by Amy Vansant
“He did it as a present for me,” said the woman, stepping out onto her step. She wore a baggy, flowered house dress over a bony frame. “I have cancer. He thought it would cheer me up. I don’t know where he got the time or the money, but it makes my day every day to see it.”
Charlotte surveyed the garden. It really was beautiful. The eclectic nature of the plants he’d been able to steal made the arrangement seem all the more magical, unplanned and beautiful in its chaos. Still, thievery couldn’t go unpunished.
The woman continued, cutting short her thoughts. “Every day there’s a new flower. We play a game where I have to guess the new addition.” She chuckled. “I swear, I think the only reason I keep living is to guess the new flower each day.”
Oh for the love of—
Zeke’s grandmother beamed as she admired it from her step, and Charlotte knew she could never tell Penny that she’d found the flower-napper.
She sighed. Thievery would go unpunished.
Yea, thievery. Yea, Zeke.
“Well, it’s beautiful,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Charlotte waved and continued to walk, planning to circle the block to return to her car so the woman didn’t think it was odd of her to about-face and head back the way she’d come.
That was okay. She was in a good mood.
“Yea, Zeke P,” she mumbled, slipping out her phone. She dialed.
“Pete’s Power Washing,” said a voice, younger than the man she’d spoken to earlier that day.
“Could I speak to Zeke?”
“This is Zeke.”
“Zeke, I was just talking to you grandmother.”
“Uh...okay...who is this?”
“How do you think your grandmother would take the news that all her flowers were stolen from other neighborhoods?”
The phone went silent.
“I’m not going to tell her, Zeke. Not if you do two things for me.”
“What?”
“First, no more stealing from Pineapple Port.”
“Okay.”
“And I’d like a power washing. My house. Tell them Zeke P. sent me.” She winked.
“You want it free?”
Charlotte huffed, disappointed that the meaning of her cool wink had been missed by the boy. “No, not free. I’m getting you a commission. You get credit when people respond to our flyers, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So put me down for one power washing.”
“Okay...but you just caught me stealing—”
“I think what you did for your grandmother is sweet. Just don’t steal from my neighborhood.”
Zeke offered a nervous chuckle. “Deal.”
Charlotte gave him her details and hopped back in the car.
Case solved.
Chapter Nineteen
Jamie returned from a visit to her daughter’s law office, more careful than usual to be sure no one followed her home.
She plugged in her new, new computer. After she’d smashed the last one in a fit of pique over the intrusion of the upstart copycat killer, Stephanie had been kind enough to supply her with another. Now there was nothing left to keep her from responding to Alex’s ultimatum. There would be no game to prove who was the better predator. They would have to come to another solution.
All this showboating. How could she explain to this murderous idiot that she didn’t care about her score card?
No, that was a lie. She cared. She just felt confident her numbers were unrivaled.
She turned on the computer and found an email awaiting her.
Have you chosen a game? - Alex
She sighed.
This was ridiculous. She typed.
Leave me alone.
She stood to leave, but stopped at the sound of an email notification.
Bing! We’ll pick one person. Whoever kills that person first, wins.
Jamie rolled her eyes.
No.
Bing! Then you pick the game.
No.
There was a pause, and for a moment, Jamie thought she’d ended it. Then, the cursed Bing! of new mail rang out.
I have a better idea. I’ll pick someone for you to kill. I’ll give you a week. If you do it, I’ll leave you alone. I promise. Forever.
She decided it was time to confess to Alex that she’d guessed his plan to trick her into committing a murder so that he could witness it. Time to stop the nonsense.
I can’t murder anyone for you. I won’t. Even if I wanted to, you could be a cop for all I know. Or you could film me killing him or her. This is a ridiculous setup.
Another pause. At least she had him thinking.
Bing! Would a cop have this?
Below his comments was a list of very familiar names.
A list of everyone she’d killed going all the way back to her mother.
How was this possible?
Her journal.
Alex must have stolen the journal she kept in her storage unit and solved the cypher, unlocking all her secrets. Revealing all her murders.
She screamed.
Bing! This list is going to the police if you don’t kill the person I choose.
She typed Why? Why are you doing this? hit send, and left her hands hovering over the keyboard, shaking with fury.
Bing! Yours is not to question why. Or how. But you can see there will be no question about the veracity of any report I make to the police.
Jamie took a moment to calm herself. This wasn’t the time to panic. She had to be very careful. She licked her lips and typed. You know who I am. You know what I’m capable of.
Bing! I do. Your journal made for fine reading. Enlightening.
Then you know I will find you and kill you.
Bing! Like this?
There was a file attached to the latest email; an MP3 file. She didn’t know what that meant, but she clicked on it. A movie began to play, and she watched herself slice Peeps with the machete. It looped, she chopped, Peeps bled. Over and over.
Alex knew who she was. He’d stolen her journal. He’d been following her for, who knew how long?
She looked out her window. Did he know where she lived? She was always so careful not to return home until certain she wasn’t being tailed. Still...she’d forgotten to be careful leaving Peeps’ house and led Alex straight to her precious storage unit.
