Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(33)

Sylvia shrank away. “Don’t be angry. I didn’t call you a monster…did I?”

“Honestly, Mother. You’re batty!”

The computer dinged again. Sylvia perked up. “Good! An email. I like emails. I’m not so alone when they come in.” She tried to walk toward the desk.

Erin steered her toward the bed and said forcefully, “Mother, it’s nighttime. You’re sleepy. You should go to sleep.”

“I am sleepy.” Another ding! Sylvia remembered the photo and again tried to walk to the computer. “But I want to write Debbie, tell her that that’s not Cecilia’s cousin, but Cecilia herself. How good to know Cecilia is alive and well!”

Erin blocked her. “At least the cousin is dead,” she said with cold satisfaction. “She intended to steal Cecilia from Gregory. For that, she deserved to die.”

“No, she didn’t.” Sylvia wrung her hands. “He shouldn’t have killed her.”

“Does Debbie say where they are?”

“I don’t remember. I think… I don’t know. But Debbie and her sister go there every year with their friends for a mystery weekend. Do you think I might go next year?”

Erin put her hands on her mother’s shoulders and pressed her onto the bed. “Yes. You should go next year.”

“And see Cecilia? I’ll tell her to beware of you.” Sylvia’s mind wandered again. “You’re a monster like your father and your brother, only worse…”

“Such a good idea to warn Cecilia.” Erin helped her mother lie on the bed. She pulled up the blankets, tucked her in, made her comfortable.

Sylvia smiled into her daughter’s face. “I always knew you were the worst of them.”

“Yes.” Erin picked up a pillow.

“But I love you anyway.” Sylvia petted Erin’s cheek. “My daughter. My monster. Tomorrow I’ll warn Debbie about you. She’ll tell Cecilia.”

“That’s a good idea, Mother. Tomorrow. You do that.”





14

Kellen was exhausted. She should go back to her cottage right now, get some sleep before getting up tomorrow for another replay of today. But she was frazzled, worried about Annie, about the resort’s staff, about a gruesome death committed somewhere close, and the body… So many questions about the body. And the killer. Was the killer lurking in the winter’s dark and observing as they reacted to the recovery of Priscilla’s body, hands removed in some cruel dissection?

Lights gleamed from the windows of the maintenance garage. Someone was there, working or cleaning up. Kellen let herself in out of the weather. And heard a familiar sound: the click-release of a safety on a firearm.

She froze.

Birdie sat at a table with her feet up, a steaming mug before her, a book in one hand and a pistol in the other.

Kellen waved tentatively. “Hello?”

Birdie clicked the safety back on and slid the Glock 21 SF into the holster she had attached to the table leg. “Shut the door behind you. You’re letting in a draft.”

Kellen let the metal door thud shut. Outside, the storm was roaring, but in here it was quiet and safe. “You heard the news, I see.”

“Yes. Poor kid. When I’m here alone at night, I keep a pistol near at hand.” Birdie smiled without humor. “Although not usually this near at hand.”

Kellen took a moment to breathe in the familiar scents of tires, grease and sweat. Electronics from an ATV were scattered in pieces across the floor.

“Where’s your weapon?” Birdie asked.

When the two women left the military, they had invested in firearms, Birdie because her husband was a police officer and that put her in the line of fire, and Kellen because for a brief and harrowing time she went into security. After examining and handling weapons, they’d both decided on the Glock 21 SF, legendary for its accuracy and light recoil and holding thirteen rounds. They’d both obtained concealed weapons permits.

“In my cottage,” Kellen said. “Carrying a gun is frowned upon in the hospitality business.”

“Are you rethinking that policy?”

Here at Yearning Sands Resort, Kellen had always felt safe, but now she admitted, “I am.”

“Here.” Birdie shoved a thin black metal flashlight across the table.

Kellen examined it. It was small enough to fit in a pocket or purse, had a concentrated beam bright enough to blind an attacker and a jagged edge around the bulb end that could be used as a weapon. She nodded slowly. “I like this. I like this very much.”

“I thought you would. Keep it.”

Kellen slipped it into her shirt pocket. For someone like her and like Birdie, trained in hand-to-hand combat, the flashlight was weapon gold. “First day on the job, I didn’t expect to find myself dealing with murder and mutilation.”

“I remember in Afghanistan when you showed up, all pretty and unsmiling. We pegged you as a typical butterbar. Remember what happened next?”

“We took shelling and we had to move the convoy to meet with reinforcements. Wow. That was a mess.”

“You got us through with no loss of life and only one jeep down.”

“I appreciate your confidence, but there’s no comparison. The resort is different, you know? In Afghanistan, we were soldiers. We were there because we volunteered. We knew full well we could die. Here, we have innocent guests and some nice people who work in a spa.”