While You Were Dead

by CJ Snyder

  “What did the police do wrong?”

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t the police, it was her original attorney. Aunt Nell hired him. He never even looked at the issue of insanity. Mom told him not to, of course, but still. A normal loving wife doesn’t go berserk and murder her husband unless something is out of whack.”

  “But she confessed?”

  Kat nodded glumly. “’What have I done?’ was rather incriminating. She claims—now—that that’s not what she meant. Of course, she won’t explain what she did mean, if not that she’d stabbed him. She’ll only say it’s because she fell asleep.”

  “She fell asleep, too? Did the police check for signs of a break-in? Was there any evidence to support that your dad put up a struggle?”

  “Only stuff Mom knocked over fighting the cops. No break-in.”

  “Then let’s start at the beginning. Tell me about dinner.”

  “Roast pork, salad, red potatoes, peas and pearl onions.”

  Max smiled when she glanced at him, acknowledging her memory. She shrugged but could feel her cheeks get hot. “Lizzie was just like that, you know. Never forgot a thing.” Kat winced at his use of past tense. Max kept firing questions. “What happened after dinner?”

  “Dad went into his office to dictate some patient notes. Mom and I went into the den, ate chocolates and watched a movie. Terminator,” she supplied before he could ask. This time when he shook his head, she got defensive. “What? You know I like movies like that.”

  “You’re not the only one. You said you ate chocolates. Was that unusual?”

  “Very. Mom used to be a health fanatic. No sweets. No snacks. Dad had brought them home from a meeting earlier. Mom and I both pigged out.”

  “What happened to the chocolates?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They aren’t listed on any of the police reports.”

  Kat smiled. “I think we ate them all. Mom probably threw out the box so she wouldn’t be reminded that we’d really eaten all of them.”

  Max gave a little nod. “Was there anyone else in the house?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone you know of who didn’t like your father?”

  “No. The police looked and didn’t find anyone either.”

  “Any disgruntled employees?”

  “One secretary. She was heartbroken when the police called her. She’d worked for him for years.”

  “Were she and your dad. . . ?”

  “No. She and Mom were friends--Dad used to send them off shopping together when they got on his nerves. Then he and I would go to the museum.”

  “Secretary’s name?”

  “Penny. Penny Jessup.”

  “Did Penny ever stay for dinner?”

  “Sometimes. If Dad had an after-dinner client, he’d ask her to stay.”

  “How about that night?”

  “No.”

  “And there wasn’t anyone else in the house? Was your Dad seeing a client maybe?”

  “No, just dictating. Penny asked him to catch it up--he was horrible at keeping his dictation current, and she didn’t want to work overtime the next week.”

  “What was the condition of your dad’s office?”

  The rapid-fire questions left her wondering about Max’s career choice. He’d make one hell of an attorney. “Everything was absolutely normal. The police had Penny come in to make sure. Aunt Nell and I were there—Aunt Nell insisted we be there so that nothing was taken.”

  “As in stolen?”

  “Yes.” Kat wrinkled her nose. “Vintage Aunt Nell. God rest her miserly, bitter old soul.”

  “When did Penny go through the office?”

  “The day after Dad died.”

  “Tell me about Penny that day.”

  “She was very upset. Shaky. Pale. Actually, she looked scared. Probably wondering where she was going to find another job. She went through the files, told the police everything looked just like she’d left it on Friday. She took some personal stuff--a few disks and some pictures--and then she left.”

  “Know how to reach her?”

  Kat shook her head. “We can’t. She died in a car accident the next week.”

  Max’s eyebrows shot up.

  “It was a hit and run, in a really seedy part of town, but they eventually caught the driver.”

  “Was she married?”

  “No.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Not that anyone knew of. Her mother thought there might be someone, but no one ever came forward. She lived alone--only her stuff was found in her apartment. The police concluded there wasn’t any correlation. The driver was caught, convicted of vehicular homicide. I think he’s still serving time.”

  “How about your dad’s clients? Any one suspicious?”

  “You’d have to ask Del.”

  For the first time, Max looked lost.

  “Delmont Cartwright. He took over dad’s patients. Came and got all his files--there was a court order of some sort.” Kat shrugged again, an apology this time. “I didn’t really pay that much attention.”

  “So you and your mom watched Arnold and pigged out on chocolate. Did your Dad join you at some point?”

  “I guess. I was asleep by then.”

  “And your mom really let you watch Terminator? At what? All of nine?”

  “Yes.” Kat glanced down at her hands. Her amazing memory had nothing to do with her recollection of her mother’s words. “Before it started, she said the movie taught some good lessons. She wanted me to watch for them. She said, ‘You just never know how your actions will affect those around you. Even the world.’ Then she said, ‘And you really never know what you’re capable of until the moment arrives.’” Kat shuddered. Not minutes later, her mother had provided a very clear demonstration of her lesson.

