Dying to Please Read online

  Her pistol had been taken, as well as the Judge's old service revolver that he kept locked in a display case. Cahill said they would be returned after the investigation was completed, meaning when it was determined whether or not either weapon had been used to commit the murder.

  It was obvious she was a suspect, if only because of proximity. She had unlimited access to the house, she had a pistol, and Cahill himself had seen how proficient she was with it. She could account for her whereabouts, if only by receipts and tickets, but most of all she had no motive, so she didn't worry about herself; she couldn't, not with the constant memory of the Judge's body playing like a silent movie in her mind.

  He had looked so frail in death, as if his spirit had kept one from realizing how heavily time had laid its hand on him. She was fiercely glad no one else had found him, that there'd been one last final moment between just the two of them, before strangers arrived and his body was taken over by them. The dead have no dignity, but she knew he would have hated having lost control of his bowels, hated his family seeing him like that. He would have hated her seeing him like that, too, but that was the least upsetting of all the possibilities.

  The escalator began spitting out people from the newly arrived plane; Barbara and her family were among the first. Barbara was a slim, pretty woman with attractive gray streaks in her short blond hair; she was red-eyed and pale, but holding together. She spotted Sarah while she was still on the escalator, and when she stepped off, she immediately crossed to her, and the two women embraced. Tears stung Sarah's eyes; all through this awful night she had desperately needed someone to hug her so she wouldn't feel so horribly alone.

  “Have you heard from Jon?” Barbara asked, pulling back and dabbing her eyes with a tattered tissue.

  “They left Mobile about two this morning, so they should get to the hotel at any time.”

  “I hope he's careful driving.”

  “I talked him into letting Julia drive.”

  “Bless you.” Barbara hugged her again. “You're still on top of things. Have the police found out anything?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I don't know. I'm not family, so they won't tell me anything.” Not that Cahill would tell her anything anyway, with her a suspect.

  “I knew one of those rotten bastards would get out of jail and come after him,” Barbara said tensely. “I knew it.”

  A fresh wave of guilt assailed Sarah. “I should have been there.”

  “Nonsense.” Barbara fiercely turned on her. “It was your off day; there was no reason for you to be there. You couldn't stay with him twenty-four hours a day. Probably the monster watched the house and saw you leave. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine, for not hiring a full-time guard service. It isn't your fault, and I won't let you even think it, do you hear?”

  Too late for that. Sarah thought it at least every five minutes. And what if, as she had thought in those first awful, stunned minutes, he'd been killed by the creep who had sent her the pendant? What if he'd actually come looking for her? Killing the Judge wasn't logical, but then people like that weren't logical, so why would their actions be? Knowing a weirdo was out there, she should have been at home instead of out trying to bait him into revealing himself.

  It wasn't until Cahill asked about the death threats that she realized that was the most likely answer. Logically she realized it, anyway; emotionally, she hadn't shaken that first impression.

  “It isn't your fault, either,” she said firmly. “It's the fault of the man who pulled the trigger, no one else. We have to remember that.” And she still should have been there. If it hadn't been for that double-damned pendant, she would have been.

  Dwight, Barbara's husband, was over at the carousel collecting their luggage, helped by nineteen-year-old Shaw. Blair, fifteen, stood by herself, looking miserable as only teenagers can. Her honey-blond hair had metallic blue streaks in it, and her left eyebrow now sported two gold hoops.

  “Wow,” Sarah said, moving to reach out and to hug the girl. “Two hoops. When did you get the other one?”

  “It's fake,” she said. “I wanted to make Granddaddy freak out the next time we saw him, but—but now I won't get the chance!” Her face crumpled, and she hurled herself against Sarah, burying her face in her shoulder. Her slender body shook with sobs.

  Barbara took charge of her daughter, taking her into her own arms and cuddling her as if she were still a toddler. Dwight and Shaw approached, loaded down with luggage and looking uncomfortable at the naked emotional display of the women. Barbara got Blair calmed down, and they all trundled out to Sarah's vehicle. Barbara got into the backseat with her kids, and Dwight buckled himself into the front passenger seat.

  “What time are Randall and Emily supposed to be here?” he asked.

  “Around eleven. He has a copy of the Judge's will in his safe deposit box, and his bank doesn't open until nine. He thought it might be needed.”

  Barbara rubbed her forehead. “I don't want to think about his will just now.”

  “There might be instructions for his funeral service,” Dwight said gently.

  “I still wish—” She sighed. “Never mind. Wishing won't accomplish anything.” She took a deep breath as Sarah began winding her way through the parking deck toward the exit. “Sarah, do you know when the police will let us into the house?”

  “It will probably be a few days, at least.” And she would have to arrange for the library to be cleaned before the family went in; she didn't want them seeing the scene the way it was now, with the blood splatters and smears. She would give anything if she hadn't seen it, if the past twelve hours had never happened. If she could go back, she would do things differently; instead of dawdling at the Summit, she would go home, and whoever the killer was, when he arrived, she would handle it, and the Judge would still be alive.

  But she couldn't go back. No one could.

  “The detective will be in touch with you at the hotel,” she said evenly. “Try to get some sleep, if you can.”

  “Will you be there? When the detective talks to us?” Barbara's voice wavered a little.

  “If you want me to be.” As desperately as she had needed to be hugged a little while ago, she just as desperately needed to be alone so she could release the pent-up grief and tears. She had held everything in, mostly from shock, but now the shock was wearing off and the awful reality was setting in.

  “Please. I'm so—I can't think clearly.”

  Sarah didn't know how clearly she was thinking herself, but if Barbara wanted her present, she'd be there. If Cahill gave them a few hours, at least she'd be able to take a shower and change clothes, maybe even grab a nap, have breakfast. As soon as she thought of food, her stomach heaved and her throat tightened. No food, then, not yet. Maybe tomorrow.

  Tomorrow. What was she supposed to do tomorrow? Whatever the family needed, she supposed. Whatever they didn't feel they could handle, she would do for them. And when the last service for them had been performed, then what?

  She wasn't ready. She had thought she'd have another couple of years, getting things ready to put her Plan in motion. She had thought the Judge would gradually become more frail, or perhaps a heart attack or stroke would take him, but that his death would be natural. She would still have grieved, they all would have, but there wouldn't be this tearing pain at a life cut short. No one had been ready for him to leave, not like that.

  She got the family settled in the hotel, and just as she was about to leave Jon and his family arrived. So she stayed, helping them, answering Jon's questions. Finding comfort in numbers, Barbara and Dwight and their kids joined them, and when Sarah finally left, they were all crowded into the suite's parlor, crying a little, but pulling together. Final arrangements would have to wait until Randall arrived, so they could all decide together, but Barbara already had out a sheet of the hotel stationery and was making a list of things that needed to be done.

  Barbara would be all right. She was hurting, but she was making a list. Th