Killer Takes All

by Erica Spindler

  “A baby,” Alice repeated, tone wistful. “Sweet.”

  Stacy glanced away, afraid the girl would see sympathy in her eyes. As often as she had wished to be an only child while growing up, she wouldn’t trade her sister for anything in the world.

  Alice would never know that joy.

  “Do you miss them?” the teen asked.

  “More than anything.”

  “Then why did you move here?”

  Stacy was silent a moment, deciding how vague she should be. “I needed a fresh start,” she said finally. “Too many bad memories.”

  The younger woman looked perplexed. “But your sister, her baby, they’re not bad memories.”

  “No, they’re not.” Stacy shifted the conversation to Alice.

  “Do you have any cousins close to your age?”

  She shook her head. “But I have an aunt who’s really cool. My dad’s sister, Aunt Grace.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “In California. She’s an anthropology professor at University of California, Irvine. We go places together.”

  Apparently, brains ran in the family. As did coolness.

  The teenager glanced at her watch. “I better go. Clark wanted me back in an hour.”

  “Wait. I think you knew a friend of mine.”

  She narrowed her eyes, expression doubtful. “Who?”

  “She was into RPGs. Came here a lot. Her name was Cassie.”

  Recognition flickered in her eyes. “Curly blond hair?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I haven’t seen her lately.”

  Stacy’s chest tightened. “Me either.”

  The teenager frowned. “Is she okay?”

  Stacy ignored her question, asking one of her own. “She ever talk to you about White Rabbit?”

  Alice shook her head and sipped some of the frozen coffee through the straw. “Did she play it?”

  “No. But she mentioned having met someone who played. I thought maybe it was you?”

  “Uh-uh. Why don’t you just ask her?”

  The teenager’s words hit Stacy hard. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. “Maybe I’ll do that,” she managed when she found her voice. She stood. “Maybe we should get back?”

  Alice glanced at her watch, agreed and stood. She met Stacy’s eyes, expression slightly sheepish. “You don’t have to walk behind me.”

  “You’re sure?” Stacy teased. “I wouldn’t want to humiliate you or anything.”

  “I guess I was kind of a jerk earlier. Sorry.”

  She didn’t sound all that sorry, but Stacy gave her major points for relenting at all. She remembered what it was like to be a teenager caught in extraordinary circumstances.

  When they reached the mansion, Alice went in search of Clark and Stacy returned to the kitchen. Mrs. Maitlin was unpacking groceries.

  She glanced at Stacy. “Do I sense the beginning of a truce?”

  “A small one, I think. Although don’t get too used to it, it may be temporary.”

  The woman laughed. “Mr. Noble was looking for you. He’s in his office, I believe.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go see him now.”

  “Could you bring him his mail?” She retrieved the stack from the counter. “It’ll save me a trip.”

  “Sure, Valerie.” Stacy took the mail and headed to Leo’s office. She found the door partially open. She tapped on it. It swung further open, and she stuck her head in. “Leo?”

  He wasn’t there. The NOPD had cleared the room for cleaning; a crew had been in two days ago. The blood had left a slight shadow on the hardwood flooring. Stacy stepped over it as she crossed to the desk with the mail and laid the stack on the top of his closed Apple laptop. She gazed at it a moment, reminded of Cassie who’d also used an Apple, though a different model. She blinked, suddenly realizing what she was looking at: a postcard from Gallery 124. Announcing an art exhibit.

  Pogo’s gallery.

  She frowned and picked it up. The postcard had been mailed to Leo, by name. Which meant he was on their mailing list. He had visited the gallery, perhaps bought something from it.

  A coincidence?

  She hated coincidences. They always smelled like fish.

  “Hey, Stacy. Can I help you?”

  She spun around, guilty heat stinging her cheeks. “Leo. Valerie asked me to bring your mail.”

  “Valerie?”

  “Mrs. Maitlin. You wanted to see me?”

