The Final Victim(71)

"Y'all mean, Gib might have been aiming for Charlotte?" Aimee rests a reassuring hand on Charlotte's trembling arm as she sits in silence, shaken by Dorado's ominous theory.

'There's no way of knowing exactly where the shooter was aiming."

Charlotte notices that Detective Williamson is careful not to implicate Gib directly. Of course not, because there's no way he can actually be a suspect in this. That's crazy.

Gib, with all his swagger, isn't her favorite person in the world, nor, to be honest, is he the most upstanding citizen she can think of. But that doesn't mean he would try to kill his own flesh and blood over money.

There has to be some other reason-a logical reason everybody's overlooking-for the cufflink to have turned up in the graveyard.

As she told the detectives, for all she knew, Gib didn't even have them in his possession yet. He certainly hadn't asked her about them, so unless he did take it upon himself to go through Grandaddy's things and help himself…

The thing is, it isn't all that difficult to imagine her cousin doing just that. Especially since the two of them haven't exactly been on speaking terms.

And…

Well, Grandaddy had some reason for writing him out of the will. What if it was because he thought Gib was… dangerous?

It seems ludicrous.

It is ludicrous, she assures herself. Whatever Grandaddy's reason for doing what he did, Gib being some kind of threat wasn't it.

"All right," she tells the detectives, "then, if I was the real target, why didn't he just finish the job? Why not gun down both of us, and shoot until we were dead?" 'Who knows? That's easier said than done. Especially from that distance, unless the shooter were an expert marksman… which by all accounts, the suspect is not."

"But why not just keep shooting until he hit something?"

"Maybe the barrel jammed. Maybe there was no more ammunition," Williamson says. "Maybe he realized he misjudged the distance after he started and that he'd have to be at a closer vantage point to finish."

"Right," Dorado puts in, "or maybe he was spooked by the first shot, or when he saw Royce fall and realized he'd missed, or when it hit him that he was trying to take a human life. The truth is, Ms. Remington, if you're dealing with an amateur, and not a professional hit man, things are bound to get messy."

"It's Mrs. Maitland," she says wearily.

"I'm sorry."

Dorado's tone is sincere, and Charlotte gets the impression that he, at least, is sorry about a lot more than using the wrong name.

It's Williamson who rubs her the wrong way; Williamson whose bemused expression rankles.

"I honestly don't think my own cousin would try to hurt me," she says firmly, mostly to him. "I mean, why would he?"

"Charlotte, you said yourself that he seemed really angry when he found out about the money," Aimee points out gently, and Charlotte's heart sinks.

She shouldn't have said anything to Aimee about that. But during the long drive back from the hospital last night, she found herself baring her soul to her stepdaughter about her loss, her cousins, the will… even her troubles with Lianna.

Naturally, both detectives are all ears now, asking questions.

"He's angry at you? Why?" That's Williamson, practically growling at her. "And why didn't you mention this until now?"

Dorado, his brown eyes focused unwaveringly on Charlotte, chimes in to ask, "What money are we talking about?"

Reluctantly, she tells them about her grandfather's will. She does her best to be brief, but they're asking countless questions and taking notes.

In the end, she's forced to admit that she has no idea why her grandfather cut out her cousins and that the will is most likely to be contested by both of them.

That clinches it. Charlotte can see the decision in their eyes before she's ended with a trite-sounding, "But none of that has anything to do with Royce being shot."

The detectives have obviously concluded that it does.

"Where are your cousins now, Ms. Remington?"

"It's Mrs. Maitland," she bites out through a clenched jaw, "and I have no idea where they are. Probably upstairs, still asleep."

"Really." Williamson looks at Dorado. "Let's wake them, shall we?"

"Lianna? Are you in there?"

She sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, trying to place the unfamiliar voice on the other side of her door.

"Lianna? Can I come in?"

Oh. It's Aimee, Royce's daughter, and, technically, her stepsister.

But as far as Lianna is concerned, she's a total stranger. A stranger who was with her mother all day yesterday, while Lianna was stuck here all alone.

I don't like her, Lianna decides. Who cares if she tried so hard to be nice to me last night at dinner?

Lianna can tell Aimee is a total brownnoser. But Mom can't see that, so no wonder she's crazy about Aimee. She seems like the perfect daughter.

Unlike me.

"I'm sorry. Were you sleeping?"

"Ye-ah," Lianna intones to show her annoyance. "I like to sleep late in the summer."

"Actually, it isn't that late," Aimee says apologetically.