Loe raamatut: «Vows, Vendettas And A Little Black Dress»
Praise for the Sophie Katz novels of
KYRA DAVIS
Sex, Murder and a Double Latte
“Packs a bigger jolt than a Venti latte at Starbucks.”
—Cosmopolitan
“A terrific mystery. Kyra Davis comes up with the right mix of snappy and spine-tingling.”
—Detroit Free Press
“A thoroughly readable romp.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Blending elements of steamy romance and hard-boiled mystery, this delightfully witty amalgam of chick lit and amateur sleuth mystery (featuring lovable, caffeine-addicted protagonist Sophie Katz)…[is] one of the most impressive genre debuts to come along in years!”
—Barnes & Noble
Passion, Betrayal and Killer Highlights
An Ebony magazine Noted Book
“[A] high-octane hookup.”
—Cosmopolitan [a Red Hot Read]
“Lively writing, action-packed plot and keen character development.”
—Santa Cruz Sentinel
“The perfect summer read…Davis constructs some broad sweeping social commentary in this book…bundled up amongst—what else—murder, fashion and frappuccinos.”
—The GoodTimes
Obsession, Deceit and Really Dark Chocolate
“Wry sociopolitical commentary, the playful romantic negotiations between Anatoly and Sophie and plenty of Starbucks coffee keep this steamy series chugging along.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Pulls readers in at the beginning…[and] Davis’ inclusion of the crazy sexual fetish ‘furries’ is an interesting twist.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Just the right amount of snazzy dialogue and intriguing imagery, making the reader think they are right there looking over Sophie’s shoulder. Once you start reading this entertaining tale, you won’t want to stop until you find out the ‘whodunit’ and the ‘why did they’ of the murder.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Lust, Loathing and a Little Lip Gloss
“A fresh approach to sleuthing.”
—Library Journal
“Humor, romance and an appealing, spirited protagonist…an entertaining read.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A cast of quirky, wonderful characters, a well-crafted plot and a generous helping of snarky humor make this one a winner. Sophie’s sassy first-person narration is a bonus—she’s one of a kind.”
—RT Book Reviews
Vows, Vendettas & a Little Black Dress
Kyra Davis
I dedicate this book to my loyal readers. I am always amazed by the tremendous and consistent support that you express both in person at my book-signing events or through your Internet posts and e-mails. You are my motivation, and Sophie belongs every bit as much to you as she does to me. Thank you.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PROLOGUE
Sunday, May 6th, 10:00 p.m.
Like most people I have two families. The family I was born into and the family of friends that I’ve chosen for myself. That’s normal. It also shouldn’t surprise you to learn that my family is sort of crazy because that’s exactly what everybody else says about their own family. I mean really, telling people that your family is on the wacky side is right up there with confessing to being moody right before your period. It’s so commonplace it’s barely worth mentioning.
So if your family’s like mine and you don’t want to spend your life surrounded by head cases there is only one clear course of action: choose sane friends.
I didn’t take that route. All my friends are completely mad. You wouldn’t be able to get them institutionalized or anything, but suggesting that they are in any way normal would be, well, hyperbolic. I don’t mind though. They’re my family of choice, and although they do occasionally make me crazy, I really do love them, eccentricities and all.
Jason Beck is the perfect example of this. Right now he’s standing across the room from me. I can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the water trapped in his hair, evidence of the swim he hurriedly abandoned earlier in the evening. His goatee is pointing toward the ugly gray carpet like an arrow and his white skin is even paler than normal. I didn’t exactly choose Jason. He’s one of my friend Dena’s two boyfriends. (Yes, I know. We’ll get to that later.) That sort of makes Jason a stepbrother. A wannabe-anarchist/wannabe-vampire/wannabe-philosopher stepbrother. He never manages to achieve more than wannabe status because he isn’t brave enough to openly defy authority when doing so is risky, he has never found a way to make the transition from human being to bloodsucker despite his insistence that Anne Rice’s early novels are really nonfiction, and his musings are only philosophical if you’re drunk or stoned. Still, he is…interesting. One of these days the psychiatric community might be able to come up with a more succinct and scientific definition for whatever Jason is. But the reason he’s become part of my extended family is because he is by far the most endearing lunatic I have ever met in my life. It’s his good heart that has brought him into this room tonight.
