Almost Dead (Lizzy Gardner #5)(86)

As Jenny opened her car door and climbed behind the wheel, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard the voices in her head.

She smiled.

The smell of freedom wafted through the open window. Starting today, she would begin her new life, a life filled with friends and family and endless possibilities.

The past was in the past. She was letting it all go.

She was ready.




Lizzy was in the car when the phone rang. It was the rookie reporter, Derek Murphy.

“Hey, Murphy. I’ve been meaning to call you and thank you for writing the story and getting the mucky-mucks over there to run it.”

“You’re welcome. But that’s not why I called. Guess who they’re bringing in for questioning in the next thirty minutes.”

She perked up. “Who?”

“I heard this through the grapevine, but I figured with your connections you might be able to finagle a way inside and get the scoop.”

“What’s going on? Who’s being questioned?”

“Jenny Pickett.”

A shot of adrenaline coursed through Lizzy’s body. “When did this happen? The investigator I talked to told me that my cookie connection theory was flimsy as best.”

“It wasn’t the cookies. They found Dean Newman. Seatbelted in his car at the bottom of the canal near Carmichael. Where are you? It’s all over the news.”

“I’m in the car on my way home.”

“Well, it shouldn’t surprise you that Dean Newman’s death looks like suicide, but he had an envelope addressed to Jenny Pickett tucked inside his pocket.”

“Had the letter been opened?”

“I don’t think so . . . not sure. But the GPS on his phone and in his car pointed to 55 Glen Tree Drive in Citrus Heights. Guess who lives there?”

“Jenny Pickett?”

“Yep, and I guess between the letter and the fact that Newman had been to her street, it was enough to bring her in.”

“Thanks for the call. I’m all over this.”

Lizzy pulled to the side of the road and keyed in the Citrus Heights address. It was 7:34 p.m. It would take her twenty minutes to get there. She made an illegal U-turn and headed for the freeway. If luck was on her side, she could get to Jenny’s house before they hauled her to the station. She would love to look Jenny Pickett in the eyes when they handcuffed her, let her know that sometimes justice really did prevail.





CHAPTER 62

Jenny reached over and rested her hand on Dwayne’s leg.

He kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel, but she could see a hint of a smile playing on the corner of his mouth. After work, he’d picked her up and taken her to an early dinner at Moxie on H Street in Midtown. They had lingered overly long. It was almost eight.

A police cruiser passed by. Jenny’s chest tightened. A week had gone by since her visit with Aubrey Singleton. The local news stations hadn’t said much at all about Aubrey’s death, which Jenny found odd since she was one of the few people who was obviously murdered. Being struck in the head with a hammer was no accident.

After Dwayne had come so close to catching her in bloodied clothes, Jenny had come up with a new plan. Although her plan had required her to break into one more building, the deed was done. Despite there being one name left on the list—two if she counted Lizzy Gardner—every moment spent with Dwayne made her realize she’d made the right choice. Her job was finished. The kill list had been burned and the computer destroyed. Every incriminating item had been removed from her home.

Other than the two lucky Ambassador Club members who had moved, Chelsea Webster would be the only one on her kill list to survive. Chelsea had always seemed like such a miserable, tortured soul. She was a mean one. Rumor had it that her family disowned her after she beat her grandmother. What sort of person beat up her own grandmother?

Jenny sighed. She would have to make do with the hope that Chelsea’s depression and misery only deepened as the years wore on.

Dwayne pulled his car into the driveway and killed the engine.

“Are you OK?” he asked. “You’ve seemed distant lately.”

She looked at him and said, “I’m just happy.”

He leaned over the center console and gave her a kiss. His lips felt divine. Then he climbed out of the car and came around to open the door for her.

She loved that he took the time to open doors for her. She would never tire of being pampered by Dwayne. He was a gentleman, and they adored each other.

Before they got as far as the mailbox, three police cars were speeding down the road toward them. Tires screeched as the vehicles pulled up to the curb.

“Jenny Pickett,” one of the officers called out.

Jenny looked at him and said, “I’m Jenny Pickett.”

He pulled his gun from his holster. “Stay where you are, and put your hands in the air where we can see them.”

“What’s this all about?” Dwayne demanded.

“Sir, you need to step to the side. Now.”

“What’s going on?” he asked Jenny.

“I don’t know. You didn’t call them, did you?”

“Of course not. Why would I? What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” she said.