9 Kill for Me

  Al Landers instantly tensed. “What?”

  “Just that Garth Davis’s sister Kate came. I didn’t expect to see her here, under the circumstances. I mean, Sheila was one of Garth’s victims. That’s her, standing alone.”

  “Maybe she’s just here to pay her respects,” Al said.

  “Maybe,” Susannah said doubtfully. “But how awkward.”

  “Sshh,” Luke cautioned. “They’re getting ready to start.”

  It was a short service, and sad. Next to Pastor Wertz, pizza parlor owner Corey Presto stood quietly crying. Susannah didn’t see any other family or friends. She wondered how many people here had actually known Sheila Cunningham.

  Based on the avidly curious expressions of nearly every face in the crowd, not many. Sheila was news. She’d be gossiped about around water coolers for days to come.

  Once the news of my statement hits, so will I.

  Pastor Wertz began reading from the Bible, his face weary. He’d already officiated over two funerals in as many days and there were many more to come.

  She thought about Daniel as Corey Presto put a red rose on top of Sheila’s casket. Her brother had very nearly died yesterday. Had Alex not acted so quickly Susannah might have been standing here again in a few days, burying the last of her family.

  And then I would be as alone as Sheila Cunningham had been. More so, because at least Sheila had Corey Presto. I have no one. Susannah swallowed hard, startled to find her face wet. Embarrassed, she quickly wiped her cheeks with her fingertips, stiffening when Luke’s hand brushed her hair, settling on her back, warm and solid. For just a moment she gave in to the temptation to lean, resting her head against him.

  And for just a moment she let herself yearn for a man like Luke Papadopoulos, decent and kind. But that was not in the cards. Not after what he now knew. He would be kind because Daniel was family, and he might even be attracted to her, but ultimately the man whose mama still carried a rosary around in her purse would never want . . . a woman like me. And who could blame him? I don’t want a woman like me.

  Pastor Wertz said the “Amen” and Susannah pulled away from Luke, physically and emotionally. Al pushed a handkerchief into her hand. “Your mascara’s run.”

  Quickly she wiped her face again. “Did I fix it?”

  Al tipped her face up. “Yeah. You okay?”

  No. “Yeah.” She turned to Luke. “You don’t have to babysit me. I’ll be fine.”

  Luke didn’t look like he believed her, but nodded. “I do need to get back. I have an appointment at two. Call if you need me or if you see anyone who looks familiar.” He looked around. “I did want to talk to Kate Davis. Do you see her?”

  Susannah didn’t. “She must have left. This had to have been uncomfortable.”

  Luke looked at Al. “There are cops everywhere. If you need to, yell.”

  Al watched him go, then looked down at her, brows lifted. “He’s very . . . nice.”

  Way too nice for me. “Let’s go back. I haven’t spent any time with Jane Doe today.”

  She’d only taken a few steps when a woman stopped in her path. She was tall, blond, and smileless. “Hi,” she said nervously. “You’re Susannah Vartanian, aren’t you?”

  Al’s hand closed over her arm protectively. “I am,” Susannah said. “Do I know you?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m Gretchen French.”

  The victim Chloe Hathaway said was trying to organize a press conference. How could she have found out so quickly? “What can I do for you, Miss French?”

  “I met your brother Daniel a few days ago. I heard he was shot by Randy Mansfield.”

  The knot in her chest loosened. “He was, but he’ll be all right.”

  Gretchen smiled, but it looked like it cost her. “I just wanted to ask you to thank him for me. He and Talia Scott made a very difficult time more bearable. He’s a kind man.”

  Susannah nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

  “It’s nice of you to come today, to pay your respects to Sheila in Daniel’s place.”

  Susannah felt Al’s grip tighten, bolstering her. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Then you knew Sheila?”

  “No.” Just say it. Say it. Say it and it will be easier the second time.

  Gretchen’s brows crunched. “Then why are you here?”

  Susannah drew a breath. “For the same reason you are.” She let the breath out quietly. “I was a victim, too.”

  Gretchen’s mouth dropped open. “But . . . I . . .” She stared. “I had no idea.”