Then there’s my hairstylist, Marcus. God, do I love me some Marcus. Of all my friends he’s probably the least crazy one. He’s intelligent, talented, funny as hell and drop-dead gorgeous. With his brilliantly white teeth, smooth mocha skin, perfectly groomed locks…I swear if he wasn’t gay I would have jumped him years ago. But he is gay. Years ago he jumped out of the closet and right onto the first float of San Francisco’s Pride Parade. So instead of sensual rubdowns I have to settle for marginally frisky conditioning treatments. Lately he’s been calling me J-Lodad because he thinks that (thanks to my Black and Eastern European-Jewish ancestry) I look like a cross between Soledad O’Brien and J-Lo. That’s one of the main reasons why I’m willing to settle for the platonic scalp massages: when I’m stressed or sad Marcus makes me laugh.
But not tonight. Tonight he’s facing away from me, a five-month-old People magazine in his hands, just one of the many outdated periodicals lying around the waiting room. He’s not reading it of course. He just needs something to hold on to while he waits for relief from his darkest fears…or the confirmation of them.
On the other hand Anatoly’s current focus is completely on me. Anatoly is…well, he’s my tall, dark Russian lover, my boyfriend, my nemesis, maybe even my soul mate. He lives with me and we are completely dedicated to one another…until we have one of our knock-down-drag-out fights. Then he storms out (or I kick him out) and at that moment we both know that it is totally and completely over.
Except it’s never totally and completely over because he’s Anatoly and I’m Sophie. We can’t stay apart because, to use his words, neither of us can claim ownership of the other and yet in some odd, paradoxical way I belong to him and he to me. You can’t stay away from something that belongs to you for any real length of time. Someone else might try to steal it.
But no one would dare try to steal him away tonight. Tonight he holds my hand firmly, his body’s leaning toward mine, letting the world know that he’s ready to catch me if I collapse into sobs, ready to hold me back if I lash out at the wrong person. He seems not to have noticed the hum of the fluorescent lights above although it’s exactly the kind of noise that usually annoys him. He hasn’t glanced at the television mounted in the corner that’s tuned to ESPN. Tonight his attentiveness and responsiveness can only be equaled by my need.
And to my left, sitting rigidly in what has to be the most worn chair in the hospital waiting room, is Mary Ann. Mary Ann is totally pretty, sweet, honest, loyal and totally, totally ditzy. She’s sort of an idiot savant. Her genius lies in her ability to make even the homeliest face look Vogue-worthy. She spent years being the favored cosmetician at the Neiman Marcus Lancôme counter and now she makes quite a good living free-lancing. So what if she thinks euthanasia is a creative way of referring to the young people in China? The woman can make the biggest zit disappear with the sweep of a powder brush. She’s like the David Copperfield of blemishes.
And now she has a ring that is as impressive as her talent. A heart-shaped ruby on a platinum band given to her by the man who currently has his arm draped over her stiff shoulders. If my relationship with Anatoly is tempestuous, Mary Ann’s romance with Monty checks in at a continual seventy-five degrees with a gentle breeze and only the lightest precipitation. I don’t often envy her because I do like stormy weather, but every once in a while I catch myself wondering if it might be better to live in a calmer emotional climate.
Of course she hasn’t been calm tonight. Only a few hours ago she was screaming.
Monty tried to soothe her but the only one who has the power to truly put her at ease is Dena. Dena is Mary Ann’s cousin and, as I mentioned earlier, my friend. My best friend. She’s a little Sicilian spitfire with a fierce intellect and a fondness for bondage wear. It would be hard to find a cute, available, straight guy in San Francisco who hasn’t worn Dena’s handcuffs at least once. Of course it’s hard to find a cute, available straight guy in San Francisco period, so perhaps that’s not saying much.
Dena understands me like no one else. She has fought for me in both the figurative and literal sense of the word. When I’m tempted to wallow in self-pity Dena’s always there to give me a swift kick in the ass. When I fly off the handle Dena helps me see logic…and that’s no easy feat. My feelings about logic are tepid at best. In turn I understand, and never judge, her proud promiscuity. I know her strength and I am deeply familiar with her fears. I know everything about Dena.
As of tonight I even know the color of her blood. It’s the exact same shade as the ruby on Mary Ann’s finger.
CHAPTER 1
I don’t want to look for a man. I want to shop for one. And if I can find one that comes with a lifetime warranty or at the very least an exchange policy I’ll buy him.
