When he didn’t answer right away, Bea suggested, “I could start looking around, if you like, while you and Vivian stay here. I might finda real pretty dress that someone reported stolen recently. If your father has a gambling problem, I’m guessing you didn’t trust him to hang on to it for you.” She stepped forward. “How ’bout I do a little search?”
Dr. Harris seemed to crumple, his face falling and his shoulders slumping downward. He let out a long, shaking breath as he sank into a chair at the table. He dropped his head into his hands, his elbow knocking over his doctor’s bag as he did and sending its contents skittering across the table. He didn’t seem to notice, and his voice was muffled as he replied, “A man by the name of Clarence Earl. He doesn’t matter, not really. My brother ended up working for him to pay off my father’s debts. But Dad—” His voice grew bitter. “Dad couldn’t stop, and the debts kept piling up. Finally my brother decided the best way to get out was a tidy little bit of blackmail.”
“Got himself bumped off for his trouble?” Vivian asked coldly. She might have felt bad for the unknown Paul Harris under other circumstances. But all she could feel was rage at the man in front of her. She did lower the gun, though. They were between him and the door, and she hated holding it, hated what it meant.
Dr. Harris lifted his head just enough to give her a disgusted look. There was a hint of exasperation, almost a whine, in his voice when he spoke. “They were going to start coming after me, too. If I couldn’t pay them off, I’d end up working for them, just like my brother. And I’d probably end up six feet under just like him, too.” He shook his head. “My brother might not have been able to come up with a solution, but I am far more resourceful. I just needed to pay them back. I’d convinced my father to leave the force and move outside the city, too, so he wouldn’t end up underwater again. It was all perfectly arranged.”
“So you settled on my uncle as the last part of yourarrangementand sent him that bottle of brandy?” Bea asked acidly, taking a step closer to him. “How’d you even know he had money?”
“Abraham said Pearlie got hurt one night,” Vivian said, suddenlyremembering their conversation with Abraham. “And they needed to get him stitched up.”
Bea stepped close enough to nudge Dr. Harris, who still wasn’t looking at her, with her toe. “That was you?” He nodded; his elbows slid slowly out until his head and hands were resting on the table, as if holding himself up even that little amount had been too much effort. “So you decided to do, what?” Bea demanded. “Take over his business to bring in a little cash?”
“No.”Dr. Harris sat bolt upright at that. “I would never do something that cheap and desperate. I had no intention of writing any of those… thoseletters. I found the whole thing despicable.”
He sounded indignant, as though she had accused him of something disgusting or indecent. Vivian and Bea both stared at him, waiting for him to realize the irony in his statement. But he just glared at them.
“But you did end up writing them,” Vivian pointed out at last, when it became clear that he wasn’t willing to acknowledge that murder was far more desperate and despicable.
“Only because I had to,” Dr. Harris grumbled. “And how in God’s name you realized there were two letter writers…”
“We saw one of the originals,” Vivian said, with a mocking smile. “Either you never did, or you didn’t think doing a good job copying Pearlie’s style mattered.”
“I didn’t have time to do a good job,” he snapped. “It’s not like I could type out a letter in the middle of Beatrice’s apartment.”
“That was where you wrote it?” Bea demanded. “Right under our noses?”
“That was the day we told him we didn’t think Pearlie’s death was a suicide,” Vivian said, nodding slowly. “He must have written it out quick and slipped it in with his papers. And then he brought up his patients who had received letters of their own—which I assume is how you found out about Pearlie’s scheme in the first place,” she added, not taking her eyes off the doctor, who watched her resentfully. “Though Idoubt you knew he was the one behind it. I’m guessing you breathed a big old sigh of relief when Bea said she was planning to leave it alone.”
“It would have been smarter for you if you had,” he snapped. He turned away from her as though disgusted by the whole conversation. And as he did, his hand slid across the table to where things had spilled from his black bag. Vivian saw the movement just a moment too late. His fingers had already closed around a syringe; his other hand reached out faster than she would have thought possible to grab Bea by the arm and yank her off balance.
She stumbled toward him as he stood, just as Vivian was shouting a warning. And then they all froze, Vivian with the gun raised, Bea’s eyes wide with fear, and Dr. Harris gripping Bea by the arm while he held the needle of the syringe against her neck.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” he said conversationally. “If I’m startled, my finger might slip. And I don’t think either of you would like what happened next.”
“Let her go,” Vivian said through clenched teeth.
“I really don’t think I will,” Dr. Harris said, almost condescendingly. He shifted his weight, maneuvering himself and Beatrice around until he was closer to the door. He took a step back toward it, Bea shuffling with him. Vivian could see her friend’s breath coming in quick, shallow gasps, could see her hands trembling.
But Bea’s voice was steady as she said, “How do you see this working out, Doc? You could off me, sure, but you’re not getting far before Vivian gives you a case of lead poisoning.”
“She’d get arrested,” Dr. Harris snapped.
“Sure, but you’d still be dead.” For all her obvious fear, Bea’s voice was steady, and Vivian could see how it was enraging Dr. Harris. “So what’s the plan?”
Vivian gave him a mocking smile. “Guessing you don’t have one, Doc. Just like you didn’t for this whole thing. You thought you were in the clear when we said we were giving up, and then you found out we lied.”
“You really should shut up soon.” Dr. Harris gave Bea a shake as he spoke, condescension dripping from his words. Vivian held back a shudder as the needle gleamed mere inches from Bea’s neck. But she wouldn’t let him see her afraid.
“So you convinced me that Mrs. Kaminski had been one of the victims, too. And then I was ready to do anything to keep my sister safe when a letter for her showed up.”
“Poor Florence.” Dr. Harris shook his head. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to do anything to her. I like her very much, you know.” His smile made Vivian’s skin crawl. “But you did what needed to be done. I have to commend you on your resourcefulness. Ah ah ah,” he warned, pulling Bea closer. “Not another step.”
Vivian, who had been inching toward him, froze in place. “Let her go.”
“Put your gun down, or Beatrice is getting a dose of medicine I can guarantee she doesn’t want.”
Slowly, hesitantly, Vivian started to lower the revolver.
