Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1)

by Yolanda Renée

  “All right, say you’ve solved the Palmer death—but the girl, why?”

  “We assume the stress of the last few months got to her. Maybe her and Kessler were lovers, and she changed her mind when she met you. Who knows? Besides, after the first victim, killing gets easier. Let the professionals analyze her. I’m sorry, Steve. I believed the way you did, that we jumped to the wrong conclusion, especially after all your footwork in December. I’m no psychologist—maybe it’s a personality disorder. She’s guilty, though. I knew that the day Palmer died.”

  Steven cringed at his assessment. “I’m going with you. I have to see this through.”

  “It’s why I waited,” Terry said, his ego on full display.

  Steven looked to Reed.

  “Go. Anderson’s already booked the flight.”

  Steven headed through the hub, where his team had gathered. He saw the looks and heard the whispers. Helen could not look him in the eye, and Joe kept his back turned. They had tried to convince him early on that Sarah would end his career.

  Anderson handed him an itinerary and whispered, “Sorry, Steve.”

  Now, proven right, they could not face him. Steven didn’t want their pity. He walked through with his head high, pretending not to notice. He didn’t care if he ever walked among them again. Maybe the cabin in the woods would become his permanent address. Gold mining in the Brooks Range held a certain allure right now. Suddenly, being a detective had lost its appeal.

  “I have a man outside her place in La Push. He’s keeping an eye on her. The news in Seattle is still running the story about Becky Meyers,” Terry said.

  “Sarah’s at the Hilton. She’s not ready to go back to Cliff House.” Steven said.

  “Sorry, chief, we know exactly where she is. Maybe you don’t know as much about the lady as you think.”

  Steven sighed heavily. He had no more conversation in him. He had to think, he had to get things straight in his mind. On the way to the airport, Steven stopped at his apartment. Under the guise of packing a change of clothes, he made several calls to George Steiner and John. He left messages. “They’re going to arrest Sarah. They have evidence. It’s bad. She needs help. I’m on my way to Seattle. Do what you can.”

  They spent most of the evening at the Anchorage airport because of weather delays. When they finally boarded the plane, they were both tired and silent. Every time Terry tried to talk about the case, Steven angrily stared him quiet.

  Steven needed time to review the facts, in peace. He could not make the evidence fit; if Gerald Kessler—with the help of Brandon James—had killed the others, who killed Becky Meyers? He saw no logic. Did someone else hold a grudge? He worried for Sarah’s safety, but, knowing Terry had her under surveillance, he felt sure she would be fine until he could get to her, and he relaxed a little. The evidence in her attic had to be another clever Kessler set up. Did he want Sarah to suffer after his death? On the cliff, Kessler planned to take her with him—none of this made sense.

  Steven’s mind reeled. Someone else was involved. Some accomplice left behind to finish his work. Diane, his wife—was she part of it? She had tried to shake down both the corporation and Sarah with threats of more wild stories for the press if they did not pay her a settlement. John threatened to expose the truth about the father of her child and she shut up. Why else would another innocent woman have to die? But if his accomplice had gotten away with it, why kill again? If Diane had not gotten what she wanted, revenge, simple revenge could be the motive. His head pounded and after taking aspirin, he pretended to sleep.

  At 4:00 a.m. on the fourteenth, they were finally at the Seattle-Tacoma airport terminal. Anderson had tried to arrange for a flight to La Push, but a storm had the coast socked in.

  On the way to Boeing Field, Steven explained to Terry, “I’ve arranged a flight to Port Angeles, maybe as far as Lake Crescent, if the weather allows, but from there we’ll have to drive, and it’ll take an hour or more. The local sheriff will have a car waiting. Come on, let’s get out there.”

  April 14th

  arah woke early to the sounds of a storm, and listened to the rain. She was alone for only the second time in months, and she found the sensation oddly comforting. Solitude, something she had always considered a cherished commodity, had now became a dreaded necessity. Sarah needed to prove to herself that she had the strength to stand on her own two feet, and that fear did not control any facet of her life.

  To ease her mind of the fear she was slowly going crazy, Sarah sought counseling. She worked hard to put the events of the last few months behind her and learn to live with the changes. However, nightmares still invaded, and an uneasy feeling still haunted her. Last night had been a successful try at normalcy—a night without bodyguards, or Steven, John, or Eddie hovering anxiously, and Sarah was happy with the outcome.