–Fatally Yours
Sunday, May 6th, 7:00 p.m.
“You’ll never believe what wonderful thing he’s done now!” Mary Ann exclaimed as she flung open the door of her San Francisco Lake Street apartment to greet Dena and me. Her deep brown eyes glittered with excitement.
Neither Dena nor I had to be told that he was Monty Sanchez, the very successful entrepreneur she had been dating for the past eleven months. He made robotic toys and stuffed animals that nobody needed but every gadget-collecting geek wanted. Like the lifelike seal pup that could recognize faces and dance the samba. That one was a huge hit.
Dena’s eyes slowly narrowed as they made their way down to Mary Ann’s hands. “What the hell? Why are you wearing long gloves?”
“Because tonight I feel like a princess!” Quickly she hustled us inside.
Dena and I exchanged glances. “She never drinks by herself…so she’s probably not drunk,” Dena mused.
“Maybe she’s sleepwalking?’” I suggested. “We shouldn’t wake her. You know what they say—sleepwalkers can get violent when awakened, especially if they’re already acting deranged.”
Mary Ann stuck her tongue out at us before breaking into a light laugh. “Come in, take your jackets off and I’ll tell you all about it.”
We followed Mary Ann into her living room, at which point Dena let out a yelp of alarm.
Sitting by the window was a giant orca. A plush orca to be precise, but, based on size alone, it could have given any living juvenile orca a run for its money. It gazed up at us with black oval pupils as if pleading for understanding.
“Don’t you get it? A day after I met Monty on the beach in San Diego he took me to Sea World for our first real date! He bought me a Shamu to show me how much that day meant to him! Isn’t it perfect?”
“Shamu?” Dena repeated, clearly baffled. “God, Mary Ann, he’s as big as my love seat!”
“A love seat,” Mary Ann repeated, clasping her gloved hands together as she emphasized the second word. “That’s perfect. And look! He can act like a love seat, too! See? You can sit on him!”
She plopped down on top of her new pet. Shamu barely budged under her weight, but then again Mary Ann couldn’t be over a hundred and ten pounds. It was doubtful that she had the power to crush a baby Chihuahua.
“Is he comfortable?” I asked doubtfully.
“Well, no,” Mary Ann admitted. “But I bet the real Shamu isn’t all that comfortable either, and the trainers ride him all the time!”
“So now you want to straddle an orca?” Dena laughed.
“Don’t be crude! This orca is one of the most romantic gifts Monty has ever given me! Not that you would understand. Your idea of romance is a pink dildo with a vibrating dove flopping around at the end of it!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Dena waved her hand in the air dismissively. “They don’t make them with doves. You’re thinking of the rabbit with the twitching nose…or maybe my rubber ducky vibrator but he’s not attached to anything, the vibrator is the duck. You just hold it—”
Mary Ann sucked in a deep breath through her teeth. “You’re missing the point!”
Dena shot me a pleading look but I refused to intervene. I have published ten murder mysteries including Fatally Yours, which was currently on the New York Times bestseller list, and I have managed to solve more than one true-crime case before the police could, but debating the emotional significance of a giant plush sea mammal was well beyond my mental capacity.
Mary Ann recognized our silence as a victory and smiled. “There’s more.”
“Oh?” I asked, trying not to sound apprehensive.
“Yes. Yesterday was our eleven-month anniversary and to celebrate the day Monty put together a whole gift pack with something to remind me of each of the wonderful places he took me to during the first week we were together.”
“Wait a minute.” Dena adjusted the low cowl neckline of her army-green tank top before dropping down on the flowered couch. “You guys celebrated your eleven-month anniversary? Shouldn’t you have waited another month before exchanging gifts?”
“Monty says that would be too continental,” Mary Ann explained.
Dena and I were quiet for a moment as we tried to work that one out. “You mean conventional?” I ventured.
“Isn’t that what I said?”
Both Dena and I tactfully chose not to answer the question.
Mary Ann shrugged and got back up to her feet. “You want to see what else he got me?”
“Can I have a second to think about that?” Dena teased.
Mary Ann rolled her eyes and went to the mantel of her mock fireplace. Carefully she picked up a snow globe that I hadn’t seen before.
