Page 115 of The Woman Who Couldn't Scream
“My parents died in a yachting accident, an explosion blamed on a leak in the fuel pump. What do you suppose the report on the airplane explosion said?”
“Fuel pump leak?”
“My aunt and uncle are the kind of people who believe that what worked before will work again. They were almost right.”
Merida sat up, sheet to her bosom, and looked down at him sprawled on the pillow. Signing slowly, reluctantly, she said, “I have a confession to make.”
“Do you?”
“I believed Nauplius Brassard when he told me you had tried to kill me.”
“I know you did.”
“Your aunt Rose confirmed Brassard’s report.”
Benedict got an ugly expression on his face. “Did she?”
She fussed with the ruffles on the pillowcases, gathering her courage, then she signed, “I wanted revenge on you very much. For all the years of my marriage, through all the surgeries and pain of recovery, I made plans. I studied and consulted experts and created a software program that would create a false report of embezzlement in your business and pin the blame on you.”
He said nothing. He looked unconcerned. Did he not understand?
She continued, “As soon as Nauplius was dead, I began to implement it.”
“I know.” Benedict sounded appallingly casual. “Your work is very clever, but Aunt Rose has an eidetic memory for numbers and an obsession with our business accounts. She caught the discrepancies, although none too soon, and set me to investigating them.”
Merida hadn’t expected to hear that. “Have you… been able to do anything about it?”
“I haven’t tried.”
“Oh.” She ruminated on that. “What do you intend to do about it?”
“I suspect if I had access to your computer and your program, I could stop it.”
“Yes, you could. Or I could. I don’t want you to take the fall for this.”
He sat up, turned his back to her and put his feet on the floor. “Or I could divert the evidence of criminal activity to Aunt Rose and Uncle Albert. The people who killed my parents. Who tried to kill the woman I loved, and succeeded in separating us for far too many years.”
She looked at the angry scars that rippled down his spine. She thought about what had been done to them—to him—and placed her hand on his back.
He turned around to see her speak.
“I’d like that, too,” she signed. “I recognize the tracks of pain when I see them.”
“Good. We are in accord about the Howard family business and its fate.” He placed his palms flat on the mattress, leaned toward her. “But we have one problem, and it’s a big one. As I said, Rose and Albert know I’ve found you, and to them, you’re still a distraction to me, and I’m still their hope for the future. So I suggest they might have hired a second assassin, one unconnected to your dead husband.”
Merida laughed. She rolled away from him and laughed. She laughed silently, so amused by his suggestion tears gathered in her eyes and she blotted her cheeks with the sheet.
He watched her, frowning. “You’ve developed an odd sense of humor, Merida.”
“There are two assassins after me? One sent by Nauplius and one sent by your aunt and uncle?” She sobered. “Which one killed Carl Klineman?”
“The one sent by Nauplius,” he said promptly. “The thing to remember about Rose and Albert is that they’re cheap. They wouldn’t pay for an extra killing. They don’t like to spend extravagantly for any reason and I can’t believe they would do so in their assassinations. Bob, your flight instructor, owned that plane. He serviced it, he loved it, but his wife contracted cancer and he was in dire financial straits.”
“You think Bobfixedhis plane to explode? He was a nice guy!” She saw Benedict’s skeptical expression. “I’m not being a fool. I knew him. I met him and his wife. He was normal and nice, and they were in love.”
“When Bob’s wife died, he committed suicide.”
“Oh. Poor guy.”
