Anger surged through her like acid, starting in her belly and burning as it rose to her throat. The memory of what had happened the last time she saw him pushed against her with the force of a tidal wave, but she pushed back. She had to stay cool, composed.
“Lily’s death was a terrible tragedy,” she said. “Now isn’t the time for pettiness.”
His eyes were cold. “How kind of you to come running back.” He leaned in closer, putting an arm on her shoulder in a way that a casual observer would have seen as friendly, and angrily hissed, “Don’t even think of trying to come between us again.”
She recoiled, incensed that he had the nerve to speak to her that way, today of all days. Squaring her shoulders, she flashed him her best author smile. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with how your wife is dealing with the murder of her mother than worrying about my relationship with her?” Her smile disappeared. “But don’t worry. I won’t make the same mistake again.” This time, I’ll make sure that you don’t come between us, she thought as she walked away.
She was heading to the first-floor bathroom to freshen up before lunch when something outside caught her eye. She moved toward the window and saw a uniformed man standing in the shadows, next to the driveway. It took her a minute to recognize him as Georgina’s driver. What was his name? Something with an R … Randolph, that was it. He’d driven them around whenever Georgina had carpool duty. Blaire was a little surprised he was still alive. He’d looked ancient to her all those years ago, but looking at him now, she realized he was probably only in his forties at the time. Then she saw Simon approach him and shake his hand before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out an envelope. Randolph looked around nervously, then took it with a nod and got into his car.
Simon was already heading up the front walk, so Blaire quickly ducked into the powder room before he could see her. She couldn’t imagine what business Simon would have with Georgina’s driver. But she intended to find out.
The murderer was at the gravesite today—maybe even in our house.” Kate’s voice cracked as she handed her phone to Detective Frank Anderson of the Baltimore County PD. His presence comforted her, his manner sure and confident, and she was struck again by how his appearance of physical strength made her feel safe.
Taking a seat across from Kate and Simon in their living room, he read the text message with a frown. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. It could be a crank who read about your mother’s death and the funeral—there’s been a lot of coverage.”
Simon’s mouth dropped open. “What kind of a sicko does that?”
“But this is my personal cell phone,” Kate objected. “How would a stranger have gotten the number?”
“It’s easy enough to get a cell number these days, unfortunately. There are plenty of third-party services people can use. And there were several hundred people at the cemetery. Did you know all of them?”
She shook her head. “No. We debated having a private funeral, but Mother was so tied to the community, we felt she’d have wanted it to be open to anyone who wished to pay their respects.”
He was making notes as they were talking. “Normally we’d assume this was a crank, but since this is an unsolved murder, we will take it more seriously. With your permission we’ll put in for a consensual Title Three wiretap. I’d like to add it to your home phone and computers as well. Then we can see in real time if you receive more threats, and we can track the IP address.”
“Of course,” Kate said.
“I have equipment with me that can take a mirror image of your phone. When we finish I’ll do that, and we’ll see if we can trace this text and find out who sent it. Whatever you do, don’t respond if you hear from him again. If this is a crank, that’s exactly what he wants you to do.” He gave Kate a sympathetic look. “I’m very sorry that you have to deal with this on top of everything else.”
Kate felt only slight relief as her husband walked Anderson to the door. She thought back to the last time she’d gotten terrifying news on her phone, that awful night when Harrison had found Lily. She’d seen her father’s number pop up, and when she answered, he’d sounded frantic.
“Kate. She’s gone. She’s gone, Kate,” he sobbed across the line.
“Dad, what are you talking about?” Panic spread through her body.
“Someone broke in. They killed her. Oh my God, this can’t be real. It can’t be true.”
Kate had barely been able to understand his words, he was crying so hard. “Who broke in? Mother? Mother is dead?”
“Blood. Blood everywhere.”
“What happened? Have you called an ambulance?” she asked him, her voice high-pitched, hysteria threatening to overtake her.
“What am I going to do, Katie? What am I going to do?”
“Dad, listen to me. Have you called nine-one-one?” But all that came through had been his hacking sobs.
She had leaped into her car and driven the fifteen miles to her parents’ home in a daze, texting Simon to meet her there ASAP. She could see the red and blue flashing lights from two blocks away. When she neared the house, her SUV was stopped by a police barricade. As she got out of it, she saw Simon’s Porsche pull up behind her. EMTs, police, and crime-scene investigators were going in and out of the house. Her panic swelling, Kate ran from the car and pushed her way through the crowd, but an officer barred her way, standing there with his arms crossed, legs in a wide stance, and an angry scowl on his face. “Sorry, ma’am. This is an active crime scene.”
“I’m her daughter,” she said, trying to push past him, as Simon rushed to her side. “Please.”
The officer shook his head and put a hand out in front of her. “Someone will be out to speak to you. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to step back.”
And then they watched and waited together, horrified, as investigators came and went, carrying cameras and bags and boxes, putting up yellow crime-scene tape, and refusing to even look in their direction. It hadn’t taken long for the television crews to arrive, with their cameras focusing on the breathless reporters, mics in hand, detailing every gruesome detail they could glean. Kate wanted to press her hands to her ears when she heard them say the victim’s skull had been bashed in.
Finally she saw her father being led out of the house. Without thinking, she rushed toward him. Before she’d taken more than a few steps, powerful hands grabbed her and held her in place.
“Let me go,” she yelled, struggling against the officer restraining her. Tears streamed down her face, and when the police car pulled away, she cried out, “Where are they taking him? Let me go, damn it. Where is my mother? I need to see my mother.”
He had loosened his hold then, but not his expression. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t allow you inside.”
“My father should be with her,” Kate cried. Simon had appeared beside her, and she inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. Even though she was still angry at him,
