It was becoming a ritual in the attic now. First Gen laid aside the trapdoor. Then she placed the flashlight and lit the candles one by one, as if preparing for a solemn rite. Finally she turned to her history and chose which puzzle to unlock. She could have picked Annie’s trunk. It was here, full of bustled dresses and feathered hats from the 1880s. Annie’s turn would come. First Gen needed to find out about the third Genevieve. She had to know if there was really a pattern here.
She pulled open the steamer trunk, hoping to find the flapper dresses and rope pearls so popular in the twenties. Instead, she found a briefcase.
“What the...?”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t come looking till I was gone.”
Gen almost knocked over one of the candles in her scramble to her feet. “No,” she breathed, paralyzed by the figure that was detaching itself from the far shadows. “No, you’re dead!”
“Those rumors have been greatly exaggerated,” Michael said, smiling quietly. Still Gen couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. “Why—”
He shrugged, stepping closer. “They were getting too close. That last time I was here, I hid away some necessary papers. I figured after a mourning period I’d pop up and get them and be off for good. I slipped in while you were busy on the beach last night, but I didn’t realize you were bringing company home for the night.” He shrugged. “I also underestimated the storm.”
Gen had claimed in the end that she didn’t know him anymore. It was a fight they’d had all the time. She’d had no idea how right she was.
It took a minute, but Gen instinctively guessed the rest of the story. She found herself gaping at her own husband.
“The whole thing was a setup,” she accused. “The accident at sea, the identification so we’d think the body had simply been lost to the currents...” Her brain tumbled fast and furious as she began to understand the magnitude of the deceptions her husband had been practicing. “The records... You were embezzling money from the bank.”
“Lots of it.” He came close, close enough that Gen could smell the Aramis on him. “I considered asking if you wanted to come along when I left, but you just aren’t any fun anymore, Gen.”
Tears clouded her vision. Betrayal crowded her chest like a hot balloon. Too much. This was simply too much. She wanted to strangle him on the spot, the rage was so strong in her. She wanted to curl into a corner in shame.
“So you’ve been hiding out in my house.”
“I’m afraid so. Which means I’ve heard everything.” His gaze briefly flicked toward the floor below. “I presume the obligatory forty-eight-hour mourning period is over, my love?”
“Don’t call me that.”
His hands went up. Gen was appalled to see that one held a small gun. “No offense.” He smiled. “But then, he is a complication I hadn’t planned on.”
Gen couldn’t take her eyes off that pistol. “You’d planned for me?”
Michael shrugged. “Well, I’d kind of hoped I could get in and out without you knowing. But after being forced to spend all this time with your venerated ancestors, I came up with an alternate plan.”
Gen was sure she didn’t like the tenor of this conversation. “What do you mean?”
He was casually pointing the gun now, which was making Gen feel even more uneasy. And he was laughing.
“It’s probably a good idea I left anyway,” he was saying. “If you’re anything like the other women in your family, I’d say you had about another five years before you went right off the deep end. They were all obsessed with the guy who named the house. The Confederate captain. No wonder your mother wouldn’t have anything to do with ’em. I guess she figured the only place for skeletons this unique was in the attic. Or maybe she was afraid that if you found out about the dear old family traditions, you might get ideas, y’know?”
Surreptitiously Gen began to edge backward, hoping to get to the end of the trunk. “I appreciate the history lesson, Michael...”
Michael stepped closer, the gun steadier now. “It really is interesting. Your grandmother looked just like you. In fact, she had your name, Genevieve. Your mother never talked about her, either, did she? Wanna know why? Guess how she died?” He made another step, punctuating his news with a bob of the gun. “Which was how I came up with my plan, by the way.”
Gen knew, even before he told her. Her heart sank. Her breath caught in her throat. Not her, too.
“Suicide,” Michael said with a nod, as if verifying her suspicion. “The bigs.Seems that when her husband died, she decided it was kind of the family thing to do. Couldn’t go on without the love of her life, and all. From what I could see from all the paperwork up here, that kind of behavior skips a generation.” He smiled now, a manic light in his eyes. “Kind of sets an interesting precedent, don’t you think?”
“But you’re not the love of my life,” Gen retorted instinctively.
He laughed again. “And I suppose the stud muffin in the towel is?”
Gen struggled for air, for sanity, losing hope of either. She kept her silence, measured her distance. Fought the shakes that threatened, and prayed that Rafe would stay where he was until she figured something out.
“No,” Michael said with another blithe sweep of the gun, “I don’t think anybody who finds this stuff up here is going to question for a minute the fact that you sent Annie off, just like your grandma sent your mom off, so you could do yourself in in dramatic fashion. Sad, but predictable, y’know?”
“I’m not the same.”
Michael’s smile was brilliant. “Who’s gonna know? Especially after I sprinkle those journals all over the house. Sorry, Gen. I mean it. But five million tax-free is a much prettier dream than growing gray with you.”
Now Michael was really smiling. He was also pointing the gun right at her. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re going to have to shoot me right here.”
“So that whoever finds you will know it wasn’t self-inflicted? All I have to do is follow through with one of those old shotguns from your grandpa over there. Don’t fight it, Gen. I win one way or another.” He aimed the gun, which couldn’t miss at this range. “You might as well cooperate.”
Gen didn’t do anything of the kind. “No, Michael!” she screamed. “Please!”
But he pulled the trigger anyway.
