He heard people’s voices behind him, coming from the house, but he didn’t turn to see who was there.
There was nothing left of the car. Nothing left either of Louey Santera. Then he saw that the Mercedes hood ornament was still recognizable. He turned then to see everyone standing on the front steps gaping at the twisted, blackened car. There were still small spurts of flame eating into the metal, bursting up now and then into glittering showers.
Emma’s piano was smashed. Still she held it against her chest. She looked at her mother, then back at him. “I don’t understand.”
“He’s dead, Emma,” Molly said.
“Oh,” she said finally. She looked at the gutted car, at the licking flames. “I don’t see him, Ramsey.”
“No,” he said. He wasn’t about to tell her that her father could be picked up in a wastebasket.
Then everyone seemed to be talking at once, patting, soothing, Mason Lord even holding Molly close to his side for a moment. Gunther had his gun out. Miles was trying to edge close to Emma. Guards had swarmed to the burning wreck, their guns at the ready. All of them were young men, fit and strong, each carrying an automatic weapon. Even they stopped to stare at the devastation.
Eve Lord said slowly, her eyes on Emma, “You three were supposed to be in that car, not Louey Santera.”
“It was that bad man,” Emma said. “He came back to get me, but he killed Daddy instead.”
She looked at her smashed piano, and gently laid it on the grass. “Look at all the broken keys.” She came down on her knees beside it and gently pressed the middle C. A sharp tinny sound pinged out. Her face went very still. She picked up the piano again, clutched it to her chest, and walked back into the house. Molly caught her in a moment, and pulled her up into her arms.
“I’ll call the police,” Ramsey said to Mason Lord.
“There will be no police on my property.”
“Oh, yes, there will.”
* * *
MOLLY didn’t make a sound as Mason Lord’s own personal physician, Dr. Theodore Otterly, sewed up her arm. Ramsey felt the ripples of pain, the tensing of her muscles, but she didn’t complain. He’d put two chairs together, sitting on the back one to support Molly in front of him. Dr. Otterly asked him to help support her, so Ramsey put his arm around her, under her chin, his hand cupping her shoulder. She leaned her chin on his arm. Emma was holding her hand. Her wounded arm was resting on the kitchen table. All of Dr. Otterly’s medical stuff was spread out on the table. Molly flinched, then drew a deep fast breath.
Suddenly Emma made a small mewling sound. Ramsey said easily, “I know, Em. This is tough, but your mom’s hanging in there. If you want to say something, say it.”
“Are you all right, Mama?”
Her voice was small and thin, her fear stark. Molly didn’t know where she got a smile, but she managed to manufacture one. “Hey, Em, this is nothing. I’m mean and tough, just like Ramsey. I can take these little hits. I’m a macha. Don’t you worry, kiddo, I’m just fine.”
He felt her shudder again and tightened his arm around her. She leaned back, letting him support her weight. Dr. Otterly had helped him off with his jacket, probed at his shirt a moment, then said he’d deal with Molly first. He was vastly relieved. He didn’t want an injury that would shut him down for even a short time. Events had gotten out of control, and he couldn’t afford to be out of control as well. But damn, his back hurt.
He was aware that Mason Lord was standing back by the kitchen door, his arms folded across his chest. He hadn’t said a word, just stood there. Miles was seated beside Emma, holding her other hand. He knew the police had arrived. He’d heard sirens and voices, running feet.
“Ramsey, your back is all black. I mean your shirt is all black. I hope you’re not black underneath.”
“Dr. Otterly just grunted when he saw it, told me not to whine, that he wanted to see to your mom first. He knows I’m okay, Emma.” Ramsey was glad he couldn’t see exactly what that crashing piece of upholstery had done to him.