A Willing Murder Read online

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Barbara Richardson.”

  Even in those few words, her Southern accent was heavy.

  “I bet you were expecting my sister-in-law, Charlotte. We married brothers, and since their passing, she and I tend to do things together.”

  Kate shook the woman’s hand. It was a very firm grip. “I’m Kate Medlar. Did someone let you in?”

  “A young man. Tall, brown hair. Not to be unkind, but his nose is a bit too big for his face.”

  Kate relaxed her shoulders. “Larry. He works in my office. I wonder why he didn’t say something.”

  “Honey,” Mrs. Richardson drawled, “if you want me to explain men, I haven’t lived long enough.” She slipped her arm through Kate’s. “I brought some of my rose-petal tea from home and I want you to try it.”

  The woman was overly friendly in a way that Kate didn’t like. “I don’t think—”

  “I won’t hear a no.”

  Kate walked with her into the kitchen. Set up on the counter was a flowered teapot, two cups and saucers, a milk pitcher and a sugar pot. “How pretty.”

  “We do have some lovely traditions in our hometown.” She poured the cups full of tea. “Milk? Sugar?”

  “No, thank you. This is fine.” Kate sipped. The tea was delicious. Fragrant and hot.

  Mrs. Richardson started to drink, then put down her cup and picked up her Louis Vuitton bag. “Oh, dear. I’ve misplaced my sugar tablets. I must have left them in my car. I’ll just be a moment. Go ahead and enjoy your tea.”

  Kate finished the cup, then poured herself another one. It really was extraordinarily good. Just as she heard a door open, she felt a bit dizzy. The house was unfurnished but there was a deep windowsill. She sat down on it, her hand to her forehead.

  “Oh, no!” Mrs. Richardson said. “You look awful. But I know that look. You’re expecting a baby, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not. I just...” The room seemed to be going around and around.

  “You can’t fool me. I know the signs. We better get you to your doctor. Who is your obstetrician?”

  “I’m not—” Kate began but couldn’t finish. When she tried to get up, Mrs. Richardson put her arm around Kate’s shoulders and helped her stand.

  For all that she looked older, Kate thought she certainly felt strong. She leaned on the woman as they walked toward the kitchen door. “Don’t have a doctor.”

  “That is too bad. I’ll just take you to mine. My car is in the garage.”

  “Larry shouldn’t...done that.” Kate’s words were slurred. Even to herself she sounded drunk.

  Mrs. Richardson’s black Mercedes was in the warm, dark garage and Kate gratefully slumped onto the tan leather seats. Instantly, she closed her eyes.

  The next thing she knew, Mrs. Richardson had opened the car door and was pulling Kate out. Her head was swirling and all she wanted to do was stretch out somewhere and go to sleep. The grass looked so good that she made a movement as though she meant to lie down on it.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Mrs. Richardson said.

  As dizzy as she was, Kate heard the difference in her voice. “Accent,” she mumbled.

  “Comes and goes,” Mrs. Richardson said. She led Kate to some stairs up to a cabin with a wide porch.

  “I don’t think...” Kate began and took a step back.

  “Come on,” the woman said and her accent seemed to have returned. “The doctor is inside. He’ll make you feel much better.”

  Kate had a glimpse of what looked to be thick tropical forest all around the house. “Have a client...like...buy this,” she muttered as they went inside. There was a couch and through a doorway she could see a bed. Ah, to lie down. To sleep!

  But Mrs. Richardson led Kate to a stout wooden chair and practically pushed her down into it.

  “Just sit there and I’ll go get the doctor.”

  Kate’s knees were so weak that she could do nothing but sit, and the moment she did, her eyes closed.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  When Kate woke, it took her a while to adjust. She was in a hard wooden chair, her body stiff from lack of movement, and her arms were behind her. When she tried to move, she found her wrists were tied together. From what she could feel, it was one of those plastic zip ties that could hardly be cut with scissors, much less by a human.

  With her Realtor eye, she looked around the cabin. It was thirty or forty years old at least and seemed to be just two rooms. She was in the middle of the big, open living room facing a heavy wooden table with mismatched chairs. At the end was a kitchen with old cabinets and heavy iron hardware.

  I bet Dan’s company made those, she thought.

  Twisting as far as she could, she saw two closed doors. She’d seen a bed, so the other one was probably a bath.

  The place reeked of male. This cabin was a place where men gathered and smoked cigars and fried fish. There was no TV and she doubted if a cell phone had ever been allowed to enter.

  By the light through the dirty windows, it looked to be early evening. Six, maybe. She was beginning to remember how she got there. The woman! Who was she?

  She wondered if anyone was searching for her. Would Jack want to know where she was? Or would he say she’d probably run off with a pastry chef and would return in the wee hours? But Aunt Sara might make him get off the couch and go look for Kate. How long before they found her car? Before they asked Tayla? Before—Behind her, she heard a door open and footsteps. It took some willpower, but she didn’t turn to see who it was. Quiet! she told herself. Don’t panic. Delay as long as you can.

  “A bath made me feel better,” said a voice behind her.

  Kate kept her eyes straight ahead while the woman came into view. She was the shape of the Mrs. Richardson Kate had met, but there was a drastic change in her looks. Her blond hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, and the color looked natural. The dark tone of her skin was gone. Her plain clothes had been replaced with designer wear.

  With the change of colors and attire, Kate knew who she was: Alastair’s mother.

  Norma? No. Noreen.

  She stood a few feet in front of Kate and for a moment stared at her. “Do I need to introduce myself?”

  “I think you’re Mrs. Stewart.”

  “Yes. Alastair’s mother.”

  At the name, there was a flash of anger in her eyes. With uncles like hers, Kate was experienced with rage. Her uncles expected to be obeyed, and when they weren’t, they allowed their self-righteous anger to burst into flame. This woman was wearing the same expression as those men.

  Whatever I do, Kate thought, I don’t want to challenge her. Don’t want to send her over the edge. Time is what I need. Time to let Aunt Sara and Jack find me.

  Kate swallowed. “I’d really like to hear the truth of what happened.”

  “My son did not kill those women.”

  “That’s why he was released. I think the evidence proves that he wasn’t there when they died.”

  Mrs. Stewart nodded at that but kept silent. Casually, as though it meant nothing, she reached behind a stack of old magazines and picked up a pistol. It looked heavy enough to use in a weight-lifting class.

  Mrs. Stewart tossed it from one hand to the other. “Isn’t this thing awful? It belonged to my late husband. Made him feel like a man. As if anything could do that.”

  “You’re saying he wasn’t like Alastair.”

  “Like my beautiful son? Not at all.” She took her cell phone out of the pocket of her white linen trousers. “My son is supposed to call me. I’m letting him decide what to do with you.”

  “Oh” was all Kate could say. The man they had turned in to the sheriff as a murderer was to decide her fate. “Who did kill the Morris women?”

  “Oh. That.” Mrs. Stewart put the big pistol down on the table. “No one ki