Legacies

5.

Alicia stood on a chair and stared out at the night through one of her skylights. She faced northeast. Toward Murray Hill.

Benny had said he'd do the job tonight.

"I'm workin' another job farther uptown," he'd said.

"But why wait? Your place is empty and ready to go. Piece a cake."

Another job waiting… arson sounded like a booming business.

And then the police scanner she'd bought on her way home this afternoon squawked behind her. Something about shots fired near Madison Square Garden. Not what she wanted to hear.

Smoke reported from a house, on East Thirty-eighth.

That was what she was waiting for.

She knew she'd never see the flames or smoke from here, but something drew her to the window anyway. She'd stay here, squinting into the darkness until the alarm came through on the scanner. Then she'd run downstairs, snag a cab to Murray Hill, and stand there on Thirty-eighth Street, watching the flames burn that house to the sidewalk.

A tremor ran through her body and she wobbled atop the chair. She steadied herself against the skylight frame and closed her eyes. Her frazzled nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She wasn't cut out for this.

God, what have I done? I actually hired someone to burn down the house. Am I out of my mind?

Sometimes she thought so.

And after finally finding time to read the will today, she wondered if madness ran in the family. Leo Weinstein had mentioned in passing that it was "rather unusual," but she hadn't realized just how unusual.

Having read it, she knew the answer to Jack's question as to why the people she hired wound up dead but she remained unharmed.

And now she was convinced more strongly than ever that the only solution was to destroy the house.

Then she'd be free of Thomas's ankle-biting lawyers. And if insurance money came of it, she'd donate it to the Center.

And her world would be free of that house and all it represented.