Marcy leaned against the front door, gripping the phone. She took a deep breath. "Yes, they are."
"And are you alone, ma'am?" the 911 operator asked.
"No, my sister is here with me." Marcy glanced at Phoebe, who was rolling her eyes. She was obviously angry, but Marcy didn't care. She saw what she saw.
"Just stay inside the house, Mrs. Edmond, and the police will be there in a few minutes. A call has already gone in to the Albany Beach police department dispatch."
"Thank you." Marcy let out a deep breath as she walked into the dark living room.
"Do you feel comfortable enough to disconnect, ma'am, or would you like to remain on the line until the police arrive?"
"You can hang up." She knelt on the couch and closed the blinds behind it. "I'll be fine. Thank you." She hung up and climbed off the couch.
"What do you think you're doing?" Phoebe exploded. "Calling the damned police because you think you see something outside?"
"Not something. A man." She shook the phone at Phoebe. "I saw a man looking in the kitchen window at us."
"I cannot believe you're wasting the police's time with something like this." Disgusted, Phoebe walked back into the kitchen to retrieve her glass of wine. "You know, people are going to start to talk. First this restaurant escapade; now you're seeing men in windows—"
"Restaurant escapade?" Marcy demanded. Once upon a time, she would have dropped her tail between her legs and run from such criticism, but no longer. She took a step toward Phoebe. "This is not an escapade. I'm about to sink my life's savings into this business, and let me tell you—"
"All right, all right." Phoebe held up her hands in surrender. "I'm sorry."
Marcy glared.
"I said I'm sorry," Phoebe repeated more gently, making eye contact for just a second. "I am, sis. I'm just a little sensitive about the restaurant subject, that's all."
Marcy exhaled slowly. "Okay." She pressed her lips together. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to jump on you." She pointed toward the kitchen window covered now by the shade. "I'm telling you, I saw someone in that window. And not a neighbor's kid, either. Someone who doesn't belong there."
"Well, the police will be here soon." Phoebe took a drink of her wine. "They can walk around the yard and make sure whoever it is, is gone."
A couple of minutes later, the doorbell rang and Marcy hurried to the foyer. She peered through the small, round viewer to see Claire standing at the door in a pool of light given off by the lamps on either side of the door.
"Claire?" Marcy flipped the deadbolt and pulled the door open. Behind Claire's patrol car in the driveway, she saw a second pull in.
Claire glanced over her shoulder. "McCormick is here, too. He must have heard the call go out over the radio." She looked back to Marcy. "You okay?"
Marcy nodded. "But I saw a man looking in the kitchen window. Phoebe and I were having something to eat, and I looked up, and there he was."
Claire's gaze moved past Marcy to the moving boxes, to Phoebe in the family room doorway. Phoebe was still holding her glass of wine.
"Having a little celebration, ladies?"
Marcy glanced over her shoulder, caught Claire's meaning, and gave a little laugh. "No. Well, yes. Phoebe just got a new job, but I'd had only one sip of wine, I swear it, when I saw the guy."
Patrolman McCormick swaggered up the front walk, flashing a flashlight beam over the lawn. "Got us a Peeping Tom, have we?" He reached the porch and spotted the twin sisters. He nodded. "Ladies."
"I just arrived," Claire said. "Check the perimeter and the neighbors on both sides. See if they saw anything. You know how it is, a lot of times people don't call until after the guy has cased the place, and then robbed it while they're gone. Later the victims remember the guy standing in the flower bed staring in the window a few days back."
"Will do." McCormick went back down the steps, stepped over a bed of pansies, and headed around the front of the house.
"That what you think it was?" Marcy asked. "Someone looking to rob us?"
"Hard to say. You didn't recognize the guy?"
Marcy shook her head. "But I really didn't get a good look at him. He was there and then he wasn't."
"Well"—Claire clicked on the Maglight flashlight in her hand—"I'm going to check around back, too. Would you mind turning on any lights you have on the outside of the house?"
"There are motion detectors. They should come right on. Which is strange, because they didn't."
