Covenant Of The Flame Read online

  Tess halted on the upper landing as grief cramped her throat and sorrow squeezed her chest. Tears blurred her vision and scalded her cheeks. 'Yes. God help me, that part isn't a blur.'

  'I'm sorry, Tess. I can't express how much I. Your mother was a fine, noble woman. The strength she mustered when she learned that your father had been killed. She was remarkable. And now I can't believe that someone shot her. It's all been so shocking. What's this world coming to? I truly can't imagine. I tossed and turned most of the night. You must be devastated.'

  'Yes, Mrs Caudill. I feel so. "Devastated" doesn't begin to describe it. Really, thank you. I appreciate your sympathy.' Tess pawed at her tears, feeling grit on her cheeks. The tears streaked the soot on her hands.

  'No need to thank me. In fact, I'm flattered that you thought to come here. Regina's been away so long. It's been too many years since I've had a chance to mother anybody.'

  The sound of footsteps made Tess spin.

  With a stiff-backed stride, the butler came up the stairs, hands cradling a plastic container with a red cross on its white lid.

  'Good. The first-aid kit. Finally,' Mrs Caudill said. 'Come on, Tess. Your burns need attention. We're wasting time.' The portly woman guided her hurriedly toward a door halfway along the upper hallway. 'You remember that this bathroom belonged to Regina?'

  'How could I forget? I used it often enough.'

  Mrs Caudill smiled. 'Yes, the old days.' In contrast with her smile, she sounded melancholy. The good days.' She opened the door.

  Tess faced a huge, white bathroom with spotless countertops and tiles. The same as she remembered. Reassuringly familiar. In back, a door on the right led to Regina's bedroom. Also in back, on the left, a steam room stood next to a shower stall.

  But what Tess noticed most, anticipating, barely able to restrain her eagerness, was the deep, wide tub.

  Mrs Caudill took the first-aid kit from the butler, set it on the marble counter between two sinks, and retreated toward the hallway. 'Soak, Tess.'

  'Don't worry, Mrs Caudill. I intend to.'

  'And take as long as you want. In the meantime, I'll sort through some clothes that Regina left behind. As I recall, you and she were almost the same size.'

  Tess nodded, nostalgic. 'Yes, we used to borrow from each other. But Mrs Caudill, please, nothing fancy. Jeans, if possible. A shirt or a pullover. I'd like to stay casual.'

  'Still a tomboy?' Mrs Caudill's eyes twinkled.

  'I guess. In a way. Dresses make me uncomfortable.'

  'As long as I've known you, they always did. Well, I'll do what I can. Now get in that tub and soak. And while I think of it, I'd better phone the police. They'll want to-'

  'No, Mrs Caudill!' Surprised by her outburst, Tess felt as if snakes writhed in her stomach.

  'I beg your pardon?' Mrs Caudill's brow furrowed. 'I don't understand. What's the matter? The police must be told. They need to talk with you. You might know something that will help them find the monsters who set fire to your mother's house and killed-'

  'No! Not yet!' Tess tried to restrain her panic.

  'I still don't understand.' Mrs Caudill deepened the wrinkles on her forehead. 'You're confusing me.'

  'I'm not ready. I feel so. If you call the police, they'll hurry to get here. But I don't think I'm strong enough to answer their questions right away. I need to clear my head. I need to. My mother. I doubt I can talk about what happened just yet. I'd probably.' Tears trickled down her cheeks. 'I wouldn't be able to control myself.'

  Mrs Caudill debated, allowing her brow to slacken. 'Of course. How foolish of me. I wasn't thinking. You're still in shock. But you realize you'll have to talk to the police eventually. It'll be a strain, but it has to be done.'

  'I know, Mrs Caudill. Later, after I get cleaned up and feel rested, I'll call them myself. Soon. I promise.'

  'By all means. First thing's first. And the first thing is, get into that tub while I try to find you some clothes.' Despite her reassurance, Mrs Caudill continued to look confused as she backed toward the hallway and shut the bathroom door.

