The Final Victim(59)

What he said when he called her at Oakgate was that he had invited a couple of people to come to dinner with him since he didn't want to eat alone.

Of course he didn't. Who would blame him? If it weren't for Mom, he wouldn't have to, because Lianna would have been with him, instead of his having to eat with some stupid people who took their time over dinner, then wanted to go somewhere else after, for drinks.

"I just got back now, and it's getting late," he told Lianna, "and I figure it won't make much sense now for me to drive all the way to the opposite end of the island just for a quick visit. So I'll come tomorrow, honey. At noon. Ill bring lunch. Okay?"

She sneaks a glance at her watch and notes that Dad is now almost two hours late.

"I hope you don't think you're going out with him," Nydia tells her, "because your mother said-"

"Don't get all worked up. I'm not going out with him. He's just coming to see me and bring me some lunch." And I wish he'd hurry up, because I'm starved.

'That's nice," Nydia says, and looks like she wants to add something else.

But she doesn't, just steps around Lianna as she reaches the foot of the stairway.

Lianna sticks out her tongue at the housekeeper's back as she disappears toward the rear of the house, then immediately feels guilty. Nydia isn't that bad. She usually has very little to say, and keeps to herself. She can't help it if Mom makes her enforce the prison norms -and, most likely, regales her with tales of her daughter sneaking around with the local riffraff.

Resting her chin in her hand, Lianna stares at the door, wondering where her father is. Not that this is the first time he's ever been late. Not by a long shot.

But he usually calls to let her know he's on his way, at least.

Come on, Dad, Lianna sends a silent message. I'm waiting. Where the heck are you?

"Are you okay? You don't seem it"

"I'm fine, really." As Charlotte brushes away the desolate tears that trickle from her eyes, it's Aimee who reaches out with an almost maternal hand, patting Charlotte's shoulder.

"You know, I'm kind of surprised you're here all by yourself, Mrs. Maitland."

"Oh, you can call me Charlotte."

"I will. I thought you had a lot of family here."

"My grandfather passed away a few weeks ago."

"I know, and I'm so sorry-I should have said so sooner. I know how hard it is to lose somebody you love."

"Thank you. It is." Charlotte watches a cloud of sorrow cross Aimee's face. She's thinking about her kid brother, Theo.

"I have a daughter," she says quickly, to keep the conversation from venturing to a place she can't bear to go. Not right now. Not with all her emotions on edge.

"Her name is Lianna, right?"

"Yes. Lianna."

I once had a son, too-Adam.

"Where is she?"

"Back at home, probably still asleep."

"You didn't tell her about my father?"

"No, I don't want to wake her up with news like this, especially when I can't deliver it in person."

"Of course not," Aimee murmurs. "Poor thing. She's going to be upset when she finds out. I know Daddy is close to her. He talks about her a lot."

Charlotte marvels at Aimee's utter lack of resentment. It wouldn't be unnatural for Aimee to be jealous of Lianna, given the circumstances.

But she isn't.

She's a sweetheart, Charlotte concludes, giving her stepdaughter's hand a squeeze. Thank goodness.

"So you've been here all alone all night, just waiting, Mrs. Maitland?" Aimee asks sympathetically.

"It's Charlotte-please just call me Charlotte."

"Oh, I'm sorry-old habits never the. I was raised with old-fashioned Southern manners, I guess."

Charlotte smiles. "Me, too."

"So… You've been all alone here?" Aimee asks again.

All alone. God, yes.

"My cousins came earlier, but… They couldn't stay."

To their credit, both Phyllida and Gib were properly alarmed and concerned-and relieved to learn that Royce was out of immediate danger. They both asked a lot of questions and gave Charlotte an obligatory hug before departing, asking to be kept apprised of Royce's condition.

And they both wanted to know who could have done such a thing.

It's the same question Charlotte was repeatedly asked by Williamson and Dorado. She supposes a good detective has to be persistent…

But what if they were hoping she'd trip over her own words and implicate herself?

She remembers reading somewhere, long ago, that the primary suspect in any murder is the person's spouse. Royce is still alive, thank God, but the police would have to consider her a possible candidate-as a matter of routine, if nothing else.

The mere idea that she could shoot Royce is ridiculous… But then, the detectives don't know her. They aren't aware that she loves her husband more than anything in the world. They don't know that she would never, ever, harm him-that she has no reason whatsoever to do so.

But what if somebody did?

What if it wasn't a random shooting after all?

Try as she might, Charlotte can't shake the memory of whoever was hiding behind the crypt in Colonial Park Cemetery. If the gunman really was a sniper with no specific victim in mind, wouldn't he have chosen a more populated place to commit his act?