Chapter 6 - The Groundskeeper’s Secret
Thomas racked the bolt of the hunting rifle. The sharp, mechanical clack echoed over the crackling of the fire.
Daniel instinctively stepped in front of me, shielding me from the barrel.
“Thomas,” Daniel said, his voice remarkably steady despite the terror in his eyes. “Put the gun down. You don't want to do this.”
“I’ve wanted to do this for ten years, you arrogant son of a bitch,” Thomas spat. The mud on his boots stained the expensive Persian rug. He looked nothing like the quiet, deferential gardener I had seen trimming roses that morning. He looked like a man with nothing left to lose.
“Where is Emma?” I demanded, stepping out from behind Daniel. “Thomas, please. She’s twelve years old. She has nothing to do with this.”
Thomas’s eyes flicked to me. A strange, twisted expression of sorrow crossed his weathered face. “Emma is safe. She’s locked in the storm cellar out back. I would never hurt her, Lily. She’s the only pure thing in this cursed family.”
Vivian sobbed from the chair, pulling uselessly at her bindings. “He’s crazy, Daniel! He’s the one who poisoned Charles! He framed me!”
“Shut up, Vivian!” Thomas roared, the rifle wavering toward her. “You were perfectly happy to let Charles die so you could collect your fifty million and run! You’re just angry I beat you to it.”
I tried to piece the nightmare together. “You poisoned Charles? Why?”
“Because Charles finally figured out the truth,” Thomas said bitterly. He looked at Daniel with pure hatred. “He figured out that the great Daniel Westwood, the golden boy of Beverly Hills, murdered his own wife.”
“I didn't kill Sarah!” Daniel shouted.
“Liar!” Thomas screamed, his composure breaking. “She was leaving you, Daniel! She was packing her bags that night. She told you she was taking Emma and walking out. And you couldn't stand the humiliation, could you? So you cut the brake lines on her Porsche. You watched her drive down that canyon road knowing she was going to die!”
“That’s not true!” Daniel pleaded, holding his hands up. “Thomas, listen to me. I loved her. We fought, yes. But I never touched her car. I swear on my life!”
“Your life isn't worth spit,” Thomas snarled. He took a step forward, the rifle aimed directly at Daniel’s heart.
“Wait!” I yelled, pulling the brass key from my pocket and holding it up in the firelight. “Thomas, wait! If you kill him, you’ll never know the truth!”
Thomas froze, his eyes locking onto the small, gleaming key.
“Arthur told us Charles kept evidence in a bank box,” I said quickly, my words tumbling over each other. “Evidence about who really cut the brakes. If Daniel did it, why would Charles keep the evidence hidden for ten years? Why wouldn't Arthur just destroy it?”
Thomas’s jaw tightened. He glared at the key.
“Because Charles was protecting his precious son,” Thomas sneered.
“Then why was Charles murdered right before he could expose it?” I countered. “Thomas, think about it! Answer one, open two. If Daniel is the killer, why was Charles investigating his own son? Why did Vivian try to burn the Bible where the key was hidden?”
Vivian let out a choked gasp from the chair.
Thomas slowly turned the rifle toward Vivian.
“Why did you try to burn the Bible, Vivian?” Thomas asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
Vivian shook her head, terrified. “I didn't know the key was in there! Charles told me to burn it because it was old!”
“Liar,” Thomas said.
“Thomas, please,” I begged. “Let Daniel go. Let Emma go. We will take the key to the bank tomorrow morning. We will open the box. We will get the proof. If Daniel killed her, he will go to prison. I promise you.”
Thomas stared at me, his chest heaving. “You can't promise that. You’re just the tutor.”
“No,” Daniel said quietly. He looked at Thomas. “She’s my sister. Charles was her father.”
The revelation hit Thomas like a physical blow. He staggered back half a step, the rifle lowering an inch. He looked at me, searching my face.
“Elena,” Thomas whispered. “You have Elena’s eyes.”
My heart stopped. “You knew my mother?”
Thomas let out a broken, tragic laugh. Tears welled in his harsh eyes.
“Knew her?” Thomas said, his voice cracking. “Lily… Elena was the only woman I ever loved. Before Charles Westwood ruined her, just like he ruined everyone else.”
My mind short-circuited. The groundskeeper loved my mother?
Before I could ask anything else, the loud, shattering sound of glass breaking echoed from the back of the cabin.
We all jumped.
“Emma!” Daniel yelled.
“Nobody move!” Thomas shouted, raising the rifle again.
But it wasn't Emma who stepped through the broken back door.
It was Arthur Kane.
The seventy-year-old attorney looked like a ghost. He was drenched in rain, his forehead still bleeding from where Thomas had struck him at the cottage. But in his hands, he held a sleek, black, silenced pistol.
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And it was pointed right at Thomas’s head.
“Put the rifle down, Thomas,” Arthur said, his voice as cold as the grave. “Or I will put a bullet through your skull.”
