a pocket full of rye
3 little blackbirds
simply had to die
When the box is opened
The birds no longer sing
Wasn’t that a pretty gift
For someone to bring?
“These morbid nursery rhymes,” Kate whispered. She handed it to Simon, the words reverberating in her mind in a singsong. She doubled over, a wave of dizziness making her lean on the desk in front of her.
Detective Anderson took the note back and put it in his bag. “The killer obviously wants to taunt you. Based on my experience, I would say this is most likely someone you know, though maybe not someone you know well. Someone on the periphery of your life.”
“Why do you think that?” Kate asked.
“We know it wasn’t a robbery. No valuables were taken. Your father verified that the only thing missing was the bracelet your mother always wore. If someone had broken in to rob the house, they would have taken much more.”
Kate considered this. “So you think someone deliberately targeted her to . . . ”
Before he could answer, Simon interrupted. “ Where you are with the investigation?” Simon asked. “Are you closing in on any suspects?”
“We’re looking at everyone right now.”
Simon sighed loudly. “I’d appreciate a little more detail. For instance, a short list of suspects. People’s alibis. That sort of thing.” He, Kate, and Harrison, as well as their household employees, had provided detailed alibis to the police in the days immediately following the murder.
“Mr. English. We’re not in the habit of sharing the details of our investigation, because it can compromise our work. I assure you, we’re being very thorough.”
A silence hung in the room until Detective Anderson finally broke it. “Again, if there’s anything else you can tell me, now’s the time.”
Kate turned to Simon for some kind of assurance, but his face, white and stricken, told her he was as filled with panic as she was.
“Were you able to trace the text my wife received?” he asked.
Anderson shook his head. “No, we need to do it in real time. But if they send another one, we’ll be able to. I’ve also contacted the FBI behavioral unit. I’m going to fill out the paperwork to see if they can take a look at some of this. It could be a long wait, but we’ll see.”
Together, they walked to the front door. Detective Anderson pursed his lips again, shaking his head. “I know you’re frightened. We’re doing everything possible to protect you and your family, but please, be on guard too. Are you sure you can’t think of anything out of the ordinary that’s happened recently? Any hang-up calls? Any strangers who’ve approached you for directions or asked you for something seemingly insignificant? Anything odd at the hospital, Dr. English, or your firm, Mr. English?”
Kate thought about it for a minute but came up blank. She shook her head.
“I can’t think of anything either,” Simon said.
“Well, please get in touch if you do. Anything. I’d rather have extraneous information than miss something crucial.”
“Of course,” Kate and Simon said in unison. Suddenly drained, she leaned against him.
Before Anderson left, Blaire walked into the hallway with a crying Annabelle. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Annabelle wants her Mom.”
As Kate reached out to take her daughter, Anderson extended his hand to Blaire. “I’m Detective Anderson. And you are?”
“This is one of my oldest friends, Blaire Barrington,” Kate said. “She came in from New York for the funeral.”
“Would you mind answering a few questions for me?” Anderson asked Blaire.
“Certainly.”
Simon piped in. “You can use my office.”
Blaire followed Anderson back to Simon’s office.
Kate looked at Simon. “I’m really scared,” she whispered. “Who could be doing this?”
Before he could answer, his phone rang. He held up a finger and looked at the screen. “Sorry, gotta take this.”
Kate felt her back go up at his offhanded dismissal. She watched angrily as he walked back down the hall to his office. Taking a deep breath, she took Annabelle back to the kitchen, where Hilda was putting together a snack for her.
“Would you mind taking Annabelle into the playroom?”
“I want you, Mommy.”
“I’ll come in soon, sweetie. I just need to talk to Aunt Blaire for a minute. How about a chocolate bar? Special treat for being a good girl.” Kate winced as the words left her mouth, but sometimes bribery was the only way.
Annabelle was still pouting, but she nodded and took Hilda’s hand.
Ten minutes later Blaire was back.
“What did Anderson want to know?” Kate asked.
“He was just verifying my whereabouts the night Lily was killed. I gave him the number of my doorman and the names of my neighbors. He also asked if you and Simon seemed happy.”
Kate raised her eyebrows. She wondered briefly if Blaire had mentioned her feelings about Simon to Anderson.
“I told him we hadn’t been in touch for a while, so I didn’t know. I’m sure he’s just looking at every angle. But what happened before? You looked like you’d just seen a ghost when I came into the hall,” Blaire said gently.
Kate dropped into a chair, worn out by the stress. “I guess Selby left a while ago?”
“Yeah. She didn’t want to be late for her massage. Is everything okay?” The concern was evident in Blaire’s voice.
