move,” he ordered.

Ronnie ignored him. One moment she was standing still, the next she was scrambling across the floor for the phone.

He sprang.

On her instantly.

Ripping her arm back as she reached for the phone. Yanked it behind her.

Pain ripped through her shoulder.

She yelped, but lunged, dragging him.

The phone twirled from her fingers, but she threw herself forward, snagged it and pounded on the button with her finger.

Sloan!

Please, God!

“No!” Carlton growled furiously, grabbing her by the waist and flinging her across the foyer. She skidded across the marble, but didn’t release her phone.

Bam!

Her forehead smacked against the wall. Stunned, aching, she saw past the pain. Past the fear. “You killed him,” she threw out as he turned on her again. “Didn’t you? You killed Angel!”

“You bitch! Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?”

He leapt forward, catching hold of her arm again and hauling her to her feet.

She swayed a bit, the world spinning, and then her eyes came into focus.

His grip tightened as he reached for her other arm, but she writhed within his grasp.

In a move that surprised even her she suddenly stomped hard on his foot, her boot slamming into his shoe as she finally managed to wrench her arm free.

He screamed, “You’re the grifter! You’re the one!”

“ Where is he? ” she screamed back, breathing hard, ready for a fight. He started this and she would damn well finish it.

“Quick?” Sloan’s tinny voice sounded from the phone in her hand, cutting through her rage.

“No!” Carlton cried, scrabbling in the air for her phone, but she ducked away and yelled, “Langdorf’s! Three two seven Brynndal—”

Carlton grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, slamming it into the wall next to the stairway. She saw stars, bright flashes of light behind her eyes. Her feet sliding from beneath her she tried desperately to clutch tight to her phone.

“Carlton?”

Ronnie blinked, tried to hang on to consciousness, her head aching, Carlton still snarling and holding on to her hair. She saw Marian standing in the aperture to the den, leaning against the doorjamb. Her eyes were full of dismay. “What’s going on?”

Trying to get the phone from her outstretched hand, Carlton yanked her head back as far as he could. She managed to reach behind her and she found his throat, her nails clawing at the skin hard enough for him to roar in pain.

His grip slackened.

She broke free, gasping for breath.

“She attacked me!” Carlton said frantically. “Marian. You’re not safe! Get in the den! Lock the door!”

“Not true!” Ronnie yelled, but her voice was more of a rasp. She gazed around wildly.

The cane.

The wolf’s head cane.

She lunged for it. He sprang after her, grabbing the fabric of her blouse. She heard it give with a sickening rip. Kicking back at him, she felt one of his arms snake around her waist again.

She stretched, fingers wriggling madly for the cane, but he was too strong. One of his hands found her neck. Began to squeeze.

“Carlton!”

Ronnie heard Marian’s voice … She sounded far away.

Her mind fractured … Mel … Shana … strangled.

Can’t lose consciousness. Can’t lose consciousness. She extended her arm as far as she could reach.

The tips of her fingers felt the metal wolf’s head …

A dog howled.

Don’t go in the water.

No more stars … just an enveloping blackness trying to take over as she grappled and gasped for air.

“Quick?” Sloan, driving, answered his phone and heard:

“Langdorf’s? Three two seven Brynn—”

Call cut off.

“Ronnie!” he yelled. “Ronnie! Goddamn it.” He recognized the urgency. Felt the danger.

He knew where Brynndalwood Lane was. A pocket of estates on the northeastern edge of River Glen. He’d driven aimlessly in the opposite direction while he’d considered his next move and now did a quick one-eighty and hit the gas.

He didn’t know what was happening.

But the danger was real. Palpitating.

Oh. Jesus.

Ronnie!

He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

“You shouldn’t have come … you shouldn’t have come … you shouldn’t have come …”

Carlton’s litany was a muttered mantra, over and over. You shouldn’t have come …

Ronnie’s head was still spinning, but slowly, as if swimming through mud, she was regaining her wits.

You. Have. To. Fight. Think, Ronnie, THINK!

He was dragging her down a hallway, her head bouncing along the hard floor, pain exploding behind her eyelids. She tried to lift her head, to open her eyes, to get free. But she couldn’t. Her damned body wouldn’t respond.