“Check it out, it’s two flamingos like the ones we saw at Wild Animal Park! Isn’t it cute the way their heads are pressed together so their necks form a heart? And he had it engraved and everything! Look!” She pointed to the little plaque on the front of the snow globe. “M & M! For Monty and Mary Ann! He says that life with me is just as sweet as the candy. Isn’t that cute?”
Neither of us said anything for a moment and then Dena turned to me. “Do you have any Tylenol?”
“Oh, come on.” Mary Ann smacked Dena on the arm with a tad too much force to be considered playful. “It’s sweet! You think it’s sweet, don’t you, Sophie?”
“Well,” I hedged, “it’s certainly unconventional. I mean, well, they put flamingos in a snow globe. I’m not judging or anything but…wouldn’t penguins be somewhat more appropriate?”
“Penguins can’t make their necks look like a heart!”
“Actually they sort of can—”
“No, they can’t!”
“Oh. Okay.” I sank back as Dena muttered swearwords under her breath.
“And I’m sure that flamingos would love the snow if they ever had the chance to play in it!” Mary Ann continued. “Humans aren’t the only ones who like to mix things up, you know!”
I nodded quickly to show that I was willing to concede the point. Of course it wasn’t the flamingos that I had difficulty with despite their peculiar climatic versatility, it was the inscription. Comparing a relationship to the sweetness of M & Ms? If Anatoly ever said something like that to me I’d whack him over the head with a toothbrush.
Dena lifted her fingers to the bridge of her nose as Mary Ann replaced the globe and crossed to the other side of the room. But this time what she pointed to was a rather interesting and well-rendered piece of modern art that she had hung high above her low bookcase. The blue backdrop perfectly offset the bold black and white strokes that graced the canvas.
Dena immediately perked up. “Monty gave you that?” she asked. “It’s actually pretty cool!”
“Isn’t it?” Mary Ann looked up at the painting lovingly. “It was painted by an orangutan at the San Diego Zoo!”
Dena opened her mouth, then closed it, then started rocking slowly back and forth like a mental patient trying to comfort herself. “Maybe I should pour us all something to drink,” I suggested hopefully. “Something strong.”
“In a minute,” Mary Ann promised. “First I have to show you this.”
She crossed to the side table by the couch and lifted up a delicate little treasure box. It was made of porcelain and was as smooth and beautiful as Mary Ann’s complexion. On its lid stood a small figurine of Tinker Bell. Her delicate but spirited face was upturned and her little wand was arched high above her head as if she was trying to command the stars to dance.
“It’s pretty,” Dena begrudgingly admitted.
Mary Ann nodded solemnly. “It’s Lennox. It was at Disneyland that I knew I was truly in love with him. Tinker Bell flew over Sleeping Beauty’s castle and the sky lit up with fireworks….” Her voice trailed off and she took a deep, shaky breath. “He kissed me then and the way I felt when I was in his arms…the entire experience just opened my eyes to a whole new world!”
Dena grabbed my wrist and gave it an urgent squeeze. “She’s going to burst into song!” she hissed. “It’s like some kind of nightmarish scene from Mamma Mia!”
Mary Ann shot her a quick dirty look. “I’m not going to sing. But it was magic. Disney magic. And whatever you may think of it, that magic woke me up to what an amazing guy I had standing next to me…holding my hand. And now just look at us! We’re living the fairy tale!”
“The Disney version or the Brothers Grimm?” Dena asked.
“Why do you always have to be like this?” Mary Ann snapped. “You and I both know that Disney never made a movie about any brothers named Grimm and if you’re talking about Brother Bear, well, that movie wasn’t romantic at all!”
As they continued to argue I picked up the Lennox box. There was room in it for something small…and possibly very valuable.
“Mary Ann,” I asked carefully, “was there anything in here when he gave this to you?’”
Mary Ann, who had been yelling at Dena, abruptly stopped…and blushed.
“Is that the reason you’re wearing the gloves?” I persisted.
Her blush deepened and she pulled off her right glove and then her left. None of us moved a muscle as we collectively stared down at the large heart-shaped ruby on a simple platinum band.
“Oh. My. God.” They were the only words I could manage.
Dena’s eyes widened slowly and the fine lines of surprise popped up on her forehead one by one. “Mary Ann,” Dena breathed, “is that what I think it is?”
Mary Ann only nodded, her eyes still on her ring.
“But you’ve only known him for—”
“We’ve known each other for almost a year.” She looked up at Dena, her anger replaced with a gut-wrenching vulnerability. “I am totally and absolutely in love with him.”
