“You’re right. We’ve got to get to the studio,” Maggie said, heading for the door set in the stone wall.
Randall’s hand caught her arm. “What’s this we, white man? Don’t you think you’ve been through enough today?”
Maggie remembered Bud’s skeletal smile and his cheerful, taunting confession. “Honey,” she said, “I’ve only just begun.” And she shook off his hand.
Stoneham Studios was a vast, silent, deserted tomb when the four of them entered.
“Why isn’t anyone here?” Maggie whispered to Kate.
“We’ve always had Tuesdays and Wednesdays off,” she replied, looking around uneasily. “We work so many weekends that Alicia decided to change the work week.”
“But what about security? A night watchman, or anything like that?”
“No such animal,” Caleb offered. “We’ve been cutting costs right and left, and security was one of the first things to go.”
“I wonder how they expected to get you two here,” Maggie said, limping forward. She still wore only one Nike, the other having been snatched out of her hand by Bud.
“Probably by telling us you’re here,” Randall said. “At least they won’t be expecting us so soon—we have the element of surprise on our side.”
“I’m afraid you don’t, honey.” Alicia’s voice shattered the stillness. “You have to get up real early to pull something over on a tough old buzzard like me.” She was standing in the shadows, her cigarette a tiny glow of light. The dimness almost concealed the gun in her hand. She’d taken over Bud’s more efficient sawed-off machine gun, and if her face was still pale with strain, her hand was rock steady.
“Beats me how you two got out of my house so fast,” she said. “I got locked in that bathroom once, and it took the fire department to get me out.”
“You underestimated us.”
“I guess we did.” She sighed gustily, exhaling blue smoke into the murky darkness. Holding the gun with one hand, she tossed her cigarette onto the floor, then grimaced. “I loved that house. Billy-Bob built it for me, with everything I wanted in it. Guess it didn’t mean much once he died. Spent too much time here in this god
damned studio, trying to save his dream. Well, it’s too late for that. Too late for everything. Tomorrow everything will be gone. I’ll be real glad to get away.”
“Alicia,” Kate said softly, “you don’t really want to kill us.”
“Of course I don’t, honey,” Alicia said. “But I don’t see that I have much choice. You all move into the center of the room, real slow and careful. If you put a hand toward your pockets, I’ll shoot it off. You hear?”
“We hear,” Maggie said grimly, and they all obeyed. Randall’s body was tense, ready for the slightest opportunity, and that tension radiated through her own body. Somehow or other, she had to distract Alicia just long enough for Randall to pounce. “What do you think Billy-Bob would think of what you’ve been doing? Turning traitor, involved in murder?”
“He wouldn’t like it,” Alicia agreed, and Maggie could see the telltale signs of a slightly relaxed guard. The gun drooped a tiny bit, and her basilisk eyes were somewhat less alert. “But I comfort myself with the knowledge that his ma would be spinning in her grave. Don’t move, mister.” The gun spun around to train itself on Randall’s middle. “I’m faster than you’ll ever be.”
Randall lifted his hands and shrugged. “I wouldn’t doubt it, Alicia,” he said, and only Maggie noticed he was still edging closer to the old woman.
“What are you planning to do after you kill us?” Maggie questioned, still trying to divert her attention. “Do you think you’ll get out of the country without being caught?”
“Of course we will. That little skunk Willis ought to be good for something. He’ll cover things up long enough for my brother and me to get to Peru, and then no one can touch us.”
“Has Bud left Chicago for any reason in the last few days?” Maggie questioned softly, fiddling with her tangled hair.
Alicia’s eyes were trained on Maggie’s nervous hand. “He flew back to Washington to clear up some last-minute details yesterday morning, and he returned on the midnight flight,” she said. “What the hell does that matter?”
“I just wondered if he was the one who murdered Admiral Wentworth or if he delegated the responsibility.”
Alicia was very still. “What the hell are you talking about, girl?”
Randall was almost in reach. “You’ve been too busy to listen to the news today. Probably too busy to answer the telephone. Your brother was found dead in his apartment in Arlington. It was supposed to be suicide, but the police think it might be murder. What do you think?”
For one brief, crucial second, the machine gun dropped. It was long enough. Randall made a flying tackle and toppled Alicia’s rangy body, and Maggie caught the gun as it skittered across the cement floor.
With calm efficiency she checked the ammunition clip, shoved it into place, and advanced on the wildly struggling old woman. Alicia grew very still as Maggie placed the snub-nosed barrel against her temple.
“Where’s Willis?” she said gently.