The Sleeping Doll

the whole family was there because Theresa said she was sick. Whatever happened that night—only you know that, Daniel—whatever happened, everybody ended up dead.
    “And when you called the Family to tell them what happened, Rebecca did the only thing she could to save herself: She turned you in. She ’s the one who made the call that got you arrested.”
    “That’s bullshit,” Rebecca said. “I’m the one who got him out of jail now!”
    Dance laughed coldly. She said to Pell, “Because she needed to use you again, Daniel. To kill Morton. A few months ago she got a call from him and he tells her about the book The Sleeping Doll , how he’s going to write about the Croytons—their life before the murders and Theresa’s life afterward. She knows he’d learn about the affairs Croyton had. It was just a matter of time before somebody put the pieces together—that she was behind a plot to murder Croyton’s wife.
    “So Rebecca came up with the plan to break you out of Capitola. . . . One thing I don’t know,” she added, “is what she said to you, Daniel, to convince you to murder him.” She glanced angrily at Rebecca, as if she were offended by what the woman had done to her good friend Daniel Pell. “So what lies did you tell him?”
    Pell shouted at Rebecca, “What you told me—is it true or not?” But before she could speak, Pell grabbed Nagle, who cringed. “That book you’re writing! What were you going to say about me?”
    “It wasn’t about you . It was about Theresa and the Croytons and the girls in the Family. That’s all. It was about your victims , not you.”
    Pell pushed the man to the floor. “No, no! You were going to write about my land!”
    “Land?”
    “Yes!”
    “What’re you talking about?”
    “My land, my mountaintop. You found out where it was, you were going to write about it in your book!”
    Ah, Dance finally understood. Pell’s precious mountaintop. Rebecca had convinced him that the only way to keep it secret was to kill Morton Nagle and destroy the notes.
    “I don’t know anything about that, I swear.”
    Pell looked him over closely. He believed the writer, Dance could see.
    “As soon as you killed Nagle and his family, Daniel, you know what was coming next, don’t you? Rebecca was going to murder you . Claim you kidnapped her from the inn.”
    Dance gave a sad laugh. “Daniel, you thought all along you were in charge. But, no, she was Svengali. She was the Pied Piper.”
    Pell blinked at her words, then rose and charged toward Rebecca, knocking a table over as he lifted the gun.
    The woman cringed but suddenly she too leapt forward, swinging the knife madly, slicing into Pell’s arm, grabbing at his gun. The weapon went off, the bullet digging a chunk of rosy brick out of the fireplace.
    Instantly Dance and TJ were on their feet.
    The young agent kicked Rebecca hard in the ribs and grabbed Pell’s gun hand. They wrestled for control of the weapon, sliding to the floor.
    “Call nine-one-one,” Dance shouted to Nagle, who scrabbled for a phone.
    She started for the guns on the table, recalling: Check your backdrop, aim, squeeze in bursts, count the rounds, at twelve drop the clip, reload. Check your backdrop  . . .
    Screaming from Nagle’s wife, wailing from his daughter.
    “Kathryn,” TJ shouted breathlessly. She saw that Pell was twisting the gun toward her.
    It fired.
    The bullet streaked past her.
    TJ was young and strong, but his wrists were still cuffed and Pell had desperation and adrenaline coursing through him. With his free hand he pounded at TJ’s neck and head. Finally the killer broke away, holding the gun, as the young agent rolled desperately for cover under a table.
    Dance struggled forward but knew she’d never make it to the weapons in time. TJ was dead. . . .
    Then a huge explosion.
    Another.
    Dance dropped to her knees and looked behind her.
    Morton Nagle had picked up one of their guns and was firing the weapon toward Pell. Clearly unfamiliar with guns, he jerked the trigger and the bullets were wide. Still he stood his ground and kept firing. “You son of a bitch!”
    Crouching, hands up in a futile effort to protect himself, Pell cringed, hesitated a moment, fired one round into Rebecca’s belly and then flung the door open and ran outside.
    Dance took the gun from Nagle, grabbed TJ’s as well and shoved it into his cuffed hands.
    The agents got to the half-open door just as a round slammed into the jamb,