“No! He didn’t love her. I love her, and no one else can have her.”
I watched as Helen absorbed the words. Her face crumpled as she began to cry, began to realize that maybe Kyle had loved her, after all. I couldn’t say that he had or hadn’t, but if it helped in the moment to ease some of her pain, then it was worth it to say that yes, he’d loved her.
But oh, God, Angus MacLeod was right: Kyle’s murder wasn’t about a book at all. It was about Martin being insanely jealous of his wife’s relationship with Kyle McVee. Martin had killed the man to get his wife back. I’d always known Martin was emotionally abusive, but I’d never really suspected he could be a killer.
My mistake.
I glanced behind me, considering the possibility of distracting Serena and grabbing Martin’s knife. I turned back and focused on the knife and Martin. That was when I realized he was holding my knife. My French paring knife with its two-inch-wide, flat, square blade. I’d sharpened it finely enough to split a hair, so even if he barely grazed her, he would draw blood.
I had to breathe, had to center my thoughts. Unfortunately, they were racing around in circles. “Why me, Martin? Why did you use my tools?”
“I saw you with him,” he said, his eyes like lasers honing in on me. “On the street. I was following him, trying to trap him, and I saw him grab you. You kissed him. I knew you were a whore bitch.”
Okay, that was getting old. Martin was undoubtedly insane. The signs might’ve been there all along, but I’d never seen them.
“He hates you,” Serena explained.
“I get that,” I muttered.
“He’s not exactly speaking in code,” Robin said, a smart-ass to the end.
“You shut up,” Serena warned Robin. To me, she said smugly, “It was my idea to steal your tools. Martin wanted to make you pay somehow. He’s always hated you, from the time he first met you in Lyon. You were so full of yourself. You tried to talk Helen out of marrying Martin. McVee tried to do the same thing, right, Martin? When you were all in Lyon, right? Seems he wanted Helen for himself, even back then.”
Martin pressed his lips into a thin line, so Serena kept talking. “McVee acted like nothing was going on between him and Helen, even pretending friendship, offering to buy Martin a drink on occasion. He tried that a few nights ago when they first arrived. That was the last straw, wasn’t it, Martin?”
Martin leaned against the vaulted wall, dragging Helen with him. Was he growing tired of all the talk? If he reached the end of his rope, would he let Helen go or would he kill her?
“How’d you get into my room to steal my tools?” I asked, not only to stall for time but because I needed to know.
Serena snorted a laugh, then chirped, “Housekeeping.”
“You,” I said, as realization dawned. “You were that hotel maid. The first day I was here.”
“The girls prefer you call them housekeepers,” she said acerbically.
Whatever. “Yeah, sorry.”
“No wonder I could never get any towels,” Robin murmured. She was acting cool, but her eyes darted back and forth between Serena and me. She wore an expression of both worry and revulsion with some impatience mixed in. Not a good combination.
Maybe I should’ve stopped asking questions, but I had to keep them both talking. “So I guess this means you’re not Mrs. Kyle McVee.”
Serena wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Me and that pansy toffer? Fat chance.”
If she thought Kyle was rich and snooty, how in the world did she put up with Martin?
“So what does that make you and Martin?” I asked.
She grinned at Martin with affection, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention. “He’s my baby bro.”
Her brother? I looked from one to the other. Why hadn’t I seen the resemblance? Both tall, both thin, the wispy blond hair and pale blue eyes, same shape of the head. “I see it now. But Helen never met you before?”
“No, Martin was busy playing the toff, weren’t you, bro? Didn’t want his big sis coming around.” She continued to keep a vigilant eye on her brother, but her gaze had narrowed a bit. “But baby bro ran into a little trouble up here.” She shrugged. “So who ya gonna call?”
“Big sister,” I said.
“Bingo,” she said, waving the gun at me. “I hopped the train and got here in two hours. I’ve been here all week. Had plenty of time to play housekeeper. That’s how I got those love letters inside Kyle’s room.”
“Love letters?” I asked.
She relaxed her grip on the gun and exhaled heavily, perhaps annoyed that I was so dense. “I suppose you’d call them poison-pen letters. Just wanted to pull his chain a bit, you know.”
Kyle’s poison-pen letters. I’d forgotten about them until now.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Robin whispered under her breath. “They’re both nuts.”
Luckily, only I heard her and I squeezed her arm in commiseration. Serena saw the move and aimed the gun back at me.