  Max caught her hands, drawing them across the table, drawing her back to now. “What files could Mitch have?”

  She shook her head at him, sad he didn’t understand. “There aren’t any files, Max. Mitch wants money. Mama’s new secret weapons always want money. You know how wealthy Daddy was.”

  “What about you then? Your clients? Your cases?”

  Kat shut her eyes. Her coffee wasn’t helping to ward off a bone-deep weariness and she could feel a dark cloud of depression following right on its heels. Where was Lizzie? These questions weren’t helping. Max’s suspicions only made everything more bizarre. “Yes, I’ve helped to put some terrible people away, but none of them know about Lizzie. There’s just no way they could.”

  “Who drew up the adoption papers?”

  “A judge in Denver. He was a friend of Doug’s. It was all done in private, just Miriam, Doug and I. The papers were filed and sealed that same afternoon. The judge was old, and he died two years ago. Until today, the only people on earth who knew were Miriam and me.” She opened her eyes to find his angry and bitter.

  “How about Vic?” His voice was flat. Emotionless.

  Kat wasn’t fooled. “Vic and I didn’t get that personal.”

  Rage flashed and then disappeared, almost before she could recognize it in his eyes. “I’ve got an ocean-view in Bluff River Falls I could sell you to go along with that.”

  “We didn’t!” How dare he? It wasn’t any of his business, but she’d tell him anyway. “We barely even slept together, Max. I tried, but I—I couldn’t.” Anger at her failure to make her marriage succeed built like steam fueling an old freight train. Max’s irritation and resentment only added heat. It was his fault dammit! She hadn’t disappeared. Or died. “Our wedding night was a disaster. The next night I drank wine—lots and lots of wine. I thought it would help. It didn’t. He—he. . .” A too-familiar chill brushed over her skin then penetrated, sinking deep. Revulsion. Fear. Pain. Disgust for Vic, but more for herself. Legally, she was Vic’s wife, but she belonged to Max forever. Kat grabbed her empty coffee mug and held on with both hands, grounding herself in the present. “He was angry. Who wouldn’t be?�
� Her fingers showed white against the blue mug. “I spent the rest of the night in the bathroom, throwing up and crying. He spent the next six months apologizing. But it wasn’t his fault, not really.”

  Her eyes, when she finally lifted her head, held a barely restrained challenge. Max was ready to kill over what he thought he’d just heard, but he didn’t accept her dare. Not Vic’s fault. Not Kat’s fault. He should feel sorry for poor Vic, but he didn’t. He knew how the guy felt though. It was the one thing they had in common. Wanting Kat, with every fiber of his being, until it consumed everything else. With no outlet. If Vic was here, right now, he’d tear him limb from limb. But Vic was no longer part of her world, she’d said so herself. The best Max could do was hope the guy met a violent, bloody death sometime in the future.

  He watched her play with her dessert, lifting her spoon to create a waterfall of creamy, melted liquid. Hearing her voice tonight as she’d shared her memories, watching the emotions play so fluidly, so vividly over her features, her eyes. Oh, yeah, he knew what it was to want. . .to need. . .her. She was his, but he couldn’t have her. Just like the thousands of other nights, tonight he’d have to shut it all up again.

  If there were bugs inside Kat’s house, last night’s show was all the watchers were going to get. Short of driving up into the hills and going at it in his truck like some love-starved teen, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it tonight.

  Except hold her. She looked so sad, defeated somehow. Like she blamed herself for everything that had happened, everything that was happening now, even while she calmly pointed out she couldn’t be the catalyst for any of it. He’d do anything to blot out the misery of her memories.

  She looked surprised when he switched to her side of the booth and settled an arm around her. But she didn’t protest, even when he pulled her closer and urged her head onto his shoulder.

  “We’re not getting anywhere,” she murmured.

  “Sure we are. We’ve covered lots of ground where the answers aren’t. We’ve got to be getting close to where they are.”

  A hint of a smile hovered over her lips. “And here I was thinking you’d make such a great attorney. What else do you want to know?”

  “If you’ll dance with me.”

  That brought her head up. “Dance with you?”

  He nodded. “At your house. It’s the best way to run a sweep without alerting whoever may be watching or listening that you’re on to them.”

  “You still believe my house is bugged?”

  He nodded. “For the next,” he glanced at his watch. “Thirty minutes or so, yes, definitely.”

  “And we’re going to dance?”

  “Just dance. I’ll probably kiss you, once or twice.” His let his mouth cover hers, but only for an instant. Any longer and he’d be out of control. “Then I’m going to sleep in your spare bedroom. After our big fight.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “This is all assuming you find something?”

  “Correct.”

