The trembling wouldn’t stop. Every time Alanna thought she had control of it, the shakes began again. She grabbed her battered fiddle, knowing that having it in her hand would calm her. “What did you do?” she asked Patricia.
“What could I do? I couldn’t let the police take him away. Not my only child, my son.”
Alanna studied the unrepentant face of the woman in front of her. Only a few lines at the corners of her eyes betrayed her age. Patricia had been pampered and coddled all her life. She was the type of woman who shielded her eyes from the brutality in the world, yet when she’d discovered her son was a murderer, she’d allowed it to go unpunished.
“Barry said Neila’s body was with nature. What did he mean?” Alanna asked.
Patricia’s coloring turned a little green, and she gave a delicate shudder. “He threw her in the pond.”
The gator. The mental image overwhelmed Alanna. Her beautiful, laughing sister disposed of in such a brutal way. Neila would never laugh again, never feel the sun on her face.
She was going to be sick.
Alanna bent over and heaved. She coughed as the acid burned her mouth. Liam was there beside her, supporting her, wiping her mouth with the tail of his shirt and murmuring condolences.
Alanna clutched his hand for strength and kept hold of her fiddle in the other one. “You say you tried to drive me off. Why would you help me at all?”
“It wasn’t for love of you, believe me.” Patricia put her tissue back into her pocket. “I knew it would keep happening, over and over. I couldn’t go through it again.” She glanced at her unconscious son. “I thought the medication would control his fantasies, but it obviously didn’t work. I shall have to tell his doctor.”
“The prison doctor will be the one to tell,” Liam said.
Patricia’s abstract expression melted to horror. “Can’t we come to an agreement? I’ll pay you whatever you like to say nothing to the police. I’ll put Barry into the hospital until he’s well.”
“I know why the medicine didn’t work.” Grady spoke from behind them. “It was Dad’s fault.”
Alanna turned to see him enter the ballroom. His orange hair was droopy and damp, and his blue eyes were tired.
Patricia stared him down. “What are you talking about, Grady?”
He swallowed, but his gaze held steady as he fixed her with a challenging stare. “I saw him changing out Barry’s pills.”
She gasped and took a step back. “That’s a lie! Richard would never do such a thing.”
“I asked him what he was doing.” Grady looked down at the floor, then back up again. “He said he couldn’t have Barry’s mental illness passed on to any children. He thought he’d let Barry do what Barry always did, then be committed.”
Her lip curled. “And you’d inherit. You were in on it, too, weren’t you?”
He shook his head. “Of course you’d think that, but no. I told him it was wrong, and I wanted nothing to do with it. That if he kept it up, I’d walk away and never come back.”
“And why would you do that? You’re only here for what you can get,” Patricia said.
His smile came Alanna’s way. “Alanna, you’re the only person in this house who has treated me like a real person. I was rooting for you to leave Barry and get out of this house of secrets.”
Alanna caught a breath. He’d tried to help her in his own way. There was more depth to him than she’d thought.
“Are you the reason Richard died?” Patricia demanded of Grady. “You argued, didn’t you? And he had a heart attack.”
A flush washed over Grady’s face, then faded away, leaving him pale. “We argued, yeah. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I couldn’t let him go forward with it.”
“You killed your own father,” she accused.
Tears stood in his eyes. “I didn’t kill him. He had a bad heart. What kind of father would do what he did?”
Alanna heard a sound behind her and turned to see Barry lurch to his feet and pull a gun from a holster on his ankle. He waved the weapon in the air. “I heard all that. This place is mine and no one else’s. You can die with the rest.”
Alanna stared down the barrel of the gun as he brought it around toward her. His face was twisted with rage and hatred. How had she ever thought this man cared about her? “Please, Barry. Put the gun down.”
He gestured to the door. “All of you, outside. We’re going to make a visit to the pond. I can play the grieving widower well. The poor aristocrat who lost everything in the storm.”
“Let us go, Barry. It’s over. This will never work.”
“Oh it will work beautifully.” He gestured with the gun. “All of you, downstairs. Stay close together. Make one wrong move, and I’ll shoot.”
Patricia reached a hand toward her son. “You can’t mean me, Barry.”
His eyes were cold as he looked her way. “You drugged me all these years. I’m done being told what to do.”