Living with the Dead

ROBYN



When Robyn saw a shadow pass the drawn motel drapes, her first thought, supported by her growling stomach, was “Good. Lunch. Finally.” Then she remembered she hadn’t ordered any yet.

She’d meant to. She’d picked a meal from the menu, then decided she wasn’t quite hungry enough and wanted to check a few more things first.

Hope had set her on the task of researching rumors about Jasmine Wills, anything that might support the theory that she had a grudge against Portia, and that the photo had pushed her over the edge to murder.

Robyn had started with tabloid and gossip column archives. Finding nothing new, she’d moved to message boards and blogs, and that’s where she’d become mired in the hate and vitriol posters directed at Portia—a woman they’d never met. She’d been pulled off track, bogged down again, lunch plans forgotten as her hopes of finding helpful rumors were squashed by the sheer number of blatant lies and slander.

Finally she’d stalled on a “Shoot Portia Kane” Web game. She’d been surprised it hadn’t been removed in light of the tragedy. Then she’d realized it had been created after Portia was killed.

How could someone make such a game? How could people play it? If Robyn wanted a suspect to replace her, she could just post on Craigslist. People would line up, eager to snatch the glory of killing a young woman whose only crime had been to unabashedly enjoy the wealth and social position she’d been born into.

She was still staring at that game when she noticed the figure approach the curtained window. For at least ten seconds the figure stood there, then moved toward the door. Robyn waited for it to appear at the window on the other side of the door. It didn’t.

Should she stay where she was? Or run into the bathroom?

When no knock came, she rose, gripping the back of the chair to support herself as she caught her breath. Okay, she was being silly now. A man outside her door? Could it be the one who was sharing her room? Yet even as she tried to convince herself it was Karl, she had only to recall the slender shadow to know it hadn’t been.

She took three steps toward the peephole, then stopped, remembering a crime show she’d watched with Damon, where someone looked out his peephole and got his face blasted off with a shotgun.

The figure passed to the other side. Then his shadow started to shrink as he walked away.

Robyn hurried to the peephole. Her view was distorted, but she could tell he had red hair and looked young. She remembered what Hope had said about seeing a red-haired young man at her apartment. Now she flashed back to another figure. Judd’s killer. Male, young, a slight build, below-average height . . .

She checked back out the peephole. The man was walking toward the road.

Robyn darted to the nightstand and picked up the phone. Her finger flew to the pad to dial Hope’s cell. But what would she say? If Karl drove really, really fast they might catch a glimpse of the guy before he got away?

She’d wanted to play an active role in the investigation, hadn’t she? She put down the phone, and quickly changed back into Judd’s sweats.