by Amy Vansant
What if they’ve moved all my babies to far-flung locations?
It made Jamie sad to think they might have.
There would be no asking Dr. Burke for information now. She had to sneak into the doctor’s office to get what she needed.
Jamie tried the backdoor knob, but didn’t get as lucky as she had with the gate.
Locked.
She removed her light jacket, wrapped it around her hand and punched in the glass. The sound of shattering glass rained to the tile floor. She waited, craning to see if any nearby porch lights had popped to life.
Nothing.
Reaching inside, she unlocked the door and let herself into the office. Again, no alarm, no camera’s red eye glowing in the dark.
I love small towns.
She moved through the doctor’s kitchen and into the main office. The file cabinets were locked, but it only took a moment of rummaging to find the key in a desk drawer.
She opened the top drawer and, holding her flashlight in her teeth, ran through the files until she spotted the names she wanted. Plucking out the folders, she flipped through the patients’ files, skimming the notes from a dozen sessions, the latest only the week before.
A trill of happiness ran through her body.
They didn’t move them.
Not the stone cold assassin. Not the other—the one who’d been hiding in plain sight, much like herself.
Who’d ever dream a witness was also a serial killer, in a way completely unrelated to their work?
Clever.
This serial killer had been to the doctor twice in the last week. Before that, not for a year.
What was different about this week?
An approaching storm.
Jamie slid the file back into the cabinet.
If the doctor’s notes were accurate, this killer was trying to retire.
Time to reactivate that thrill.
After all, she’d promised not to kill Declan and Charlotte. But if someone else happened to kill them...what could she do?
Chapter Eight
Declan hung up and lowered his phone, looking concerned.
“What was that?” asked Charlotte. She’d stopped by to catch Declan before work. She knew he’d appreciate her story about the suspicious death in Pineapple Port. She’d been about to tell him, only to have her story nipped by his ringing phone.
What fun is a murder if I can’t tell anyone about it?
Declan tapped the edge of his phone on the arm of the sofa. “Stephanie. She said to stay here and not touch anything.”
“What does that mean?”
He shook his head. “Who knows? I thought she was sort of, stabilizing, but...” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Charlotte frowned. She didn’t love Stephanie staying in contact with Declan. Ten percent because she was his ex and still had feelings for him and ninety percent because she was a psychopathic wild card who might wake up on any given day and decide she wanted bacon, eggs and to kill them all.
“Do we need to do something? Call the police? Hide in the attic?”
Declan shook his head and pulled her to him. “No. She’ll probably call me back in a bit and explain what she meant.”
Charlotte laid her head on his shoulder.
Great. More calls. Something to look forward to.
Sitting on the sofa, eyes locked on the morning news, they watched a swirling gray mass move slowly east across the Gulf of Mexico toward them. Declan rested his cheek on top of her head as they snuggled.
“When the storm comes, you want to ride it out here?” he asked.
“Might be a good idea, since your house doesn’t come in a model that also comes with wheels.” She thought about what she’d want to bring and realized her soft-coated Wheaten would be object number one. “You don’t mind Abby being here?”
“No. Why would I mind Abby? She doesn’t even shed.”
“She still has to go to the bathroom in the rain though. Muddy paws.”
Declan pulled back and aped surprise. “You mean you haven’t taught her to use the toilet yet?”
“No. She’s a bohemian. I can’t control her.”
“I guess I’ll deal with it.” He kissed her. “It’ll be nice to have a few days off alone with no fear of people showing up.”
“No crazy Pineapple Portians popping in...”
“No Seamus...”
“No—” Someone knocked on the door so loudly it made them both jump. Charlotte closed her eyes. “Stephanie.”
“I don’t think she’d just come over.” Declan stood and Charlotte watched him, wondering how such a smart guy could be so naïve. Of course Stephanie would just come over. Any and every chance she could.
Charlotte sighed. “We can’t even talk about being alone without someone showing up.”
He opened the door to reveal a tall blonde on his doorstep.
Shocker.
“Hello, Stephanie,” Charlotte drawled with enough import to make Declan glance back at her.
She could see by his expression he’d realized his mistake and gave her the point.
Charlotte stood, her generalized annoyance over Stephanie’s appearance spiraling to dread. Something seemed more off than usual about her boyfriend’s ex. It took her a moment to put the clues together, but Stephanie’s pajama pants finally gave her misgivings a solid foundation.
Stephanie always appeared put together—perfect makeup, pressed clothing clinging to her body like paint, smirky menace on her lips. Today, her nemesis wore pajama bottoms and a sloppy t- shirt with ‘Lawyers do it in their briefs’ printed across the front.
Is that a coffee stain on her chest?
She didn’t appear to be wearing any makeup and her blonde hair, usually flowing around her face like a golden lion’s mane, today twisted clipped to the back of her head, sprigs of straw shooting everywhere.
What could rattle the ice queen so much she’d appear in public like that?
Seeing a monster rattled was much worse than seeing a monster. It implied a larger monster lurked close behind.
“Oh thank God!” exclaimed Stephanie upon seeing Declan.
