For the full twenty-four hours after Virginia Spring had taken her own life, Max thought long and hard about what to give Sutter Cahill. She’d thought about it while she gave McKaverty and Schulz her statement. She’d thought about it as she answered their million-and-one questions satisfactorily—she hoped. She thought about it as she washed the smell of death out of her hair. Like Witt, she couldn’t seem to wash it out of her nose.
The scent lingered like a memory long after you’d rubbed your skin raw trying to get rid of it.
Max couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why she wanted to reach out to Sutter, finally, after the two years since Cameron’s death. She only knew it felt like the right time.
Cameron had suggested a phone call. Max wasn’t ready for that. Instead, after much musing, she’d wrapped up the ceramic cat bowl she should have left with Sutter the day she’d dropped Louis on her best friend’s front stoop.
Sutter would know what it meant. Maybe she’d give Max a few days respite before calling back. A few days to contemplate picking up the phone when the message started and she knew who it was.
Two days after Virginia Spring blew her brains out, Max sat on Sutter’s street, half a block down from her friend’s little house. She’d watched Sutter drive away ten minutes ago, but she was still thinking about getting out of the car to put the small package in her ex-best friend’s mailbox.
Contacting Sutter had a ring of finality to it. The end, not the beginning, of ... something.
Like the gunshot that ended Virginia’s life two days ago.
Like McKaverty’s ominous last words late on the evening of the suicide. “We’ll be calling you, Ms. Starr. Don’t leave town.” Like a line out of a bad movie, Max wasn’t sure she’d imagined the threatening tone.
The sun was bright on the hood of the car, though the air outside was chilly. October was almost over. Tomorrow was the anniversary of Cameron’s death. She figured if she spent it in bed, perhaps the day would pass unnoticed. In three more days, on Halloween, she’d turn thirty-three. She might stay in bed for that, too.
A car pulled in across the street, a bright shaft of sunlight piercing her eyes until the car inched forward to a slightly different angle.
A white Cadillac. Like Traynor’s.
The interior of her car turned ice-box cold. Goosebumps roughened her skin. She reached for her purse where she kept Witt’s cell phone—she no longer left it in the glovebox.
She punched in a number she shouldn’t have known.
The man in the white Cadillac reached down to the seat beside him. “Hello, Max.”
She couldn’t see his face clearly through the tinted glass, but she heard the smile and cunning in his voice. She thought of the old cliché, something about the blood running cold. His voice, Achilles voice, made her blood icy. She wondered how it could possibly have taken her that long to put the two voices together. She should have known it with that very first vision of Bethany. But then Bud Traynor had always skewed her psychic talents.
“Why are you following me?” She thanked God her voice didn’t crack.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right after your little run in with poor Virginia.”
Poor Virginia. “Did you tell her to kill herself? That it was her only way out?”
“I didn’t have to tell her that, my dear. She already knew it.”
He had all the right words, but she wasn’t beaten yet. “Is that what you did to Walter, convince him he had no other choice?”
“Walter knew his daughter was going to win the suit, and that on the heels of that loss, the District Attorney’s office was going to investigate him for embezzlement of client funds. I would have been forced to cooperate with them.”
The District Attorney would investigate. She wondered if Cameron would have handled the case. She wished to hell Cameron remembered.
Failing to find the words to vanquish Traynor, she attempted only to cut him down to size. “How many people have you killed, Bud?”
He chuckled. “You never disappoint me, Max. I like a woman who fights to the bitter end.” He fell silent. She thought she saw him stroke his chin. “I covered for you, Max, and told the police Virginia had asked you to stay with her during the funeral.”
A series of chills raced down her arms.
“I think that means you owe me.”
The blood roared in her ears. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“I can always change my story.”
“Then they’ll start investigating you.”
“I will have you, one day. I don’t care if it has to be drug-induced. I’m not particular.”
“You’ll never get that close to me.”
She felt his gaze pierce her from across the street. He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I want to see your face when you wake up in my bed and realize I’ve just fucked the hell out of you.”
“I’d kill myself before I’d let that happen.”