Deadly Intent (4 page)

With an amused expression, the man stuck the cigarette in his mouth. “Nice place you’ve got there,” he said, nodding toward the restaurant. “How much do you gross a night?” He talked with the cigarette clamped between his teeth. “Five grand? Ten?” The Zippo flared, and as he brought the orange flame to the tip of the cigarette, she saw his gaze drift to her purse. He chuckled again as if he knew exactly what was in it. And what she was thinking.

Yet instinct told her he was not a robber. He was too chatty, too preoccupied with the shock value of his remarks to be truly frightening. That thought gave her a small burst of courage. “How much I make is none of your business.” As she spoke, she took her cell phone out of her purse. “So why don’t you do yourself a favor and get out of my way. Or would you rather I called the police?”

Unfazed, the man took a deep drag of the cigarette and exhaled the smoke slowly, blowing it toward her. Then, leaning against the SUV, he said, “Now, now, Abbie, is that any way to greet your big brother?”

Three

Abbie’s first impulse was to dial 911. But even as her finger stood poised over the keypad, she stopped. Something about the man—maybe the unconcerned way he kept looking at her—made her wonder if he could be telling the truth.

She rejected the thought even though the first hint of doubt had begun to gnaw at the pit of her stomach. Ian McGregor had been fifteen the last time she had seen him, which would make him forty-three. He’d had dark curly hair and dark eyes that always lit up with a malevolent gleam—as they did now—when he was about to play a prank on someone.

“That’s right.” Ian took another drag of his cigarette. “It’s me. Ian McGregor. In the flesh. I bet you didn’t think you’d ever lay eyes on me again, did you?”

She didn’t know how to answer that question. When she and her mother had left California following the devastating fire at the McGregors’ house, Ian and his sister, Liz, had stayed in Palo Alto with their aunt Lucinda. Eight-year old Abbie, who had had to put up with Ian’s querulous disposition and Liz’s lofty indifference for two long years, had quickly put the teenagers out of her mind.

“What’s the matter, Princess?” Ian asked, using the nickname he had given her years ago. ‘ ‘Cat got your tongue

all of a sudden? Or are you too overcome with emotion to speak?”

“How do I know you are who you claim to be?”

Silently, he pulled out a wallet from his back pocket, opened it and held it in front of her, tilting it toward the light so she could read it. The expired driver’s license, made out to Ian McGregor, had a Toledo, Ohio, address, and the photograph resembled him enough to erase her last doubts. Now she knew why his earlier gesture had seemed so familiar. His father had also tapped his cigarette against his lighter in much the same way.

With a flick of the wrist, he snapped his wallet shut. “I would have looked you up sooner, but your mother didn’t bother to leave a forwarding address.”

‘ ‘You knew perfectly well where to get hold of her if you had wanted to,” Abbie snapped. “And she did leave a forwarding address—with your aunt Lucinda.”

Ian tucked the wallet back in his jeans pocket. “How is my dear stepmommy?”

“How did you find me?”

“I saw that TV interview you did. Me and my fellow inmates were flipping through the channels—“

“Fellow inmates?” she repeated as his words sank in. “You’ve been in prison?”

“Don’t look so surprised. Isn’t that the fate Irene had predicted for me?” He shook his finger in a mock imitation of a scolding parent. ‘”I swear, Ian McGregor, if you don’t shape up soon, you’ll end up in juvenile court.’ Well, guess what? She was right. Somehow I got myself mixed up with the wrong crowd and before I knew it, I was in the slammer.

“I shouldn’t complain, though, should I?” A slow grin spread over Ian’s face. “Something good came out of my last stint. I found you.”

“And why would you want to do that?”

“Why not? We’re family, after all.”

“Since when? If I recall, you always treated me like an intruder.”

He chuckled. “I can still tell when you’re pissed, you know that? Your eyes narrow just like they did when you were little, although I wouldn’t have recognized you if it hadn’t been for the DiAngelo name. You’ve changed, little sister.” He let his gaze travel up and down her body. “For the better, I must say.”

“What do you want, Ian?” She heard the impatience in her voice but didn’t care. She was tired and she wanted to go home.

He didn’t seem to have heard her. “So you became a famous chef. I can’t say I’m surprised. You and Irene were always in the kitchen, cooking those great meals. It was quite a change after the kind of slop my mother used to feed us when she was alive.”

“Then why couldn’t you have shown a little gratitude to my mother instead of always being rude and critical?”

“For God’s sake, Abbie, give me a break, will you? I was a thirteen-year-old kid when you guys moved in. All of a sudden, my life was flipped upside down. I didn’t just have to put up with a new stepmother but a bratty stepsister as well. It was one hell of an adjustment.”

“And now, out of the blue, you want to renew family ties?”

He pulled on the cigarette again, and this time, he had the courtesy to blow the smoke toward the night sky. “They say people turn sentimental in their old age. Maybe that’s what’s happening to me. I’m turning sentimental.”

She’d had enough. Whatever his game was, she wasn’t playing. “Good night, Ian.” She tried to walk past him but he blocked her way to the SUV.

“Not so fast, Princess. You and me have a little unfinished business.”

As badly as she wanted to get out of here, she had no choice but to wait for him to continue.

“You remember the fire, Abbie?”

His question, though unexpected, brought an instant image of the McGregors’ house in flames, and of Irene, dragging Abbie and Ian out of the inferno. She had watched in horror as her mother had ran back inside to save her husband and Liz, terrified she’d never see her mother alive again. Thankfully, the firemen had arrived in time to stop her. Liz had survived, but it had been too late for Patrick McGregor.

