Killjoy (Buchanan-Renard #3)

Killjoy (Buchanan-Renard #3) Page 14

“No, I didn’t,” she answered. “Let go of me. I don’t want to lie down.” She adjusted the pillows and slowly leaned back on one elbow.

“We were all drugged,” Carrie explained. “The stuff had to have been in the food we ate.”

“That’s ridiculous. It was spoiled food, that’s what it was. Am I going to give them an earful when I get to the spa. I could sue,” she said. “And I just might. First, the inconvenience at the airport and now food poisoning. It’s simply unforgivable.”

Carrie didn’t argue. She plodded ahead, telling about the envelopes she and Sara had received.

“The most important thing you need to know is that there are detonators on every window and door in this house. If we open one of them, the house will blow up.”

Anne was looking at her as though she’d lost her mind. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. What’s the matter with you, trying to scare me like this?”

“I’m not trying to scare you. I’m telling you the truth. Did you find an envelope with your name on it?”

“No, I did not.”

The answer was too quick, too angry. Carrie knew she was lying, but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why.

“Anne, we’re all in this together. You have to tell the truth.”

Indignant, she responded, “I am telling you the truth. Now get out of here and leave me alone.”

“No,” Carrie said. “I don’t know how much time we have, and we have to find a way to get out of here without triggering the explosives.”

Anne’s pinched face was rapidly turning red. “I asked you to leave.”

Carrie tried a different approach. “Sara and I . . . we need you, Anne. We have to work together to figure out what is going on.”

Anne glared at her. “Why do you need me?”

“Because you’re smart.”

“You couldn’t possibly know if I’m smart or not.”

“You ran your own company, didn’t you? That’s what you told me.”

Anne’s chin came up a notch. As she smoothed the sheets around her waist, she said, “I started on a shoestring and turned my little hobby—that’s what my father called my shipping company—into a forty-million-dollar operation. By next January, I’ll have increased my profit margin to quadruple the amount my accountants anticipated.”

Carrie didn’t have time for this. To be forced to pander to the stupid woman’s ego just to gain her cooperation was outrageous. Didn’t Anne realize what they were all up against?

With effort, Carrie was able to control her temper. “Do you think you could join Sara and me downstairs in the living room to talk about our situation? We could sure use your . . . advice on how to proceed.”

Anne tilted her head to the side and stared at Carrie for a long minute without saying a word. Then she shook her head. “You’re really serious about this story of yours, aren’t you? You believe—”

“It’s true,” she snapped.

Anne nodded. “What is your name? I’ve forgotten.”

“Carolyn,” she answered, trying not to shout at the obtuse woman. “You may call me Carrie if you like.”

“All right, Carrie. I’ll join you and Sara downstairs.”

“If you don’t feel strong enough, Sara and I could come in here—”

“What makes you think I’m not strong enough?” She sounded angry again.

“I heard you in the bathroom. You were throwing up.”

“You said the food was poisoned.”

“Yes.”

“That’s why I was throwing up. I’m not sick.”

Who gives a damn if you’re sick or not, she longed to ask. She took a deep breath, nodded, and said, “All right. Come downstairs.”

“I still don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

Carrie completely lost it then. “Fuss?” she roared. “We’re sitting inside a time bomb. Did you just not listen to a word I’ve been saying?”

“Yes, I listened. But isn’t the answer right in front of you? Simply pick up the phone and call Utopia. Have them send someone to disarm the thing.”

The phone. My God, why hadn’t she thought to try calling for help? Carrie ran around to the other side of the bed and picked up the phone. Her excitement and hope were short-lived. The line was dead.

“It doesn’t work,” she said. She didn’t bother to hang up the phone but dropped it on the bed.

“What about the cell phones?” Anne asked. “Do you think we’ll be able to get a signal up here?” Glancing at the table beside her, she frowned and said, “Where’s my cell phone? I had it sitting in the charger right over there, but now it’s gone. Did you move it?”

“They took it,” Carrie cried out. She ran to the sliding glass doors that opened to Anne’s balcony, drew the drapes back, and said, “See that light, Anne? See it?”