Charlotte moved towards the door and Stephanie noticed her for the first time. “Oh, good, you made it, too.”
Stephanie’s voice radioed sarcasm, but something about her eyes said she was almost genuinely happy to see Charlotte.
That can’t be good.
Charlotte’s dread climbed a few more flights of stairs from her chest to her throat. “What’s wrong?”
She could see Declan sensing something wrong, as well.
“What do you mean, you made it too?” he asked.
Stephanie put a hand against the door casing to prop herself up, head hanging as if she were exhausted. “My mother’s here.”
“What?” Charlotte’s fear upon seeing her arch-nemesis flustered squished to the side, as her terror of Stephanie’s mother pushed forward.
“That’s impossible,” said Declan.
“You’d think so,” murmured Stephanie, sliding past him to enter the house.
Declan frowned. “Come on in.”
He closed the door, clearly resigned to whatever was about to happen. They both knew there was no stopping Stephanie from doing almost anything she wanted, and at this point, they needed to let the scene play out.
Charlotte’s thoughts bounced to the dead man near the ladder.
“Could she have killed someone already?” she asked.
“Huh?” Stephanie flopped onto the sofa where a moment ago Charlotte had been snuggling with Declan.
Oh, those were the days.
Declan looked at Charlotte. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s what I came over to tell you. Frank and I investigated a death this morning. It looked like an accident at first, but there’s a brick and blood—”
Stephanie barked a laugh. “You think my mother hit someone with a brick?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Okay. No
t really her style, but—”
Stephanie shook her head. “Even if she did, making a murder look like an accident isn’t her M.O.”
“How can Jamie be free? Start from the beginning,” said Declan.
Stephanie threw her head back against the sofa, her eyes closed. “She showed up at my office this morning and started talking to me, like prison never happened.”
“Are you on meds?” asked Declan.
Stephanie opened her eyes to glare at him. “No, I’m not on meds.”
“Shouldn’t you be?” asked Charlotte.
Stephanie squinted at her, as if she were willing her eyes to shoot death-ray lasers. “I should have let her get you.”
Declan took a step closer to Charlotte. “I’m just saying you’re sure you didn’t imagine this or dream it?”
Stephanie rolled her eyes so hard her head moved with the motion. “Yes, I’m sure. I swear. What do you people think of me?”
“I’m going to assume that was rhetorical,” muttered Charlotte.
Declan continued. “So, you’re positive your mother’s out of jail?”
“Positive. I didn’t dream it. I’m not crazy.” She pointed a finger at Charlotte. “Don’t even.”
Charlotte shrugged and Declan tried again. “Did she explain? Did she say she broke out?”
“No. She said they let her out.”
Now it was Charlotte’s turn to roll her eyes. “Oh come on. She had a life sentence and more cases pending. You don’t get early, good-behavior release for not killing anyone for a couple of weeks.”
Stephanie raised a hand and dropped it back onto the sofa, like a shrug without the energy to climb as high as her shoulder. “I don’t know what to tell you. She appeared in my hallway like the Ghost of Lousy Moms Past.”
“And before you called me, you called the police?”
Stephanie stood and slipped a phone out of her pajama pocket. “Hell no. Did you forget people don’t fare well after crossing my mother?”
“She has a point,” said Charlotte.
“And excuse me for trying to save your life before I do anything else.”
This comment piqued Charlotte’s interest. “Wait. Did she say she was coming to kill us?”
Stephanie laughed. “Did she have to? It’s your fault she’s in prison and here is the first place she came after getting out. You do the math.”
Charlotte swallowed hard.
Stephanie’s full of good points today.
Stephanie held up a finger asking them to wait as she dialed. Declan glanced at Charlotte.
“I think we need to wait to find out if we’re about to be slaughtered,” he explained.
“Uh huh. I see that. But to be fair, it’s our fault for annoying her with our questions in your home where she doesn’t live.”
Stephanie wandered away from them. “Hello? Hi. Yes, I’m wondering if you could help me...” She let herself out the back slider doors and closed them behind her.
“This isn’t good,” said Charlotte.
Declan slipped his hands in his pockets, looking grim. “No. This is extraordinarily bad if it’s true.”
“Could she be so crazy she’s imagining her mother?”
He made a snapping noise with the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know. She’s never been delusional before.”
“So thinking it’s okay to murder people isn’t delusional?”
Declan shrugged. “Not strictly speaking.”
They stood in silence, watching Stephanie talk outside. Charlotte tried to think of other reasons why Jamie might come to town, but kept returning to the same conclusion as Declan’s crazy ex. “She wouldn’t come here except to kill us.”
“Probably not.”
“Until we figure this out, we’re going to have to assume everything is booby-trapped.”
Declan looked at her. “You think she’ll kill us with one of her traps?”
His childlike excitement made her giggle. “If she does, would it make you feel more special?”
Declan chuckled. “A little bit, I think.”
Stephanie let herself back in the house.
“I called the prison. They say she’s there.”
Charlotte released a long sigh, unaware she’d been holding her breath. “So you were wrong.”
