by Amy Vansant
Charlotte’s mind flashed the image of Stephanie, her boyfriend Declan’s crazy ex, who she was ninety-nine-percent sure was also a serial killer.
But, no, don’t go there.
Darla didn’t know about Stephanie’s most nefarious exploits. Plus, why would Stephanie stay at Darla’s house?
Cross out Stephanie.
If this mystery person was staying at Darla’s, it had to be someone who didn’t already live in Pineapple Port. Someone Darla knew... Someone who wanted to leave where they lived and stay somewhere a little...farther inland, maybe? Someone who could make even the most pleasant, mid-western snowbird want to pack up and head back to the sand-less, ocean-less world they—
Charlotte felt her eyes grow wide.
“Oh no.”
Darla clocked her expression shift and yipped with excitement. “You have it, don’t you?”
“Who? Who?” asked Mariska. She looked as if she’d won the lottery and was waiting to hear how much the ticket was worth.
Charlotte raised her hand to her forehead. “Tell me you didn’t call Gloria.”
Darla whooped. “We have a winner.”
Mariska grinned. “Gloria’ll teach those snowbirds a lesson.”
Darla wrung her hands together like a mad scientist. “Oh yes, she will.”
Chapter Six
Stephanie walked out of her “bedroom” scratching at her head and roaring an exaggerated yawn, the muscles in her back feeling a little off. The makeshift cot she used as a bed in her empty back office needed to be replaced with a real bed, but putting a real bed in her office instead of making a decision and renting a new apartment felt like admitting defeat. Buying a real bed for her office meant she was actually living in her office, which felt sad on so many levels. She had to make a decision about staying in Charity—
“Good morning, sunshine.”
Stephanie yelped and jumped back, hands up and fists balled. It took her a moment to focus on the backlit figure standing in the waiting room of her office.
“Mom?”
Jamie Moriarty shifted her weight to her opposite leg and, in doing so, blocked the ray of sun blinding her daughter.
“You’re sleeping in your office now?”
Stephanie squinted as her eyes adjusted. “I get more done this way. Shouldn’t you be in jail?”
Her mother ignored the question and stood, arms crossed against her chest, staring at her.
Stephanie’s fear shifted to annoyance. “What?”
“You can put down your dukes now.”
Stephanie blinked at her still-raised fists and lowered one. She used the other to rub her eye. “Why are you here?”
“I checked your apartment. There are other people living there.”
“Oh, I bet they were thrilled to find you staring at them as they slept.” As more synapses crackled in Stephanie’s sleepy brain, she realized she’d asked the wrong question. “Wait. How are you here?”
“Do you actually live in your office now?”
Ugh. Hearing the same question she’d been asking herself said aloud made it seem even more pathetic. Stephanie shuffled into the breakroom serving as her kitchen, the nutty aroma of her coffee already wafting through the office, thanks to the magic of timers.
She sniffed the pot.
Seems normal.
Her mother had already tried to kill her once. Best to stay on her toes for one of her Momster’s adorable, lethal traps.
She poured a cup, confident her mother would find poisoning her coffee too easy. She wouldn’t kill her own daughter with such a humble trick. No, her death would be something more subtle, like stirring the coffee to make the earth tilt just far enough off its axis for a comet to strike her dead.
Stephanie glanced side-eyed as her mother appeared in the breakroom’s doorway. She wasn’t sure how much information about her life she wanted to share. It was always best to keep an upper hand and give Jamie as little information as possible.
Stephanie took a sip of dark blend, stalling to arrange her thoughts and nerves in order. She hated how her mother’s presence made her feel.
Weak.
She felt like a little girl. Which was ironic, since her mother had given her away as a baby. She’d never knew her as a little girl.
She lifted her chin. “Tell you what, you explain why your boney butt isn’t sitting in a cell and I’ll share my living situation.”
“I’ll take a cup,” said Jamie.
“I only make enough for me.”
“Been alone a long time, huh?”
Ouch.
Stephanie pulled another mug from the cabinet and filled it. She hadn’t lied. She really did only make enough for her—the four full mugs a day she required to function.
She handed her mother the coffee. “Cream? Sugar? Arsenic?”
“Black.”
“Oh. Like your soul. Perfect. So tell me about your jailbreak.”
Jamie smiled. “It’s prison, not jail. Big difference. It takes a little longer to get out.”
“Yeah, I know the difference. I’m a lawyer. All my clients go to jail, but I keep most of them out of prison.”
“You can’t be very successful if you’re living in your office.”
“I’m between homes, okay? I own this whole building. My office, the nail salon next door and the dry cleaner next to that. I’ll be getting a house soon. It doesn’t help when word gets out your mother is The Puzzle Killer. Worrying your lawyer’s mother might kill you in your sleep doesn’t help bolster client confidence.”
Jamie tapped her finger to her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever killed anyone in their sleep before...no, wait. Yes, I have. Long time ago. Death of necessity, not fun. No time for style points.”
“Why do I suspect you actually do assign yourself points for style?”
“Someone has to.” Jamie took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. “Yikes. Even your coffee tastes depressed.”