  Cecil and Opal were still in Anchorage, visiting with Emma, and even though it was supposed to be a surprise, she knew they had stayed for her birthday party. Steven wasn’t good at keeping secrets, especially when he asked if they could reveal their engagement. She touched the engagement ring on her finger, and remembered his excitement when she told him they would have to make the announcement because she never planned to take it off. This visit to Seattle gave her the opportunity to test her resolve. As she listened to the wind whistle and the rain pelt the windows, Sarah wondered if the rain would interfere with her flight home. Okay, I’m up. She threw off the blankets and sat up.

  “I knew you’d wake up early.” A familiar voice said from the shadows.

  Sarah’s heart began to race, and the immobilizing fear from her dreams gripped her so completely she could not speak. Am I awake, or in another nightmare?

  The sounds of the storm outside and the chill of the early morning air, made Sarah realize she was not dreaming. Her unexpected guest moved in the shadows. Sarah made out the silhouette of a woman sitting on the window seat. Karen? A new realization struck her: she was at Cliff House, not the Hilton. Her fear lessened, but confusion still reigned.

  “Karen,” she whispered. Then, finding her voice, she spoke with more confidence. “Karen. What are we doing here? How did we get to Cliff House?”

  Sarah switched on the light, and, surprised by Karen’s appearance, she gasped. Karen was dressed in jeans and an old plaid shirt with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she wore no makeup. She looked odd. Sarah had never seen her look any other way but picture perfect.

  Suddenly, all Sarah’s nightmares made sense. “You!”

  “You can add two and two together. I’m impressed.” Karen stood and moved slowly to Sarah’s side. She roughly pushed Sarah back onto the bed. “Just sit still. I’m in charge, so slow down.”

  She paced the floor in front of Sarah.

  “Come on Sarah, think. Dinner last night? A little Rohypnol in your wine made you very reasonable. Remember our discussion? How I promised, that with my help, you could rid yourself of all your nightmares. All you had to do was come here and face them—especially Gerry, the one frightening you the most. You came out here willingly. A little drugged, but very eager. You slept like a baby last night—no dreams, no nightmares, and now here we are! Aren’t drugs wonderful?”

  Sarah shook her head. She had no memory of last night. Dinner, yes, but nothing after that. Nothing. “You drugged me? Why?”

  “Now, why do you think? Come on, a minute ago I gave you credit for having a brain, use it!”

  “Michael! You killed Michael!”

  Karen reacted violently. Before Sarah knew what was happening Karen laid into her with the strength of a bull. She hit Sarah on the side of the head with her fist. Sarah fell back on to the bed. Karen jumped on top of her and pinned Sarah’s arms under her, Karen’s knees squeezing either side of Sarah’s torso, then she pummeled Sarah’s head and upper body with her fists.

  “Accuse me again, and I’ll end your life here and now!” She jumped up, and yanked Sarah from the bed, pushing her from the
room. Karen’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Come on. Let’s go have a long chat over coffee.”

  Sarah staggered, dazed and bloodied, but Karen gave her another push toward the stairs. Sarah caught herself before she fell down them. Karen was pleased, but her pleasure was premature because her prisoner took off running down the steps. Karen was not going to let her get away and was quickly on Sarah’s heels. Before Sarah could reach the door, Karen tackled her and knocked the wind out of Sarah. Karen straddled her back and grabbed Sarah’s hair, lifting her off the floor. She held a knife to Sarah’s throat.

  “I can end this very quickly, or we can calmly go to the kitchen, make a pot of coffee, and really get to know each other. What do you say, Sarah? The decision is yours.” Karen released her.

  Sarah sucked in air and managed to cough out a raspy “okay, coffee.” Karen got off her back, and cautiously let her get up. Sarah led the way to the kitchen, bent with pain and defeat.

  “Now, that’s more like it.”

  Once there, Karen forced Sarah down onto a kitchen chair and, with rope she’d put in place earlier, Karen tied Sarah’s hands behind her. “Don’t get any ideas. Just sit still.” She grabbed Sarah’s chin and stared into her eyes. “Relax. Enjoy the view while I make the coffee, and if you’re a good little girl maybe I’ll light a fire in the fireplace. You look dreadfully cold.”

