The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [120]
“I don’t suppose I will.”
“What could you possibly want with Jude?”
“She’s the last big piece of the puzzle. After you, of course. And that pesky reporter, but first things first. And as things turned out, you would be first.” The voice held an undercurrent that was both smug and sure.
“What’s the puzzle?”
“A puzzle that can never be put together.”
“Oh, wait, you mean this whole Blythe Pierce/Graham Hayward thing?” Dina forced a touch of derision.
The woman on the other side of the door fell silent.
“You think that Jude is the last person who knows the truth about that? Ha!” Dina taunted her. “Surely you can’t think that you can get away with killing everyone who knows about their love affair.”
“It wasn’t a love affair! It was just a fling for him. He never loved her. Blythe Pierce was nothing more than a young tramp who tempted him because she wanted to be able to tell her friends that she’d slept with the President.”
“We both know that’s not true,” Dina said softly. “We both know he was in love with her. Deeply in love with her. Enough that he was willing to give up everything—even being President—to be with her.”
“It’s not true! It isn’t. He wasn’t in love with her,” the voice insisted, somewhat more shrilly. “Don’t dare say that he was. He did not love her.”
“He loved her so much that he was going to leave his wife—”
“No! He never would have left my mother! Never! He loved my mother! He loved me!”
Ah! Dina smiled in spite of her predicament. At last she knew who her captor was.
“Sarah, you know he was going to leave—”
“No. No. He said he was going to leave her, but my father never would have done it. Never. He was lying.”
“Who was lying?”
“Miles. He told me, told me that I should talk to my father. That he’d listen to me. He’d listen. He’d forget about her if I asked him to. Miles said he would. . . .”
“So you talked to your father about Blythe?”
“Are you crazy? I just wanted her gone. Then things could be the way they were supposed to be again.”
“So you killed her.”
“I told Miles I’d call Daddy, but I called her instead. It was easy enough to get her number. I told her I needed to see her. That maybe if I met her I wouldn’t be as confused about things. I asked her not to tell my father because I just wasn’t ready to have that conversation with him just yet.”
“Laid it on real thick, did you?”
“You betcha. She bought every word. I told her I’d pick her up across the street from her apartment.”
“That’s why she was crossing the street,” Dina said almost imperceptibly.
“. . . and she was so easy to kill. She never even saw it coming. Not like you. You ran like a jackrabbit.”
“How could you have done that? How could you have taken her life—”
“She was a problem. When you have a problem, you find a way to deal with it and move on.”
Dina’s stomach churned at the callousness of the words, but still she had to ask.
“Did you know about me then?”
“Do you think I would have let you live? I didn’t have a clue. Not until Miles told me. Stupid Miles. Told that stupid reporter. Well, I couldn’t let him tell anyone else. I’m sure that even you can understand that.”
There was the sound of paper being torn, then silence. Then the smell of something that Dina couldn’t quite put her finger on. . . .
“What is that?” Dina leaned against the door.
“Lighter fluid.”
The footsteps were moving around the shed.
Seconds later, brittle laughter faded with the footsteps.
The dry grass outside the shed caught quickly. Within minutes, smoke began to seep through the wall and the floor. The rotted wood smoldered, then took to flame as it dried with the heat. Trapped, Dina dropped to her knees, frantically looking for a way out. Coughing, seeking air, she crawled to the door and pounded on it. Flames licked at her arms and her feet as the floor began to burn.
“I’m not going to die like this,” Dina said through clenched teeth. “I will not . . .”
She ran at the door and hit it with her shoulder. The bolt held. Again. And again, the bolt held. Once more. Nothing.
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