The Final Victim(83)

Sure enough, it's parked right out front-and there's Vince on the portico, settling himself into a wooden rocker just beyond the pool of light shining from the sconce beside the door.

'Thanks, Nydia." She peers out the door beyond the portico. A light rain is falling. "Vince?"

Her ex-husband looks up. "Oh, hi. How's it going?"

How's it going?

What she wants to say is, My husband was just shot by my cousin and the whole world is buzzing about the scandal… How do you think it's going?

Instead, she merely asks, "Were you in the parlor just now, waiting for Lianna?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I decided I'd rather wait out here. Why?"

"No reason," she says, not certain she believes him. Maybe he was eavesdropping on her and Royce. He must be nosy about all that's gone on, especially given the media's attention to the topic.

It would certainly explain why, for once in his life, he's actually shown up on time to see Lianna.

Or rather, shown up, period.

God only knows, it would make more sense if there was something in it for him. He probably wants to ensure his bragging rights as a "Remington insider." For all she knows, he'll sell an interview to some reporter tomorrow.

"Listen," Charlotte says, pushing aside her suspicions, "make sure you have Lianna back here at a reasonable hour, will you?"

"What's reasonable?" is the maddening reply.

'Just have her back here by eleven, okay? It's supposed to pour all night and I don't like her out late in bad weather." Or with you.

He salutes.

"Oh, and Vince? You should know I had to change to an unlisted phone number yesterday," she remembers to say. She hasn't even had a chance to tell anybody in the house, including Lianna, about that yet. Not that there's any hurry. Another day or two of silence after the constant ringing will be welcome, especially with Royce home, resting.

"What's the new number?" Vince asks, reaching into his pocket "Do you have a pen and paper?"

"No, I'll program it into my cell," he says, holding it up. "That way, I'll be able to call without having to look it up."

As if he's really going to suddenly start phoning their daughter on a regular basis. Yeah, sure.

Frustrated, Charlotte gives Vince the number, and reminds him again to have Lianna back by eleven.

Then she slowly returns to the parlor, and Royce.

"What's going on?" he asks drowsily.

"Nothing, I just… I think I'm hearing things. And seeing things," she adds, almost positive she had glimpsed a figure disappearing around the corner into the hall.

"Maybe Grandaddy really is haunting this place," she muses, glancing again at the radio. She read somewhere once that ghosts often use electronic devices to make their presence known.

Maybe Grandaddy's spirit has silenced the radio.

Maybe he's trying to tell her something by doing that.

Yes, she thinks wryly as she snuggles beside her husband once again, and maybe you've finally gone off the deep end, Charlotte Maitland.

For the second time this month, Mimi is awakened by the piercing ring of a telephone.

It's four thirty AM.

She seizes the cordless receiver from the nightstand and bolts from the room with it, not wanting to wake Jed. He had a terrible time earlier, restless and moaning in agony. It was only after she gave him another round of pain meds-too soon after the last dose, but she couldn't stand to see him suffer-that he finally fell into a deep sleep.

"Hello?" She clutches the receiver hard against her ear, praying it's not about her mother this time. She wouldn't be able to bear it.

"Yes, is this Mrs. Johnston?"

"Yes…"

"This is Dr. Von Cave," a distant, European-accented voice announces. "I apologize if I've woken you… I'm afraid I have, haven't I? I didn't even think to consider the time difference before I dialed…"

Stunned, Mimi stammers that it's all right.

She never expected a return call when she at last poured out her heart to the doctor's receptionist a few days earlier. She didn't even entirely believe at the time that the woman truly took down her name and telephone number.

"Thank you so much for calling me back," she says in a rush. "I honestly… I didn't really expect it. I thought you must get countless desperate messages from people like me…" 'To be quite honest, Mrs. Johnston, I do. But yours caught my eye when I noticed the familiar area code."

"Familiar?"

There's a pause. "Mrs. Johnston, you do live in Georgia in the vicinity of Achoco Island, don't you?"

"Yes, I live on it," Mimi replies, wondering why that's relevant-and not really caring. All that matters is that the only woman on earth who can possibly save Jed's life is on the other end of the telephone line at last.

But before she can beg her to help, Mimi finds herself listening in growing disbelief to the precise reason Dr. Von Cave returned her call.

Jed, she realizes in shock, may be ensnared in a malignancy whose lethal tentacles extend far beyond his own life-and-death race against time.

Careful not to make a sound, Phyllida slips down the shadowy hallway toward the stairs. The treads, she's taken care to note in the past, creak only on either side; not down the middle.