Identity

Even as she said it, she understood. He worried. Of course he worried when he wasn’t right there. Couldn’t control the situation.

“We’ll try the other way instead. Go home, sit in your turret, and answer all the texts and emails and whatever else you didn’t manage to get to in a normal workday. And if I text something like ‘Say good night to Howl,’ come running.”

“Count on it.”



* * *



In the kitchen, Olivia and Audrey dealt with the last of the dinner dishes and talked about what remained in the top of their minds.

Wedding plans.

“We can look for our dresses at the bridal shop.” Audrey hand-washed the wineglasses they’d used at dinner. “We have to look perfect when we walk Morgan down the aisle. Or whatever’s going to stand for the aisle. I still get teary that she wants us to.”

“No flounces, Audrey. The girl wants simple.”

“Simple—flounce-free—but perfect.”

Olivia picked up a cloth to dry the stemware. “They better pick a solid band because I want to dance my ass off. Who’d have thought, baby, that when she came here last winter, we’d be planning a wedding for next spring?”

“We’ll not only know she’s happy, Mom. We’ll see it. We’ll get to be a part of the life she’s building. I’ll never take that for granted. Never.”

“You’re going to get sloppy and sentimental on me again, which makes me sloppy and sentimental. So I say we knock it off and go watch a movie.”

“I’d like a movie.”

“I’ll make the popcorn.”

“I’ll just take out this trash. And let’s pick something happy,” she added as she tied up the kitchen bag, then pulled out the recycle bin.

She carried both around the side of the house, dropped the tied bag in its can, dumped the trash for recycling in its.

She never heard him, not until his arm wrapped around her throat and the gun pressed against her temple.

“Make a sound, and I’ll shoot you in the head. You must be Mom. Let’s go in the house, Mom.”

“Morgan’s not here. She’s not here.”

“I know that.” Rather than press the trigger, he turned the gun, gave her a good smack with the butt. “You think I’m stupid? Did she tell you I was stupid? Move!”

Her vision blurred—tears, pain, fear—as he dragged her to the kitchen door.

“Got it going,” Olivia said. “Making two bowls since you’re fussy about the salt.” Then she turned, froze.

“And you must be Gram. Down on the floor, Grandma, face-fucking-down, or I blow Mom’s head clean off.”

His sneer widened into a grin. “Hey! Is that popcorn?”





Chapter Thirty-one



He thought about just killing them both. Not with the gun—too much noise. But he had Dead Jane’s knife, and he had other ways.

Wouldn’t it be fun to watch her face when she came home and saw their bloody bodies?

But that’s what happened with—what was the little bitch’s name? Who cares. It hadn’t been enough, just not painful enough.

This time, he’d make her watch him kill them. That way when he killed her, she’d have those images in her head.

She’d suffer, and she needed to suffer. She’d pay, and she needed to pay.

He had an ugly scar on his arm—her fault. He’d gained weight—her fault. And just a few hours before, one of his back teeth had started aching. Her fault.

Every hour he’d spent in a musty motel room, every mile he’d driven in some piece-of-shit truck or van, her fault.

He deserved the best, had earned the best. And once he killed her, it would all come back. All his bad luck lived in her.

He’d had the bitches drag the nice, sturdy dining room chairs into the living room, then made the old one zip-tie the other one to a chair. He’d had to give her a couple of smacks, but he didn’t mind that.

He’d zip-tied old Grandma himself, nice and tight, then used a roll of duct tape for good measure. They’d tried to talk with him, all quiet voices or tearful pleas, so he’d just slapped more duct tape over their mouths.

He paced awhile, scoping out the house, shoving popcorn in his mouth.

When he heard the chairs rattling, he went back in.

“Keep it up and we’ll see how you like a bullet in the knee, or maybe the gut.” He sat on the sofa facing them, the popcorn bowl in his lap. “When she comes in, she’ll see you. That’s phase one. She’ll know it’s her fault. It’s all her fault. Do you have any idea what she cost me? What she took from me?”

As anger built up, the rage spewed out. “I’ve been living like some derelict, some failure, and she’s living here? I bet she’s got a big, soft bed upstairs—I’ll take a look later. Big, old house—got some antiques, I see, some fricking heirlooms. How come she gets that when she ruined my life? I’m here to take it back, you get that? I’m taking it all back.”

He reached for more popcorn, found the bowl empty, and threw it across the room. Glass shattered, flew.

In a flash, his face went from fury to calm and contemplative.

“Now I’m thirsty. Let’s see what you’ve got, and if I hear a sound in here, Morgan’ll find you both dead in a pool of blood.”

When they heard him moving around in the kitchen, Olivia shifted again—quietly—so Audrey could try to maneuver her hand, her fingers, to pull the cell phone from her mother’s pocket.

The hard plastic tie dug into her wrist, drew blood, but she kept trying, felt her heart pounding when her fingers brushed against the top edge.

Then they heard him coming back.

“You bitches are loaded.” He took a long pull from a bottle of Coke. “Some nice wine in there, but I’ll save that for after. I need a clear head to do my work. And speaking of loaded.”

He strode over, ripped the tape from Olivia’s mouth, beamed at the shock of pain that ran over her face. “This house is worth a bundle, and you’ve got a whole lot more tucked into brokerage accounts, business accounts. No reason in this world a woman like you should have all that. Money’s a man’s privilege, Granny.”

“I’ll sign it all over to you. You can walk away with every penny and disappear. Live the life you deserve.”

“That’s what they all say—if I give them the chance. I don’t want you to give me a fucking thing. I take. Understand?”

He closed his hand over her throat. “Understand!”

When she nodded, he released the pressure. “I bet you’ve got a nice laptop. You’re going to tell me where it is, tell me the password, or I’m going to get one of those plastic bags you’ve got in the kitchen, put it over this one’s head. And you can watch me smother her to death.”

She told him.

When he went to get it, Audrey tried for the phone again.



* * *



Bailey stayed to close the bar with Morgan.

“You keep in touch,” Morgan told her. “I want to hear how school’s going, the job’s going—because you will get it—how everything’s going.”

“I will. Promise. I’m excited to go back, but I’m going to miss you, and everyone. Maybe you can save a slot for me at the bar over winter break.”

“If you want it, you’ve got it.”

Bailey took a last look around. “Summer’s really over.”