“Stop yelling at me.”

“See all the wires? The house is rigged,” she said. “Do you understand yet?”

“Yes, all right,” Anne said. She looked sullen now.

Maybe Sara could get through to the woman. Carrie took a breath and then said, “I’m going back to my room to see if they took my cell phones. Please hurry downstairs,” she added, “and remember, don’t open any doors or windows.”

“I get it.”

Carrie wasn’t so sure about that. She didn’t want to antagonize the woman, and so she pretended to agree. She paused in the open doorway and said, “Bring the letter with you . . . please. Sara and I are bringing ours.”

“There wasn’t any letter on my nightstand,” Anne snapped.

Carrie turned around. “I never said anything about a nightstand.”

Anne turned her head away from Carrie. “Shut the door after you.”

What in God’s name was the matter with Anne? Why was she lying? What could she possibly have to gain?

Carrie didn’t have any answers. She went back to her suite but stopped short just inside the door. Her beautiful Gucci bags had been ripped open with a knife, and all of her clothes were strewn about the sofa and chair. Why hadn’t she noticed the mess before? Just as she suspected, one of her two cell phones, her chargers, and the laptop were all missing.

She sprinted for the closet. “Please, God,” she whispered as she threw the double doors open. Maybe Jilly hadn’t been that thorough. Maybe she hadn’t found the cell phone in her pocket.

Carrie started to cry when she saw her blazer on the floor. Her sister had found the phone. She looked away, sobbing now as the magnitude of her situation overwhelmed her.

She let herself weep for a couple of minutes, then struggled to get her emotions under control. “I’m losing it,” she said out loud. Wiping her face with the backs of her hands, she staggered to her feet and went into the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. God, she was a mess. Her eyes were swollen, and her face looked haggard.

Carrie took the time to brush her teeth and wash her face. She lifted her robe off the hook behind the bathroom door and put it on. She felt better now, more in control. After she picked up the letter and the envelope her dear, demented sister had left for her, she went downstairs.

Neither Sara nor Anne was waiting for her. Carrie went into the kitchen and was surprised to find the pantry hadn’t been stripped. There were boxes of unopened cereal, canned vegetables, and fruit. She noticed the tops had dust on them, indicating they’d been there quite awhile. The refrigerator was empty, but there was a full container of Folgers coffee in the freezer.

Carrie kept going to the hallway to see if Sara or Anne had come down yet. What the hell was taking them so long? She went back into the kitchen, made a pot of coffee, and then carried a mug of the steaming brew into the living room. She deliberately kept away from the windows, just in case someone was out there watching.

She sat down in one of the easy chairs near the dining room and waited tensely. Her hand trembled, and hot coffee spilled over the rim, burning her fingers. Five minutes later, she saw Sara slowly making her way down the winding staircase. She was dressed in a royal blue floral silk robe. From the way she clung to the railing, she appeared to be woozy still.

“Do you need help?” Carrie called out when Sara stopped for the fifth time. She had a white-knuckle grip on the railing.

“No, I can make it. I’m a little dizzy. What in heaven’s name was in that food?”

“I don’t know what it was,” Carrie said. “But it was powerful.”

“It could have killed us.”

Wouldn’t that have been something? Carrie thought. To die from a canapé and never know about all the trouble Jilly had gone to. Her sister would have been enraged. Carrie smiled at the thought, as sick as it was.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“I don’t think I can handle it just yet. How do you know that it wasn’t poisoned?”

“It isn’t,” she assured her. “My letter was from my sister. She’s gone to a lot of trouble to terrify me. She obviously wants me to suffer before I die, and poison would act too quickly.”

“Then why did she drug the food?”

“To knock us all out,” Carrie answered. She waited until Sara had taken a seat across from her, and then said, “She came into our rooms last night.”

“Someone was here,” Sara agreed. “He or she went through all my things. My cell phone and Palm Pilot are both missing.”

“The phone line’s dead too.”

“Yes,” Sara said. “I checked.”

It suddenly occurred to Carrie that the judge was awfully calm. She asked her why.