Keep trying. Fight. Or—reason with him …

“Carlton,” she murmured. “Carlton, don’t.”

“It’s your fault,” he said with calm determination. “I didn’t do it.”

Was he talking about Angel? Or … what?

“Sorry, sir. She took the pills on her own,” he said tonelessly.

A chill went through her. Was he talking about her? To whom? Himself. There was no other person here, no “sir.” As clouded as her mind was, she was certain of that. Oh. God. Was he planning to drug her? Murder her?

“She took the pills on her own,” he said again, as if testing the words to see how they played.

Marian. He was talking about Marian.

Slowly, too slowly, Ronnie was coming around.

“She took the pills on her own.” This time his tone was threaded with tears.

Marian …

“ She gave her the pills! My aunt realized she’d been conned and cut her off! But then she killed her! I had to stop her!”

Ronnie’s heart clutched. Has he given Marian the pills already? He was creating his story, throwing the blame on Ronnie …

“It was an accident!” he cried out.

She struggled to think clearly, but the blackness kept dragging her backward, into the void, the pain-free void. She was fading out. And if she went out, he would kill her.

She knew it.

“Carlton?” Marian’s dim voice sounded heavy and slow.

“Go sit down!” he suddenly yelled.

Ronnie heard a hummmmmmm building inside her.

“It was an accident!” he repeated, fake sobbing.

Sloan called for backup and bit out the address to the operator. He cut the connection and kept speeding to the Langdorf address. He didn’t have lights and if he picked up a cop for speeding, all the better.

He wasn’t far.

Still, how long had it been since Ronnie’s desperate call?

Minutes.

But minutes were often the difference between life and death.

God damn it. He pounded on the steering wheel and slid around a final corner, tires screeching. He didn’t know what was happening but he’d heard her terror.

Icy fear thrummed down his nerves.

He beat the sirens to the Langdorf estate.

He skidded to a stop in the semicircular driveway in front of the mansion, ablaze with lights. As he did he spied the blue Escape, Ronnie’s car.

Jaw set, he slid his Glock from his shoulder holster, and ran up the steps to the front door.

As if from another world, Ronnie heard the pounding. Her head felt swollen, maybe it was, her thoughts moving through a field of dense cotton. She sensed rather than saw Carlton leap away from her, the movement sending air currents scurrying around her.

Get up … get up …

Then Carlton was back, hissing in her ear. “Tell them to go away!”

He abruptly hauled her to her feet, but her knees were jelly.

When she didn’t respond, he slapped her.

Hard.

Her cheek was immediately on fire, but the pain a surprisingly welcome distraction from her dull brain.

She managed to get her legs to move as Carlton half carried her to the front door. Oak, she thought. It had been oak. Too sturdy to break through.

She was mad at herself. Mad that she wasn’t in control. It took everything she had to gather her wits about her.

Carlton jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow. “Tell them,” he whispered harshly.

“It’s the police!” yelled Sloan. “Open the door!”

Sloan. Sloan had gotten her call. Ronnie nearly went weak at the sound of his voice. But she dug down deep. With all her strength, she yelled, “Break a window!”

“Carlton …” Marian. Feebly calling to him.

As Ronnie turned glazed eyes in the older woman’s direction, Carlton released her. She stumbled and fell to her knees.

Pull yourself together!

Ronnie, this is your chance!

“Police. Open the door!”

Insistent pounding.

“Ronnie!”

“Sloan,” she said, her voice a whisper and then she heard another, chilling sound.

Frenzied barking.

The dog.

She blinked.

And saw the wolf’s head cane.

Carlton was holding his head and staggering as if he couldn’t make his brain work.

Crash!

A cudgel …

Splintering glass as Sloan broke through a leaded glass pane.

She dragged her feet under her.

“No! No! NO! NO!” Carlton’s head whipped from side to side.

She lurched forward, the foyer spinning.

Her fingers wrapped around the cane.

Red eyes glowed bright.

Carlton’s head snapped her way, his mouth an “O” of disbelief.

Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark!

She swung at his knees with all her strength.

He dropped like a stone.