  She put the knife on the table in full view, waiting for a reaction.

  “Why?” Sarah asked the only question still unanswered.

  Karen was putting the coffee in the filter. She paused before speaking, gathering her thoughts. “Why? Let’s just say I don’t like you. In fact, I think I’ve hated you since the first moment I saw you. No, before we met—the day after Michael met you. When he came into the office, he was a different man. He was a changed man. I thought aliens had abducted him and replaced him with a clone. Michael was never the same. Never!”

  “I don’t understand. This is about Michael?”

  “No, Sarah, this is about you and what you did to Michael. Today? I’m the judge, the jury, and the executioner. Payback for the day you presented him with a killer Porsche. I’m here to see justice is done. As his personal assistant it’s my job to see he gets the revenge he deserves.”

  “I didn’t kill Michael. I loved Michael. I—”

  Karen backhanded her.

  “Lie again, and I’ll kill you. No more lies,” she shouted and slapped her again, harder. “Admit the truth, admit what you did to Michael! And then we’ll talk.”

  Karen started to pace, trying to regain control. She ran her hands nervously through her hair; several strands had come loose from her ponytail. She undid the ponytail and carefully put the strands back in place, composed once more.

  “I want you dead, but not yet. Not yet! So don’t push me.”

  “But I loved him. Honest,” Sarah said cautiously.

  Karen smiled, when Sarah winced after speaking. Sarah pulled back and waited for the next blow.

  “Yeah, you loved him so much you bought him this cheap letter opener.” Karen picked up the letter opener and read the inscription, “For the man who has everything, including my love.” She yanked the silver-engraved charm from the handle and threw it across the room. “So sappy, but now we have the weapon your gift was always meant to be. Although, I have to admit, knowing that John Glenn held this in his hand? Pretty damn awesome. Sharper, can you tell?” Displayed for Sarah’s inspection, Karen continued. “I figured, what better twist than to have this iconic Christmas present be your end? Yeah, I think Michael will get a kick out it. And Gerry? We’ll let’s just say he had some of the best ideas, but this one is all mine.”

  The look of murderous pleasure in her eyes made Sarah wince.

  “If you want, you can die, just like Debra did.” Karen pulled Sarah’s head back, and with the precision of a doctor, used the sharpened blade of the letter opener to split the soft skin of Sarah’s neck. She pushed her head forward, and stepped away. She showed her the letter opener covered in her blood, and the front of Sarah’s gown became red with it. Karen drew the knife through her fingers, flinging the blood at Sarah, and then she cleaned her fingers on the sleeve of Sarah’s gown. Seeming pleased when she noticed tears on Sarah’s face, Karen continued to taunt her.

  Karen circled Sarah like an animal with wounded prey. “Michael wanted me, not you! We were expecting a baby, and he wanted to give him his name. Did you already know? Is Michael dead because you knew about us? I told the police he wanted a divorce—his aunt backed me up—but they chose to believe you. What’d you do, pay them off? Or sleep with every cop on the case to keep the truth quiet? Money is powerful, but today, for you? Money means nothing. There’s not enough wealth in existence to buy you out of this!”

  She picked up a chair and slammed the kitchen table with it to emphasize her point. Sarah screamed, and Karen laughed. “I love this.”

  Karen poured herself a cup of coffee, but continued her tirade.

  “After Michael died, I thought about joining him, but I had to think of our baby. Do you have any idea what his death did to me?”

  She stopped and stared at Sarah, as though expecting an answer. Sarah shook her head.

  “I was inconsolable. Took to my bed for a month. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, but I tried for our baby—for our son. He was so beautiful. He had Michael’s coloring. I gave him Michael’s name, but he never took a breath.” She actually wiped away a tear. “Stillborn, our little boy was born dead. Because of you.” Karen kicked the chair just to see Sarah jump. Karen continued to yell.” You killed my husband, bitch! Michael was mine!”

  Karen slapped Sarah to make her point.

  “You killed our son!”

  Sarah received another slap.

  “My family is dead because of you! You selfish, selfish witch!”