  “I didn’t know about you either, or any of the others. Not until Daniel told me on Thursday. I thought I was the only one.”

  “So did I. Oh God.” Gretchen took a steadying breath. “We all did.”

  “I gave my statement to ASA Hathaway today,” Susannah said. “I’ll be testifying.”

  Gretchen was still stunned. “It will be difficult.”

  Difficult. She was beginning to hate that word. “It will be hell for us all.”

  “I suppose you know that better than any of us. I read that you’re a prosecutor now.”

  “Now,” Susannah said, and Al squeezed her arm again. But maybe not later. Al was indeed correct that the defense would exploit her status as a victim. But she’d stand with the others now and cross each bridge as she got there. “Miss Hathaway said you’re organizing a press conference. If you tell me when and where, I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, please. I’ll give you my card. Call me when the arrangements are made.” She’d bowed her head to search her purse when a sharp crack split the air.

  In an instant Susannah was thrown to the ground, her breath leaving her in a rush as Al landed on top of her and all hell broke loose in the cemetery. Around her people screamed and ran as police mobilized to bring order to the crowd.

  Dazed, Susannah lifted her head, her gaze locking onto a woman who stood still amid all the frenzied movement around her. She was dressed in black, from her veiled hat to the hem of her old-fashioned dress to the tips of her gloved fingers. The black lace of the veil fell below her chin, covering her face, but somehow Susannah knew the woman was staring. At me.

  And Susannah stared back, momentarily mesmerized.

  Red lips. She has red, red lips. The color showed through the black lace, creating a startling effect. And then the woman slipped into the crowd and was gone.

  “Are you all right?” Al shouted over the panicked screams.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Stay down another few— Oh, shit.” Al leaped up and Susannah pushed herself to her knees as he lowered Gretchen French to the ground. “She’s hit.”

  Twenty uniformed police stormed the area, and Susannah found herself stemming blood flow from a gunshot wound for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. Gretchen was conscious, but pale and shaken. The bullet had pierced the fleshy part of her arm and blood was sullenly oozing from the wound.

  “Stay put,” Susannah said. “Just don’t move.” She balled up Al’s handkerchief and pressed it to Gretchen’s arm. “Al, get me . . .” She looked up to find Al’s horrified gaze fixed straight ahead, and her heart stumbled to a stop. “Oh, hell. Oh, no.”

  Kate Davis lay on the ground between two tombstones, staring skyward, her white shirt already red with blood. One arm lay flung outward, a gun still clutched in her hand.

  Two officers were holstering their weapons. Susannah continued to stare, shocked. She hadn’t heard the shot. But Kate Davis was dead.

  Al looked down, stunned. “She shot Gretchen French.”

  “Step aside, please.” Paramedics were pushing her out of the way, again for the second time in twenty-four hours. She stood up, her legs like rubber.

  “Al . . .”

  His arms came around her, keeping her from crumpling to the ground again as her knees buckled. He shielded her with his body as cameras began to flash. “Just come with me.” He was breathing h
ard. “Susannah, this is one hell of a fucked-up town.”

  “Yeah,” Susannah said breathlessly. “I know.”

  Tanner slowed the car and Bobby slid into the passenger seat. “Drive.”

  He obeyed and in ten seconds they’d cleared the cemetery gates. “Is it done?”

  “Of course.” And exactly as planned.

  “Did anyone recognize you?”

  “No.”

  Tanner grimaced as Bobby removed the veiled hat. “That hat is hideous, but the lipstick is even worse.” He passed his handkerchief across the car. “Clean your face.”

  “Sheila always wore this color. I thought it was a nice touch.”

  Tanner rolled his eyes as Bobby wiped at the lipstick. “Where’s your gun?”

  “I dropped the one I used on Rocky in the grass, just like I’d planned. The other one is still in my pocket.” Bobby fingered the small hole in the pocket’s fabric. “All that training with Charles finally paid off. Two targets hit, using both hands. Ballistics will have a field day doing the matchups.”

  “So Susannah Vartanian is dead, too?”

  “Of course not.”

  Tanner’s head jerked, his frown fierce. “You said it was done. You missed?”