Oh yes, she remembered that night. Next to her dad’s death when she was just five, it was one of the darkest moments of her entire childhood.

“I remember,” she said quietly.

“Do you remember how it happened?”

“Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Just humor me, Abbie. Do you remember how the fire happened?”

“I remember what the fire chief said happened. Your father was in bed, smoking, and as usual, he had been drinking. He fell asleep with the cigarette in his hand.” She didn’t care if her accusatory remark upset him. He had started this.

But Ian didn’t look upset. He looked smug. “That’s what Irene wanted the fire chief to believe. That’s what she wanted everyone to believe, but that’s not what happened.”

Abbie felt suddenly sick. She wanted to blame the feeling on the long day, but she knew she was only kidding herself. Ian was the reason for the tightening of her stomach. Seeing him after all these years brought a foreboding she couldn’t shake. Without being sure why, she knew this

unwelcome little reunion was about to change her life forever. She wanted to push past him, get in her car and pretend this visit had never taken place. Yet an unknown force, something close to a premonition, kept her rooted where she was.

“What are you talking about?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“That fire was no accident,” Ian said. “It was the work of an arsonist.” He paused, obviously for effect. “An arsonist paid by your mother.”

Four

Abbie’s mouth went dry. For a few seconds, she couldn’t fully comprehend what she had just heard. Then, as the words slowly sank in, she slapped Ian’s chest with both palms. “You’re a sick man, Ian. I had hoped the past twenty-eight years had changed you, but I see they haven’t. You’re still as twisted as ever, and if you think I’m going to stand here and listen to your lies, you’re sicker than I thought.”

She shoved him out of the way with more force than she’d ever thought herself capable of and opened the SUV’s driver’s door.

‘ ‘What if I told you I had proof that your mother paid someone to set fire to my father’s house? Would you believe me then?”

She was shaking so hard, it was a wonder she could talk at all. ‘ ‘If you had proof, you would have gone to the police long ago.”

“I found out about it just before I left Ohio. Seems I wasn’t the only inmate who saw you on TV that night, bragging about your fancy award, your successful restaurant, your good fortune. My friend remembered Irene’s former name—DiAngelo—and put two and two together.”

“An inmate?” Abbie let out a brittle laugh. “That’s your proof?”

“Inmates are people, too.”

“They’re criminals who lie as easily as they breathe.”

“Some, maybe, but Earl Kramer is telling the truth about Irene.”

“How would you know?”

His lips twisted in a half smile. “I’ve been around liars long enough to know when I’m being conned. And if Earl says Irene hired him to kill my father, then I believe him.”

“How long have you known this man?”

“Twelve, thirteen years.”

‘ ‘And he waited all this time to tell you he burned down your father’s house?” She laughed, even though she found nothing amusing about the situation. “Come on, Ian. Even you can see the holes in this story.”

The mockery in her tone didn’t seem to faze him. “He would have been a fool to admit to a crime while he was still a free man. Now that he’s on death row and has exhausted all his appeals, he has nothing to lose by telling the truth.”

“But he may have a lot to gain by fabricating the story.”

“What would he have to gain?”

“Money, Ian.” Still holding the SUV’s door, she turned around to make sure he heard her but also to show him she wasn’t afraid. “Inmates need money, don’t they? To support their families, to give to the guards who might make their lives a little easier. How much did it cost you to convince this Earl Kramer to lie?”

Ian did a good job of looking shocked. “You’ve got it all wrong, sis. Earl sent for me. He knew I was getting out, so he figured it was time for him to level with me.”

“Why this sudden urge to confess?”

“Earl found religion. That’s right, he’s a reformed man.” He shrugged. “Won’t do him any good now, but that doesn’t bother him. He wants to cleanse his soul before he meets his maker.”

“And he chose you to help him do that?”

“That’s right.”

She gave a slow shake of her head. “Do you have any idea how phony that sounds?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“You’re a self-admitted grifter, Ian. Your whole life has been one big sham. So, no, I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not a grifter anymore. I want to turn my life around, start a business maybe.”

“Doing what? Conning little old ladies out of their pension money?”

He let the sarcastic remark pass and took a puff of his cigarette, holding the smoke in before releasing it in a long, slow stream. “Maybe you should talk to Earl, Abbie. You should let him tell you how Irene contacted him through the classifieds, where they met and how she explained that she wanted my father killed but it had to look like an accident.”

“He must have agreed to do the job for free, then, because we both know my mother didn’t have any money.”

“Wrong again, sis. She still had money left over from the insurance policy on your dad. That’s what she used to pay Earl. Twenty-five hundred dollars up front and the other twenty-five hundred after the job was done.”

“You expect me to believe that my mother would know how to get in touch with a hired killer?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure she didn’t. That’s why she put that ad in the newspaper. It’s done all the time. Take a look when you get a chance.”

“I don’t know who’s lying here, you or your prison buddy, but one of you is.”

“You know something? At first I didn’t believe him either. Then it hit me that Earl was telling the truth. The bastard was actually responsible for my father’s death. I

wanted to kill the son of the bitch,” he continued in a thin, angry voice Abbie was sure was a put-on. “I wanted to end his miserable life right there and then. I wanted him to pay for killing my father, for all the misery I had to endure after Irene abandoned Liz and me.” His voice dropped a notch. “Unfortunately, he was protected by two inches of safety glass and two armed guards. And even if I could have killed him, I wouldn’t have. I wasn’t about to risk going back to prison for a vermin like him.”