“I don’t see any reason to become hysterical. What would it solve? I’d rather exert my energy figuring out a way to get out of here . . . in one piece.”

Carrie took another long drink of her coffee. It was tepid now and bitter, but she drank it anyway.

“My sister came back from her grave.”

“Excuse me?”

“My sister . . . I thought she was killed in a car accident years ago,” Carrie said. “My husband and I celebrated after my niece went to bed. I was told that her body was cremated in the inferno, but there were items from her purse that had been thrown clear during the impact, and those items convinced the police that the victim was my sister. I was a fool to believe it. Jilly was wanted for questioning by the police at the time.”

“So she feigned her own death,” Sara said, nodding. “Clever.”

“Oh, yes,” Carrie agreed. “Jilly was always sneaky and clever.” She got up and handed the letter to Sara. “She’s hired a hit man. That’s what she called him. Her hit man.”

“Your own sister did this to you.”

Sara didn’t sound surprised, just intrigued. Carrie wondered at her reaction. In normal families, if there really was such a thing, sisters certainly squabbled. Some might even hate each other, but how many would go to the extreme of hiring someone to kill a sibling?

“You’re not shocked,” she said.

“No, I’m not.”

Carrie shook her head. “Jilly isn’t like anyone you’ve ever known.”

“Want to bet?” Sara said dryly. “I’ve put away hundreds of men and women who committed heinous crimes. I believe I’ve heard and seen it all in the twenty-two years I’ve sat on the bench. Nothing can shock me now.”

Carrie scoffed. “I wouldn’t count on that. So tell me, Sara. Who wants you dead?”

Sara carefully adjusted the belt on her robe so that the bow was perfect, then folded her hands in her lap. “Who wants me dead? Oh, quite a few people, I would imagine.”

She handed the letter to Carrie and watched as she unfolded the note and read it. It was short and to the point.

Judge Collins:

I told you I would get even, and I’m a man of my word. Now it’s your turn to suffer. I wish I could be there to watch . . . from a safe distance, of course. You’re going to die very soon now.

Rot in hell, bitch.

Carrie dropped the letter on the coffee table. Then she handed Jilly’s letter to Sara.

“While you read her short but not-so-sweet note, I’m going to get another cup of coffee.”

“I’d love a cup now,” Sara said.

Carrie went back into the kitchen, and when she returned a minute later with two mugs, Sara had placed the note on the coffee table next to the one she’d received. Carrie handed her a mug, warned her the coffee was very hot, and sat down.

“Your sister hates you.”

“Oh, yes.”

“She accused you of stealing her child and turning her against her.”

“That didn’t happen.”

“She seems to believe that all of her failures were your fault and that your success was stolen from her.”

Carrie nodded. “Jilly always had the unique ability to rewrite history. Once she said it, in her mind it was real.”

“She sounds like a psychopath.”

“She is,” Carrie said. “It was never officially diagnosed, but I’m sure that’s what she is.”

Sara began to trace the worry line in her forehead with her fingertip as she listened to Carrie. Back and forth, back and forth. She was so deep in thought she probably wasn’t even aware of what she was doing. “What happened with the child?”

“Avery,” she said. “Her name is Avery, and she’s an adult now, not a child. Jilly left her in the hospital. She told my mother and me that we could keep her, sell her, or give her away. She didn’t care what happened to her.” Tears sprang into Carrie’s eyes. She hated herself for showing such weakness in front of a virtual stranger, but she was powerless to do anything about it. “Jilly’s going after Avery too. Oh, God, she could already have her locked away somewhere now. My niece was going to join me at the spa . . .” She covered her face with her hand. “We’ve got to get out of here soon. We have to find a way.”

“Your sister has gone to quite a lot of trouble to hurt you,” Sara said.

Carrie told her about Jilly coming into her room during the night and how she had believed she was having a nightmare. Sara was a good listener and so calm Carrie was actually comforted.

“Jilly could be very patient when she really wanted something, and, oh, how she loved complicated plans. Nothing could ever be simple.”