The Final Victim(65)

"Yeah, that's him," he tells her, though he has no idea.

"But I thought he was the one who shot-"

"Shhh!"

Grateful to the annoyed patron behind them, Gib returns in peace to his own thoughts.

No, not in peace.

He's feeling anything but peaceful at the moment.

In fact, he had to force himself to stick to his own plan, rather than go rushing back to Oakgate to take care of unfinished business.

That, he keeps telling himself, can wait.

It's not as though anyone is likely to go searching his room.

And even if they did, they wouldn't find it.

Reassured, Gib finally helps himself to the tub of popcorn he bought earlier in the hope that he'd appear-to anyone who might happen to notice him, let alone recognize him as a Remington-for all the world like a relaxed moviegoer…

And not like the onscreen fugitive to whom he can suddenly, disturbingly, relate.

A bright swoop of approaching headlights reaches Jeanne's attic room before the sound of tires on crushed shells drifts through the open window.

She rolls over to see who it is, and is surprised to see two cars pulling up to the portico. One is the familiar white SUV; the other a sedan Jeanne doesn't recognize.

Charlotte climbs out from behind the wheel of the first; an unfamiliar woman-at least from this perch, with Jeanne's failing eyesight-emerges from the other.

Or maybe I do know her.

Jeanne squints into the twilight, searching her memory.

As happens with increasing frequency, the search yields nothing.

She isn't particularly surprised. This day has been more difficult than most. Perhaps if Melanie had been here…

But as fate would have it, Sundays are her days off. Jeanne has spent the day alone, without anyone to bring her meals. Gilbert or Charlotte always took care of that on Sundays.

One would think Nydia might have taken pity on her, considering that her car has remained in the driveway all day. She, too, is usually off on Sundays; she may be unaware that Jeanne has been left here to starve.

But you would think she might have checked in, at least You would think she might have updated Jeanne on Royce's condition as she promised… and let her know whether there are any suspects yet in the shooting.

Through the screen, Jeanne watches the younger woman heave a large suitcase from the car trunk, with Charlotte rushing to help. Together, they pull it toward the house.

Just before they disappear from view, the sound of laughter floats up to Jeanne's ears.

Her mouth tightens with disapproval.

If they're laughing, she concludes, then Royce Maitland must still be alive.

At long last, Lianna's mother shows up, bursting into the room without even knocking, and rushing over to the bed.

"Lianna! Nydia said you know… Oh, sweetie, I've been trying to get back here to you all day, but I couldn't leave Royce."

Unexpectedly overcome by a wave of emotion that sweeps the anger away, Lianna allows herself to be hugged fiercely. Her mother rocks her back and forth, crying into her hair.

What a relief. A relief to have Mom back here with her, a relief to feel Mom's arms around her.

She hasn't hugged me in so long, Lianna realizes, with tears streaming from her own eyes. She hasn't been nice to*& in so, so long…

"Is he okay, Mom? Is Royce all right?"

"He will be…"

"Who did this to him?"

"Nobody knows… The police say it was random."

Mom releases her, takes a deep breath and lets it out, then plucks a couple of Kleenex from the box on Lianna's nightstand. She hands one to Lianna, who wipes her eyes as her mother does the same.

Lianna crumples the tissue and turns to pitch it into the wastebasket across the room.

That's when she sees the stranger standing in the doorway.

"Hi, Lianna." The woman waves.

She knows me. Who the heck is she, and why does she know me?

"Oh, Aimee… I'm sorry, come on in. I guess I lost my composure when I saw my baby girl there for a second. Lianna, this is Aimee."

Aimee? Who the heck is Aimee?

Mom is acting like she should know, and so is the stranger, who crosses right over to the bed and reaches down to give her a hug.

Lianna stiffens.

Confused, she looks up at her mother.

"I told Aimee she should stay here with us," Mom says-as if that explains everything.

'Yes, and y'all have no idea how grateful I am, Mrs. Maitland."

Wow, Aimee's accent is really thick.

"I keep telling you," Lianna's mother says with a good-natured laugh. "It's Charlotte. If you don't figure that out soon, your wicked stepmother is going to insist on being called Mom."

Aimee laughs, too.

Huh? Wicked stepmother? Who's that?

"I'll find Nydia so she can help you get settied down the hall," Charlotte says.

"Are y'all sure it's no trouble?"

"Positive. Royce is so glad you're staying here-and so are we."

We? As in Lianna?

Who the heck-Oh. It hits her, then, and she realizes who this Aimee is.

She's Royce's daughter.

Mom must have called her.

She called her, but she didn't call me.

"When did you get here?" she asks, trying to sound friendly.