Down the Rabbit Hole

He bared his teeth, all fury now. “I can make you beat your head against the wall until you’re dead!”


“Try it.” She reared up, pushed her face into his. “Just try it. I’m not drugged and grieving like your victims. You sent Darlene to kill her brother. You gave her the shears. What did she think they were? Candy? Wine? Flowers? Flowers,” she repeated when she saw his eyes shift. “‘I’m so sorry we argued, Marcus. I brought you flowers.’ And she stabbed him in the heart, then she jumped off his terrace, hallucinating, thinking what? She was walking on the beach, stepping into her own house? It doesn’t matter, you killed her, killed them both. And for what? For money. For money and entertainment. And to feel powerful.”

“I am powerful. I gave her what she wanted, didn’t I? She’s with her parents. I gave her what she asked for. I deserve the money. I want my money! I want my hat!”

He beat his fists on the table, his feet on the floor. “You’ll kill each other before the night is through. I can make you, like I made all the others. You’ll cut each other to ribbons. Ribbons of blood. And with blood we’ll paint all the roses red.”

He took a deep breath, and the shoulders that had come up to his ears relaxed again. “Now, have Ms. March fetch the tea.” His fingers played in the air again as he stared into Eve’s eyes, smiled. “We’re having tea. It’s my tea party, and it never, never ends.”

“I’ve got news for you. The party’s over.”

When they’d finished with him, at least for the night, Eve had him taken down to where he’d be held in the psych section, on suicide watch.

“Mira’s going to have a hell of a time with him,” Eve said. “We’ll take the other two in the morning. We’ll see what kind of mood they’re in after a night without their particular brand of tea.”

She watched Roarke come out of Observation.

“I regret to say, I do believe he’s mad as a hatter.”

“Probably,” Eve agreed. “That’s up to Mira, and I don’t give a rat’s ass if he spends the rest of his life in a concrete cage or a padded room. Either way, he’s done.”

“He gave me the creeps.” Peabody shuddered.

“It didn’t show.”

“Well, he did, and if it’s okay with you, I’m heading home and staying away from you until morning. So we don’t end up cutting each other to ribbons.”

“For Christ’s sake, Peabody.”

“Why take chances? I’ll write it up, but I’ll write it up at home. With McNab sort of keeping an eye on me.”

“Fine. I’m going the hell home myself.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on her,” Roarke promised Peabody.

She went to her office for her coat. “He has something.” She circled her neck. “Not nearly what he’s deluded himself into believing he has—most of it hinged on the drugs. Wherever he ends up, he won’t have them, but he needs careful watching.”

“He was afraid of you, afraid you have more than he does.” Roarke tapped the dent in her chin. “Perhaps you do.”

“Not a psychic—just a cop who knows how to read killers.”

“I have a hypnotic suggestion of my own.” This time, he laid a finger on her forehead. “You want to go home with me and have lots and lots of sex.”

“You putting the whammy on me, ace?”

“I certainly intend to.”

As they walked out, he pulled the snowflake hat out of his pocket, fixed it on her head.

What the hell, she thought. As hats went, it was warm—and pretty sweet.





ALICE AND THE EARL IN WONDERLAND


MARY BLAYNEY





For Leslie Gelbman and Cindy Hwang. Thanks to you (and Nora) for making this adventure possible.





AUTHOR’S NOTE