“I’m not depressed.” Stephanie gritted her teeth until the muscles in her cheeks ached. “Why are you here?”
“They let me out. Of course my flesh and blood was the first person I wanted to see.”
Stephanie snorted a laugh. “They let you out. Right. They just opened the door for the most prolific serial killer of all time.”
“Presumably.”
“Presumably they opened the door?”
“No, presumably I’ve killed more people than anyone else. They don’t really have anyone’s full list.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Last time I checked they didn’t let people out if they killed one person.”
Jamie shrugged.
“And why come here? This is the first place they’ll look for you, people with their antiquated notions of motherly love and all.”
“No one’s coming. I told you. They let me out.”
Stephanie shuffled past her mother to enter her office and take a seat behind her desk. Jamie followed to sit in the chair opposite, the one clients used to occupy before her business fizzled.
She wrapped her hands around her mug to warm them up. She liked it cold when she slept and had forgotten to adjust the air-conditioning. Her mother had her whole routine disturbed.
“So Hell coughed you back up. Now what? What do you want from me?”
Jamie shrugged. “Nothing. I was in town. Thought I’d say hi.”
“Great. Hi. Now leave. I have things to do.”
Her mother set her mug on the desk, leaned forward, and took Stephanie’s hand in her own.
Stephanie didn’t fight to avoid contact. She wasn’t sure why.
“Come with me,” said Jamie, staring into her eyes, mesmerizing her like a cobra.
She looked away. “What are you talking about?”
“Come with me. Together we could do the most amazing things. You don’t want to be here in this squalor.”
“It isn’t squalor, it’s a respectable business.”
Jamie laughed. “Defens
e attorney isn’t respectable.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You work with thugs and gangsters.”
“Gangsters deserve representation, same as anyone.”
“You’re sleeping in your office. You know who sleeps in their office? Losers.”
“Losers get caught and go to prison.” The room flashed red and Stephanie jerked away her hand, hissing. “Get off of me.”
Jamie grinned. “There’s my girl. You want to kill me, don’t you?”
Yes.
Stephanie leaned back in her chair, fighting for control over her emotions. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Jamie smiled. “You said get caught.”
“So?”
“A normal person would say losers go to prison. It was the fact I was caught you saw as a failing.”
Stephanie opened her mouth to retort, but only a single blip of a noise released, as if hands had wrapped around her throat, choking back her words. She swallowed and took a few deep breaths through her nose, until once again she felt as if she could speak without leaping over the desk at her mother like a tiger.
“Get out.”
Jamie’s expression shifted from what looked like smug self-satisfaction to disapproval. Stephanie could only assume no one had ever said no to her before, or if they had, they hadn’t lived long enough to ever do it a second time.
I almost forgot what was behind door number two. Death.
Jamie stood and smoothed her tropical patterned skirt. “I’ve got some things in town I need to take care of. You think on it. I’ll get back to you after the hurricane.”
“You have things to do in Charity? Is it part of your court-ordered community service?”
Jamie unclipped the sunglasses hanging from her chest, slipped them on, and turned on her heel. “I’ll give you a week. I think you’ll feel differently then.”
Stephanie watched her mother leave, hearing the front door open and click shut before she found her voice and jumped to her feet.
“No, I won’t!” she screamed.
Bolting to the window in her office facing the front parking lot, she watched her mother get into a blue Ford Taurus.
She’s definitely on the lam.
The Queen Jamie she knew wouldn’t be caught dead in a Ford Taurus.
Jamie’s words bounced around her brain.
I’m not a loser.
She glanced at her watch. She had a meeting at ten and it was already eight-twenty. She needed to get a shower and—
Wait.
What did Mom mean about the hurricane? Why would she stay in town for a storm?
Maybe the next place she needed to go to was an island? A beach house? Someone might stay in Podunk Charity during a hurricane if their next stop was the coast.
Was she lying low? No, again, dumbest place for her to be was in the same location as her daughter. No way the cops let her go.
Stephanie grabbed her coffee with agitation, sloshing the hot liquid on her chest. She cursed and slapped at the stain, spinning to look out the window again.
Her mother was still in her car, fiddling with her sunglasses.
Business to attend to. Business…
The mug in her fingers slipped. Liquid poured onto her naked toes.
No.
She, her ex, Declan, and his stupid girlfriend were the ones responsible for Jamie’s capture.
Mom is here for revenge.
Against all of them?
Declan? Me?
What was the last thing she’d said?
You’ll feel differently then.
That was it.
She knows I stay in Charity for Declan.
If he’s dead I have no ties.
Stephanie made an attempt to set the coffee cup on the window sill, only to hear it shatter behind her as she bolted to her front door and flung it open.
“Stop!”
The Taurus sat idling at the edge of the parking lot now, pointed toward the street.
Stephanie couldn’t tell if she’d been heard or if Jamie was waiting for the right moment to pull out. She ran across the parking lot gravel, rocks biting into the bottom of her bare feet. Throwing herself against the side of the car, she pounded on the glass.
The driver-side window slid down.