Dena pressed her lips together and I found myself holding my breath as we all waited for further reaction. Dena was the sole proprietor of an upscale sex shop and she was currently involved in a polyamorous relationship with two guys and a hippie chick named Amelia. The very idea that she was going to be able to embrace her cousin’s acceptance of a heart-shaped gemstone presented in a Tinker Bell box seemed preposterous. But it was also necessary. For Mary Ann, Dena was more than a cousin, she was the older sister she never had, and despite all their differences she would want her blessing.
Dena took Mary Ann’s hand and lifted the ruby to the light. “It’s a good quality rock,” Dena said as she tilted the gem this way and that. “It’s almost like glass and the red is fantastic. It’s Burmese?”
Again Mary Ann nodded. “It’s over a full carat. He got it from Goldberry’s on Sacramento Street…you know Bob Dylan’s former longtime girlfriend designed it. I thought you’d like that. I thought maybe…maybe you could be happy for me?”
Dena took in another deep breath and then looked straight into Mary Ann’s eyes.
“You tell him that if he ever hurts you I will get a rock five times this size and shove it up his ass. Got it?”
And that was Dena-speak for “I’ll support you in this.” Mary Ann threw her arms around Dena’s neck and burst into tears. “I love you so much,” she sobbed.
“Hey,” I said, gently nudging Mary Ann as she loosened her grip on Dena. “I’d shove a rock up a guy’s ass if he hurt you, too, you know.”
“Like Monty could ever hurt anyone.” Mary Ann laughed and gave me a swift, hard hug. “He’s not like the other guys I’ve dated. He is always so kind and gentle and he would never cheat on me. Not in a million years.”
“Ah.” Dena stood up and crossed her arms across her chest. “So what you’re saying is he’s not like Rick. Is that asshole still calling you?”
Mary Ann pressed her ringed hand against her chest and looked away. It had been almost exactly one year since Mary Ann had found her now-ex-boyfriend Rick Wilkes in the arms of Fawn, the rather lively and ironically named female taxidermist. It had been a particularly tragic discovery since it had not only ruined Mary Ann’s relationship but also her love of natural history museums.
“Rick calls occasionally. He even happened to call the night Monty proposed. Can you believe that? He actually thinks we can be friends or something.” She shook her head in disgust. “Monty’s nothing like Rick and not just because he’s faithful. Monty sees the world differently. He’s so…hopeful and enthusiastic about everything. He makes life more fun and…Dena, he makes me so happy! And now you’re both happy for me like I knew you would be…or I thought you would be…or…I hoped. I guess I didn’t really know what to expect. Neither of you believe in marriage.”
“That’s not true,” I protested, perhaps a bit louder than was necessary. “I just don’t believe in marriage for me…not a second time.”
“But that was with Scott,” Mary Ann reminded me. “If you married Anatoly—”
“Okay, seriously?” I asked. “The man hasn’t even given up his apartment! Did you know that? He won’t even sublet it to someone who plans on staying for more than six months!”
“But you’ve said that Anatoly never actually sleeps there,” Mary Ann pointed out. “He always stays with you—”
“And according to him that’s what really matters,” I practically yelled. “As far as I’m concerned what matters is that he resorts to bullshit justifications in order to explain himself.”
Dena raised her eyebrows. “So what you’re saying is you had another argument earlier today.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was getting off course. “Anatoly and I love each other and we’ll work it all out. But as for marriage…it just isn’t our thing. You’re different, Mary Ann. You were meant to be a bride with a killer dress and all the rest of it. Don’t you think, Dena?”
Dena took Tinker Bell into her hand and ran her finger over each of her curves and angles as if searching for some clue to her magic. “It took me thirty-three years to find the willpower to limit myself to two men,” Dena said slowly. “And there are days and nights…lots of nights, when I wonder if I’m going to be able to keep it up without throwing some new guy into the mix. So marriage…” She sighed and cast a dubious glance at Shamu. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully wrap my mind around why so many people think it’s so friggin’ fantastic. But if it’s what you really want—”
“More than anything,” whispered Mary Ann.
“Well, that’s something I can celebrate, a woman getting what she wants. Particularly if that woman is you.”
“Have I ever told you that you’re the best?”
Dena smiled. “Not even once. Can we drink now?”