  Karen backhanded her. Blood dripped from Sarah’s nose and her lip. Karen surveyed her handiwork and smiled. She took the letter opener sharpened like a knife and placed the point between Sarah’s breasts. “Rhonda died this way.”

  Karen pushed the blade into Sarah’s soft skin, and gained immense pleasure when Sarah exhaled in fear. Karen pushed, but only far enough to cause pain, not to kill, only to torture. Sarah swooned, and Karen threw a glass of water in Sarah’s face.

  “Not yet, Sarah, I’m not ready.” She grabbed her by the hair and shook her. “A few more minutes, and then, I promise, you’ll die!”

  “Just a few cuts, little demonstrations, but nothing too deep. I have to be careful with you, because Rhonda died too quickly, and I want you to die slowly. And you will die, but first you’ll suffer. I want you to be afraid. I need you to be terrified. Are you, Sarah? Are you ready to die?” She waited, but Sarah did not respond, did not move.

  Karen kicked her chair almost toppling it. “Answer me!” Karen screamed.

  Sarah refused, although she did glare, and, despite the swelling, Karen took notice.

  “Never mind, you’d lie anyway. I can tell by looking at you, that you’re scared stiff. I’ll bet you’re also trying to figure out when Michael and I could’ve gotten together. Gosh, golly gee, Sarah, don’t you remember those out of town trips? We went together, but our most favorite times were when you stayed at Cliff House, and made Michael sleep alone at the penthouse. But Michael was never alone, never.”

  Karen smiled, remembering.

  “I conceived our son in your bed, that beautiful antique you thought Michael bought for you. We picked it out together, on that business trip to New York, the one you were too busy for. Michael couldn’t believe you’d turn down a chance to see New York and attend a Broadway play, just to teach a few snot-nosed kids.”

  “Why couldn’t you just give him the divorce?” She slapped Sarah so hard the sound echoed. “At first, Gerry thought a killing here, a killing there, a few phone calls, a Valentine or two, and you’d be so frightened you’d run back to Seattle and his waiting arms. He wasn’t expecting Scot
t, and then Steven, to show up. Poor Gerry, he wasn’t expecting them at all. You broke his heart!”

  She drank some of her coffee.

  “We enjoyed framing Scott. You have to admit, Gerry was a genius. Although I rather liked Scott, but I grew bored. All he wanted to do was talk about you. So we used that, and, boy, was he a good source of information. We learned all about your early days. How much he resented Patricia for telling you about the date with his wife. He hated Patty, and killing her made sense. Gerry said he pretended he was killing you. Each stroke of the knife was punishment for your betrayal! There is one thing I still haven’t figured out. What do men see in you? Do you part those legs a bit easier than you let on? Is that it?”

  She lifted Sarah’s chin. Her face was swollen and already turning different shades of black and blue. “This is payback Sarah, for the beating Gerry received. Joe said Quaid did a brutal job. When I’m done with you, no one will recognize you—especially your lover!”

  Karen picked up her coffee, and swilled several mouthfuls. “Where was I? Oh, yeah, Scott. He’s a bit like me. I’ll bet he hates you now. Scott arrested—it had to have been the last straw for him. His ego couldn’t have stood it. But if he hates you for it, I’ll be happy. The night Gerry wanted to kill your lover, Scott was in my bed. Had to keep him occupied until Gerry was ready for him. Did you know we were sleeping together? Yup, since the night you slapped his face. Purely physical. All I had to do was tell him Joe and I had an argument, and he came straight over to console me.” She licked her lips. “Sinfully physical!”

  Karen practically bounced around the room. “And that dimwitted detective, really, Sarah, you’ve come down in the world. But Joe, my little snitch, the one who kept me informed? My, my, my, he’s one kinky dude. Loved it, absolutely loved it, I actually fell for him. Didn’t think I could ever love someone after Michael, but Joe, he’s real. Although he did enjoy talking about the case, especially about how hard Quaid tried to hide his feelings for you. How you rebuffed him. Gerry had hope after hearing that. He thought he could take Quaid out before you succumbed to his seduction. Tell me, Sarah, was he right? Or were you and Quaid just putting on a good show? Did you give him what he wanted after the first dance, or make him wait?”