Andrew and Gordon exchanged looks.
“Three, maybe four months later,” Gordon said. “The first episode only lasted a few days. She seemed to return to normal after that, at least for a while.”
“We thought the worst had passed,” Andrew explained. “But the episodes came and went with increasing frequency over the years. Each was more severe and lasted longer, leaving her a little more fragile.”
“But she lived until last month.” Zack leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs and put his fingertips together. “She’d still be alive if she wasn’t murdered.”
“She had to be institutionalized at the end,” Gordon reminded him.
“Yes, but you described her as being relatively calm and reasonably lucid during the last year of her life, thanks to Ogilvey’s meds and therapy. And we know for a fact that she was able to think clearly enough on the night of her death to leave a message for Raine.”
“Where are you going with this?” Raine asked.
Zack tapped his fingers together once. “I’m thinking that, although your father’s version of the antidote was obviously flawed, he must have leaped a few major technical hurdles.”
She frowned, baffled. “What do you mean?”
“As far as I know,” Zack said, “your aunt lived longer than anyone else who was given several doses of the drug and then deprived of it. In every other instance that I am aware of, the individuals all died within days, usually by suicide. But Vella Tallentyre, for all her odd behavior, did not go insane and she did not take her own life. According to the historical records, that makes her unique.”
They all absorbed that for a few minutes.
After a while, Raine stirred in her chair. “In that case, you might be interested to know that taking the last dose of the drug wasn’t the only thing that Vella did that night when we went to the lab.”
Zack watched her steadily. “What else did she do?”
“My father kept three sets of lab notes—one on a computer, another on a hard-copy printout and a third in his private journal. Wilder Jones knew about all three and destroyed them. But before he arrived at the lab, my aunt photocopied the pages of my father’s journal that contain his antidote. She took the copies with her that night.”
Zack’s eyes narrowed. “According to his report, Wilder searched your aunt before he put the two of you into the car.”
“I don’t know if he concluded that I had been traumatized enough for one day or if he was just distracted by Vella in a hysterical rage. Whatever the case, he didn’t search me. Aunt Vella hid the pages in my horse book. I’m the one who carried the formula for my father’s antidote out of the lab.”
They all switched their attention to the leather-bound volume lying on the coffee table.
“She took the pages from me as soon as we got home,” Raine said. “I never saw them again until I opened that journal. They were tucked into the back.”
Zack contemplated the flames with an enigmatic expression. “Well, one Jones family mystery has been solved.”
“What’s that?” Raine asked.
“It’s now obvious why Uncle Wilder went over the edge during the last three months of his life. Everyone said it seemed as though he had developed a death wish. But Dad was right. There was a woman involved.”
Raine looked at him. “Are you saying that you believe he fell in love with Aunt Vella?”
“I think Uncle Wilder found the love of his life but he screwed things up so badly he probably figured there was no hope. So he took that last suicide mission.”
Raine thought about that for a long time.
“He shouldn’t have lied to her,” she said at last.
“She lied to him about the formula,” Zack said.
“They lied to each other,” Gordon declared grimly. “In my experience, that approach to interpersonal communication never leads to good outcomes.”
Bradley Mitchell called later that night. Zack picked up the phone. Raine came out of the bathroom in her robe, just as he finished speaking. He ended the call and looked at her.
“Mitchell says that Cassidy Cutler managed to find an open window at the hospital. She jumped. Broke her neck.”
Raine sank down on the edge of the bed, her hands in her lap. “Suicide.”
“Yes.”
“What about Niki Plumer?”
“Still alive but the doctor says she’s sliding deeper and deeper into a psychotic state. She no longer speaks or communicates in any way. No one expects her to snap out of it.” Zack sat down beside her and took her hand. “Same old pattern.”
“Did Bradley say anything more about Cassidy Cutler being a serial killer?”
“He said the case is looking very solid.”
Raine looked pleased. “This is going to make his career. And the best part is that he won’t have to share the credit with a psychic side-kick.”
Zack eased her back onto the bed, flattened his hands on the quilt on either side of her shoulders and loomed over her. “I sure as hell hope you’re not about to tell me that you’ll miss working with him. Because I’d have a real problem with that.”
She put her arms around his neck. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Look ominous and dangerous and incredibly sexy all at the same time.”
He appeared to give that a moment’s serious contemplation. “Damned if I know. Guess it’s a—”
“Gift.” She laughed and pulled him closer. “It’s not Bradley I’ll miss. It’s the work.”
He kissed her lightly and raised his head. “I know. I understand how it is with our kind of talent, remember? But don’t worry, as the wife of the Master of the Arcane Society and part-time consultant for J&J, you’ll get your psychic fix.”
She blinked. “I’m going to become a J&J agent?”
“Why not? You were born for the work.”
“Uh, have you discussed this plan with Fallon Jones?”
“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m the boss.”
He silenced her laughter with a kiss that made the atmosphere around the bed crackle with invisible energy.
Fifty-nine
WASHINGTON: WINTER COVE PSYCHIATRIC
HOSPITAL, LATER THAT NIGHT…
The orderly paused outside room 705 and peered through the small glass window. The patient was still asleep. In the glow of the night-light he could see her on the bed. She was in the exact same position she had been in an hour before, lying on her side, her back to the door. The sheet was pulled up over her head. She had not moved.