“My father told me,” Tad grinned.
Cindy’s heart was pounding. “He described the murder to you?”
“He did.”
“And you said nothing until now?”
Tad threw his head back and laughed shrilly. “What could I say? He’s my father.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because you said you’re not giving up. You’re going hunt the bastard down.”
“Show me the scrapbook, Tad,” Cindy demanded. I want to see more. I need to see it.”
“What I told you isn’t enough?” he yelled. “What more can I show you?”
“The scrapbook.”
Tad turned on his heel. “Okay, I’ll get it.”
He went to a safe in the corner of the study, and fumbled with the lock. Cindy got up and went beside him.
“The scrapbook is in there?” she asked.
“Yes,” Tad spoke darkly, “under lock and key. This is my safe. No one else can get in. I keep what’s important to me in here.”
The lock finally turned and Tad yanked the door it open. Cindy looked inside. There was a scrapbook and some silk scarves, which must have belonged to Tiffany. As Tad pulled out the scrapbook, the scarves rolled to the side and underneath Cindy saw a gorgeous amethyst necklace glittering. In the center was the exquisite design set in rubies. It looked like a wild heart burning. This had to be Tiffany’s necklace, the one that had been ripped off her when she was killed. It was in Tad’s possession, locked up in his safe.
Cindy gasped and began reeling. She tried her best to re-group. The killer wasn’t Tad’s father. It was Tad. Waves of perspiration flooded her face.
“What?” asked Tad, turning to look at her.
“Nothing,” Cindy murmured. “It got so hot and humid.”
Tad looked at the necklace and looked at her.
Cindy’s mind flew all over the place. She stepped back from the safe, trembling.
“That necklace belonged to my mother’s mother,” Tad said slowly, watching Cindy’s every move.
“Really?” she said casually, trying to be nonchalant. “It’s beautiful.”
“Certainly is,” said Tad.
“You know, it’s so hot, I’m just wondering if Mattheus is on the way?” Cindy said, and reached for the phone that was in her pocket. She wanted to call Mattheus immediately, clue him in somehow. As she dialed the number as Tad stared at her, slowly putting the pieces together.
“Mattheus,” Cindy gasped into the phone.
“What? What?” Mattheus was terrified.
“Mattheus,” Cindy gasped once more, before Tad yanked the phone away.
“Someone showed you a picture of this necklace?” Tad’s eyes narrowed. “They told you it belonged to Tiffany?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Cindy lied.
“Don’t try to fool me,” Tad’s face became contorted. “I hate it when people try to play with my mind. Don’t you dare try to fool me the way Tiffany did.”
“I’m not trying to fool you, Tad,” Cindy murmured.
“Yes, you are. You recognized the necklace and called back up. You want to nail me for the murder!”
He grabbed Cindy by the neck.
Cindy’s phone rang.
Tad pulled the phone out of her hand and tossed it out the back window.
“You’re never answering that phone again,” Tad muttered as it crashed on the patio.
Cindy tried her best to wrestle away from him. The harder she pushed, the tighter his grip got.
“Tiffany was a lousy whore,” Tad started screaming in a high pitched, rancid tone. “I have pictures of her in my scrapbook to prove it. My father took them and gave them to me.”
“Your father took them?” Cindy was horrified.
“My father was onto something. He followed her wherever she went. When she met Frances, my father was there in the shadows, taking pictures of her and him,” Tad shrieked. “He said he did it to save me, to let me know who she was.” Now Tad was breathing heavily. “When I saw these pictures I knew he was right. What else could I do? I had to kill the bitch on the spot. Do you blame me for that?”
“I don’t blame you,” yelled Cindy.
“Blame him! He drove me to it!”
“It’s a nightmare,” Cindy cried out, as though pleading for her life.
“But you blame me anyway, I see it in your eyes.”
“No I don’t,” Cindy yelled.
“The hell you don’t, the hell you don’t,” Tad pressed harder around Cindy’s neck.
“Oh God,” Cindy’s voice wouldn’t come out. “Oh God, she tried to yell anyway in the empty house, “Don’t let me die, please God.”