  “I did?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  He smiled and closed the door behind him. “I suppose I did. Though I can’t remember why. What’s that?”

  He motioned at the postcard, still in her hands. “An advertisement,” she said, holding it up.

  He crossed to her. Took the card. She watched him as he studied it, looking for unease, surprise or the moment he made the connection.

  It didn’t come. Had she ever told him the name of Pogo’s gallery?

  “I’m not so crazy about nonobjective art. It just doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “The gallery’s name caught my attention. Not the art.” At his blank expression, she added, “Gallery 124. That’s where Pogo exhibited.”

  “Small world.”

  That small?

  Was he a consummate actor? Or really in the dark?

  “You’re on their mailing list. Did you buy something there?”

  “Not that I remember.” He tossed the postcard on the desk. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Pardon?”

  He smiled, the curving of his lips boyish. And naughty. “It was your first night with us. I wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

  “Fine.” She took a small step backward, suddenly uncomfortable. “Everything was fine.”

  He caught her hands. “Don’t run away.”

  “I’m not running. Just-”

  He kissed her.

  She made a sound of surprise and pushed him away. “Leo, don’t.”

  “Sorry.” He looked almost comically disappointed. “And here I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

  “Have you?”

  “You couldn’t tell?”

  “No.”

  “I’d like to do it again.” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. “But I won’t…if you object?”

  She hesitated a moment too long and he kissed her again.

  The office door opened. “Leo? Clark and I-”

  At Kay’s voice, Stacy sprang away from Leo. Mortified. So embarrassed, in fact, she wished she could crawl under the man’s desk and hide.

  “Sorry,” Kay said stiffly, “we didn’t know you were busy. We were looking for Alice.”

  “I was with her not thirty minutes ago,” Stacy said, clearing her throat. “At Café Noir.”

  Kay frowned, and Stacy added, “We ran into each other. She said Clark was sick this morning. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  The Nobles looked at him. Obviously that information had been news to them.

  He laid a hand on his stomach. “I ate fish last night. I’m thinking it wasn’t fresh. You have to be so careful with seafood.”

  “You might ask Mrs. Maitlin if she’s seen her,” Stacy offered.

  “We will,” Kay said. “Thank you.”

  The pair left the office, purposefully snapping the door shut behind them.

  “She doesn’t care, you know,” he said softly. “We’re not married anymore.”

  Stacy looked at Leo, cheeks hot. “She looked at me like I was an adulterer.”

  Leo laughed. “She didn’t.”

  “It was my own guilty conscience, then.”

  “I told you, you have nothing to feel guilty about. I kissed you. Besides, I’m a free agent.”

  She thought of the way Leo and Kay acted toward each other, the affectionate way they teased, the obvious respect.

  Like a married couple. A couple very much in love.

  “I’m interested in you, Stacy.”

&n
bsp; She didn’t respond, and he gathered her hands in his. “I get the feeling you could be interested, too. Am I right?”

  He attempted to draw her back into his arms; she resisted. “Can I ask you something, Leo?”

  “Ask away.”

  “What happened to you and Kay? It’s obvious you care for each other.”

  He shrugged. “We’re too different…we grew apart. I don’t know, maybe we lost the spark that kept us working at it.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Thirteen years.” He laughed. “Kay hung in there longer than most would have.”

  When they stopped laughing, so did Alice.

  “Kay and I are like Wonderland. Order and chaos. The sane and insane. The insanity finally overwhelmed her.”

  She had wanted the divorce. He had driven her crazy.

  He still loved his wife, Stacy realized.

  She slipped her hands from his. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “There’s no reason we can’t be together.”

  “I think there is, Leo. I’m not ready. And I don’t think you are, either.”

  When he opened his mouth as if to argue, she held up a hand, stopping him. “Please, Leo. Just leave it alone.”

  “For the moment, okay. But I won’t promise to stay away forever.”

