Proof of Murder (Beyond the Page Bookstore Mystery #4) - Lauren Elliott Page 0,99

step closer to the fireplace. He raised his umbrella and with a jab poked the tip into the center notch of the design on the mantel, triggering the opening to close. “I know exactly what you’ve been up to.” His eyes glimmered with malice as he extended his umbrella and clicked a button on the ivory handle, projecting a six-inch blade pointed directly at Addie’s throat.

“Very James Bondish of you.” Addie swallowed in an attempt to dislodge her heart from her throat and knew then why the aftershave smelled familiar. There was no question about the lingering aroma of cedarwood and patchouli emanating from Art.

His top lip curled up at the corner. “I thought when I set it up so all the evidence pointed to you and you were arrested, that would be the end of your nosing around, but you don’t take hints very well, do you?” His eyes bore into Addie’s with an intensity that made the hairs on her arms quiver. “It seems even the events I staged in your shop weren’t enough to sway you or that shop girl of yours.” Addie flinched. “I admit she wasn’t as skittish as I thought she was. When the books tumbled off the shelves, thanks to my trusty little contraption here”—he waved his dagger-ended umbrella—“I thought she would bolt and run away. I never expected her to start to turn around to see what was causing the chaos I was creating. I had to stop her before that happened and she recognized me. That’s when . . . well, let’s just say you saw the result.” Addie swallowed hard to squelch the queasiness in the pit of her stomach. “I guess I’ll have to do something about that now, won’t I?” He took another step toward her.

“Artie, what are you doing?” Vera shrieked.

Art waved the knife tip in her direction. “Get over there beside Miss Greyborne. Now!”

“But, Art, I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“Shut up, you silly woman. I’ve had enough of you and your whiny daughter. There’s only so much I can put up with.”

“You said you loved me.” Vera’s eyes filled with tears as she edged her way over to Addie.

“Love.” He spat out the word. “Hardly.”

“But when we met on the cruise ship last year, you came back here with me to start over, to start a new life, with me.”

“Yeah, just part of the plan.” He barked out a laugh and he waved the blade in their direction.

Tiny shivers raced up Addie’s spine. “I’d say by what I discovered up in that secret room, you’ve been planning this for some time.”

He set his daggerlike eyes on hers. “You have no idea how much has gone into this little venture.”

There was something about the darkening expression in his eyes that looked familiar. She glanced up at the portrait of Tobias Gallagher and then back at Art. “You’re Tobias.”

“I knew it was only a matter of time until you’d figure it all out, the way you were nosing around here. You see, I’ve been watching you.” He chuckled. “Through the eyes of my great-grandfather, so to speak.”

“Art, please explain to me—”

“Be quiet, woman.” He raked his hand through his thick silver hair. “Now I know why my grandfather pushed my mother down the stairs. He’d had enough of her incessant whining.”

Addie clutched at her throat. “Your grandfather, Arthur, killed your mother?”

“That’s what it said in my father’s journal that I found after he died.” Art’s eyes narrowed—a distant look came across them. “It said she suffered from what they call today postpartum depression, after my birth. My grandmother apparently had taken me out of my crib because I was crying, and my mother wasn’t attending to me. My mother thought she was stealing me and chased after her. My grandfather tried to stop her, and they struggled. He pushed her down the stairs.”

“Maybe it was an accident?”

“That’s what they tried to tell my father.”

“William?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t buy it. They had always disliked my mother, said she wasn’t good enough to marry a Gallagher. Her family was trash. My father left this house that night—left me. And didn’t return for five years.”

“He came back? I’d heard when he left that night in 1945, he never returned to the house again.” Addie studied Art as he edged his way closer to the doorway. Was he going to bolt out of here, or bolt the doors to keep them in? She had to think fast. Keep him talking, Addie,