Page 11 of Killjoy (Buchanan-Renard 3)

  Tick. Tick. Are you scared?

  Shall I tell you how I plotted and planned? I began by finding the man of my dreams. He loves me, of course, but then they all do, don’t they? This one is very special. A perfectionist, actually. His name is Monk, and when I first seduced him, I must say he was terribly set in his ways. He’s a hit man, my hit man, though he prefers to be called a professional.

  He does whatever I ask him to do, and in return I’ve taught him how to have fun with his job. He’s a proud man, proud of what he does, and he’s careful and methodical, and so he won’t let me make any mistakes. In the past, he only took on one job at a time, but I’ve convinced him to reach for bigger and better. He’d already contracted to blow up the house. It just took a little more planning to kill a few inconsequential women at the same time.

  You know why you must die. You stole my dream from me and gave it away. You took my child from me too, and you turned her against me. Those are just two reasons, Carrie, but when all is said and done, your biggest sin is that you have made me unhappy.

  Jilly

  P.S. Don’t worry about Avery. I’m going to take care of her too.

  Carrie screamed once and began to sob. She was terrified. Shaking, she leapt from the bed and ran to the sliding glass doors. She grabbed a fistful of the drapes, ripped them out of her way, and looked outside. Then down. She saw the blinking red light protruding from the explosives, as evil and horrific as the devil’s eye, and shouted, “Oh, God, oh, God . . .”

  She ran for the bedroom door, tripped over her shoes and slammed her right foot into the bedpost. Pain shot up her calf. Cursing, she continued on. She stopped short in the hallway just outside her door and called out, “Is anyone there?”

  Nothing. Not a sound. Too late, she realized she should have grabbed the scissors to use as a weapon just in case someone had been waiting, but Jilly had touched those scissors. Jilly, who had written the horrific, gleeful letter. Jilly, the psycho.

  God help them all.

  She edged along the wall to the spiral staircase. She was afraid to look down, afraid not to. It took her a good minute to get up the courage, and then relief, sweet, sweet relief, made her weak because no one was looking up at her. Maybe Carrie and Sara and Anne were all alone in the house. No, not a house now. A bomb.

  She ran down the stairs, then raced to the judge’s suite. She didn’t bother to knock, but threw the door open and rushed inside.

  The room was pitch black. Carrie couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face. She felt her way across the sitting room, nearly knocking over a lamp when her elbow bumped into the shade. She grabbed it, and finally got it turned on.

  Sara was in bed. Carrie could see a form huddled under the blanket, but she couldn’t see her face. The drapes were tightly drawn. Carrie opened them and looked down. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered. There it was, another blinking red light.

  Turning, she slowly approached the side of the bed as she strained to hear the sound of Sara’s breathing. She couldn’t hear anything but the noise of the air conditioner as it kicked on.

  Carrie gently shook her. “Wake up, Sara,” she ordered.

  She didn’t move. She shook her again, much harder this time. “Come on, Sara. You have to wake up.” Sara groaned.

  She put her hand on Sara’s wrist, feeling for a pulse with her fingertips. When she finally found it, she felt like shouting with relief.

  Carrie knew what had happened. The food they’d eaten last night had been drugged, but because she had thrown up, she’d gotten rid of most of the poison. How much had Sara and Anne eaten?

  She grabbed Sara by her shoulders and started shaking her. “Open your eyes, damn it. Wake up, Sara.”

  Another groan was her only response. Carrie looked at the clock on the bureau and saw that it was already one in the afternoon. Then she turned to the nightstand, and just as she expected, there was another envelope propped against the lamp with Sara’s name written on it. The handwriting was identical.

  Should she open it?

  “Go away.”

  Carrie jumped at the sound of Sara’s gruff voice. She was struggling to open her eyes. Carrie stepped back as Sara rolled onto her back and told her once again to go away.

  “No,” she said. “Keep your eyes open. You have to wake up.”

  Sara heard her. She struggled to sit up but only made it halfway before she collapsed against the pillows. She focused on Carrie, awareness slow to penetrate.

  “What . . . what are you doing here?”

  “Listen to me,” Carrie ordered. “You’ve been drugged. Do you understand what I’m saying? Please, try to pay attention. We’re in trouble.”

  “Drugged?” She shook her head. “No, I don’t take drugs.”

  In her frustration, she shouted at the woman. “They put it in the food, Sara. Can you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes. You’re telling me the food was drugged?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Carrie said. “Keep your eyes open. I’m going to get a cold wet cloth. Come on, Sara,” she coaxed. “Sit up.”

  By the time Carrie returned from the adjoining bath with a washcloth dripping with cold water, Sara had managed to pull herself up. Her shoulders were pressed against the headboard.

  She looked at Carrie as though she was only just now seeing her. “Why are you in my room?”

  Carrie tried to put the wet cloth on Sara’s face, but the woman knocked it away.

  “We’re in trouble,” she repeated. “I have to go wake Anne. So you have to listen to what I’m going to tell you. Okay? Can you concentrate yet?”

  “Will you stop shouting at me? I’m awake now. What kind of trouble are you talking about?”

  “The house is wired.”

  Sara blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  “We’re prisoners,” Carrie said. “If one of us opens a door or a window, the house will blow up. Look at the glass door,” she urged. “See the red blinking light?”

  Sara wouldn’t believe her. “This is just some kind of sick prank.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she said. Then she grabbed the envelope from the nightstand. “Open it,” she said. “I got one too. Bring the letter with you down to the living room, and I’ll bring mine. Even if you can’t believe it, don’t open any windows or doors. Okay? Now I’ve got to get to Anne before she wakes up and decides to open a window.”

  Sara nodded. “All right. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  She was opening the envelope when Carrie rushed out of the room. Anne’s suite was at the opposite end on the same level. She ran to it.

  Anne wasn’t in bed. Carrie could hear her in the bathroom. She was throwing up. Carrie went to the door and knocked. “Anne, do you need help?”

  She didn’t answer her. Carrie tried again and again. She didn’t know how long she stood there pounding on the door. Finally, Anne opened it.

  The frail woman looked green. “What do you want?” she asked. She was swaying on her feet.

  “Let me help,” Carrie said. She put her arm around her waist, thinking it was the size of a pencil, and helped her back to bed.

  “You should stay away from me,” Anne said, her voice weak. “I’ve got some kind of a bug. Now you’ll get it.”

  “No,” Carrie said. “You don’t have a bug.” She was all but carrying the woman across the room. When she reached the bed, she pulled the sheet back and helped Anne sit down.

  “I was up half the night, throwing up,” she said. “Of course I have a bug. It’s probably just one of those twenty-four-hour viruses.”

  There wasn’t an envelope on Anne’s nightstand. “You were up all night?” she asked as she helped the woman into bed. “Did you hear anyone . . . see anyone?”

  “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 t

he 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 ti

me. 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.”