  Bobby frowned back. “I don’t miss. If I’d meant to hit Susannah, I would have. I never intended to kill her that painlessly. If Charles can play with her a little, so can I.”

  “So who else did you shoot?”

  “I have no idea,” Bobby said cheerfully. “Just a woman unlucky enough to be standing next to Susannah at the time.” A laugh bubbled out. “I haven’t felt like this in . . . well, I don’t remember the last time. Maybe not since I killed that sonofabitch Lyle.”

  “Your father had it coming,” Tanner said decisively.

  He wasn’t my father. “So did Rocky. Let’s get back to Ridgefield now. We have some things to do before you leave for Savannah.”

  Tanner tensed. “Get down. Police car at twelve o’clock.”

  Bobby twisted, ducking below the dash. “I didn’t see any police cars.”

  “It was unmarked, but it’s gone now. Let’s get out of here.”

  Dutton, Saturday, February 3, 12:05 p.m.

  Luke ran from his car, heart pounding. Shots fired, Dutton Cemetery. As soon as he’d heard the words on his radio, he’d U-turned and raced back. Susannah was sitting in the passenger seat of her rental car, parked in on all sides. Two state troopers were managing crowd control while an angry Al Landers paced the length of the car.

  “What the hell happened?” Luke demanded.

  Al shook his head. “I’m still not sure. I don’t think your boss knows yet either.”

  Luke stuck his head in the car. Susannah sat, her hands folded in her lap. Her face, as well as the front of her black dress, was streaked red with clay. “Are you all right?”

  She gave him a weary look. “The only thing that hit me was Al. Kate Davis is dead.”

  Luke frowned. “Kate Davis? You’re kidding.”

  “I wish. The police shot her after she shot Gretchen French.”

  Luke shook his head to clear it. “Kate Davis shot someone? In the cemetery?”

  “Yes,” Susannah said calmly. “Gretchen French. In the cemetery. With a gun.”

  “The victim Chloe mentioned this morning? The one who’s mobilizing the other victims to do a press conference?”

  “That’s the one. Gretchen’s not hurt badly. The medics have her now.”

  Al stuck his head next to Susannah, his expression grim. “What she’s not telling you is that she was standing next to Gretchen at the time.”

  Luke’s stomach rolled over. She could have been killed. “I’ll get an update on Miss French,” he said roughly. “Then you’re going back with me.”

  She looked surprised. “Kate didn’t shoot me. She shot Gretchen. And now Kate’s dead. I don’t think she’ll be shooting anyone else.”

  “Humor me. Please.”

  Something shifted in her gray eyes. “You’ve been very kind, Luke, but you don’t have to babysit me. I’ll be all right on my own.”

  She’d pulled away even though she hadn’t moved a muscle. “Humor me anyway,” he said, his jaw tightening. “Susannah, I’m so exhausted that it’s hard for me to focus. It’ll just be harder if I’m worried about you.” That seemed to make a difference.

  She nodded. “All right then. Should I come with you now?”

  “No. Stay here until I come back.” He and Al straightened and regarded each other over the top of the car. “Can you drive this rental car back?”

  “Yes. That young woman, Kate Davis. Her brother Garth is the last surviving member of Simon’s club. Is it possible news of Susannah’s statement leaked out?”

  “And that she was the intended target?” Luke had already considered it. “I’ll find out.”

  Luke found Chase looking down at Kate Davis’s body. Chase looked up sourly. “I’m having a very bad day.”

  “So’s Kate Davis,” Luke said. “Who shot her?”

  “Don’t know,” Chase said, even more sourly. “Wasn’t any of us.”

  Luke frowned. “You mean it wasn’t GBI?”

  “No, I mean it was not any law enforcement officer on the premises. No one fired their weapon. Therefore, I do not know who shot this woman,” Chase said testily.

  Luke looked around, frowning. “We have a second shooter?”

  “Looks like.”

  “The bullet hit her straight in her heart. Somebody has a good eye.”

  “Yeah, I got that part. At least Kate’s eye wasn’t so good. Gretchen will be all right.”

  “That’s what Susannah said. I’m taking Susannah back to Atlanta myself. So what did happen?”

