The Final Victim(39)

No, but I did. Because I'm a big baby, incapable of dealing with anything on my own.

Or so her brother liked to tell her, when they were younger.

'That's my son," her mother says with affection. "Always protective. I wish he wouldn't worry about me."

Phyllida bites back a comment.

If her mother hasn't figured out by now that Gib worries about nobody other than himself, she never will.

What on earth is she doing out here at this time of night?

The arc of her flashlight swings dangerously close to the nook beside the back steps. Any second now, it might expose this hiding spot.

And then what?

That won't happen. Don't even think about it.

Just hold your breath and don't move.

Yes, but it's nearly impossible to stay motionless when mosquitos hover about one's exposed skin, landing and stinging in a frenzied blood feast.

Giving in to the almost overwhelming desire to slap at an insect would cause quite a stir in the quiet evening, and undoubtedly make it necessary to extinguish the human pest as well, with considerably more bloodshed.

That might be infinitely satisfying in the moment, but would pose an unnecessary risk, overall.

Why is she out here?

Why am I out here?

I'm exhausted after all that work on the cabin.

This wasn't a good idea-this last-minute improvisation, courtesy of the unexpected codicil.

Oh? It will be a good idea if it works.

Yes, but… There had to be another way to do this.

Her footsteps are coming ominously closer, each one marked by the distinct slapping of a rubber sole against her heel.

What if she sees me?

What then?

Then, whatever has to happen, will happen. That's all there is to it. She's certainly expendable.

Yes, but all in good time. Don't get overly anxious.

Just stay still.

She'll be gone momentarily.

The flopping sound made by her shoes masks the sound of a long-held breath necessarily expelled in a hushed, quavering rush.

Then she's gone, up the steps and disappearing into the darkened house with a faint creak of the outer screen door, and a quiet click of the lock on the solid inner one.

She must think she's safe, turning that deadbolt.

They all do, including Charlotte.

None of the residents of Oakgate would dream that mere locks can't keep predators at bay. Not this predator, anyway.

But now is not the time to prowl through the quiet house unnoticed.

Now there's nobody outside to hear the soft padding of footsteps in the dewy grass, or the satisfying slapping of a carnivorous insect, or the probing of fingertips along the rough, wide ledge atop a raised basement window.

There, tucked among the oyster shells that rise deceptively from the tabby surface, is the reason for this risky late-night sojourn.

And once the items are tucked safely in hand, there's no further reason to linger in the shadows of the old plantation house.

Not tonight, anyway.

Around front, one last glance shows that all is still within; the windows that punctuate the facade are darkened, shades and draperies drawn.

Then, high overhead, something flashes in the night.

It takes a moment to realize that a light has come on, way up on the third floor.

A shadow passes in front of one of the dormer windows; somebody is prowling about up there.

Charlotte isn't surprised to find that she can't fall asleep.

What is surprising is that her cousins have steered clear of her for the remainder of the afternoon and evening. She fully expected an ugly confrontation when she got home from Savannah, but there was no sign of Phyllida or Gib, though Gib's rental car in the driveway meant they were in the house somewhere.

The ugly confrontation, for that matter, had already occurred-with Lianna.

"I still can't believe it," she murmurs, mostly to herself, as she stares at the outline of the antique furniture across the room in the night-light's glow.

Beside her, the bedsprings creak in response to her voice. Royce is still awake. She thought he'd drifted off when he stopped commenting earlier, as she went over and over what happened this afternoon.

"I'm sorry," she tells him. "You should sleep. That's why we came to bed early… I know you have to get up early tomorrow for work. And here I am, keeping you up all night."

"It's okay. I'm here." He yawns deeply.

"I didn't even ask you how your meeting went," she realizes belatedly.

"That's okay. You've got a lot going on." 'That's the understatement of the year."

If she didn't have so much on her plate before this mess with Lianna, she would have remembered to call Lianna on her cell phone this afternoon to tell her she was on the way to Casey's house. Then she never would have stumbled upon that scene in the garden.

Which, in some ways, would have been a blessing.

Not that she isn't glad she nipped that little rendezvous in the bud when she did, but…

It's just that life was much better before she realized that her only child lies to her face and does God knows what behind her back.

"So how was it?" she asks Royce, knowing that he deserves her attention now that she's kept him awake for hours. "The meeting, I mean."

"Oh, it was fine."