Jamie let her fingers dance over the keys for a minute. Whoever this was, he didn’t talk like a cop. If he was police, he wouldn’t have filmed the murder and she’d already been in jail. How could she have been so stupid? How did she not see someone watching her?
The movie of Peeps’ murder was icing on the giant slice of humiliation cake Alex had already served.
He had enough evidence to put her away for life, and he’d already been in a position to kill her. If he wanted her dead, she’d be lying beside Peeps.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to kill one person and make him go away. Maybe that really was all he wanted.
She wouldn’t go away though.
She would hunt Alex down and kill him.
Jamie closed the looping murder scene and returned her attention to the keyboard.
So if I kill someone for you, you’ll leave me alone?
Bing! Yes. A specific person.
Who?
There was a longer delay than usual.
Bing! Stephanie.
Jamie felt the blood drain from her face. Of course. Alex knew Stephanie was her daughter. She nearly typed Stephanie who? but there was no point in playing dumb. They both knew.
Bing! Deal?
She sat straight in her chair and typed four letters.
Deal.
Chapter Twenty
Stephanie watched the screen as an email popped into her inbox. It was her mother’s message from the very special computer Stephanie had set up for her. It was her mother’s last email to Alex.
Deal.
Stephanie read the word several times and then closed her laptop.
My mother is going to kill me to save her skin.
She picked up her phone and dialed her mother.
“Hello?”
“Hey Mom, how’s the new computer? You didn’t already break it, did you?”
Stephanie could hear the saccharine in her mother’s nervous chuckle.
“No. Of course I didn’t break it.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“I did.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. He’s...he’s nobody. He won’t be bothering us anymore.”
“Really? How do you know?”
“I just know.”
“But Mom, he killed two people just to get your attention, don’t you think you need to take him seriously?”
“I took care of it.”
There was a pause. “Should I ask how?”
“I wouldn’t.”
Stephanie sighed. “Okay.”
“I’ll talk to you more about it later. I’m in the middle of something.”
“Okay. Well, tell me if you need anything.”
“I will. Oh, hey, Steph, where are you now? Staying in Debbie’s house? Or do you have a place of your own? I never thought to ask. Maybe we should have dinner and discuss things—”
“I’m...” Stephanie paused. Giving Jamie any more information was like driving to her and laying out her neck for slicing. Not to mention, old Mom hadn’t told her where she lived either. Hadn’t had her over for pot roast.
She decided to play it cool. “I’m here and there.”
“Ah, okay. Are you going to be at the office tomorrow?”
“Sure. Maybe. I’ve got to go.”
Stephanie heard her mother trying to catch her, but she hung up. She stood and gathered everything from the office that she thought she would need.
It wouldn’t be safe to come back to the office for a while.
It wouldn’t be safe to go home either.
She smiled.
This gave her an idea.
Chapter Twenty-One
Declan heard his doorbell and fumbled in his haste to finish lighting the candles.
“Just use your key!” he called.
He had a romantic dinner planned for Charlotte and, as usual, she was a little early. He cursed himself for not allowing more time to prepare the meal after work, but Blade-the-new-hire had shown up wearing a tie-dye t-shirt with a giant marijuana leaf on it, and he’d had to wait while he went home to change. Blade claimed he thought the image was a maple leaf because he’d bought it in Canada. The idea that a t-shirt, with or without a marijuana leaf, wasn’t appropriate work wear, hadn’t occurred to him.
The doorbell chimed a second time.
“Coming!” Maybe she was carrying things and had her arms full. The last time she’d shown up with an entire corn casserole compliments of Mariska. She claimed if she hadn’t brought it, she would have eaten the whole thing by morning. Instead the two of them ate it by the end of the evening.
He jogged to the door and flung it open. “You’re early—”
Stephanie stood on his doorstep. She had a suitcase in one hand and her eyes were pink and puffy. Her eyeliner remained unsmudged.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I need your help,” she said, pushing past him into the house.
He glanced out the front door for whatever trouble might be following her, turned to follow her, and bumped into her. She hadn’t gone far. She’d dropped her suitcase and flung both arms around his neck before he’d realized what happened.
“Declan,” she sobbed. He felt hot tears against his neck. He held his arms out straight on either side of her, worried that if he embraced her she’d stick to him like napalm. Her left hand remained around his neck but her right slid down and began stroking his chest.
“Calm down,” he said, peeling her away. “Ouch!” He slapped his hand over his chest. “Did you just pinch my nipple?”
Her expression registered deep indignation. “No! How could you think I’d do that?”
He rubbed his pec. “Right. What’s wrong now?”
Her forehead crinkled and her lower lip quivered. “It’s the most horrible thing that could ever happen.”
“What is?”
She put her hand over her mouth, her eyes flowing with tears.
No, no. Not falling for this again.
“Stephanie, I’ve got things to do. Either tell me what’s going on or get out of here and give your tears back to the crocodile you stole them from.” He nodded to her suitcase. “Otherwise, you’ll be late for your reservations at the Witch Carlton.”
