*****
“I guess it never occurred to you that you were holding him back?” Patti Stump sat at the Parker kitchen table, her spine rigid in the straight-back chair. Balls of wadded up newspaper lay on the table next to the dark, blocky form of a seventeen-round Glock pistol.
“I mean, did you even ask yourself if you were meeting his needs?”
Darla sat at the table facing the woman. Her hands were drawn behind her and bound to the slats of the kitchen chair. Her hair stuck out of her head as if she’d been dragged around by it. She stared at the woman. And at the gun.
“I didn’t let the others talk. You should feel honored.” Stump’s eyes were mad and piercing. She wore a lavender pantsuit, the kind Darla hadn’t seen since the sixties. The pant legs were flared and the trousers rode snugly on the woman’s bony hips.
“You know about the others, right?” A hint of annoyance seemed to creep into Stump’s voice. “Gary knows, too. Trust me, he does.”
Darla cleared her throat but was afraid to speak.
“Sweet little Deirdre? Remember her?” Stump smiled. “What you probably didn’t know is that Gary screwed her. I know. Annoying, right? But I took care of her. I was following her and saw her go into the office last Saturday.”
Oh, my God. She killed Deirdre.
Stump’s glance darted toward the kitchen appliances as if she were looking for something and then returned to watch Darla’s reaction. “I’ll bet you didn’t know that Gary screwed her, did you?”
Darla licked her parched lips.
“We’ve screwed too, of course.” Stump leaned across the table toward Darla. “He told me he couldn’t stand you...that just to touch you makes him sick to his stomach.” She stroked Darla’s bare arm. “I’m sorry the little girl isn’t here tonight.” Stump stood, as if to search the house again to make sure. She looked at Darla and smiled. “I’ll have to kill her too, of course.”
Darla fought back the bile rising in her throat, wondering if sheer terror all by itself was enough to kill you.
Murder in the South of France, Book 1 of the Maggie Newberry Mysteries Page 49