Three Fates

housekeeper. Get in here, Tia, before I start splattering your mother’s blood in this overly rococo bedroom.”
    Without taking time for one last prayer, Tia stepped into the doorway. She saw her mother, tied in a chair. And behind her, Anita holding a gun to her already bruised temple.
    “Hold your hands up,” Anita ordered. “Turn a slow circle. Look at this,” she continued when Tia obeyed. “She didn’t even take time for a raincoat. Such daughterly devotion.”
    “I don’t have a gun. I wouldn’t know how to use one if I did.”
    “I can see that. Soaked to the skin. Come all the way inside.”
    “Tilly needs an ambulance.”
    Anita lifted her brows, pushed the barrel of the gun more firmly against Alma’s temple. “Want to make it two?”
    “No. Please.”
    “She came to the door,” Alma sobbed. “Tilly let her in. She was coming up to tell me, and I heard that terrible sound. She shot poor Tilly, Tia. Then she came in here, she struck me. She tied me up.”
    “I used Hermés scarves, didn’t I? Stop complaining, Alma. I don’t know how you stand this woman,” Anita said to Tia. “Seriously, I should put this bullet in her brain and do you a favor.”
    “If you hurt her, I won’t have any reason to help you.”
    “Apparently I judged you right on some level.” She rubbed the barrel of the gun against Alma’s bloodless cheek. “I never would have figured you to lie, cheat, steal.”
    “Like you?”
    “Exactly. I want the Fates.”
    “They won’t help you. The police are at your house, at your business. They have warrants.”
    “Do you think I don’t know that?” Anita’s voice pitched up, like a child’s about to throw herself into a tantrum. “You think you’re so clever, planting stolen merchandise in my safe. You think I’m worried about a little insurance fraud?”
    “They know you killed that man. First-degree murder. They know you were paying him when he killed Mikey. Accessory to murder.” Tia moved forward as she spoke. “The Fates won’t help you with that.”
    “You get them, and I’ll worry about the rest. I want the statues and the money. Call that Irish prick and get them back, or I kill her, then you.”
    She’ll kill us all for them, Tia thought. Even if she were to hand them over to Anita now, she would still kill them all. And maybe, somehow, find some hole to hide in.
    “He doesn’t have them. I do,” she said quickly when Anita jerked her mother’s head back with the barrel of the gun. “My father wanted them. You know what a coup it would be. I wanted Malachi. So we tricked you out of the money. My father would buy them. I get Malachi, and Wyley’s gets the Fates.”
    “Not anymore.”
    “No. I don’t want you to hurt my mother. I’ll get you the Fates, and my share of the money. I’ll try to get the rest. I’ll get you the Fates right now if you stop pointing the gun at my mother.”
    “You don’t like it? How’s this?” Anita shifted her aim so the gun was pointed at Tia’s heart.
    And seeing the gun aimed at her daughter, Alma began to scream. In an absent gesture, Anita rapped the side of her fist against Alma’s temple. “Shut the fuck up or I’ll shoot both of you for the hell of it.”
    “Don’t. Don’t hurt my Tia.”
    “You don’t have to hurt anyone. I’ll get them for you.” Moving slowly, Tia eased toward her mother’s dressing table.
    “Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe they’re in there?”
    “I need the key. Mother keeps the key to the lockbox in here.”
    “Tia—”
    “Mother.” Tia shook her head. “There’s no use pretending anymore. She knows. They’re not worth dying for.” Tia opened the drawer.
    “Hold it, step back.” Gesturing with the gun, Anita moved forward as Tia stood by the open drawer. “If there’s a gun in there, I’m putting a bullet in Alma’s kneecap.”
    “Please.” As if staggering, Tia laid a hand on the vanity for balance and palmed a small bottle. “Please don’t. There’s no gun.”
    Anita used her free hand to riffle through the drawer. “There’s no key either.”
    “It’s in there. Right—”
    She slammed the drawer on Anita’s hand, then tossed the contents of the bottle in her face. The gun went off, plowing a hole in the wall an inch from Tia’s head. Through the screams—her mother’s, Anita’s, her own—Tia leaped.
    The collision with Anita knocked the breath out of her, but flying on adrenaline, she didn’t notice. But she