Toward the railing.
Time slowed. I had a distinct impression that Andre tried to grab her, but he’d backed too far away when she’d hauled out the gun. The goons didn’t even seem to be bothering. Maybe they were waiting for her to fall unconscious so they could tote her off to bed. Or an asylum.
She fell against the railing with arm still upraised. She didn’t stumble and collapse on the floor but rammed the rail with the momentum of all her weight. The wood cracked and tilted, and the force of her swing tumbled her over. Backward.
Her head hit the marble floor a million seconds later. Dropping pumpkins would have been less messy.
“Damn you to hell,” I muttered without thinking, horrorstruck by both the blood spatter and the awfulness of dying in such gruesome ignominy. How could this ever be explained to her family?
Unable to drag my horrified gaze away, I watched in astonishment as the burning fires of hell blazed red in Gloria’s dead and staring eyes. To my revulsion, it was as if her Botoxed and plastic face momentarily melted, morphing into a fiendishly blackened skull. And then there was nothing but blood and brains.
I had the urge to hurl.
Even Tim gagged and quit saying shit.
Andre stared over the railing, his usually amused expression transformed to one of horror. I didn’t know if he’d seen what I’d just seen or was even realizing what would go down next. He was simply seeing an old family friend and suffering regret. He had worse to worry about.
I released Tim’s arm for a nanosecond. Andre’s dismay at seeing me was gratifying. I pointed firmly at the rear of the house, then grabbed Tim again before he could slip out of reach.
I dragged him in the direction of what ought to be the kitchen. My fine legal mind was ticking wildly. I would make a very bad witness given that no one had seen me until after the fact. I was pretty certain it would be better if the police didn’t know Tim and I had been trespassing while invisible. And if someone wasn’t calling 911 right now, I would. This was not the Zone. No way in hell was the death of Gloria Vanderventer getting swept under any rugs.
While the goons above were shouting at each other and into cell phones, security crashed in from every door. We didn’t have much time. I stepped out of the way of two guards barging in from the rear, stuck my invisible foot out, and let one trip and the other fall on him. I needed amusement, and these guys or ones like them had harassed and kidnapped me a while back.
Andre was a bright boy. He was right on my heels. He dodged before the guards completed their tumbling act, then stepped over them.
He refrained from shouting my name. I was still invisible, but tumbling Keystone Cops gave him the evidence that I was damned well there. He intelligently locked the kitchen door behind him.
Once in the kitchen, Tim eagerly strained toward the refrigerator.
“Cameras,” I hissed. I’d been spied on by Vanderventers enough to be familiar with their love of security equipment. They’d have Andre entering the house on video but not Tim and me. I doubted they had cameras on the private third floor, more’s the pity.
I glanced around, found a slightly open closet door, and dragged Tim that way. Pantry, bingo. Even security guards got hungry occasionally, or wanted a smoke break. I smelled cigarettes as we stepped inside a closet almost as big as my kitchen.
I released Tim and let him rummage for Cheetos. He was still invisible but I could see boxes and bags wink out as he shuffled through them. I don’t know how the boy could eat after the spectacle we’d just observed, but I doubted any of us was operating on rational. If I thought about what I’d just seen, I’d gag and freeze in horror. So I blocked it out.
Andre glared at me when he joined us, tugging the door almost shut. “I’m not even going to ask,” was all he said. “I think I’ll just wring your neck. You have no business—”
“Call 911.” I interrupted his tirade. “They’re up there getting their shit together, and it’s not going to look good for you.”
Grimly recognizing the truth of that, he produced his phone and called in a report. Putting his phone back in his pocket, he ran his hand through his glorious hair. “I meant to kill her,” he declared defiantly. “If it came down to her or my mother, Gloria was going out.”
“Wise choice. Did you see what I saw?” I was curious. Maybe I was the only one who could see men in hell, but it sure seemed as if Andre had sent Gloria there.
I couldn’t see Tim’s reaction, but Andre stared at me, waiting for explanation. Shoot, he hadn’t seen what I’d seen.
Well, either I was crazy, or I’d just seen my very first demon. And watched her die. If demons were running Acme . . . that explained a lot, including magic gas. I shuddered in horror.
14
I’m a lawyer, not a priest. I don’t read about demons much. I always thought they were fairy-tale characters, like witches. So it wasn’t as if I could positively identify red burning eyes and crispy-black features. My brief brush with Max in hell was my only basis for my very weak conclusion. Until I had a better word, demon worked better than not normal or believing I was crazy.
I waved away the horrific image of demons on earth and returned to our very scary reality. A woman had died. There would be repercussions beyond the immediate, but we didn’t have time for more than that. I sure wasn’t going to waste time mourning a Vanderventer.
“The guards weren’t doing anything but their jobs,” I warned Andre. “Granny essentially killed herself, and that’s your story. Stick with it. Give Tim that damned can so he can disappear it when we leave here. I don’t know what’s in that gas, but we don’t want the police getting their hands on it.”
Or the world, but that was well beyond our concerns right now.
Andre handed over the tiny can. Since I couldn’t see Tim, I shoved it in my bag with Milo, who had remarkably just watched instead of roaring into bobcat mode. A bag of kitty treats rattled on the shelf. I got the message and helped myself, feeding them to Milo for his good behavior.
“How am I going to explain her rage?” Andre asked, rationally enough.
I grinned evilly. “You need a porn pic of Dane. That would send her around the bend. I don’t suppose you can arrange that? The police will understand protecting a U.S. senator if you decline to reveal it. They won’t like it, but it’s better than a can of pink rage.”
Surprisingly, he answered, “I can get some of Gloria with the pool boy. I just can’t produce them now. Protecting a senator’s grandmother ought to be enough, right?”
Oh, ugh. Not going there.
“Burn something on the gas stove,” I suggested. “Say you came down here and burned the photo because you didn’t want the world to see it.”
“You should be a novelist,” he said sarcastically. “Now get the hell out of here. I hear sirens. If I get locked up, I need you out where you can help my dad.”
I hated abandoning him. I knew the police routine well enough to know it wouldn’t be pretty, especially with a hugely wealthy, respected society matron involved. But he was right. He didn’t need hand-holding.
Amazingly, I wrapped my arms around Andre’s neck and planted a big one on his cheek. For a very brief moment, his arms closed around me, and he hugged me as if I might be someone valuable. Even special. That didn’t happen often, and I treasured the ridiculous idea.
I kissed his cheek again, then stepped away. “We have your back. Just get your story together and stick to it.”