Mary Ann bounced up and down on her toes as if she was preparing to jump off a diving board. “I have a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge.”
“I’m on it.” I went into the kitchen and quickly found the bottle and within minutes we were standing around Shamu with our champagne flutes raised high.
“Cheers to Mary Ann,” Dena said. “May your marriage be…highly sexual in nature. I’m serious, Mary Ann. Don’t turn into one of those weirdos who would rather watch American Idol than play ride the orca with your husband.”
“I’ll try not to,” Mary Ann said solemnly.
We drank and then I raised my glass again. “My turn. This is to all of us. Three strong women who know how to make our very different dreams come true.”
Both Dena and Mary Ann broke into huge grins and our glasses came together in one clear clink.
We spent the next hour listening to exactly how Monty had popped the question. We marveled that he had taken the trouble of flying to Palm Springs in order to get her father’s blessing. We laughed at how Mary Ann’s blue-collar, pragmatic father must have reacted to Monty, who had undoubtedly described his love for Mary Ann with all the flourish of a sommelier describing the floral notes of a wine. A few days later, when Mary Ann had been at a hotel dusting color on the pale face of a bride, Monty used the key she’d given him to slip inside her apartment and place a gift in almost every room. When she got home he acted as her guide, leading her to one whimsical treasure after another. The last present had been placed in her bedroom. Mary Ann recalled sitting on the edge of her bed, unwrapping the Tinker Bell figurine, her shoulders hunched over as she carefully peeled the tape away from the metallic silver paper. She had been totally mindless of Monty, who had knelt on the floor beside her…until she found the ruby of course. It was then that she realized that Monty wasn’t just kneeling; he was on bended knee.
Eventually I excused myself to the bathroom and Mary Ann went to her room where she was going to retrieve the bridal magazines she had already begun to collect. Dena stayed in the living room hoping that another glass of champagne would help make the pages of flouncy white gowns and ruffled bridesmaid dresses more tolerable.
I was washing my hands when I heard…something. A high-pitched pinging sound followed by something falling. It was heavier than the thud of a dropped book and much more substantial than the sound of a broken glass. I couldn’t even begin to think of what it was that had hit the floor, but for reasons I couldn’t begin to explain the sound of its fall had frightened me…and not just a little bit.
I opened the bathroom door at the same time Mary Ann stepped into the hall, balancing what looked to be twenty or so magazines in her arms. She looked at me questioningly. “Did you hear that?”
I nodded and looked toward the living room. “Dena?” I called out. “Everything okay?”
Mary Ann and I both waited for a response. The only sound was the rush of the heater coming on.
And all of a sudden something shifted. It wasn’t tangible and I couldn’t put a name to it but somehow the consistency of the air changed. It took on weight and it rushed down my throat and pressed anxiety into my lungs. Something was wrong.
Mary Ann dropped the magazines and I was at her heels as we raced out into the living room.
Dena was on the floor. One hand was grasping the corner of Mary Ann’s basket weave rug.
Both of us lunged to Dena’s side.
“Dena?” Mary Ann cried. “Dena, what happened to your back?”
My eyes immediately zeroed in on the small but growing circle of blood underneath her shoulder blade.
“What?” Dena managed, her eyes moving back and forth between us. “What?”
I had seen that kind of wound before. Not there, not in the back…but I had seen the wound. I had seen it in the chest of an attacker…right after I shot him. My eyes jerked up toward the front door. It was open.
“Don’t move!” I demanded in a hoarse whisper as I carefully scanned the room. There were no heavy curtains to hide behind. But the kitchen…could he still be in the kitchen?
“I can’t,” Dena whispered back. “I can’t move…my legs are cold! Sophie, why can’t I move my legs!”
And with those words the air grew even heavier. I heard myself make some kind of strangled cry but that was all I could manage. It hurt to breathe. I choked back my rising panic as my eyes darted around the room in search of something that would work as a weapon. There was a heavy vase, a letter opener, perhaps the poker by the fireplace…
But what good would any of those things be against a gun?
Our best bet was a quick response from 9-1-1. Mary Ann didn’t have a landline, only a cell.
“Dena, where’s your BlackBerry?” I forced myself to ask.
“In…my bag.”
“And yours?” I said, glancing at Mary Ann.
Her eyes went over to her own purse. All of our cell phones were in our handbags and our handbags were on the chair nearest the kitchen.
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