Claire nodded. "Which window?"
"The kitchen on the back of the house. I'll lift the blind so you can see which one it is."
"Stay inside." Claire adjusted her uniform hat. "Lock the door, and I'll come back and let you know if I found anything."
"Thanks." Marcy offered a quick smile and backed into the foyer, closing the door and turning the dead bolt as directed.
"Whoever it was, if it was anyone, is going to be long gone by now," Phoebe said with a bored sigh.
"You're probably right." Marcy walked into the kitchen and opened the kitchen shade. "But I'll feel better knowing there's no one out there. Remember, you're going to your new place and the kids are gone. I'll be here alone all night."
Phoebe lifted her shoulder. "Whatever. I guess I'll get the rest of my stuff together while the cops do their thing."
Phoebe left the room, and Marcy picked up her dinner to reheat it. Halfway across the kitchen, she realized she wasn't hungry anymore. She dropped it in the trash can, rinsed off her fork, and threw it in the dishwasher. By the time she had added a load of dirty whites to the washing machine in the laundry room off the kitchen, the doorbell was ringing.
"Nobody there, huh?" Marcy asked, opening the door to Claire again.
"No. And McCormick said he didn't see any footprints under the window, but that doesn't mean someone wasn't there." Claire slipped her flashlight through a loop on her belt.
"And my neighbors didn't see anything either?"
"No one home on the right."
"The Satchels. That's right." Marcy clicked her fingers. "They went to see her mother in North Carolina."
"I spoke to John Coffey on your other side." She gestured with her thumb. "Says he and his wife were watching a movie, but they hadn't noticed anything unusual. What we did find is that your motion detectors don't seem to be coming on. Obviously, I don't want you outside tonight changing light bulbs on a ladder in the dark, but you need to look into that tomorrow."
Marcy nodded, fighting the urge to feel foolish. "I didn't mean to waste your time, Claire. I know you've got a lot going on."
"Which is why I'm glad you called." Claire met Marcy's gaze. "You know," she said softly, "we've got two dead women in this town. I don't want to scare you, but we have very few clues as to who killed them." She hesitated. "Right now, the only connection to the two women seems to be that they were both beautiful, blond-haired, and blue-eyed."
Marcy lifted her hand to her cheek in shock as she realized what Claire meant. Marcy vaguely knew that both women had been young and blond, but eye color had not been mentioned. She had seen photos of both victims in various papers, but she hadn't made the connection that they were both beautiful until Claire said it. "You think the same man killed both of them? Killed them because of what they looked like?"
"I honestly don't know, Marcy. We're still investigating. Waiting for some reports from various labs on trace evidence, which there's very little of. It's just something to keep in mind. I want you to be safe."
Marcy nodded. "I'm always careful." She thought about her run to the junkyard the other night. "I'll be more careful," she amended.
"Well, everything looks okay here, but I'll send a patrol car around a couple of times tonight just to be sure. You call if you see anything. Don't feel like you're bothering us; it's what we're here for."
"Thanks." Marcy held the door open. "And when things slow down for you, we'll have lunch again?"
"You bet." Claire started down the
driveway. Patrolman McCormick had already pulled out. She turned back. "I will. I mean it."
Marcy waved and stepped into the foyer, closing the door behind her. Then, for a moment, she leaned against it, thinking about what Claire had said. The man who had killed Patti and the tourist might have targeted them for their appearance. Marcy's whole life, she had wished more than anything else that she could be beautiful. What Patti and the other woman's family wouldn't do now to have their loved ones back, overweight and plain.
"They gone?" Phoebe stepped into the foyer from the basement, a big box in her arms to add to several more that she had already stacked there.
"Yup. There's no one there."
Phoebe gave her sister an I told you so look and walked into the kitchen. "I'll get the wine," she called. "Meet you in the family room."
Marcy settled on the chair by the fireplace, her favorite reading chair, and glanced at the book she'd left on the table beside it. Maybe when Phoebe left, she would just curl up here and read and leave the checkbooks and accounting until tomorrow when she and Jake could go over them together.