Jamie’s eyebrows sat arched high on her forehead. “Problem?”
“Don’t kill Declan.” Leaning against the car, Stephanie winced and shifted, trying to find a comfortable way to stand on the stones.
“Hm?”
“Don’t kill Declan. That has to be what you’re planning. You’re going to kill him and send me spinning back into your orbit.”
Jamie tucked in her chin, a smirk sliding across her lips. “My. That was almost poetic.”
“Promise me.”
“Fine. I won’t kill Declan.”
Stephanie pushed herself off the car to stand straight. She was about to head back to her office and thought better of it.
That was too easy.
She leaned in again. “Or his girlfriend.”
Jamie huffed. “Oh come on.”
“I’m serious. Not him or Charlotte or any of their friends. He’d never forgive me. If you kill his friends, you might as well kill him.”
“Fine.”
“Good—wait. Fine, you won’t kill anyone he knows? Or fine, you might as well kill him?”
Jamie pursed her lips.
“You mean which one did I mean just now?”
“Mom...”
“Technically, the second one.”
“No.”
“I’m kidding. I’m kidding.” Jamie rested her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. “I really thought hanging out with you would be more fun.”
“Promise me, Mom.”
Jamie smiled and opened her eyes. “Have I told you I love it when you call me Mom?”
“It’s the irony, not the affection you appreciate. Promise me.”
Jamie raised her right hand and pinched together her thumb and pinky, leaving three fingers erect, saluting like a Girl Scout. “I swear.”
Stephanie shook her head. “Not good enough. Say all the words.”
“Fine. I swear I won’t kill Declan or any of his friends.”
Stephanie wiped her brow, the early morning sun already squeezing the moisture from her body.
“Good. Goodbye.”
Her mother dropped her Girl Scout salute to cover the hand Stephanie had resting on the window’s edge. She applied pressure to hold her there, waiting a second to ensure Stephanie met her eyes. “And you promise to really think about my invitation.”
Stephanie pulled her hand away and headed toward her door, muttering. “I will.”
“Promise,” called her mother.
Stephanie raised a hand to flash the same three-fingered salute. “I promise.”
The stones crunched behind her as the car pulled out of the parking lot.
Witch.
Picking up her pace, Stephanie entered the office and shut the door behind her.
She locked it.
Jogging to her bedroom, she found her phone charging on the floor beside her cot. Jerking it free from the cord, she dialed Declan.
“Hello?”
It made her smile to hear his voice. After all, he had to have caller I.D. and he still picked up, after everything she’d put him through.
I don’t deserve him.
Of course, that’s pretty much what he thought, too. Especially since he met Goody Two Shoes. Would it be that bad if her mother killed Charlotte? Maybe if she staged it as an accident—
“Stephanie?”
She snapped back to the task at hand. “Sorry. Mind wandered. Where are you?”
Declan remained silent.
He’s suspicious.
“Home,” he said finally, his voice resonating with trepidation. “Why?”
“Stay there and don’t touch anything.”
“What?”
Stephanie tucked her p
hone in her pocket and headed for her car.
Chapter Seven
Last Night
Jamie Moriarty avoided the glow of the streetlight and strode across the grass to the side gate of the yellow cottage serving as Dr. Burke’s psychiatric practice. The gate swung open without resistance.
That was easy.
For someone who counseled an unusual number of psychopaths, Dr. Burke still had faith in the world.
How sweet.
Jamie knew Dr. Burke counseled more than her share of bad people, because she’d been the one to refer them all. As a former U.S. Marshal, Jamie had been in charge of placing many criminals in the witness protection program. The ones with the strangest and most horrific proclivities she’d placed in her hometown. The little hell-hole known as Charity, Florida.
Becoming a U.S. Marshal had been easy for someone with her skills, and no one suspected a marshal to be a serial killer. She had access to all the crime databases, so she knew if anyone came close to solving one of her murders. She worked her way up the ranks until they allowed her to place scumbags in the witness protection program, and then she cherrypicked the best ones to place within twenty miles of each other in Charity.
She chuckled to herself, picking her way through the dark to the back door of the doctor’s office. To gather all those bored criminals in one place had been a masterstroke of genius. They feared her, because she could rat them out to the people back home who wanted them dead. It was like having an Angie’s List of criminals at her fingertips, ready to help her with whatever she needed.
She’d created herself a chessboard of murderers, con artists and thieves, pieces she could move any time she wanted.
All her playing pieces were instructed to meet with Dr. Burke on a regular basis to ensure they kept their sanity, trapped so far from the lives they’d known. At least that’s what she’d told them. Not one of them ever questioned the logic behind spilling their secrets to a therapist on a regular basis.
In reality, she wanted someone to keep an eye on her pet criminals. With Burke, she’d found a way for someone to take notes on them.
Jamie had always had a good relationship with Dr. Burke. After all, she’d been a U.S. Marshal—why wouldn’t Burke trust her? But now...she had to assume the doctor watched the news and knew she’d been revealed as The Puzzle Killer. One entire twenty-four hours news cycle had been stuffed with images of her being hauled off in cuffs.