Chapter 7 - The Betrayal of the Keep
Savannah froze, her blood running cold as the beam of the flashlight illuminated the housekeeper’s hard, uncompromising face.
“Mrs. Gable?” Savannah gasped. “What are you doing down here?”
“I’m ensuring my retirement, Miss Reed,” Mrs. Gable replied casually, her voice completely devoid of the stern, orderly housekeeper persona she had maintained for seven weeks.
Evan stepped smoothly in front of Savannah and Lucy once again, despite his visible weakness. “It was you,” he growled, his voice dripping with venom. “You were the one who leaked my location in Maine to Vance.”
Mrs. Gable smiled—a cold, thin expression that didn't reach her eyes. “It wasn't difficult, Evan. You were always so sloppy with your mail transfers. A little extra cash to a local postal worker in Bangor, and I had your address in three days.”
“Why?” Evan demanded. “Vincent paid you a fortune to manage this house! He trusted you with everything!”
“Vincent paid me a salary to be a glorified servant for thirty years!” Mrs. Gable snapped, her eyes narrowing into bitter slits. “I poured forty years of my life into the Marlowe family! I cleaned up your father’s messes, I covered up Vincent’s illegal land deals, and I kept your dirty little secret under the floorboards for three weeks!”
She pointed the small silver pistol directly at Evan’s chest.
“Vance offered me two million dollars in offshore bearer bonds for the original harbor deeds and a living Marlowe twin,” she continued calmly. “With you dead or in Vance’s hands, Vincent will be forced to hand over the docks to protect what’s left of his reputation. And I will be sipping champagne in the South of France.”
“You’re insane,” Savannah said, stepping forward slightly, her anger overriding her fear. “You brought armed killers into a house with a three-year-old child!”
Mrs. Gable glanced at Savannah with mild disdain. “You were collateral damage, Savannah. I told Megan to hire a desperate girl with a sick mother—someone who wouldn't ask questions, someone who would be too busy scrubbing floors to notice what was happening in the cellar. You were never meant to be up on the second gallery tonight.”
“Where are the deeds, Gable?” Evan asked, taking a tiny, calculated half-step closer to her.
“Right where your father left them,” Mrs. Gable smirked, gesturing with her chin toward a small waterproof case sitting on the driver’s seat of the motorboat. “Inside the casing of the old nautical clock in the library. I retrieved them two hours before Vance’s men cut the power.”
From the dark tunnel behind them, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the stone steps.
Vance’s remaining men were coming down the secret passage.
Mrs. Gable cocked the hammer of her pistol. “Step toward the boat, Evan. Vance wants you alive, but he didn't say anything about keeping your legs intact.”
Before she could pull the trigger, a sharp, metallic sound echoed from the high ceiling of the cavern.
CRACK!
A heavy iron pulley—used for hoisting cargo off the boats—swung down from the dark rafters above, striking Mrs. Gable squarely in the shoulder.
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She shrieked in pain, her pistol flying from her hand and splashing into the churning sea water below.
Vincent Marlowe dropped down from the high wooden scaffolding above the boat landing like a shadow, landing heavily on the rocky ledge between Mrs. Gable and the boat.