Kate took a minute to think. Could she tell Blaire what was going on? There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have hesitated. When they were young, Kate had no secrets from her. Before Blaire, Kate’s confidante had been her diary. Bad moods and problems were frowned upon in her home, when she was growing up. Or at least they were kept hidden. Whenever Kate was upset, Lily had always comforted her—at least in Lily’s own way. After a hug and some kind words, she never failed to remind Kate of how incredibly fortunate she was, that she should be thankful for all she had, that complaining or getting upset at her small problems was a sign of ingratitude. When Blaire came along, things had changed. Blaire had told Kate about her absent mother, indifferent father, and hated stepmother. She shared her insecurities and anxieties, and slowly, slowly, Kate opened up too. She had felt like a bird being set free from its cage, grateful to finally have someone tell her it was all right to be sad or angry or however else she felt for as long as she felt. It would be such a relief to confide in her, to let it all out. It took only a few seconds for her to decide to ignore Anderson’s order of secrecy and plunge ahead. “Not a ghost,” she finally said, “but something equally terrifying. A message from the killer.”
Blaire’s eyes widened in surprise. “Lily’s killer contacted you?”
From there, it came out in a rush. The threatening text the night of the funeral, the mice in her bathroom sink.
“And just now he sent three dead black birds on a skewer with the nursery rhyme ‘Sing a Song of Sixpence.’ ”
Blaire stared at her, unblinking, for a moment. “That’s absolutely horrible! What do they think it means?”
Kate shook her head. “They don’t seem to have any idea.”
“Well, what’s the plan?”
“They’ve cloned my phone and computers to see if they can trace who sent the text. They’ve questioned all of us, gathered the foundation files from Mother’s office and the house. And they’ve talked to staff at the hospital and at Simon’s office. Only one thing was missing from the house—her diamond bracelet. You remember, the one she wore all the time.” Kate rubbed her eyes, the fatigue beginning to wear on her. “There was a broken window by the front door, but it could have been done later to make it look like a robbery gone wrong. At this point, Detective Anderson feels it’s someone we know. Or at the very least someone Mother knew.”
Blaire’s porcelain skin looked even paler than usual. “Unfortunately, I think your detective is right,” she
said. “Did he give you any update on suspects?”
Kate shook her head. “He won’t share the details, but he assured us he’s being thorough.”
“Well, he seems to be. When he questioned me just now, he told me he was going to talk not only to my doorman but also to a neighbor who saw me. I think he’s good at following up. Let’s run it down ourselves. You were home when your dad called, right? Where had he been?”
“He’d been home earlier that day and went back to the hospital.”
“Okay, good. What about Simon?”
“He was at work. It was late, but that’s not unusual.”
“Was anyone there with him?”
Kate made her voice neutral. “Another architect. Sabrina Mitchell.” She didn’t want to get into the Sabrina situation right now.
“What if we make a list? Think of everyone you know. It could be anyone. Colleague, client, employee, extended family.”
Suddenly, the idea of this evil psychopath being someone close to her was too much for Kate. She closed her eyes and stayed very still, hoping to quash the painful twisting in her gut. She felt a hand on her knee, and when she opened her eyes, Blaire was kneeling beside her.
“I’m going to call Daniel and tell him I’m staying on, that I want to be here with you.”
“No, no. I can’t let you do that. I’m sure he’s missing you. And besides, it’s almost Christmas. It’s enough that you came for the service. It means the world to me.”
“I want to be here for you now. There have been so many years we’ve missed.” Blaire reached a hand out to Kate.
“But don’t you need to get back to your writing?”
“It’s December. The publishing world is quiet, and Daniel can do without me for now. He’s finishing up our last tour stop, and then we were planning on taking off until January. I do write a detective series. Maybe I can finally put all my book research to good use here. I don’t want to go anywhere until we find this bastard.”
Kate felt her body go limp with relief. Despite what she’d said, she desperately wanted Blaire to stay. “Are you sure? I mean, I would love that, but . . .”
“I’m sure. Just try to get rid of me.” Blaire smiled at her and rose. “I’ll get going now. You should rest. Call me if you need anything. I don’t care what time it is. I’m here for you.”
Kate grabbed her hand and held it as they walked to the front door together. “Thank you,” she said as she pulled Blaire into a hug, then watched her old friend descend the steps to her sportscar.
Kate arched her back, trying to relieve the ache she felt. She needed to go for a run, to release some of this pent-up anxiety that threatened to consume her. She went to her bedroom and changed her clothes, grabbing her running shoes from the closet. Then she texted the security detail stationed outside. A return text informed her that Alan would be her companion for her run. She wasn’t worried about whether or not he could keep up. Simon had reassured her that all the guards were either ex-military or heavily trained in martial arts and weaponry.
When she got downstairs, Alan was waiting outside the front door. Even though it was only four thirty, the sun was going down and the air was frigid. She put her earbuds in, but Alan walked closer.
“Sorry, ma’am. I’d prefer it if you didn’t do that. I need to make sure you can hear me if I need to warn you.”
She groaned. How was she supposed to run with no music? “I’ll just leave one in.” He started to object, but she took off, “Sweet Child of Mine” playing in her left ear. Almost immediately she began to feel the tension leave as her stride lengthened and she picked up speed. She thought of nothing else but the pavement and her feet upon it as the cold air burned her cheeks. She wanted to run into oblivion, to go so fast that she would leave all the terror and grief behind. The hammering in her chest was so hard it felt like she would split in two, and she knew she was going way too fast. It felt so good to let herself fly, but she had to ease up. She gradually slowed her pace and put her hand on her chest, pushing against her breastbone.