"Here you go." Phoebe pushed the wineglass into Marcy's hand. She must have left her own in the kitchen. "You look beat."
Marcy half smiled, sipping her wine. She wasn't tired, but she was worn out. Worn out with Phoebe. But of course she couldn't say that. Not right now, at least. "I'm fine."
"I know you say you have a million things to do, but you ought to take the evening off, enjoy the peace and quiet." Phoebe set the wine bottle on the table beside Marcy's chair. "Just sit here and read. I know how much you enjoy reading and you say you never have the time."
Marcy glanced at the book—a cozy mystery by one of her favorite authors. "Actually, I was thinking the same thing."
"Well"—Phoebe looked at her watch—"I should go. I've got a lot to do if I'm going to sleep in a bed with sheets tonight." She looked up. "Unless you want me to stay."
"No, don't be silly." It was the last thing Marcy wanted right now. She'd sooner have a killer outside her window than spend the rest of the evening with her sister, trying to pretend nothing was wrong when the bank statements on the other side of the room were saying something different.
Phoebe hesitated. "You know, I've got more stuff here than I thought. I was wondering—"
"How you were going to get it all there?" Marcy asked. The same thought had crossed her mind. "Because there's no way those boxes will fit in your little sports car."
Phoebe grinned. "Exactly. You mind—"
"Take mine." Marcy just wanted her out of the house. Now. "The keys are on the counter next to the phone."
"You sure?"
Marcy closed her eyes, tilting her head back to rest it on the chair. She was beginning to develop a headache. "Take it, Phoebe. Bring it back tomorrow."
"Great." Phoebe was already on her way to the kitchen.
"But leave me your keys," she called after her. "Ben has a game in the morning and Jake and the kids are meeting me there."
"No problem."
In twenty minutes, Marcy had her sister and her boxes out of the house and gone and the front door locked again. She returned to the family room and sank into the chair.
What was she going to do if Phoebe had stolen from her? Just make her pay it back? Call the police? She just didn't know. Over the years, Phoebe had taken advantage of her in so many ways, but as far as she knew, this was the first time she'd ever committed a crime in the process. It just seemed too hard to believe it could be true, and yet...
Marcy set her wineglass down and closed her eyes. Her head hurt worse, and now her stomach was upset, too. Whose wouldn't be? It hadn't exactly been a great evening. She'd discovered that her sister might be bulimic and stealing from her, and some pervert had been staring in her window. She didn't think the guy could be the same one who had killed those two other women, but it sure set her nerves on edge.
Maybe it was time Jake came home. She'd certainly feel safer having him here if there was a serial killer on the loose targeting blond-haired, blue-eyed women.
Marcy felt herself drifting off to sleep. She knew she ought to get up and do something. It would be a shame to waste her entire evening on her sister and a prowler, but suddenly she was so tired. Maybe she'd sit here a few minutes longer....
A beeping sound startled Marcy. She must have fallen asleep. She didn't know how much time had passed, but she thought only seconds... maybe minutes.
Opening her eyes, she blinked groggily. She could still hear the beeping sound, loud and obnoxious. What was it? She slid forward in the chair, planting her bare feet on the carpet.
It was coming from the hallway. The smoke alarm? She lifted her head to look around the room. She didn't see any smoke. Didn't smell any. And that wasn't the right sound.
She slid out of the chair, still not quite clear-headed, and stumbled into the hall. The sound was definitely coming from here. She stood for a moment, trying to figure out where it was coming from. As she lifted her gaze to the smoke detector, she saw another small white, dome-shaped contraption right next to it.
Ben's carbon monoxide detector? She hadn't even realized he'd installed it. He'd asked her if he could. She remembered now him asking where the big ladder was too, but she didn't know he'd done it.
She stared at the detector. It was definitely going off, its little red light blinking at her. Blink. Blink.
Marcy knew she should have let Ben buy the more expensive one. Obviously, this one was malfunctioning. But she had thought the idea was a little silly to begin with, so she'd just bought it to placate him.
