The Final Victim(92)

'This is her cousin Charlotte. Who is this?"

"Lila-I'm Wills's nanny," the woman says edgily, before blurting, "Are you in Georgia? That cousin?"

"Yes…"

"Mr. Harper has been trying to call you all morning. He tried yesterday, too. He thought something must have happened to the phone because we saw on the Weather Channel there was a hurricane coming-"

"You mean the tropical storm? No, that hasn't hit yet. We've just had rain-"

"Well, we saw there were flight delays, and whenever he tried to get through to you, the recording kept saying the phone was out of service."

"Oh-the number's been changed." And I would have told you if I had seen you, but you didn't even bother to say good-bye, she mentally scolds Phyllida.

Then, realizing what Lila just said, she asks, puzzled, "Why has Brian been trying to call me all morning?"

"He wasn't trying to call you-he was trying to get Mrs. Harper on the phone. He's been leaving voice mails for her, too, but she isn't picking up her cell phone."

Charlotte frowns. "You mean she isn't there? In California?"

"No. Isn't she there?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. I haven't seen her." 'Mr. Harper is worried sick, and poor little Wills keeps asking where his mommy is… When he woke up Saturday morning I told him she was coming back that night. Mr. Harper even brought him to the airport, even though the flight was scheduled to get in so late… but no Mommy."

"Maybe it didn't come in," Charlotte suggests. "The weather was horrible. I bet she spent the night here at the airport and she's probably on a flight now."

"No, the flight came in, just an hour late. But she wasn't on it."

"Did you check with the airline?" 'They wouldn't release any passenger information. It's against the law. We don't know where she is. But we thought you would."

No," Charlotte murmurs, her thoughts reeling. "I'm sorry, I have no idea."

*

Deep in the marsh, unseen creatures scamper, slither, and fly away from approaching footsteps. The steel utility blade swings relentlessly at irksome Spanish moss, grayer and drier than an old lady's hair. The hilt glints silver in the sunlight as it hacks a cleaner path to the old slave cabins.

The mud in most places is knee-deep here, making each step a challenge, and high rubber boots a necessity.

This is hard work beneath the hot midday sun, but not nearly as arduous as it was to travel this same path the other night, in the dark and rain, dragging one hundred and twenty-five pounds of tarped dead weight. The hand truck did no good, having been left here at the cabin. But the flashlight, so thoughtfully provided by the victim herself, guided the way.

You could have thrown her into the trunk, weighted her with a concrete block, and tossed her off the Achoco Island causeway, like you said you were going to do.

Right. But this is better. Harder work yields prolonged enjoyment in the end.

Not that there's much time to linger for fun today…

And not that this plan is without significant risks.

Then again, it's like you mentioned to Lianna just the other day…

Nothing worthwhile in life comes without risk.

Yes, and she looked about as attentive as she would be listening to an English teacher droning on about literary devices…

Such as foreshadowing.

Tsk, tsk, Lianna. You really should listen when people talk.

Anyway, the risks of this overall plan became apparent way back in the beginning, when a trolley full of tourists happened around the corner onto Drayton Street unexpectedly just before Tyler Hawthorne's little rainy-day "accident" was to have occurred the first time.

It took another whole week to wait for a suitable deluge so that the hit-and-run could be restaged. That time, it worked like a charm.

Except that he lived.

But it did get him out of the picture long enough for the plan to proceed.

And he fits in rather nicely now, doesn't he?

So yes, there are risks at every turn. But really, who in their right mind is going to venture out here for any reason whatsoever in this day and age?

Chances are slim to none that anyone might have noticed that one cabin has been newly outfitted with a steel-reinforced door and a padlock, both conveniently purchased at the sprawling Home Depot over near the causeway.

It's just fortunate that the place was ready to accommodate yet another guest, this time ahead of schedule.

Well, in this family, one must always be prepared for the likelihood of unexpected company. That's just good old-fashioned Southern hospitality.

With an abrupt fluttering of wings, a great flock of nocturnal herons lifts from an overhead roost, their squawks mingling with the maniacal cackle of laughter that startled them.

"There you are!" Casey exclaims, hearing Lianna's voice. "Where have you been?"

"Where have you been?" Sprawled on the couch in the upstairs study, Lianna winds the curly phone cord around her index finger, watching the bulging tip turn white. "Y'all are the ones who've been away, like, forever. You said you'd call the second you got back o: Friday."

"Well, I've been trying. God, I thought something awful had happened to you now!"