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“Yes, he did, the bastard!” Patrick slammed his fist into his hand. “He left it all to Carol, but then tied it up in a trust so she couldn’t get at the money either.”
“You were in the King’s Garden the night Lady Amy and I spoke with Mrs. Johnson, weren’t you? You killed the woman who took you in and provided you with an alibi.”
“No. He didn’t.”
William’s head whipped around at the female voice coming from the doorway. Carol Whitney pushed Amy into the room, a gun at her back. “I killed Millie Johnson, because this sneaky bastard was having an affair with her.”
She narrowed her eyes at William. “Drop the gun, or your lover here will get a bullet in her sweet little head.”
William felt all the blood drain from his face, almost to the point of making him dizzy. This woman who had just admitted to killing another woman in cold blood had a gun pointed at Amy’s head.
He immediately placed the gun on the table in front of him. “Let her go, Mrs. Whitney.” William raised his hands and stepped back from the table. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back. “I will not touch the gun or move in any way toward you or Patrick.”
“Patrick?” She snarled. “Ha! That snake betrayed me.” She swung around and aimed the gun at her stepson. “I killed my husband for you! We were supposed to be together, with all his money. Yet after Harding died, you disappeared. I had to act the fretting, nervous stepmother and ask these people to find you.”
It appeared that both Carol Whitney and her stepson possessed acting skills. And she had killed not only Mrs. Johnson but also her own husband—Patrick’s father? The woman was deranged, and he had to get Amy out of here. Fast.
“Mrs. Whitney. I ask you once more. Please let Lady Amy leave.”
“Cease!” She pointed the gun away from Patrick and aimed it at William. “I will decide who leaves and who stays.”
If he could keep her talking and if the detectives arrived soon, they might get out of this mess. A couple of ifs, but it was all he had. Keeping Patrick in his view, he turned to Mrs. Whitney. “I doubt they were having an affair, Mrs. Whitney. Mrs. Johnson made an appointment with Lady Amy and me. I’m sure she was going to tell us Patrick killed Harding.”
Mrs. Whitney waved the gun around, taking all of William’s breath from his body. “I don’t believe that for one minute. I saw her whisper to you two at the pub to meet her the next day. I was right there in the corner, watching her, knowing she would meet this scoundrel.” She directed the gun at Patrick. “I’m sure she wanted to tell you two busybodies that I killed my husband. Get me out of the way so they could have all my money and run off together.”
“I don’t think he was running anywhere, since I am sure he stole the ledger with Harding’s blackmailing information in it. He intended to pick up where Harding left off.”
Mrs. Whitney shrugged. “No matter. If I was in jail for murder, they could stay right here in Bath, enjoying my money.” Once again she took dead aim at Patrick’s hea
rt.
Her stepson blanched. “Carol, sweetheart, please put the gun away. You might hurt someone.” Patrick moved slowly toward her as he spoke.
“Stop!” She narrowed her eyes, her hand steady on the trigger of the gun. “When his lordship here didn’t return right away to give me the information on your whereabouts, I decided to act on my suspicions. It only took me one day of spying to find you. Right here—with her!”
Patrick held his arms out. Pleading. “I was feeling ill and needed a place to recover.”
While Mrs. Whitney and Patrick conversed, Amy edged toward William. He took her hand, and they stood together. He gently eased her behind him. Between them and the exit stood a crazy woman waving a gun. He could feel Amy shaking, her hands ice-cold. He had no idea how she had ended up here, but if they got out of this alive, he would throttle her for not doing exactly what he had told her to do—not leave the house by herself.
And then kiss her senseless.
“Don’t think you can fool me again, Patrick.” Mrs. Whitney moaned. “I thought you loved me.”
“I do.” Patrick ran his tongue over his lips, flexing his hands and taking deep breaths, his eyes riveted on the gun.
“No. You don’t. Once you got your hands on my money, you would be done with me.”
He shook his head. “No. That’s not true.”
In a matter of seconds, Patrick had leaped toward Mrs. Whitney, and a shot rang out. His hands grasped his chest, and he looked down at the blood running through his fingers. “You shot me.” His eyes closed and he fell to his knees, then forward, facedown.
“Patrick!” The gun slid from Mrs. Whitney’s hand, and she raced toward him. William picked it up with two fingers and turned to Amy. “Get the bloody hell out of here. Now.”
“Take it easy, your lordship.” Detectives Carson and Marsh walked into the room, both of them holding pistols. “We have it all under control.”
William closed his eyes in relief and pulled Amy toward him. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. “Are you all right, sweeting?”
She leaned back and looked him in the eye. “Persephone is having puppies.”