  Stacy backed toward the door, grasped the handle, turned and walked through.

  And ran smack into Troy.

  He put a hand on her elbow to steady her. “Whoa. Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  “Hey, Troy.” Flustered, she took a step back. “Sorry, mind’s elsewhere.”

  “No problemo. Catch you later.”

  It wasn’t until much later that she wondered why Troy had been right outside Leo’s door. And if he had been eavesdropping.

  CHAPTER 39

  Wednesday, March 16, 2005

  Midnight

  Stacy stood at her bedroom window. Moonlight illuminated the side garden and yard. The storm of two nights ago had left everything lush and green.

  She couldn’t sleep. She had tossed and turned for the last hour, then had given up. It wasn’t the bed. Or the pillow.

  It was a feeling of unease. Of not belonging. Here, in this house. In this city, the UNO graduate program.

  In her own skin.

  She frowned. How had she gotten herself to this place? She had come to New Orleans for a fresh start. To change her life for the better.

  Now look at her. Embroiled in a murder investigation. A target in a killer’s twisted game. She had been attacked. Her home broken into, a cat’s bloody head left as a gift. A friend had been murdered; she had found the body. She was on the verge of flunking out of graduate school.

  And her boss had made a pass at her.

  Which was when she thought of Spencer. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d called to tell her about Pogo. At first she’d assumed him busy with the investigation. Now she wondered if he had shut her out.

  She would have done the same. Back when she had been a cop.

  What was keeping her here? She missed Jane. And little Apple Annie, growing and changing every day. Her life was unarguably more screwed up now than it had been in Dallas. She could resign from the graduate program, pack her stuff and head home.

  Tuck tail and run? Leave Cassie’s death unsolved and Leo and his family unprotected?

  The last affected her like a kick to the gut. She was not the Noble family protector. It wasn’t her job. It was the NOPD’s and Malone’s.

  Damn it. Then why did she feel responsible for them? And for finding Cassie’s killer? Why did she always feel like she had to take care of the whole friggin’ world?

  Because that day at the lake, she hadn’t taken care of Jane.

  The memory of that day came rushing back, as clear as if it had been yesterday instead of almost twenty years ago. The sounds of Jane’s screams. Of her own. The frigid water as Stacy had launched herself in. The blood. Later the way her parents had looked at Stacy. Accusingly. Disappointed.

  She had been seventeen, Jane fifteen. She should have taken better care of her. She should have been more responsible. It had been her fault it happened.

  No, damn it. Stacy shook her head as if for emphasis, as if to convince herself. It wasn’t her fault. She’d been a kid that day at the lake. Jane didn’t blame her; why should she blame herself?

  A movement in the garden below drew her gaze. A man, she realized. Heading toward the guest house.

  She reached for her gun, tucked into the night table drawer. As she curled her fingers around the grip, Kay emerged from the guest house. Light spilled into the garden. She ran to the man. He took her into his arms.

  Not Leo, she recognized immediately. But who? she wondered, straining to make out the man’s identity. When she couldn’t, as quietly as possible, she lifted her window. The couple’s voices carried on the night air. Kay’s husky laugh. The man’s murmured endearment.

  Not Leo. Clark.

  Kay Noble was having an affair with Alice’s tutor.

  She watched the two stroll toward the guest house, then disappear inside. For a moment they were silhouetted against the window, embracing.

  In the next instant, the window went black.

  Stacy set the Glock carefully back in the drawer and slid it shut, thoughts racing. The pairing didn’t completely surprise her. Clark was intelligent, worldly. An academic.

  Anemic, she thought. Compared to Leo.

  Or Malone, God help her.

  But maybe that was the point. If what Leo had told her about his and Kay’s relationship was true.

  If? Now, why would she think that?

  And why did knowing the woman and Clark were having an affair seem so wrong?

  Kay and Leo were divorced. But Clark was an employee. Kay’s daughter’s tutor.

