The Final Victim(63)

A river of icy panic floods Lianna's veins. "What?''she shrieks. "Somebody shot Daddy? Oh, my God, is he-"

A pair of firm hands take hold of her shoulders from behind, and Nydia's stern voice commands her to hang up the phone. When Lianna is too frozen in panic to move, she grabs the receiver and does it herself.

Then she turns the whimpering Lianna around to face her.

"Look at me. It wasn't your father, Lianna… Do you understand me?"

It wasn't your father…

I'm calling from the Chatham Gazette for a comment on the shooting of your father…

Lianna stares up at Nydia, shaking her head in mute confusion.

It was Mr. Maitland who was shot," Nydia tells her, and it falls into place.

Royce.

Royce was shot.

Royce…

"Did he die?" she manages to ask, forcing the words past the lump of dread rising in her throat.

"No, he was shot in the leg, and he's going to be just fine."

"Where's my mother?" Lianna asks shrilly, suddenly needing to feel her mother's arms around her, hear her reassuring voice. 'What happened to my mother?"

"She's fine."

"Where is she!"

"Shhh, you'll frighten your aunt Jeanne. Your mother is still at the hospital with your-with Mr. Maitland."

Your father.

That's what she was about to say.

Even Nydia, who knows their domestic situation better than anyone, almost called Royce Lianna's father.

Why do people always do that?

Why don't they remember that she already has a father?

Bitter longing courses through her; longing for her dad, her mom… and Adam.

We were a family. A real family, all of us with the same last name, all of us living under one roof.

Doesn't anybody remember that but me? Doesn't anybody care?

"I need to call my father," she informs Nydia curtly. "And my mother, too. Which hospital is she at?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Y'all just don't want to tell me."

"Your mother asked me to protect you, Lianna." Nydia looks Lianna in the eye and rests staunch hands on her shoulders.

It isn't a hug-far from it Lianna can't imagine this woman being capable of showing affection.

But she senses that the gesture is meant to comfort her.

And for some reason, it actually does.

"Mrs. Maitland didn't want the news to get to you before she did," Nydia tells her. "She wanted to let you know about it herself."

"When?"

"Whenever she gets home-I'm sure it'll be soon."

Never in her life has Lianna felt more alone.

"Can I call my father?" she asks in a small voice. "Please? He must have heard about this if reporters are calling, and he's going to be worried about me."

Nydia seems to mull that over. "Go ahead," she says reluctantly, releasing her hold on Lianna.

She dials the number hurriedly, wondering why, if he tried to call and repeatedly got a busy signal-or, more importantly, if he heard about the shooting-he hasn't shown up at Oakgate to check on her.

He must have a good reason, Lianna thinks.

He always does.

Mimi can't help but find it ironic that police headquarters is located on the corner of Habersham and Oglethorpe-just down the street from the spot where last night's shooting occurred.

In fact, she has to walk by the Maitlands' new home on her way there after leaving her ear in a parking garage several blocks away.

No, you didn't have to. You wanted to.

All right. So she could have parked someplace else, or walked a different route.

She wanted to come this way; needed to see the crime scene, if only to make what happened last night-and her own involvement-a reality.

But she doesn't allow herself to stop and stare, like other curious onlookers milling around the sidewalk.

No, she keeps right on walking, allowing herself only a cursory glance at the tall frame house beyond its yellow crime scene tape.

She takes in the light green paint and dark green shutters with contrasting ochre trim, the looming mansard roof adorned with three arched dormer windows, the small pillared porch half a story above the sidewalk.

It was there, she knows, that Royce Maitland was gunned down.

Turning her head, she sees that the cemetery, too, is ringed in yellow tape. Several uniformed officers are visible among the tombstones, undoubtedly looking for clues to the shooter's identity, unaware that the person who holds the key is right here beyond the black iron fence.

Mimi takes one last look at the house. It's not as grand, by any means, as the Remingtons' plantation house on the northern end of the island. But it's an elegant home just the same, certainly suitable for one of Savannah's most prestigious families, and located in the heart of the city's most sought-after-and expensive-neighborhood.

She can't help noting as well that this house is a far cry from the Johnstons' modest Low Country cottage.

But that's home, and she doesn't have any regrets. Not about giving up college and Europe and marrying Jed and having Cameron, anyway.

If only she could take back some of the other decisions she's made in her life…