  Or maybe her expression was one of pity. Tess couldn't tell as she found herself alone in the bathroom.

  Reflexively, she locked the door. Her emotions in a turmoil, she quickly undressed and threw her torn, dirty, smoke-reeking clothes into a corner. Even_her socks and underwear stank of smoke. At once she opened the hot-water faucet on the tub, shut the drain, and poured in fragrant bath salts. As soon as steam began to rise, she adjusted the cold-water faucet, used a finger to judge the temperature of the water, and climbed into its wonderfully soothing warmth.

  Briefly the blisters on her arms and hands stung. Then the pain went away, and she settled back, enjoying the heat rising deliciously past her hips, her groin, her stomach, her breasts. Only when the water came close to the overflow drain did she reluctantly grope forward to shut off the taps. Her cramped muscles gradually relaxed.

  But she didn't feel contented. As she stared at the soot that clung to the soap bubbles bobbing on the water, she asked herself, frowning, Why was I so insistent? Why didn't I want Mrs Caudill to phone the police?

  Dear God, my mother was killed. Two servants were killed, I was almost killed. For sure, whoever set fire to the house won't give up. They'll keep hunting me. Whatever their reason, it's serious enough that they're prepared to go to any lengths to get at me.

  Jesus, why!

  Is it something to do with the photographs that man tried to steal from me? What did I see in Joseph's apartment that they don't want me to know about and presumably anyone else to know about?

  Tess shuddered at the memory of the bas-relief statue on Joseph's bookcase. Grotesque. Repulsive.

  What did that statue mean? What kind of sick mind could possibly have designed it? And why was Joseph attracted to it?

  What did it say about his mind? Clearly he hadn't been the good-natured, gentle man that he seemed, not if he had a habit of whipping himself until he bled and then going to sleep with that thing brooding down at him from the bookcase. And now, Tess reminded herself, Joseph's apartment had been burned, the sculpture had been stolen, and the only evidence of its existence was the photograph in her bulging purse.

  She trembled so forcefully that the soot-filmed bubbles on the water rippled. The first thing I should have done when I got inside this house was call the police. I need help!

  So why don't I want Mrs Caudill to phone them?

  The answer came with startling urgency. Because I don't want anyone to know where I am. Whoever's hunting me will make the assumption that I'll get in touch with the police.

  So they're probably monitoring police communications. If I phone the police, word will get out. The killers will scramble to get here before the police. And this time.

  Tess shuddered.

  They're so determined I don't think they'd fail. They'd kill all of us.

  The butler.

  Mrs Caudill.

  Me.

  Tess imagined Mrs Caudill screaming as blood spurted from bullet holes in her body.

  No! I can't have their deaths on my conscience! And I can't depend on the police to protect me! I need time to think! I have to keep hiding! Until I'm absolutely sure I'm safe! Lord, help me! What am I going to do?

  FOUR

  With greater anxiety, Craig paced his one-room apartment. In the background, he barely heard the swelling voices of an opera, Puccini's Turandot, that by habit he played when he was nervous. Phone, Tess! Please! If you're all right, for the love of God, phone!

  But the longer he waited, the more despondent he became. Something was very wrong.

  He frowned at his watch and realized that he should have been at the office an hour ago. Immediately, in mid-stride he froze, struck by a sudden thought. The office? Maybe Tess figures that's where I am. Maybe that's where she'll try to get in touch with me.

  If she tries to get in touch with me.

  If she wasn't killed in the fire and her body ha
sn't been found yet.

  No, don't think like that! She's all right! She's got to be all right!

  Craig grabbed the phone and pressed the numbers for his office. Impatient, he heard a buzz.

  Another buzz.

  'Missing Persons,' a raspy voice said.

  Tony, it's Bill. I-'

  'Jesus and Joseph. Finally. Miracles never fail. Where the hell have you been? The phones keep ringing. We've got eight new cases, and the captain's grumbling about everybody goofing off.'