  And Leo was so obviously still in love with the woman.

  Stacy closed the window and turned away from it. Was her affair the reason Kay had refused to move into the main house? Had she carried on with Clark when Alice was there? Surely not.

  The teenager was bright, intuitive. She must at least suspect the affair.

  Stacy frowned as her thoughts turned to Alice. She spent an inordinate amount of time on her computer, day and night. Every so often, the sound of Alice’s computer announcing an instant message awakened her.

  Alice, it seemed, had inherited her father’s sleep habits.

  Before Stacy had finished processing that thought, a crash came from the adjoining room. Followed by a cry.

  Heart lurching to her throat, Stacy retrieved the Glock and ran into the hall and across to Alice’s door. She tried the door, found it locked and rapped on it.

  “Alice,” she called, “are you all right?”

  The teenager didn’t reply and she pressed her ear to the door.

  Silence.

  “I heard you cry out. Are you all right?”

  “Go away! I’m fine.”

  Her voice sounded funny. Shaky and high-pitched. Stacy’s mouth went dry.

  “Open this door, Alice. I need to see for myself that you’re unhurt. If you don’t I’ll-”

  The door opened. Alice stood before her, eyes red and face blotchy from crying. Otherwise, she appeared unhurt.

  Stacy peered around her. The room looked empty. A figurine lay in pieces on the floor.

  Alice had been crying. The crash the result of a fit of temper. Typical teenage drama.

  Stacy felt more than a little silly. “I heard the crash and what I thought was a cry and-”

  “Is that a-” Alice bit the words back, eyes widening. “Oh, my God, you’ve got a gun.”

  “It’s not how it looks.”

  The teenager sprang backward. “Stay away from me, you psycho.”

  “I’m not a psycho, Alice. And there’s a reasonable explanation for-”

  The girl slammed the door in her face. Stacy heard the lock click into place.

  Stacy stared a
t the closed door a moment, a bemused smile tugging at her mouth.

  Having fun now, Killian?

  She counted to ten, then tapped on the door. She didn’t expect a response and didn’t wait for one. “Alice, I have a permit for the gun. I’m an experienced shooter, and your father knows I have it.”

  She paused, allowing her words to sink in, then leaned closer. “I wasn’t trying to interfere, just to make certain you were all right. If you need anything, anytime, I’m next door.” She gave the girl a moment to digest that, then added, “Good night, Alice.”

  She returned to her room and listened, but the girl had either stopped crying or had become better at covering the sound. Poor kid probably felt she couldn’t even cry in her own room anymore.

  Stacy’s gaze landed on her cell phone, charging on its cradle. Her thoughts filled with Jane. She longed to talk with her. To share everything and ask her advice.

  She crossed to her laptop, opened it and turned it on. It hummed a moment before the monitor sprang to life. Stacy navigated to her mail program, to the e-mail Jane had sent today.

  Pictures of Apple Annie. Wearing the denim jumper Stacy had sent, the one with the apples embroidered on the smock and pockets.

  Stacy gazed at the images, throat tight with tears, wondering what the hell she was doing.

  Go home, Stacy. Back to the people who love you.

  To the people you love.

  She wanted to, so badly she could taste it. So what was stopping her? Leaving was not running away. It was not giving up.

  It’d take more than a few threats and several dead bodies to send her over the edge.

  Stacy froze.

  Over the edge.

  Leo’s partner had gone over an edge.

  A cliff. To his death.

  She thought of her comment to Leo that first day. That there were two Supreme White Rabbits. Leo and his former partner.

  She caught her breath. Could Danson be alive?

  Stacy looked at the clock. 12:35.

  Leo being a night owl was proving handy; she needed to ask him a few questions about his former partner.

  She grabbed her robe and headed out to the hallway, then downstairs. Sure enough, light streamed from under Leo’s office door. She tapped on it.

  “Leo,” she called. “It’s Stacy.”