The Final Victim (41 page)

    I love spending time with
her.,.
and
so should you.

    "Well, thanks," she murmurs to Melanie, resolving to pop upstairs later to see her aunt.

    "You look really nice today, Mrs. Maitland. That color looks great on you."

    "Thank you."

    "And where did you get those shoes? They're darling!"

    Charlotte repeats her gratitude, and tells Melanie she doesn't remember where she bought the shoes- which
isn't
the truth. They were purchased at a boutique where the least expensive item would cost several weeks' worth of Melanie's hourly wage.

    "Are you going someplace special?" the nurse chatters on.

    "Oh, I was going to head to church, and-" She slaps her head, remembering.

    "What is it?" I meant to get some ingredients at the supermarket for a seafood recipe I'm making for my husband, that's all."

    "Would you like me to run out for you?"

    "No, that's
okay,
you don't have to do that."

    "I really wouldn't mind. I love being out and about! Especially when the sun is shining and the birds are singing, like today."

    Sometimes, Charlotte thinks, Melanie's bubbly demeanor is a little hard to stomach.

    "Really," Charlotte assures her, "that's okay. I'll go to the store later, or tomorrow. But thanks anyway."

    "You're very welcome!"

    The nurse is leaving the room when, as an afterthought, Charlotte calls, "Melanie?"

    "Yes?" She looks expectantly over her shoulder with a jaunty swing of her long blond ponytail.

    "Have you seen an old radio upstairs?"

    "Oh!" Having turned around too quickly, Melanie accidentally sloshed cocoa over the rim of the cup onto her fingers. "I'm sorry, that that was really hot! What did you want to know?"

    Charlotte repeats the question, watching the nurse set down the cup, cross to the sink, and rinse her hand under cold water.

    "No, I haven't seen anything on the third floor, but I'll ask your Aunt Jeanne about it when I go back up."

    Charlotte dismisses that notion with a wave of her hand. "Oh, that's all right She probably won't even know which radio I'm talking about."

    "You might be surprised." Melanie turns off the tap and dries her hands on a dish towel. "Your aunt remembers more than y'all think."

    As the nurse retrieves the hot cocoa and leaves the room, her last words ring in Charlotte's ears.

    She can't help but find the comment ominous, whether it was intended to be, or not.

    "You heard what I told the detectives. I wasn't even in Savannah the night it happened. I was in Mexico, on vacation."

    "I heard you,
Gib
," Tyler acknowledges, tapping his black wing tip impatiently on the Persian carpet, "and I was a little taken aback that you were able to recall in a split second your exact whereabouts on a specific date weeks ago without even glancing at a calendar."

    "I didn't need to. It was a memorable trip, and I was in the company of a very memorable woman when Charlotte called about
Grandaddy
."

    "Where were you?"

    
"In the airport.
Charlotte can vouch for that if you talk to her. I remember the background noise was so bad I could barely hear her."

    "What about your lady friend? Can I talk to her?"

    
Gib
hesitates before answering. Just for a split second, but it's long enough to spark further suspicion in Tyler's mind.

    "Sure,"
Gib
says, "talk to her any time you want. Her name is Cassandra."

    Pulling out a pen, Tyler asks for her last name and phone number, which
Gib
promptly claims not to know.

    "You don't have her telephone number?" Tyler asks in disbelief. "Come on, Gib."

    "I have it,"
Gib
scowls, "but not here. Unfortunately I didn't have a chance to grab my little black book before I left the house."

    Having had just about enough of Glib
Gib
, Tyler puts away his pen. With luck, she'll be in the Boston phone listings; if not, he'll commandeer
Gib's
cell phone-the modern-day equivalent of a little black book-which, come to think of it, must already be in police possession.

    
Dammit
. Tyler simply wasn't cut out for criminal law, even at this stage of the investigation. Maybe he should cut his losses and refuse to have anything further to do with this.

    The trouble is
,
he's nod just here out of legal obligation, or even loyalty to Gilbert. He's here, too, because of what he did.
He and Silas Neville, all those years ago.
Not just out of friendship and loyalty. They weren't immune to the deadly sins they learned about in Bible School many years ago: greed was also a factor. Gilbert compensated them well for their risk.

    So, yes, Tyler Hawthorne has something at stake, should the police start looking for skeletons in the Remington closets.

    
So he wants to know-no, needs to know-if
Gib
Remington's greed could have possibly pushed him as far as murder.

    If he were a betting man, and inclined to listen to his own intuition, he'd say
no
.

    But he's a pragmatic attorney, and the evidence seems to say yes.

    "This Cassandra," he asks
Gib
, "does she live in Boston proper?
Or in the suburbs?"

    
Again, the slight hesitation.

    "You don't know," Tyler says flatly, "is that what you're going to tell me? You went to Mexico with this woman and you don't even know where she lives? And you expect me to believe that?"

    Tyler would love to slap the insolent look off
Gib's
handsome face.

    Then the younger man unexpectedly admits, "I didn't go to Mexico with her. I just met her in the airport."

    "Who did you go to Mexico with, then?" "I went alone."

    "You expect me to believe that?" "It's the truth."

    
No, it isn't
, Tyler thinks, watching his client intently.
It
isn
't
the whole truth, anyway
.