  'I promise, Tony. I'll be there soon. Listen, have I had any messages?'

  'Plenty.'

  Craig's heartbeat sped. 'Is there anything from Tess Drake?'

  'Just a minute. I'll check. But. Who's that woman shrieking in the background? Opera? Since when did you become Italian?'

  'The messages, Tony. Check the messages.'

  'Yeah, okay, here, I've got them. Give me a chance to. Bailey. Hopkins. Nope. Nothing from any Tess Drake.'

  Craig slumped against the kitchen counter.

  'Speaking of messages, the captain got a call a while ago from the police in Alexandria, Virginia. They claim you phoned them. Something about a fire. They say you sounded a little strange. What's going on?'

  'I'll explain when I get to the office. Tony, this is important. If Tess Drake calls for me, make sure you get a number where I can reach her.'

  Craig hung up the phone. While Pavarotti's rich voice soared toward the peak of an aria, Craig stared at the kitchen counter. With a curse, he roused himself into motion, turned on the answering machine, and shut off the stereo. Compelled, he snapped his holstered revolver to his belt, put on his suitcoat, and hurried from his apartment, locking its two deadbolts behind him.

  As Craig rushed up the ten steps from his basement apartment and emerged on the noisy street, the morning smog irritated his throat and made him cough again. Near a row of garbage cans, he stopped at the curb, didn't see a taxi, hunched his shoulders in frustration, and broke into an awkward jog toward Seventh Avenue. The sudden effort made him breathe heavily.

  Tess is right, he thought. I let myself get out of shape. I need to start exercising.

  Tess. The urgent thought of her triggered a flood of adrenaline into his stomach. Sweating, he jogged faster, desperate to find a taxi.

  FIVE

  Behind him, near Craig's apartment on Bleecker Street, two nondescript men bent down from the curb to examine the engine of a disabled car. When they noticed Craig start to jog toward Seventh Avenue, they slammed down the engine's hood, scrambled into the small Japanese vehicle, made a tight U-turn, and hurried to follow him.

  Farther down the street, inside a van the sides of which were marked with perfect copies of telephone-company insignia, a somber man picked up a cellular phone while his equally somber partner adjusted dials on a monitor and continued to listen to earphones.

  The first man, aware that cellular broadcasts were capable of being monitored, spoke indirectly.

  'Our friend has left the ballpark. A few teammates are going with him. The opposite team? It seems they're not ready to play. At least, we haven't seen them. But our catcher is worried about his girl friend's health. He hoped she'd phone him at the clubhouse. She didn't. He believes she might call him at his office. Meanwhile we've got some time, provided the opposite team doesn't arrive. So we'll do our catcher a favor and hang around the clubhouse, just in case his girl friend finally does call and wants to leave a message. I take for granted that someone will be at his office? Good. After all, if his girl friend needs help, I'd hate for our catcher to be alone.'

  SIX

  Appallingly, the water in the tub was so filmed with soot that Tess had to drain it, rinse the tub, and refill it. Even after her second bath, she still didn't feel clean and finally had to use the shower, washing her tangled hair three times.

  She couldn't find a blow dryer, so she simply combed her hair, which thank God was short and easy to manage, and which now was finally blond again, not blackened with ashes.

  She used the first-aid kit to put antibiotic cream on her burns. They didn't seem deep, although clear liquid seeped from them and they'd begun stinging again. She was tempted to bandage them, but she'd read somewhere that it was important for air to get at burns as long as they weren't serious, and she hoped these weren't. At the moment, though, her burns and bruises were the least of her problems.