She stared at the little blinking, bleeping monster. Now she was going to have to figure out how to shut it off. Pull its batteries?
Her head was still fuzzy from her catnap.
Or was it from something else?
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered what Ben had said about carbon monoxide poisoning. The stuff was colorless, odorless. It produced headaches, dizziness, and stomach ailments, but usually over a period of time. And most people who were poisoned in their homes were poisoned by faulty heating systems. It was summer. The heater wasn't running.
This didn't make any sense.
Of course the detector was malfunctioning. She slowly walked into the family room, thinking that if she could drag a chair down the hall, she could rip the guts out of the thing and shut it up. It was really getting on her nerves now. Bleeping. Blinking. Bleeping.
She was halfway across the family room when it occurred to her that she should get the ladder, not a chair. A chair didn't make sense.
But she was still so groggy...
A symptom of carbon monoxide poisoning.
She walked slowly into the kitchen and picked up the phone. For the second time that night, the second time in her life, she dialed 911.
"911. What is your emergency?" It had to be the same monotone voice as before.
"This is Marcy... Marcy Edmond at 223 Seahorse Drive in Albany Beach again."
There was a pause.
"Yes, Mrs. Edmond, what's your emergency?"
She leaned against the kitchen counter, suddenly feeling very nauseous. "My son... The carbon monoxide detector in my house is going off. I don't see how there can be any carbon monoxide, but..." She could hear herself speaking, but it didn't sound like her voice.
Dreaming?
The detector continued to bleep.
"Mrs. Edmond, listen closely." Marcy could hear other voices in the background, the click-click of a keyboard. "We'll send the fire department right over, but you need to get out of the house."
Marcy gave a little laugh, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "I called earlier. I thought someone was looking in my window."
"Yes," the operator said. "I see that now."
"But no one was out there," Marcy said unsteadily. "I guess it would be all right if I went outside... just for a minute."
"Mrs. Edmond, where are you now?" the operator said lo
udly.
"The kitchen."
"Go outside, Mrs. Edmond. Take the phone with you."
Marcy shuffled down the dark hallway, the phone in her hand. She was afraid she was going to throw up. She turned the deadlock and opened the door. Outside it was hot. Humid. But the air felt good on her face.
She heard a voice, and then remembered the phone. Stepping out onto the porch, she lifted it to her ear again.
"Mrs. Edmond?" the woman was saying, concern in her voice. "Are you still there?"
Marcy sat down on the top step. "I'm here." She took a deep breath. "I'm still here."
"Someone is coming to help you, Mrs. Edmond. The firemen will be there in just a couple of minutes."
Marcy could already hear sirens in the distance. They were sending fire trucks to shut Ben's detector off? Marcy hung her head. She still felt lousy, but her stomach was beginning to settle a little. She took a deep breath and then another.
The next thing she knew, the sirens seemed to surround her. A small white panel truck pulled into her driveway. County emergency medical technicians. A fire truck on the street in front of the house. Two fire trucks. Two people in paramedic uniforms hurried up the sidewalk, carrying bags in both hands.
"Mrs. Edmond?"
"Yes." She lifted her head. Someone took the phone from her.
"Mrs. Edmond, can you hear me?"
She took a deep breath. "Yes." She looked up to see a young man with a stethoscope around his neck stooped in front of her. She didn't recognize him. It wasn't Kevin James. "I can hear you. I'm feeling better." She felt as if a cloud was lifting from her head.
They were paramedics. Two of them, a man and a woman.
"We're going to take your blood pressure, Mrs. Edmond. You think you've been exposed to carbon monoxide, is that right?"
"My son's detector went off." She pointed behind her. She had left the front door open and light from inside spilled onto the porch. She could hear the stupid thing still bleeping. "I don't know if something is wrong with it or what."
"But you're feeling badly?"
She nodded. "I had a little wine. I was tired and dozed off."
Two firefighters with masks on their faces brushed past her on the steps and went into the house.
She'll Never Tell Page 21