She burst into sobs and stumbled forward, tripping on her suitcase. As he caught her she again wrapped herself around him like a boa constrictor. Her legs had turned into noodles, incapable of supporting her weight, so he stood there, weighing the pros and cons of dropping her.
That’s when the front door flung open.
“I brought wine!” said Charlotte, holding aloft a bottle as she worked to remove her key from the door with the other hand. She looked up and froze.
Declan lowered Stephanie until she had to support her own weight or drop to the floor like a ragdoll.
“Charlotte, you remember Stephanie,” he said.
“Uh, hi,” said Charlotte, closing the door behind her.
“Stephanie here is wildly upset about something, but she hasn’t yet found the way to tell me what.”
The strap of Stephanie’s silk camisole slid from her shoulder, revealing enough of her breast to imply she was either braless, or the proud owner of the world’s tiniest bustier. With a coy glance at Charlotte, she righted it.
“I’m sorry to hear this,” said Charlotte, slapping the wine on the counter a little more loudly than usual. She leaned against the island. “Please, don’t let me stop you from sharing.”
Stephanie’s eyes grew wide and doe-like. “Could I have a glass of wine? It might help calm my nerves.”
Declan looked past Stephanie to watch Charlotte’s eyes narrow. She caught his gaze and, rolling her eyes, shrugged one shoulder as if to say, whatever.
“I’ve got it,” said Charlotte. She opened the kitchen drawer and pulled out a corkscrew.
“Here, I’m sorry; I’m being so rude,” said Stephanie, walking over to take the bottle from Charlotte. “Let me do it. I know how his screw works—”
“Oh come on!” said Charlotte, jerking back the bottle. “That didn’t even make sense!”
Stephanie held up her hands. “Oh! Oh, what did I say? I didn’t mean it that way,” said Stephanie, sniffing as she carefully wiped the tears from her eyes with the tip of her middle finger. “Sorry. Really. Honest.” She put her hand on Charlotte’s arm and Declan could see that if Charlotte’s body was any more tense, she’d be pluperfect.
Charlotte ceased moving until Stephanie’s hand slid off her arm, and then proceeded to uncork the bottle.
“Sit down,” said Declan, motioning toward the sofa.
Charlotte uncorked the bottle before he could return to the kitchen island.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
The angry wrinkles carved in Charlotte’s forehead smoothed and it looked as though she might burst into giggles. He relaxed, knowing they’d laugh about Stephanie’s visit later. She poured three glasses and he delivered one to Stephanie.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it.
“Now tell us what’s wrong,” he said, sitting at the other end of the L-shaped sofa, a spot as far away from Stephanie as he could find.
Stephanie stared at Charlotte, who sat beside him. “I guess I could use your help as well,” she said, taking a sip.
“Fantastic, can’t wait,” said Charlotte, taking a long sip of her own.
Stephanie seemed to brace herself and then began her tale. “Remember I told you I had a client who had information about the recent killings?”
“Yes.”
“She’s trying to kill me.”
/> “The killer?” asked Declan.
“My client.”
“You? Why?”
“The person who put the alligator in that man’s pool, and stabbed the crossword guy in the neck—he’s doing those things to get the attention of my client.”
“And the poisonings?” asked Charlotte.
Stephanie’s eyes grew a little wider. “Um, not that one.”
Charlotte scowled. “Why would he kill people to attract your client?”
“She’s the Puzzle Killer.”
Charlotte gasped and put down her wine glass so quickly it sloshed on to the table. “So the Puzzle Killer did the poisoning?”
Stephanie shook her head. “I’m not at liberty to share information like that about my client.”
“But you just told us she’s the Puzzle Killer—”
“I found out she was the Puzzle Killer before she hired me, so technically that’s not covered.”
“Oh. But she told you she poisoned those people after she hired you.”
“Right. I mean...” Stephanie sniffed. “If she had, it would have happened after she hired me. Hypothetically.”
“I’ll take that for a yes.” Charlotte pumped her fist and whispered, 'Frank was right!'
Declan smirked as he watched Charlotte dork out and then turned to Stephanie. “You said she. The Puzzle Killer is a woman?”
“Yes. And this other killer is blackmailing her to commit a new murder. He’s gathered evidence against her.”
“And he chose you as the victim?” asked Charlotte.
Stephanie nodded her head toward the suitcase. “Now you can see why I can’t go home.” Her gaze drifted to Declan and she lowered her eyelids.
Bedroom eyes.
He felt a wave of panic.
“I wonder why he chose you,” mumbled Charlotte, seemingly oblivious to the exchange. Declan dropped his hand on his girlfriend’s thigh and stared pointedly back at Stephanie.
“Maybe he’s one of your ex-boyfriends?” he suggested. “That would explain his blood lust.”
“Very funny,” said Stephanie, standing and walking to the wine on the counter. “But to be honest, it’s not much of a mystery why Alex chose me.”
“Because you’re the Puzzle Killer’s lawyer?” asked Charlotte.