She turned down the street and headed to the small pond that had a paved trail around it. There were other runners out there today, and she turned to look behind her, just to make sure Alan was keeping up. He gave a little wave. Before she faced front again, she noticed a runner approaching from behind, dressed all in black. Fast. She knew Alan was trailing her, but what if this man got to her first? Pushing her body, she picked up the pace, timing her breath to her strides. She threw another glance back at Alan and saw the black blur closer than it had been before. It had been a long time since she’d trained in sprints, but suddenly, she was doing just that, dodging oncoming pedestrians and fellow runners as she did. Her feet smacking the pavement, she felt the pace get out of control just as she came to a corner. She stopped cold and whipped around, the man running toward her, looking right at her. He was between her and Alan now—he had sped up, flying at her faster than she’d just been going.
Did she know him? He looked familiar. Maybe she’d just seen him out on one of her runs. Or maybe she knew him in some other way. Of course, maybe he was the killer . . .
Throwing her hands up to ward him off, she felt a wave of dizziness. By the time Alan reached her, it would be too late. A scream was working its way up her throat when the man blew right past her. She was flooded with relief so strong her knees buckled, and she rested her hands on her thighs, sucking in lungsful of air.
She had to get back to the house. She was too exposed.
Alan ran up to her, looking concerned.
“Let’s go back. Can you stay next to me?” She hated feeling so weak.
“Of course,” he answered, with no change in expression.
When they got back to the house, she ran upstairs, and turned on the shower, waiting for it to warm up. She threw her phone on the counter. It lit up, and her text tone sounded.
Private Caller. The pounding in her chest was instantaneous. She took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and read.
Did you like my gifts? Dead mice. Dead birds. Dead Kate?
“Stop this!” she yelled at the phone, tears springing to her eyes. Running to the bedroom, she picked up the house phone and dialed Detective Anderson. He answered on the first ring
“I know,” he said without preamble. “We’ve pinpointed the IP address and are heading there now.”
“You know where this is coming from?” Kate asked, panting.
“The Starbucks on York Road. I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”
At least she knew the killer was miles away and not in her immediate area. And now they’d find him. Relief flooded through her. They would get this lunatic, and then she could breathe again. As she showered, she told herself that it was going to be okay. Anderson would find whoever was doing this and lock him up. She was drying her hair when her phone rang. Anderson.
“Did you get him?”
He cleared his throat. “By time we got there, they’d turned the phone off and were gone. We know they used some sort of texting app that delivers over Wi-Fi. We were able to trace the IP address to that particular Starbucks. But once the phone is off, we can’t track it.”
“Did you question everyone? Maybe the person was still there.”
“We did. The place was busy, but no one noticed anything unusual. I’m sorry. We’ll be going through the video footage to see if anything looks suspicious—there are cameras everywhere. Of course, if they did it from the bathroom, we’re out of luck.”
The weight of her disappointment was crushing. She hung up the phone, dejected. Whoever was doing this was smart. Maybe too smart to get caught.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers
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8
Tonight should have been a big night for Kate, Blaire reflected, the annual fundraiser for the Children’s Heart Foundation. Originally it was to be held at Kate and Simon’s home. But Kate was in no
shape to host anything or go anywhere, and when Selby had stepped into the breach and offered to host the event at her house, Kate had asked Blaire to go in her place. Blaire was sure that Selby hadn’t taken kindly to that, but she’d agreed without hesitation.
She pulled around the circular drive to Selby and Carter’s enormous home in Greenspring Valley, which she had read about in Horse and Rider. They’d bought the seventy-five-year-old mansion right after they got married and spent five years on a meticulous restoration, pouring hundreds of thousands of dollars into the project. She stopped next to the fountain in the middle of the circle, and a valet opened her car door and extended a hand to help her out. Hugging her cashmere stole closer, she hurried up the expansive stairs to the black double doors, which were easily over ten feet tall. As she entered, she admired the elegance and sophistication of the grand foyer, with its silk pastel wallpaper and glittering chandeliers. She had to admit that Selby’s taste was impeccable.
Blaire gave her wrap to a uniformed butler. As she walked past an immense dining room, its lengthy mahogany table awash with silver candelabra and serving dishes, she saw Selby coming toward her, Carter at her side. She’d seen him across the room at the funeral reception and wondered again how this overweight middle-aged man could be the same good-looking guy she’d almost married.
Selby nodded as they approached. “Hello, Blaire. Welcome to our home. How nice of you to step in for Kate.” She shrugged. “I’d have been happy to do it, but I suppose your name probably will bring in more money, since you’re so famous now.”
“Well, I’m sure Kate thought it was enough that you opened up your home. Maybe she didn’t want to put you on the spot to make a speech. You remember how nervous you used to get when you had to present at school. There was that one time—”
“Yes, well,” Selby interrupted. “No need to go into that. I’m quite comfortable in the spotlight now.” Her voice was sharp.
Carter didn’t seem to notice the tension between the two women. He leaned in and kissed Blaire on the cheek. “Blaire, how good to see you.” His eyes swept over her, taking her in. “You look absolutely wonderful.”
The Last Time I Saw You Page 7