  The sparkle spread to her mouth and became a grin. “Can I start the fight?”

  ##

  She should have let him start the fight, she thought the next morning. Maybe then it would have remained a staged fight—not the full-fledged war that raged now.

  Max had indeed danced her through the house, keeping a small, plain-looking electronic device concealed between their bodies. When they’d waltzed through every room in the house, he smoothly danced her outside, into the chilly darkness, where he released her long enough to ease the door closed behind them. Then he took her hand and pulled her along until the sky was hidden above the branches of the old oak. Once there, he didn’t speak, just dropped the device to the ground and wrapped his arms around her.

  Kat started to shake as the meaning of his actions settled over her like icy-hot jolts of electric shock. The knowledge came in waves, each one more menacing, more evil, more invasive. Someone invaded her house. Someone listened to her conversations. Someone watched her. That someone had Lizzie. Kat shuddered, feeling violated. Emotionally raped. She buried her face in Max’s strong shoulder and just hung on until she could stop the flood. “Where?” she asked finally, pulling back when she thought she was strong enough to handle the answer.

  Max didn’t let her go. “Everywhere. Every room. Audio and visual.”

  Sudden fury only made her trembling worse. She shoved away from Max and swung around, determined to find each and every camera and smash them with her bare hands. If that didn’t work, there was a hammer under the kitchen sink. Max stopped her, grabbing her shoulders and backing her up into his strong, solid body.

  “You don’t want to do that, baby.”

  “I sure as hell do!”

  “Then they’ll know that you know.”

  Lizzie! Kat sagged back against Max, truly thankful he was there for the very first time. She had to let them continue to spy on her until she and Max found Lizzie. Otherwise. . .. “Can you trace it backwards?”

  “Eventually. With the sophistication of what they’ve got in there, I doubt it will help us determine their actual location.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense, Max!” She wanted to scream. To hit something. To inflict vicious, violent harm. Underneath the rage, though, she wanted Max to put his arms back around her and make it all just go away. He ran his hands down her arms to her wrists, soothing goosebumps she didn’t know she had.

  “It will. We’ll find them. I’ll take care of it.”

  For the first time she was suddenly—frighteningly—aware of how tense he was. How his muscles shook also, with barely restrained rage that was greater than her own. His wasn’t tempered by fear. Not for her. Not for himself. Not even for Lizzie. Kat shivered again. He was comforting her, soothing her, and underneath, the sniper was planning his attack, as surely as she breathed. Max wasn’t two people. The man she knew and loved was one with the cold-blooded killer. The knowledge held her motionless in his arms.

  “What do we do?”

  “I have a plan. Don’t worry.”

  Impossible. Worry, doubt, anger and rage took assigned turns at the forefront of her mind and heart. Last night it had been easier to trust him, to cherish the memory of the long, deep kiss he’d given her before they went back inside the house, to meekly obey when he told her she needed to sleep, to swallow the sleeping pill he gave her, to participate mindlessly in the stupid argument he picked.

  This morning, the memory of that kiss warred with the cold, harsh stranger who’d greeted her with a cup of weak coffee, already sugared and creamed, and the order that she had fifteen minutes to get ready or he was going without her.

  She didn’t dare ask if he’d found anything. No sooner had she slammed the truck door behind her then he floored it, roaring out onto the street. He ignored her then, despite her increasingly frequent glances at his scowling features. He’d showered but not bothered to shave before he woke her up. His eyes were red-rimmed, giving him a slightly crazed look that wasn’t the least bit reassuring.

  The grey and gloomy day didn’t help to dispel the feeling she was trapped in some sort of horror movie. Rain spattered sporadically and the streets were as slick as they’d been yesterday. She took one more glance at Max and frowned when he turned off the highway. She knew now where they were headed. Knew, too, she had to stop him.

  “Max.”

  “Don’t start.” Max didn’t take his eyes from the road.

  “I will start. She’s Lizzie’s mother. She’s fighting for her own life right now. You saw her—you’ve called the hospital practically every hour over the last two days. You know she’s not in any condition for you to tell her Lizzie’s dead. Especially when she isn’t! We should be on our way to find Lizzie right now, not going to destroy Miriam.”

  “Give it up, Kat!” He spared her exactly one thunderous glare before he accelerated around a corner. “She’s dead. Miriam is her mother. She has a right to know.”

  “But you don’t know. Not for sure.
”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Her heart actually stopped at his low growl. Kat let out a soft cry, searching his face. “What?”

  “I just know, okay? I saw the ring. I don’t need blood tests or DNA.”

  Kat’s fury returned with a vengeance. He’d scared her to death because of what? A feeling? A hunch? “Pull this truck over!” she demanded.

  Max ignored her.

  “You can’t do this, Max. You could kill her and because of what? Male intuition? Never heard of it. “