    A female voice answers the phone with "Harper residence" on the first ring, but it doesn't belong
to
Phyllida
.

    Charlotte asks for her, going over again in her mind exactly how she's going to phrase her question about the radio. She decided not to make it a confrontation, as tempting as that is. No, it should be more of a… query, like a casual
, You wouldn't happen to know where
Grandaddy
's
radio is, would you?

    She won't even jump right in with that; first, she'll ask about the flight last night and apologize for not having had a chance to say good-bye.

    Yes, it's a good idea to remain civilized. As Charlotte's mother always used to say
, "You catch more flies with honey…"

    "Mrs. Harper isn't here," the voice says, effectively bursting her bubble-for now. "Mr. Harper isn't, either. Who's calling, please?"

   
 
'This is her cousin Charlotte. Who is this?"

    "Lila-I'm
Wills's
nanny," the woman says edgily, before blurting, "Are you in Georgia?
That cousin?"

    "Yes…"

    "Mr. Harper has been trying to call you all morning. He tried yesterday, too. He thought something must have happened to the phone because we saw on the Weather Channel there was a hurricane coming-"

    "You mean the tropical storm? No, that hasn't hit yet. We've just had rain-"

    "Well, we saw there were flight delays, and whenever he tried to get through to you, the recording kept saying the phone was out of service."

    "Oh-the number's been changed."
And I would have told you if I had seen you, but you didn't even bother to say good-bye
, she mentally scolds
Phyllida
.

    Then, realizing what Lila just said, she asks, puzzled, "Why has Brian been trying to call me all morning?"

    "He wasn't trying to call you-he was trying to get Mrs. Harper on the phone. He's been leaving voice mails for her, too, but she isn't picking up her cell phone."

    Charlotte frowns. "You mean she isn't there?
In California?"

    "No. Isn't she
there
?"

    "No. At least, I don't think so. I
haven't
seen her." 'Mr. Harper is worried sick, and poor little Wills keeps asking where his mommy is… When he woke up Saturday morning I told him she was coming back that night. Mr. Harper even brought him to the airport, even though the flight was scheduled to get in so late… but no Mommy."

    "Maybe it didn't come in," Charlotte suggests. "The weather was horrible. I bet she spent the night here at the airport and she's probably on a flight now."

    "No, the flight came in, just an hour late. But she wasn't on it."

    "Did you check with the airline?" 'They wouldn't release any passenger information. It's against the law. We don't know where she is. But we thought you would."

    
No," Charlotte murmurs, her thoughts reeling.
"I'm sorry, I have no idea."

    Deep in the marsh, unseen creatures scamper, slither, and fly away from approaching footsteps. The steel utility blade swings relentlessly at irksome Spanish moss, grayer and drier than an old lady's hair. The hilt glints silver in the sunlight as it hacks a cleaner path to the old slave cabins.

    The mud in most places is knee-deep here, making each step a challenge, and high rubber boots a necessity.

    This is hard work beneath the hot midday sun, but not nearly as arduous as it was to travel this same path the other night, in the dark and rain, dragging one hundred and twenty-five pounds of
tarped
dead weight. The hand truck did no good, having been left here at the cabin. But the flashlight, so thoughtfully provided by the victim herself, guided the way.

    
You could have thrown her into the trunk, weighted her with a concrete block, and tossed her off the
Achoco
Island causeway, like you said you were going to do.

    
Right.
But this is better. Harder work yields prolonged enjoyment in the end.

    Not that there's much time to linger for fun today…

    
And not that this plan is without significant risks.

    
Then again, it's like you mentioned to
Lianna
just the other day…

    Nothing worthwhile in life comes without risk.

    Yes, and she looked about as attentive as she would be listening to an English teacher droning on about literary devices…

    
Such as foreshadowing.

    
Tsk
,
tsk
,
Lianna
. You really should listen when people talk.

    Anyway, the risks of this overall plan became apparent way back in the beginning, when a trolley full of tourists happened around the corner onto Drayton Street unexpectedly just before Tyler Hawthorne's little rainy-day "accident" was to have occurred the first time.

    It took another whole week to wait for a suitable deluge so that the hit-and-run could be restaged. That time, it worked like a charm.

    Except that he lived.

    But it did get him out of the picture long enough for the plan to proceed.

    
And he fits in rather nicely now, doesn't he?

    So yes, there are risks at every turn. But really, who in their right mind is going to venture out here for any reason whatsoever in this day and age?

    Chances are slim to none that anyone might have noticed that one cabin has been newly outfitted with a steel-reinforced door and a padlock, both conveniently purchased at the sprawling Home Depot over near the causeway.

    It's just fortunate that the place was ready to accommodate yet another guest, this time ahead of schedule.

    Well, in this family, one must always be prepared for the likelihood of unexpected company. That's just good old-fashioned Southern hospitality.

    With an abrupt fluttering of wings, a great flock of nocturnal herons lifts from an overhead roost, their squawks mingling with the maniacal cackle of laughter that startled them.

    "
There
you are!" Casey exclaims, hearing
Lianna's
voice. "Where have you been?"

    "Where have you been?" Sprawled on the couch in the upstairs study,
Lianna
winds the curly phone cord around her index finger, watching the bulging tip turn white. "Y'all are the ones who've been away, like, forever. You said you'd call the second you got back o: Friday."