The Final Victim(101)

In the end, there was nothing left of Mama's golden girl. Nothing at all.

Too bad alligators don't eat radios.

It, too, will have to be hidden… again.

The first time, it was to prevent Charlotte from taking it to a repairman who would open it up, undoubtedly see that it had been immersed in water, and tell Charlotte that was why it had stopped working.

Who knows what conclusion she might draw from that? 'She's smarter than she looks-unlike her West Coast cousin.

Hmm… maybe the radio can be weighted with a rock and sunk in the marsh on the way to the house.

That will have to do. The important thing is to get back to Oakgate before the storm's full fury descends.

A dank sea breeze incessantly rustles the palm fronds and moss-clotted foliage overhead, and the rain is picking up along with the wind. The sky has turned an ominous yellow-black over the Atlantic to herald the arrival of Tropical Storm-or perhaps it's Hurricane, by now-Douglas.

Ah, yes… the professional chefs knife is even more effective at clearing away troublesome vines than the utility knife was.

It will have to be thoroughly cleaned of blood-not to mention furtively sharpened-before it's been returned to the kitchen drawer back at Oakgate. Just in case.

In case, say, somebody would like to prepare a fancy French seafood recipe…

Or if a good, freshly whetted blade is needed for some altogether different purpose.

"So, like, he just called me to say that there's this really bad storm coming," Lianna tells Devin, practically whispering into the telephone receiver.

"Right. My mom is freaking out. Tropical Storm Douglas."

"Whatever… he has to work now because all these people are gassing up their cars to leave the island… so he said forget it and let's do it tonight instead."

"Where would you even go?"

"He said we could just, you know, hang out in his car, but…"

"What, you don't want to? That sounds romantic. Especially in a storm."

Lianna hesitates. "I don't know. I just don't know if I believe him."

"About what?"

"Having to work. Even though I could hear, like, all this noise in the background…"

"What did it sound like?"

"Like he was working at a gas station in the rain."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean anything," Devin says dismissively. "When my dad was having his affair before my parents split up, he used to make all these bogus staged calls to my mom to cover his butt. Like, he'd say he was calling from the car, stuck in traffic, or from the airport or something, and he wasn't. It just sounded like it because he was using this software-download service on his cell phone to make it sound like he was calling from somewhere else."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. I checked it out myself, actually, a while back. Before I figured out that now that my dad's gone and my mom's in charge, I can pretty much do what I want anyway. But if I wanted to come up with a good lie and cover my butt with fake background noise, I easily could, and Kevin could, too."

"So you think he's lying, too?" Lianna asks, incredulous that he would go to such lengths to make her think he's at work.

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"So what should I do?"

"Meet him tonight and call him on it. That's all you can do." 'Yeah, or not show up," Lianna says, glancing toward the window as the panes rattle in the wind. "Hey, the weather does look pretty bad. Did you say this is a hurricane?"

"Nah, just a tropical storm. At least, so far. My step-dad says it's no big deal. Trust me, it isn't." 'Yeah, well, you're up in Savannah. I'm stuck out here on this stupid island. I swear, I can't wait until we move back to the-"

There's a booming crack and then a deafening crash outside.

"Did you hear that?" she asks Devin. "God, it sounds like a gun just… Devin? Devin?"

The phone, Lianna realizes with a sickening feeling, has gone dead.

*

Waiting in the windowless interrogation room at the police station, where the detectives abandoned her ages ago with a promise to be back shortly, Charlotte is growing increasingly claustrophobic.

Her cell phone doesn't work in here, and she really should call home and let them know where she is. They must be getting worried, especially if that storm is still blowing in. It might even be starting to rain already; it could take her longer than usual to get back.

On top of that, most of the groceries she bought are going to be a total loss, sitting in the back of the SUV in the warm parking garage.

She supposes she could have stashed them in the fridge at the new house, conveniently located just down the block. But that would have meant setting foot in there again, and she isn't ready to do that. She couldn't even bring herself to drive down Oglethorpe Avenue to get here, instead going out of her way to avoid it.

She checks her watch again, wishing the detectives would at least stick their heads in, so that she could ask if she can leave the room to make a call.

Then again, she's almost afraid to call home, especially knowing that Aimee might pick up.

Of course Charlotte doesn't believe Royce's daughter, of all people, had anything to do with the shooting…