  Mrs Caudill had knocked on the bathroom door and explained that she'd laid out some clothes in the adjoining bedroom. Tess wrapped a towel around her breasts and hips, then stepped through the door to the right, finding socks, underwear, jeans, and a short-sleeved, burgundy blouse on the bed. She hurried to dress, discarding the bra. It felt good to have clean clothes against clean skin. They fit her almost perfectly. But the tennis shoes that Mrs Caudill had found were another matter - a half-size too small. Tess had to use the grimy sneakers she'd hoped to discard. Grabbing her burlap purse, which was grimy as well, gave off smoke fumes, and would have to be replaced, she decided she'd better get downstairs before Mrs Caudill changed her mind about calling the police.

  In the foyer, she heard noises from the dining room and entered to find a maid placing a silver tray of toast, jam, bacon, scrambled eggs, and orange juice at the end of the long, oak table. Steam rose from a coffee pot.

  Mrs Caudill had changed from her housecoat to a dress and sat near the end of the table, the Washington Post before her. Seeing Tess come in, she smiled, although her eyes were dim with melancholy. 'Well, you certainly do look better.' With effort, Mrs Caudill straightened. 'I hope you don't mind. I don't know your tastes, but I took the liberty of having Rose-Marie prepare you a breakfast. You must be famished.'

  The aroma of the food made Tess's stomach growl. She hadn't realized until now how weak she felt from hunger. In place of supper last night, all she'd had to eat was the liver pate her mother liked.

  Her mother. With renewed force, grief swept through her, chilling, numbing. She resisted the tears that came to her eyes, knowing that, given the stress ahead of her, she didn't dare lose control. It seemed impossible. She still wasn't able to adjust to. Had trouble believing. Refused to admit that her mother was dead.

  It couldn't be!

  Needing all her discipline, Tess somehow managed to return Mrs Caudill's smile. 'Thank you. You've been too kind.'

  'Spare me the compliments, Tess. You can thank me by eating everything on your plate. Today will be, excuse my French, an s.o.b. You're going to need all your strength.'

  'I'm afraid you're right.' Tess sat at the table, unfolded her napkin, and with a trembling hand picked up a gleaming silver fork. She amazed herself by how quickly she devoured the meal, even though this was far from her usual breakfast. She'd long ago restricted eggs (too much cholesterol) and bacon (carcinogenic nitrates) from her diet.

  As she finished the last of her orange juice, gaining energy from the enormous amount that she'd eaten, Tess impulsively thought to ask, 'Where's your husband? At the Justice Department? Up at your summer place in Maine?'

  'My husband?' Mrs Caudill's face turned pale. 'You mean you don't know?'

  'Know?' Tess set down her glass. 'Know what? I'm not sure.'

  'My husband died three years ago.'

  'Oh.' Tess's voice dropped. Shock rippled through her. She felt paralyzed, uncertain what to do or say next.

  Then she was certain, and she reached to touch Mrs Caudill's hand, gently squeezing it. 'I'm truly, painfully sorry. I liked him. Very much. He always made me feel welcome.'

  Mrs Caudill bit her lip. 'Yes.' She restrained a sniffle. 'He was a decent, loving man.'

  'If you don't mind.'

  'What?'

  'Talking about it.'

  'Mind?' Mrs Caudill shook her head. 'Not at all. In fact, in an odd way, it helps me. Go right ahead. I'm a tough old lady.'

  'What happened?'

  'A heart attack.' Mrs Caudill sighed. 'As much as I did my best, I could never convince him to cut back on
his work load. I kept telling him to take more vacations or at least stay away from the office on weekends.' Her lips trembled. 'Well, I guess he died where he wanted to be. Not at home but the office.'

  Death, Tess thought. I'm surrounded by death.

  'So I know how you feel, Tess. Lord, I wish I didn't, but I do. My husband. Your mother. We'll miss them. Our lives are less without them.' Mrs Caudill braced her shoulders as if she didn't want to pursue the topic. She nodded glumly toward the Washington Post in front of her. The fire at your house. the killings. apparently they happened too late last night to be reported in this morning's paper. But perhaps we should turn on the radio. There might be some new information, some further developments you should know about.'