Stephanie shook her head. “No. I had a conversation with my mother this morning. I know it was her. I could smell the sulfur.”
Declan scowled. “But they said she’s there?”
“They’re lying.”
“Why would they lie?”
“That’s the million dollar question.”
Charlotte held up an index finger. “Or they think she’s there. Could she have switched with someone?”
“That’s nuts. Who would agree to serve life for someone?” asked Declan.
Stephanie sighed. “You’d be surprised. You might be on to something there. A swap sounds like Mom. She has the resources to make it happen. Turns out contract-killing is really lucrative.”
Declan scratched his head, looking frustrated. “How could the prison not be able to tell it isn’t her?”
“Plastic surgery? Someone on the inside to help sell it?” suggested Charlotte.
Declan pointed at Stephanie. “Call them back. Tell them to check her fingerprints.”
Charlotte nodded. “Or, if the twin’s fingerprints have been removed, they can check her DNA. You can’t mess with DNA.”
Stephanie’s eyes widened. “You think they burned some woman’s fingerprints off? You’re sicker than I thought, Cinderella.” She paused and then added, “That would work, if someone was willing to do the test.”
“What does that mean?” asked Charlotte.
“They forwarded my phone call directly to the warden.”
“So?”
“That means he’s in on it. There’s no reason I should have been booted that far up the food chain with one call.”
Declan grimaced. “So we found our guy on the inside. The warden himself. We need to contact someone even further up. F.B.I.?”
Stephanie’s phone rang and she answered it.
“Hello? Oh. Hello, Sidney... Yep. I figured. Okay. Got it.”
She hung up. “We’re not calling the F.B.I.”
“Why not?” asked Declan.
“That was Mom’s lawyer. The warden told him I called and he called me to tell me to stop poking around or else.”
“Or else? Your mother’s already after us. Why does it matter?” asked Charlotte.
Stephanie slipped her phone back into her pocket. “Oh, it could get worse. For example, and I’m just throwing this out, she could kill all your friends before you.”
Charlotte frowned. “Why do thoughts like that come to you so quickly?”
Stephanie ignored her and focused on Declan. “This might be partially my fault.”
“How?”
“She asked me to leave town with her and I said no, but she doesn’t take no for an answer. She doesn’t want me to have any reason to stay here.”
A silence fell over the room.
Awkward.
Charlotte voiced what they were thinking. “She thinks you’re here for Declan. No Declan, no reason to stay.”
A breath of air ran out of Stephanie as if she’d sprung a leak. “She thinks he’s my lifeline to normality.” She hung her head and then looked up at him. “Which is true.”
Declan frowned. “If you could not tell her that I’d appreciate it.”
“If you could not tell me that, I’d appreciate it,” muttered Charlotte.
The awkward silence fell again.
“So what do we do?” asked Charlotte when she couldn’t stand it any longer.
Stephanie shrugged. “I’ll try to find her. Keep track of her. In the meantime, grow eyes on the back of your head.”
Charlotte’s mind drifted back to the dead man at the foot of his ladder. “Wouldn’t it be suspicious if we both died?”
Declan laughed.
“You’re hoping she’ll only take me out?”
“No. I was thinking she might want to be more stealthy than her usual splashy boobytrap. Maybe make it look more like an accident so people don’t take a better look at her doppelganger? Maybe the guy this morning was practice.”
Stephanie shook her head. “I doubt it. It doesn’t matter if your deaths are suspicious. Guess who would never be a suspect?”
“The woman in prison,” said Charlotte.
Stephanie tapped the tip of her nose. “Ding. Ding. Ding.”
Chapter Nine
Darla and Mariska stood on the sidewalk outside Darla’s home watching their friend Gloria’s new Mercedes roll down the road toward them. Their old neighbor had moved from Pineapple Port to the beach only a few months ago after a sudden windfall.
“Do you think this was a good idea?” asked Mariska.
Gloria waved, her eyes wide and wild. Darla waved back, suffering her own first wave of doubt. Seeing Gloria again in the flesh reminded her how bonkers the woman could be once activated. When it came to righting what she perceived as a wrong, she was unstoppable.
Darla felt a little like she’d dropped a nuclear bomb to kill an annoying mosquito.
Using Gloria’s unique revenge skills against the hoarding snowbirds had seemed like a good idea at the time, but having a third margarita had also seemed like a good idea at the time.
What doesn’t seem like a good idea on margarita number three?
“I still don’t understand why she’s here,” said Mariska through her teeth as she smiled and waved her greeting. “Did she call you?”
Darla adopted the same frozen ventriloquist smile. “Not exactly.”
By not exactly, she meant she’d called Gloria. It only took Mariska a moment to realize it.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“I thought she called you, asking to stay.”
“Not exactly.”
Mariska grunted. “Remember when the grocery store fired her? She hid dead lizards in their fruit salads.”
Darla snickered. It seemed funny at the time...didn’t it?
“I buy fruit salads,” hissed Mariska.
Darla felt her shoulders slump. “I just wanted to get back at the snowbirds.”