  “Kate Davis was in a pocket of people milling around the graveside. There was a huge line of cars waiting to get out of the cemetery and people were getting impatient.”

  “I parked on the next access road,” Luke said. “I had to walk, but I got out fast.”

  “You weren’t the only one, which was part of the problem. When bullets started to fly, people had already started leaving. It was almost impossible to lock the area down.”

  There were still a lot of people in the cemetery, many lined up along the yellow tape one of the officers had strung, hoping for a real-life taste of CSI. “Witnesses?”

  “The three old men on the folding chairs had a ringside view. They said they saw Kate with a jacket draped over her arm, looking ‘antsy.’ ” He pointed to the jacket lying on the ground about two feet from the body. “The next moment there was a shot fired and people started screaming. Al Landers tackled Susannah, knocking her down, but it was Gretchen French who was hit. Seconds later, two cops had their guns drawn and pointed at Kate. One told her to drop her weapon. The cops said she looked stunned.” Chase met his eyes. “And then she said, ‘I missed.’ ”

  Luke’s blood ran cold. “Shit.”

  “Yeah. The next second Kate drops like a rock. She was dead before she hit the ground. Like you said, somebody was a damn good shot.”

  “And had a gun with a silencer.”

  “Right again.”

  “Then the other shooter got away.” Luke refused to let the panic in his gut rise to choke him. She’d missed and Susannah was unhurt. Gretchen’s injury was minor. “I’m glad you’re handling the brass. This is going to make us look like fucking monkeys.”

  “That about sums it up. You don’t have to stay, Luke. Ed’s got the scene and I’ll manage the press.” He grimaced. “They all got some great video for their newscasts.”

  “I’m glad we were here,” Luke said pointedly, and Chase rolled his eyes.

  “You were right. This was no babysitting job.”

  “Thank you. I’m going back now. I have to meet Kasey Knight’s parents at two. You know, the parents of the first dead girl we’ve identified. I’m not looking forward to this.”

  “Wait,” Chase said. “Weren’t you going to check to
see if Granville had a safe deposit box at Davis Bank in Dutton?”

  “I went by before the service, but the bank is closed,” Luke told him. “Rob Davis, the bank manager’s grandson, is being buried up in Atlanta today.”

  “Because Rob Davis pissed off Mack O’Brien who then killed his grandson in retaliation.” Chase sighed. “Now his nephew Garth is in jail, Garth’s wife and sons are missing, and Kate is dead. I don’t think it’s healthy to be a member of that family.”

  “Or a Vartanian for that matter,” Luke said quietly.

  “Or a Vartanian,” Chase agreed.

  “Excuse me.”

  Both Luke and Chase turned to find a pale Pastor Wertz standing behind them. “Yes, Reverend?” Chase asked. “What can we do for you?”

  Wertz looked stunned. “I have another funeral this afternoon. What should I do?”

  “Whose funeral is it?” Luke asked.

  “Gemma Martin,” the pastor replied. “Oh, dear, this is not good. Not good at all.”

  “Mack O’Brien’s third victim,” Chase muttered. “Are you expecting a large crowd?”

  “The family hired security to keep the media out,” the pastor said. “But they’ve been flying overhead, sneaking through. It’s been horrible. Horrible.”

  “We’ll be cordoning off this whole section of cemetery,” Chase said. “It’s a crime scene now. The funeral and burial will have to be postponed.”

  “Oh my. Oh my.” Pastor Wertz wrung his hands. “I’ll tell Mrs. Martin, Gemma’s grandmother. She won’t be happy about this. No, not at all.”

  “If it’ll help, I’ll tell them,” Chase offered, and the pastor nodded.

  “It would, indeed.” He looked down with a sigh. “Poor Kate. She was the last person I would have expected to do this. But I suppose even clear heads can get muddied in times like these, with Gretchen accusing her brother of rape. Her parents would have been so disappointed to see how Kate and Garth turned out. So sad. So very sad.”

  Dutton, Saturday, February 3, 12:45 p.m.

  Luke glanced at Susannah before returning his eyes to the road. She’d had her eyes glued to her computer screen since they’d left the cemetery. “What are you doing now?”