Free Eight Days to Live by Iris Johansen Page B

Sorry, there would be no discussions because Yvette had been murdered with as much shocking cruelty as her sister? “Yvette didn’t show up here. Maybe you should just go home, Marie.”
    “I don’t know . . .” Marie shook her head. “I want to do the right thing.”
    “Go home,” Jane said gently. “Celine would want you to rest. You can handle everything tomorrow.”
    Marie nodded jerkily. “It’s so hard. I loved her, you know. Everyone loved her.” She straightened. “You’re right. Tell Yvette to call me when she gets here, and we’ll talk.” She headed for the front door. “There are cards of congratulations and boxes of flowers for you in the office. They’re on the table beside the door. They’ve been arriving all morning. They must have been sent last night beforeanyone heard about Celine . . .” Her voice broke, and she hurried out of the gallery.
    “She obviously cared very much for Celine.” Jock was looking after her. “You can see how difficult it is for her. It’s right that you didn’t tell her about Celine’s sister.”
    “She’ll have to know soon. I just wanted to give her a little recovery time.” The recovery time that Jane had been denied. Death upon death, shock after shock. “Like Marie, I want to do the right thing, but I’m not sure what that is. Everything’s a blur right now.” She started to turn toward the elevator. “I’ve got to finish with my suitcases, then come down and pack up those three paintings. At least, it will keep me busy until I can start thinking again. I seem to be having trouble with that—”
    MacDuff muttered a curse.
    She turned to look at him, but he was staring at something on the floor. “What’s wrong?” She followed his gaze. “Why did—”
    A thin trickle of blood was running under the door of the office.
    She stared at it, stunned.
    Then she slowly moved toward the door.
    “No,” MacDuff said sharply. He stepped in front of her.
    “Don’t tell me no.” She pushed him aside and opened the door.
    The blood was running slowly down the side of the table by the door. It was coming from a huge cardboard floral box on the table.
    She slowly crossed the few feet to stand before the table.
    “Don’t touch it.” Jock was there beside her, his hand on her arm. “Don’t open it. Please, Jane.”
    “I have to open it.”
    “No way,” MacDuff said. “Get her upstairs, Jock. Carry her if you have to do it.”
    “No.” Jane jerked her arm away from Jock. She glanced atMacDuff, and said fiercely, “I’m not going to hide away from this. Keep your hands off me. I know what you’re thinking. I’m thinking the same thing. But I have to
know
.”
    “Then let me do it,” Jock said.
    “It’s not addressed to you,” she said bitterly. “It’s addressed to me, aimed at me.” She reached out with a shaking hand and untied the silver ribbon. She took a deep breath and then lifted the lid of the box.
    Blasphemer
.
    The single word on the card nested in the green tissue paper.
    The tissue paper now soaked in blood.
    She stared down at the paper.
    Do it.
    She pushed aside the paper.
    Dark eyes staring up at her, dark hair drenched in blood.
    She flinched back.
    “Jane.”
    Her stomach was heaving.
    “It shouldn’t have happened,” she whispered. She couldn’t stop staring down into Yvette Denarve’s eyes. “I didn’t know her, MacDuff. I hadn’t even met her.”
    MacDuff pulled her back and stepped between her and that box on the table. “No, it shouldn’t have happened. And you shouldn’t have opened that damn box.” He took out his handkerchief and was wiping her hand. “Now get out of here and go upstairs.”
    Why was he wiping her hand? She wondered dazedly. She looked down at the pristine white handkerchief and saw streaks of blood on it. Oh, yes, she’d gotten blood on her hand when she’d pushed the green tissue paper aside.
    Yvette Denarve’s blood on her hands. Celine’s blood on her hands.
    “Go